“And you should want to be that, Mo. You don’t know who you are. Are you his Shorty? My love? Your fiancé’s future wife? Who are you? Without niggas telling you who they want to turn you into?” Ahmeek asked. “You’re going to find somebody else,” she whispered. Worry laced every word. “I’m going to lose you.” Ahmeek tilted her chin, pinching it between his fingertips. “You’re going to find you, Mo. That’s worth losing anybody.”
