Before I Let Go

Before I Let Go Plot Summary

Introduction

# Shattered Circles: A Love Rebuilt from Broken Pieces The divorce papers were signed eighteen months ago, but Yasmen Wade still finds herself standing in the empty dining room of Grits at midnight, breathing in the ghosts of what used to be. This restaurant was their baby before they had babies—before they lost babies. Before grief carved out the space between them like a surgeon's blade, precise and merciless. The hardwood floors remember everything: her collapse during the miscarriage, the blood, the desperate phone calls, the slow death of hope that followed. Now Josiah lives two streets away in Aunt Byrd's old house, close enough for shared custody but far enough to pretend they've moved on. Their children shuttle between homes like refugees of a war nobody won. And Vashti Burns, their talented new chef, has slipped seamlessly into the spaces Yasmen vacated—professional and personal. Some nights, watching Josiah's careful politeness, his measured distance, Yasmen wonders if this is healing or just a more sophisticated form of bleeding. The restaurant thrives, the children adapt, life continues its relentless forward motion. But in the quiet moments between service and sleep, she can still feel the weight of everything they destroyed trying to save each other.

Chapter 1: The Remnants of Forever: Living in the Shadow of Loss

The morning light cuts through expensive blinds in the Skyland house they designed together, illuminating a kitchen that feels too big for one woman and two part-time children. Yasmen moves through her routine with pharmaceutical precision—antidepressants with coffee, therapy appointment noted on the calendar, custody schedule color-coded on the refrigerator. Eighteen months of rebuilding herself from the ground up, one small victory at a time. Thirteen-year-old Deja slouches at the breakfast bar, all sharp elbows and sharper words. The girl inherited her mother's eyes but uses them like weapons, cutting through pretense with surgical accuracy. "Dad's girlfriend is cooking dinner tonight," she announces, savoring the way the words land like small explosions. "Her jambalaya is better than yours." The casual cruelty hits its mark, but Yasmen has learned to absorb these blows without flinching. Deja has been angry since the divorce, carrying resentment like a shield against further disappointment. Ten-year-old Kassim watches the exchange with worried eyes, this child who counts people in every room to make sure they're still breathing, still present, still alive. At Grits that afternoon, Yasmen finds Josiah reviewing inventory with Vashti Burns, their heads bent together over spreadsheets and supply lists. Vashti is everything Yasmen isn't right now—composed, unbroken, able to function without medication or therapy or the constant battle against her own mind. The chef's hand rests casually on Josiah's forearm as she points out a discrepancy, and something sharp twists in Yasmen's chest. "The kids want to eat here tonight," Yasmen says, her voice steady despite the chaos in her ribcage. Josiah looks up, and for a moment she sees past his careful politeness to something rawer underneath. Two years of marriage counseling couldn't bridge the chasm that opened between them after Henry's death, after Aunt Byrd's funeral, after too many losses compressed into too little time. They'd learned to communicate better just in time to articulate exactly why they couldn't save each other. "I'll have Vashti prepare something special," he says, and the casual intimacy in his voice—the assumption that Vashti will handle it, that she belongs in this space—feels like another small death.

Chapter 2: Parallel Lives: Co-Parenting Through Unresolved Grief

The custody exchange happens in neutral territory, the parking lot of Harrington Academy where their children attend school on scholarships they can barely afford. Josiah leans against his car, arms crossed, watching Kassim struggle with a backpack that seems designed for someone twice his size. The boy has grown taller in the weeks since Yasmen really looked at him, all knees and elbows and nervous energy. "His teacher called," Yasmen says, keeping her voice low. "She wants to meet with both of us. About his emotional development." Josiah's jaw tightens, and she recognizes the expression—the same look he wore when the doctors explained about Henry's heart defect, when Aunt Byrd's cancer returned, when life kept delivering blows he couldn't deflect. He's always been the protector, the one who fixes things through sheer force of will. The divorce taught him there are some things that can't be fixed, only survived. In Ms. Halstead's classroom, surrounded by motivational posters and the detritus of childhood learning, they discover their son's secret fears. Kassim's journal entries reveal a boy consumed by death, by the certainty that everyone he loves will eventually disappear. His greatest fear isn't monsters or darkness—it's losing his remaining family the way he lost Aunt Byrd and baby Henry. "He mentions you specifically, Mr. Wade," the teacher says gently. "Not that you would die, but that you would leave." The words hang in the air like accusations. Their divorce shattered more than just their marriage—it broke their children's faith in permanence, in the idea that love could survive anything. Kassim's anxiety isn't just about death; it's about abandonment, about the adults in his life proving unreliable when tested. "We think therapy would be beneficial," Ms. Halstead continues. "For all of you, actually." Yasmen nods immediately. Therapy saved her life, gave her tools to climb out of the well of depression that nearly drowned her. But Josiah's resistance is palpable, his distrust of vulnerability a wall between them and healing. "I'll do it if you will," he says suddenly, looking directly at Kassim. "We'll both talk to someone. Deal?" Their son's face transforms with relief and something that looks like pride. His father, his hero, is willing to be vulnerable for him. It's more than Josiah ever offered Yasmen during their darkest days, and the irony tastes bitter in her mouth.

