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of the heart monitor and saw the silhouette of Liberty’s body that he realized where he was. He had experienced another nightmare . . . another reminder of the world he had left behind so long ago. Peace was foreign to him. In his twenty-five years he had never known serenity. His childhood had been filled with mass murders and brutality. Make money, not friends: it was the mentality that had been drilled into his head. He had learned how to shoot a pistol long before he had learned to shoot a jump shot. Growing up in Sierra Leone he had no childhood; all he knew was money and destruction. It was that same thought pattern that had allowed him to survive and make a name for himself in the States. He was the epitome of the American dream. If he was white, he would have been a businessman, but with skin as dark as mahogany he felt that his rightful place was on the throne as the king of the streets. As he rubbed his goatee he leaned forward in the uncomfortable wooden chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at the love of his life. Liberty was beautiful—even with her chapped lips, sunken eyes, and unruly hair he had never seen a woman as exquisite as she. She was the perfect example of the female specimen. She was his lady, his everything . . . she was the better part of him. The world was too corrupt for an angel like Liberty. The world didn’t deserve to feel Liberty’s footsteps upon it. She was too pure, too good, too beautiful to be a part of such an ugly place. That is what A’shai told himself when he thought of her condition. That’s the logic he used to justify her situation. GOD had better things intended for Liberty. HE could show her a greater love than A’shai . . . at least that’s what he convinced himself of to stop his heart from breaking. He had seen many tragedies and survived much devastation, but no loss had ever felt as great as the one he was facing. Just thinking about it put a damper on his spirit. Liberty was one of the very few people who could ever make him feel. He prided himself on being as sturdy as a brick wall. He was unbreakable, like the Great Wall of China. He was impenetrable, like the mighty gates of Rome. Untouchable, like the infamous Nicky Barnes. Despite all of these things, Liberty had broken through his cold facade. She penetrated his guarded heart and touched him in a way that was so intimate only the two of them understood. Now she was sick . . . dying the doctors said, and there was nothing that he could do but sit back and watch as destiny slowly took over.

The dark hospital room was illuminated as the door opened and the light from the hallway spilled inside. A’shai sat upright as Dr. Simmons, a man that he had come to know well, entered the room.

“Hello A’shai,” Dr. Simmons greeted.

“Dr. Simmons,” A’shai replied in acknowledgment. “Did you get the test results back yet?”

Dr. Simmons nodded and held up the large white folder. “I did. I’d like to discuss them with the both of you,” the doctor replied. The doctor’s pessimistic tone gave away the dismal results, but A’shai remained hopeful. He looked at Liberty. She was sleeping too peacefully to awaken and he didn’t want her to hear the news first. He wanted to be her filter . . . to receive any bad news to come and give it to her in his own way.

“Can we talk privately doctor? I would like to tell her the results myself . . . good or bad,” A’shai stated.

Dr. Simmons nodded and led A’shai to the hallway. A’shai stared at Liberty through the room’s window.

“Liberty has a heart condition called cardiomyopathy. The swelling in her abdomen, ankles, and feet are all signs of impending heart failure,” Dr. Simmons stated.

A’shai’s throat went desert dry and his stomach turned sour as he lowered his head and leaned against the windowsill outside of Liberty’s room. “Don’t say that to me, Doc. Tell me what I can do to make her better.”

“I’m sorry, but there isn’t much that you can do,” Dr. Simmons replied. “She needs a new heart.”

“Then let’s get her a new heart. Money isn’t an object. Whose palms gotta get greased to