Novels by LaShay Starr

The baby arrived on a soft summer morning, sunlight spilling across the hospital room like a blessing.Lola held her daughter against her chest, wrapped in a knitted lavender blanket Harper had made. The baby’s tiny fingers curled around Lola’s thumb with surprising strength, as if declaring her place in the world from the moment she arrived.“She’s perfect,” Harper whispered from the corner, wiping her eyes.Lola smiled down at her daughter, tender and exhausted and overflowing with something too big for words. “She really is.”There was a quiet knock at the door.Lola looked up.Melvin stepped in, hesitant at first, a bouquet of pale yellow roses in one hand. He froze when he saw them: Lola glowing with new-mother exhaustion, the baby sleeping peacefully, the room bright with the hush of new beginnings.“Hi,” he said softly.Lola’s heart warmed. “Hi.”“May I…come closer?”She nodded.Melvin approached slowly, as though approaching something sacred. And in a way, he was.He set the f

Spring in the little lakeside town was softer than Lola expected. Gentle. Forgiving. Like the world was nudging her forward with open palms.Three months into her pregnancy, she had settled into her new life. Working part-time at a small community clinic, attending prenatal yoga, spending evenings on her tiny balcony feeling the baby flutter beneath her ribs.The loneliness surprised her at first, but slowly, it transformed into something else.Peace.She still thought of Melvin, some days with sadness, some with fondness, some with gratitude. Healing wasn’t linear, but it was happening.On a breezy April morning, her phone buzzed with a text from Harper.Someone’s been asking about you.Lola’s breath caught. She knew exactly who.Later that afternoon, as she left the clinic, she saw him.Melvin stood across the parking lot, sunlight catching on the faint stubble on his jaw. He looked healthier—still grieving, but lighter. Like he had begun stepping out of the ruins rather than livin

Two weeks passed before Melvin finally showed up at her apartment.He looked thinner, shadows under his eyes, but the moment he saw her, something in him softened. As if he were reminding himself that joy still existed, even if he was afraid to reach for it.“Lola,” he breathed, relief and longing tangled in the word.She stepped aside to let him in, but her heart felt like it was cracking open. She knew what needed to happen. She’d spent days rehearsing it in her mind.They sat on the couch, a chasm of unspoken fears between them.“I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” he said first, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m trying, I really am. But some days I…I feel like I’m betraying Emily. And other days, I feel like losing you would break me even more.”Her chest ached. “I get it, Melvin. I really do.”“I love you,” he whispered. “But I feel like I’m learning how to breathe again, and every day it’s different. I don’t know how to promise you anything yet. I don’t know how to be the man you des

Lola had always believed bathrooms held a strange kind of truth. There was something about the harsh lighting, the close walls, the hum of plumbing that made a person confront things they didn’t want to see. That morning, as she stood barefoot on the cold tile of her small apartment bathroom, she felt that truth rise around her in a quiet, suffocating wave.The pregnancy test lay on the counter.She had set it down carefully, almost tenderly, as though she were afraid it might shatter. The little plastic stick looked harmless. Ordinary. Like something that couldn’t possibly change the course of a life. But it had. The moment the second pink line formed, steady, unmistakable, her life had split into a before and after she wasn’t ready for.Lola hadn’t moved in nearly five minutes. She just stood there, arms wrapped around herself, breath trembling, staring at the word she thought she’d never see.Pregnant.Her mind replayed the moment she’d bought the test. She’d left work early after

Three months passed.Lola’s life felt fuller, warmer, more complicated but in a good way. Melvin wasn’t constant, but he was present. He wasn’t overflowing with grand gestures, but he was honest. He wasn’t healed, not fully, but he was healing.They saw each other on weekends. They shared quiet meals, walks in the park, late-night conversations in dimly lit rooms. Melvin still carried guilt, but Lola didn’t push him. She simply let him be.They were becoming something real, something soft and fragile and hopeful.Until the morning Lola woke up nauseous.At first, she brushed it off as stress or something she’d eaten. But when it happened again the next day… and the next… a small, terrifying thought crept in.No.No, it couldn’t be.But her hands shook as she bought the test. Her heart hammered as she took it. Time stretched unbearably as she waited for the results.Then two lines appeared.Clear.Bold.Undeniable.Lola sank to the floor, breath shaking. A thousand thoughts crashed thr

A month passed.Melvin returned to work. Lola returned to the clinic. Life moved forward with a gentle, fragile slowness. They didn’t rush into anything; Melvin made sure of that. Some days, he visited the clinic only to check in with Lola briefly, offering a tired smile or a soft, “How are you?”Other days, he stayed home, overwhelmed by memories that washed over him without warning.But every evening, they talked.Sometimes in person. Sometimes on the phone. Sometimes through messages that stretched into the early hours of the morning.Their connection grew, not rushed, not forbidden, just faint and quietly blooming in the aftermath of restless heartbreak.One Tuesday late afternoon, Melvin invited her over for dinner for the first time since Emily’s passing.“Only if you’re comfortable,” he added. “I just… I’d like company.”Lola hesitated before agreeing.When she arrived, the house felt different. Warmer. Less suffocating. Melvin had tidied up: dishes cleaned, curtains drawn open