“I like you and you’re a good guy, Latif, but my daughter is no good. Leave her alone before you end up in some mess,” was the collaborate warning I got from my then-girlfriend’s mother and sister.
I didn’t listen.
Months after I had run away from home at 17. I met a beautiful 29 years old woman name Latisha Cosby. Unable to seek employment because of my situation, I worked under the table and sold cocaine. Through my initial perspective, Latisha was a hustler’s wife – the kind of woman you read about in an urban or street lit novel. We began dating, and of course, I moved in with her.
Everything was good until it wasn’t. I saw many red flags. From her stealing money and drugs to her selfish, greedy taste, I ignored all of the signs. I gave her the benefit of doubt because I loved her – I was under her love spell. I always went out of my way to ensure her financial needs were satisfied. After a while, I couldn’t afford her expensive lifestyle.
One day, Latisha and I got into an argument about me not bringing in enough money. She suggested that I mug someone to get some funds, and threatened to kick me out if I didn’t make something happen. Not wanting to disappoint her and prove that I could take care of her, I called a friend of mine and we went to Shockoe Bottom.