Chapter 16: The Man who Loved Cotton

Chapter 16: "The Man Who Loved My Cotton"

People warned me love could hurt again.

They told me to take it slow. That Elijah might be too good to be true. That maybe he was hiding something.

But he wasn't.

He was exactly what he seemed — kind, thoughtful, brilliant, and deeply in love with me , not just the idea of me.

And yes, he really loved my granny panties.

Not in a creepy way — in a "you look beautiful in whatever makes you feel like yourself" kind of way.

One night, while lounging on the couch wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters, I turned to him and asked, "Why? Why do you get me like nobody else?"

He kissed my forehead and said, "Because you don't wear them to impress anyone. You wear them because they remind you of who you are. And I love who you are."

I melted.

Completely.

And in that moment, I realized something powerful:

Love hadn't broken me.

It had rebuilt me.

Stronger.

Bolder.

More confident than ever.

With Elijah by my side, I didn't have to fight my battles alone anymore. I didn't have to prove my worth to anyone. I didn't have to hide who I was under layers of shame or fear.

I could show up — in cotton, in confidence, in joy — and be fully, wildly, beautifully myself.

And he would always be there to remind me:

"You are enough. Always have been. Always will be."

Elijah and I weren't perfect — no couple is. But we were real.

From the beginning, he respected my boundaries. He knew about my past — the betrayals, the breakups, the pain. He never tried to rush me into anything. Instead, he gave me space to heal, even when it meant going slower than he wanted.

At first, I held back. Not because I didn't trust him, but because I was scared of getting hurt again. Every time I opened my heart, someone had found a way to twist it. Simone's betrayal still lingered in the corners of my mind like an old bruise that hadn't quite faded.

But Elijah didn't push. He didn't pressure. He simply showed up — every day — with kindness, patience, and a smile that made me forget how to breathe.

We built our relationship slowly, like stacking bricks, each one stronger than the last.

We talked about everything — our dreams, our fears, our favorite memories from childhood. We danced barefoot in the kitchen to Earth, Wind & Fire. We cooked soul food together, arguing over whether collard greens needed smoked turkey or not. (Spoiler: They do.)

And most importantly, we laughed — a lot.

There was something so freeing about being with someone who didn't try to change me. Who saw my boldness and called it beauty. Who looked at my cotton-clad confidence and saw strength, not shame.

One night, after a long week at work, I came home feeling drained. The office jokes had started creeping back in, subtle but sharp. Someone had slipped a cartoon onto my desk — a stick figure wearing giant underwear with the caption, "Still playing dress-up?"

I almost cried.

Instead, I walked into Elijah's apartment, dropped my bag on the floor, and fell into the couch.

He didn't ask questions. He just pulled me into his lap and let me cry.

When I finally looked up, he kissed my forehead and whispered, "You're safe here."

That was all I needed.

Because for the first time in my life, I truly believed it.

Elijah didn't just accept my style. He celebrated it.

He bought me vintage cotton sets from thrift shops downtown. He helped me organize my collection by color and pattern. Once, he even surprised me with a custom headscarf that matched my favorite pair of black lace-trimmed granny panties.

"I thought you should have something that says, 'This woman owns her power,'" he said, handing me the gift box with a wink.

I hugged him so tight I nearly knocked us both over.

We hosted another backyard party at Grandma's house, and Elijah was right there helping set up chairs, grilling ribs, and dancing with my cousins like he'd known them his whole life.

Grandma took one look at him and said, "Girl, this one ain't playin'. Hold on to him."

And I did.

Tightly.

Because Elijah wasn't just my boyfriend. He was my partner. My safe place. My reminder that love doesn't have to be painful to be real.

Being with Elijah didn't make me whole — I was already whole on my own.

But being with him reminded me of that truth every single day.

Before him, I used to wonder if loving big and living loud was a curse. If my refusal to apologize for who I was would forever cost me happiness.

Now, I knew better.

My cotton-clad confidence wasn't a flaw. It was part of my legacy. Part of my story. Part of what made me me .

And Elijah loved all of it.

Every ruffle.

Every lace trim.

Every sequin-covered dream.

One night, as we lay tangled in the sheets, I turned to him and said, "Thank you for seeing me."

He smiled. "You've always been seen, Tubo. You just needed someone who refused to look away."

And with that, I felt lighter than I had in years.

Because sometimes, finding the right person isn't about fixing what's broken.

Sometimes, it's about finding someone who helps you remember who you've always been.