Chapter 3: Testing New Waters: Dating Others While Hearts Remain Tied

Mark Lancaster arrives at her door with political ambition and practiced charm, his campaign smile genuine but calculated. He's everything Josiah isn't—white, wealthy, uncomplicated by shared history or mutual trauma. Their first date unfolds at a converted train car restaurant, all surface conversation about gentrification and voting rights while Yasmen's mind wanders to a man who once knew every thought before she spoke it. Mark's kiss on her doorstep is pleasant, nothing more. She finds herself cataloging the differences—his cologne instead of Josiah's natural scent, his careful technique instead of desperate hunger, his politeness instead of the raw need that once consumed them both. When he asks about a second date, she agrees because moving forward feels like progress, even when it tastes like settling. Meanwhile, Josiah's relationship with Vashti progresses with adult sensibility, no drama or overwhelming passion. She fits seamlessly into his life, charming his children with her cooking skills and understanding his need for emotional distance. When they finally sleep together, it feels like checking a box rather than coming home, but Josiah tells himself this is healthier, safer, less likely to destroy him when it ends. The contrast becomes stark during Thanksgiving dinner at Yasmen's house. Vashti arrives with perfectly prepared sides, her Louisiana roots showing in every seasoned bite. She charms Yasmen's mother Carole with stories of New Orleans cooking, wins over the children with her easy warmth and genuine interest in their lives. But when Yasmen serves stuffing made from Aunt Byrd's handwritten recipe, Josiah's face transforms with recognition and grief and something deeper. The meal becomes a minefield of loaded glances and careful politeness, Mark's absence a specter at the table—the other man trying to claim space in a story already written. After dinner, washing dishes in the kitchen where their marriage began to fracture, Yasmen and Josiah find themselves alone for the first time in months. The air between them hums with electricity, with all the words they're not saying, with the memory of their first Thanksgiving in a freezing apartment with nothing but love to keep them warm.

Chapter 4: Charlotte Confessions: One Night That Changes Everything

The hotel room in Charlotte has only one bed, Harvey's assistant having booked them into a suite that forces proximity neither requested nor prepared for. Yasmen stands at the window watching snow dust the city streets, acutely aware of Josiah's presence behind her, the careful distance he maintains even in the confined space. The business meeting with Ken and Merry goes better than expected. The older couple sees potential in these divorced partners who've managed to stay connected despite their broken marriage. They've been together thirty years without ever marrying, bound by choice rather than obligation, their love story a rebuke to everything Yasmen threw away. "We never bothered with the marriage part," Merry explains over dinner, her hand finding Ken's with practiced ease. "But we believe in each other forever. The only thing holding us together is our love, and that is the proof of it." The words hit Yasmen like physical blows. She steals glances at Josiah throughout the meal, remembering when they used to share food and finish each other's thoughts, when being together felt as natural as breathing before grief poisoned everything they touched. In the hotel bar later, expensive Japanese whiskey loosens tongues that have been carefully guarded for years. They talk about Henry for the first time since the funeral, about the night she asked for divorce, about all the ways they failed each other when failure felt like the only option. The conversation becomes an exorcism of old ghosts, stripping them raw in the dim light. When Josiah finally kisses her, it tastes like whiskey and regret and desperate hunger. They fall into each other like drowning people reaching for shore, two years of longing compressed into a single night that changes everything and nothing at all. The sex is explosive, tender, heartbreaking—Josiah worshiping her like a man granted reprieve from execution, Yasmen clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in a world gone liquid. Morning brings harsh reality and the pretense that this was closure, a way to burn out the last embers of what they once shared. Instead, it feels like resurrection, like something precious and dangerous has been awakened from its grave.

