"The Maze Games To Escape" Part 1

"The Maze Games To Escape" Part 2

The wind in Atlanta doesn't just blow; it whispers the secrets you’re trying to bury. By the end of November 2021, my chest felt like a cage. I was taking deep breaths, trying to find the White Light in a room full of shadows. When I told Marcus I was 'running from myself,' I was applying a filter to the truth. I was running because my internal compass was screaming that the environment was no longer safe.

Marcus’s voice on the phone was smooth, like a puzzle that hadn't quite cleared. 'The next time I come to Atlanta, I’ll pick you up,' he said. He didn't see the Maze I was standing in. He just saw a destination. I hung up and looked at my suitcases. Every item I unpacked was a brick I was laying for my new foundation—the solid surface I was building for me and my baby."

I took a warm shower, letting the water wash away the 'static' of the past. Then came Athena—my sister, my sanctuary. She turned off the TV, cutting the noise of the world. Then, there was Zara. At four years old, she was already a genius, radiating pure potential.

She handed me a game piece. A small, plastic token. 'Here, you can have it.' I looked at it and thought: In this Maze Game, what am I? The player or the piece?. I placed it on my dresser next to my TV—a reminder that I was now the Architect of my own future. But that night, the 'Shadows' tried to break in. I heard that haunting, distorted voice: 'You killed your baby. Your baby is dead.' I woke up gasping, my heart nearly stopping. That was the same voice I heard in October 2021 and the same time I felt my heart trying to stop. I had to plead with God for our lives. I spoke into the dark: 'You are a liar! My baby and I are entering a season of Constant Growth'.

Morning came with the smell of pancakes and the loud, rhythmic 'ping' of the blender. I made my bed. Downstairs, Athena was performing alchemy, adding vitamins to smoothies against the morning sickness.

I told her about Omar. I told her how he tried to pay for an end. I explained the reversal pills—those huge, green symbols of my commitment. 'I'm afraid,' I admitted. 'They make me feel like I'm drifting between realms.'

As I sat in the kitchen with Athena, the smell of breakfast filling the room, she asked the question that usually keeps people trapped in the maze: 'Are you angry at Omar? Aren't you going to make him pay child support?'.

​I looked at her and felt the Solid Surface of Gold within my own spirit. 'No,' I said. 'I still love him. I forgive him'. I realized that he felt the financial pressures of being a father—the static of the world had overwhelmed his vision. I didn't get pregnant to force love.

​I told my sister, 'I'm not going to make him pay child support because I want a man who will accept and love me and my daughter unconditionally'. Love doesn't force; it doesn't try to control the pieces on the board. If he wants to be free, I will let him be at peace. Not because he told me he didn't want me, but because I believe everyone—even those who hurt us—deserves happiness and freedom'. That smile I gave my sister wasn't just a facial expression; it was the Seal on my past.

Athena didn't judge. She just placed a hand on her hip and sighed—a sister’s seal of approval. 'I'm proud of you,' she said. That simple sentence was an affirmation of acceptance that fueled me for the next 30 days.

Thirty days of discipline. Thirty days of consumption. I consumed the medicine, and I consumed the Truth. When the bottle was empty and I felt that first, unmistakable kick—I knew. The Promise was real. We celebrated with a meal of steak and mac-and-cheese, a feast for a growing infant.

By February 2022, I felt the wind blow the wrong way—a cold, static breeze that told me Marcus wasn't a man of his word yet.I decided to enter a season of celibacy.

​This wasn't just about stopping a physical act; it was an exchange of peace. Being celibate taught me a discipline that felt like a 'Solid Surface beneath my feet. It allowed me to breathe from the suffocating pressure of trying to fulfill everyone’s needs but my own.

After the abortion pill almost took my life—after I felt my heart nearly stop and had to plead for my baby's soul—I knew I was alive by a Divine Promise. I began a fresh journey, writing in my journal daily and reading my Bible to find the 'Architecture' of my true purpose.

​I spent my hours in deep conversation with God, wanting a connection that was more than just a 'ping' in the dark. I realized that getting an abortion is forcing your hand against God’s creation of all life force. By choosing God, I was choosing the promise to not go against his will. So when the phone finally rang on my dresser and Marcus asked that question about March, I was gasping for air—not out of weakness, but because my spirit was finally expanding beyond the walls of the Maze.

The wind shifted again. Marcus called. He didn't ask about my heart. He asked about a room. He asked about intercourse. My body was in a state of Metamorphosis; my urges had been replaced by a hunger for God and sovereignty. I had chosen Celibacy to clear the static.

'Yes,' I said, gasping for air. The Maze wasn't over. The game had just changed levels. But I was no longer running. I was now the mother of the Escape.

But as I prepared to step out of Athena's sanctuary and back into, my room I realized the maze had one final, breathtaking twist waiting for me.