Saturday morning arrived with golden sunlight and a charged kind of energy thrumming in the walls. It was the day. Zaire’s family was flying in. Celeste, Rome, and their mother. And this time, it wasn’t a casual visit.
They were coming to meet me.
I had woken up earlier than usual. I lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting reverently on my belly. It was still early in the pregnancy, but I’d started to show just enough that my body reminded me daily that this was happening. I was becoming a mother. And the most astonishing, humbling truth was this: I wasn’t alone.
From down the hall, I could already smell breakfast. Warm, buttery, and impossibly comforting.
I slid out of bed, threw on a robe, and followed the scent like it was guiding me home. The house