Chapter 5: Secret Flames: Navigating Desire Without Commitment

The garage door closes behind them with mechanical finality, sealing them into their own private world. Yasmen's hands shake as she reaches for Josiah, the memory of Charlotte burning between them like a fever that won't break. It's been weeks since their hotel room confession, weeks of stolen glances and careful distance, but the hunger hasn't faded. "This doesn't change anything," Josiah says against her mouth, even as his hands map the familiar territory of her body. They've established rules—no strings, no expectations, just the physical release they both desperately need. It's a lie they tell themselves to justify the ache that never quite goes away. The backseat of her SUV becomes their sanctuary, a place where they can pretend the divorce never happened, where they can touch each other without the weight of history crushing them. Josiah's mouth on her skin erases every rational thought, every carefully constructed wall she's built around her heart. Their arrangement is supposed to be simple, but nothing with Josiah has ever been simple. He brings her pears from Charlotte, remembers how she takes her coffee, texts her in the middle of the night when he can't sleep. The man who once promised her forever now offers her fragments, and she takes them greedily because fragments are better than nothing at all. At parents' night, he slides his hand between her legs during the budget presentation, making her bite her lip to keep from crying out. Later, backstage in the empty theater, he presses her against the wall and reminds her body who it belongs to. These moments of reckless passion feel like rebellion against the careful distance they maintain everywhere else. But even as they lose themselves in each other, the questions multiply. How long can they sustain this half-life? What happens when one of them wants more than stolen hours and whispered promises? Vashti notices the change in Josiah, the way his attention drifts during conversations, the phone calls he takes in private.

Chapter 6: Exposed Truths: When Children Force Adult Accountability

The morning light streaming through the bedroom window feels like an interrogation lamp as Deja stands frozen in the doorway. Her eyes take in the scene with devastating clarity—Josiah shirtless and disheveled, Yasmen wrapped in sheets with evidence of their night scattered across her throat like a map of their crimes. The silence stretches between them, heavy with implications none of them are prepared to face. "Close the door," Josiah says quietly, his voice carrying the authority that still works on their daughter. But Deja's face cycles through shock, disgust, and something that might be hope before settling into the familiar mask of teenage indignation. In the kitchen, over pancakes that taste like sawdust, the confrontation finally comes. Deja's anger spills out like poison, years of resentment finding their target at last. She remembers the night Yasmen asked for divorce, remembers hearing her father beg and her mother refuse. The words cut deep because they're true—Yasmen did break their family, did choose her own pain over their collective healing. "She doesn't deserve you," Deja spits, tears streaming down her face. "It's all her fault. Everything is her fault." Yasmen absorbs each accusation like a physical blow, recognizing the echo of her own self-hatred in her daughter's voice. This is the reckoning she's avoided for two years, the moment when her failures as a mother and wife collide in the harsh light of morning. But instead of defending herself, she does something unexpected—she apologizes. Not with excuses or justifications, but with the raw honesty that therapy has taught her. She acknowledges the damage she caused, the pain she inflicted, the family she broke in her desperate attempt to save herself. The honesty disarms them all. Josiah watches his ex-wife take responsibility without deflection, without the defensive anger that once characterized their fights. This is growth, he realizes—the kind that comes from therapy and medication and the hard work of rebuilding a life from scratch. When Yasmen opens her arms, Deja hesitates for only a moment before walking into them. The embrace is tentative, fragile, but real. It's the first step toward forgiveness, toward the possibility that broken things can sometimes be repaired with patience and love.

Chapter 7: Vulnerable Hearts: Confronting the Fear of Loving Again

The pregnancy test sits on the bathroom counter like a loaded gun, its negative result somehow both relief and disappointment. Yasmen stares at her reflection in the mirror, seeing a woman she barely recognizes—stronger than before, but still haunted by the ghosts of who she used to be. The scare has crystallized something she's been afraid to acknowledge: she wants more than stolen moments and careful boundaries. When Josiah returns from Charlotte, she's waiting with her heart in her hands and hope in her eyes. The conversation in their old bedroom feels like surgery without anesthesia, every word cutting deeper than the last. She tells him she wants him home, wants to build a life together again, wants to risk everything on the possibility that love can survive even the worst mistakes. His reaction is everything she feared and expected. The man who once would have moved mountains to hear these words now looks at her like she's asking him to step in front of a moving train. Two years of careful distance have taught him to protect himself, to expect disappointment, to measure love by how much it will hurt to lose it. "You sent me away," he says, and the words land like blows. "You can't just decide you want me back and expect me to come running." She shows him the shoes she kept hidden in her closet—his favorite UNCs that she claimed were lost. It's a small thing, but it represents everything she couldn't let go of, the part of him she held onto even when she was pushing him away. The gesture breaks something open in both of them, all the careful walls crumbling under the weight of what they've never stopped feeling. The fight that follows is brutal and necessary, stripping away years of resentment and fear until only the truth remains. She tells him about the darkness that nearly consumed her, about choosing survival over their marriage because she couldn't save both. He tells her about the losses that shaped him, about learning to love by measuring how much it would hurt to lose. In Dr. Musa's office, Josiah finally breaks down the walls he's built around his grief. The tears come like a dam bursting, decades of loss finally finding their voice. His parents' death when he was eight, Aunt Byrd's cancer, Henry's stillbirth—all the ways life has taught him that loving someone means preparing to lose them.

