Page 191 of When Love Takes Root

“Can we pray?” Maya asked.

My heart broke and healed in the same breath.

“Yes, baby.”

We bowed our heads right there in the living room with Jamal’s chair beside us, JJ on FaceTime, and the evidence of our messy little life scattered around the floor.

I held Kayden’s hand and prayed from the trembling place in my chest. “Lord, thank You for this family. Thank You for the love Jamal gave us, the memories still covering us, and the mercy that keeps meeting us in rooms where grief has been loud. Teach us how to honor what was, without rejecting what You’re still doing. Help me mother these babies with wisdom instead of fear. Help them tell the truth without shame. Help us stop using loss as a locked door when You may be sending peace to knock gently. Cover Josiah too. Where I hurt him, give me humility. Where my children are afraid, give them language. Where Kayden has been carrying weight that was never his assignment, give him rest. Let this house be led by You, not by panic, guilt, pride, or pain. Give us courage to make room without feeling like we’re betraying love that still lives here. Amen.”

“Amen,” they said.

JJ’s voice came softer through the tablet. “Amen.”

When I opened my eyes, Jamal’s chair was still empty.

But for the first time in a long time, empty didn’t feel like the only truth in the room.

It felt like memory had moved over just enough for mercy to sit beside it.

Tuesday Night

I wasn’t sulking.

That was my official position, even though I’d been standing in front of the refrigerator for three full minutes, staring past a container of leftover salmon like discernment might be hiding behind the orange juice.

It wasn’t.

I closed the door and leaned against the counter, surrounded by a silence heavy enough to pull confessions from me I’d meant to keep between me and God. My boots were by the door. My tool bag rested against the wall. My Bible lay open on the coffee table to Proverbs because I’d been trying to let scripture get to my pride before my feelings started testifying out of order.

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

I believed that.

I did.

But my understanding had been walking laps through my spirit all evening, asking whether leaving Celeste’s patio had been wisdom or cowardice dressed up in respect.

I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and went straight to the picture I should’ve stopped looking at two days ago. Celeste stood beneath the Celestial Crowns sign in a photo from her salon page, one hand on her hip, sisterlocs framing her face, smile soft enough to humble a man and dangerous enough to make him forget he had sense. Her eyes held all that guarded sweetness I kept praying to understand. Her lips were bare, full, and familiar enough in my imagination to make me set the phone down before my discipline filed a grievance.

“My Red,” I whispered.

The house gave me nothing back.

I hated that.

I missed her something awful. It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t have me staring out the window like I was in somebody’s music video. It was worse than that. It was grown. It was measured. Her absence sat in places she’d never occupied, making my kitchen feel too wide and my bedroom feel too cold. I missed her laugh trying not to become a laugh. I missed the way she loved her children with her whole nervous system. I missed her stubbornness, her softness, her mouth, her fear when it told the truth, and the part of her that kept reaching for me while grief kept snatching her hand back.

I rubbed both hands over my face.

“Lord, did I leave too soon?”

The question scraped on its way out.

I looked toward my Bible, then back at my phone. “I tried to honor her. I tried not to force my way into a place fear was guarding. But if I was supposed to say more, show me. If I was supposed to stay planted a little longer, correct me. And if that woman is the wife You’ve been preparing me to recognize, bring my baby back to me with peace in her hands and truth in her mouth.”

My throat tightened.

“Don’t let me confuse desire with discernment, Big G. I want her bad enough to lie to myself if You don’t keep me honest.”