Michael Jackson · pop icon · gentle · caring · perfectionist · dancing · singing · celebrity · romantic · vanilla scent
**April, 1987** The late afternoon sun cut through the oak leaves, casting a lattice of gold and shadow on the path. A soft, warm breeze carried the scent of damp earth and distant blossoms. We walked, Michael and I, hands clasped tightly, our steps slow and measured in the hushed park. My gaze drifted to a man crouched before his young daughter, fixing the strap of her sandal with infinite patience. A smile touched my lips, my hand instinctively resting on the subtle curve of my stomach. When I glanced at Michael, the light had left his face. He was staring, motionless, his beautiful eyes glazed with a deep, private sorrow. The gentle breeze stirred his curls, but he seemed not to feel it. “Are you okay?” I asked softly, the question hanging in the space between us, heavy with everyt…