Chapter 8: Coming Home: The Courage to Rebuild What Was Broken

The suitcase in the kitchen doorway looks impossibly small to contain a life, but Josiah sets it down with the weight of a man making peace with his past. His eyes find Yasmen across the room, and for the first time in years, she sees not the careful stranger he's become, but the man who once promised her forever. "Just wondering if your offer still stands," he says, and her heart stops beating for a moment before racing to catch up. The words she's dreamed of hearing sound different in reality—quieter, more tentative, but no less precious for their uncertainty. Their reunion is witnessed by their children, who watch with the careful hope of survivors learning to trust in stability again. Deja rolls her eyes at their public display of affection, but her smile gives her away. Kassim simply beams, his anxiety finally finding an antidote in the promise of his parents' return to each other. The house feels different with Josiah in it—fuller, more alive, like a held breath finally released. They move around each other with the careful choreography of people learning to share space again, but underneath the politeness runs a current of electricity that promises more than mere cohabitation. At Grits on New Year's Eve, surrounded by the community they've built together, Yasmen makes her toast to second chances and new beginnings. The crowd raises their glasses to possibility, to the radical notion that broken things can sometimes be made whole again with enough patience and love. When midnight strikes and the confetti falls, Josiah pulls her close for a kiss that tastes like forgiveness and forever. They've learned that love isn't a guarantee against loss—it's a choice made daily, a commitment renewed with each sunrise, a promise to stand together when the storms come. The wheel has come full circle, but they're not the same people who fell in love twenty years ago. They've been broken and rebuilt, scarred by loss but strengthened by survival. Their love story doesn't follow the traditional arc—it's messier, more complicated, marked by divorce and reconciliation, separation and reunion. But it's real in a way their first marriage never was, built on the foundation of hard-won wisdom rather than naive hope.

Summary

In the end, Yasmen and Josiah discover that some circles can only be completed after they've been shattered. Their love survived the ultimate test—not the death of their child or the loss of their anchor in Aunt Byrd, but their own inability to grieve together, to hold space for each other's pain while drowning in their own. The divorce wasn't the end of their story but a necessary detour, a way of learning to love themselves before they could love each other again. Their second chance comes with no guarantees, only the hard-earned knowledge that love alone isn't enough—it requires courage, communication, and the willingness to be vulnerable even when vulnerability feels like suicide. They've learned to fight for their relationship instead of with each other, to see their differences as complementary rather than incompatible. The wheel keeps turning, bringing new challenges and new joys, but they face them together now, two people who've been broken and rebuilt into something stronger than they ever were apart.

About Author

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Kennedy Ryan

Kennedy Ryan reframes contemporary romance by intertwining deeply resonant social issues with compelling love stories, focusing on the empowerment of Black women. Her narratives challenge the genre's norms by addressing complex themes such as misogynoir, hair discrimination, and political activism, thus offering readers an immersive experience that is both emotionally rich and socially aware. The author's unique approach is evident in works like "Long Shot", which not only captivated audiences but also earned her the prestigious RITA Award, marking her as the first Black author to achieve this honor.\n\nRyan’s method involves crafting characters who undergo transformative journeys, which require them to navigate challenging societal landscapes while seeking personal fulfillment. This approach is exemplified in her "Skyland" series, where books such as "Before I Let Go" and "This Could Be Us" engage readers with their layered explorations of love and resilience. By creating narratives that blend romance with meaningful dialogue on pressing issues, Ryan enables her audience to engage with topics that might otherwise remain unexamined in the romance genre.\n\nReaders benefit from Kennedy Ryan's books not only through the gripping storytelling but also by gaining insights into real-world issues that affect marginalized communities. Her work has been recognized by TIME and Entertainment Weekly, highlighting her impact in redefining what contemporary romance can achieve. Moreover, Ryan’s commitment to autism advocacy, through initiatives like LiFT 4 Autism, reflects her dedication to making a tangible difference beyond the pages of her novels. This bio captures the essence of an author whose passion for storytelling and activism bridges fiction and reality, making her a vital voice in modern literature.

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