14. Nova Rae
Nova Rae
The Night We Remembered Us
Recommended Song: Love of My Life (An Ode to Hip Hop) by Erykah Badu ft. Common
The morning light crept slow through the cracked blinds, strips of gold slicing across the room like reminders we didn’t ask for.
Ro was still asleep beside me, his breathing steady, one arm heavy across my waist like he was afraid I’d disappear.
For a second, I let myself melt into him, tracing the tattoo of my name over his heart with my fingertip.
My name, over his heartbeat, like a vow we never stopped keeping even when we pretended, we did.
Aaliyah stirred in her crib next to the bed, her soft coos breaking the quiet. I reached over and brushed my hand along her curls, whispering a prayer over her little body. “Lord, cover her,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
We moved slow, careful not to wake her fully.
Ro helped me gather her things, his hands still rough but gentle as he folded her favorite blanket.
There was something different in him this morning—a quiet I hadn’t seen since before he left.
But quiet didn’t always mean peace. Sometimes it meant a storm was just waiting for the right wind.
I felt it—an unease sitting on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake. Today was supposed to be about Aaliyah. Her smile, her joy, her birthday. But something in my spirit whispered caution.
I walked to the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind me, and sank to my knees on the rug.
“Lord,” I whispered, fingers pressed to my forehead.
“Strip away anything that ain’t You. Break every tie that’s been holding us back.
Protect Ro… protect Aaliyah… protect this house.
” Tears burned my cheeks, but I didn’t stop.
I prayed over every shadow that ever followed us, over every hand raised against him, over every piece of pain that still clung to his name.
When I walked back out, Ro was leaning on the dresser, buttoning his shirt. He looked at me through the mirror, eyes soft but tired. We didn’t need to say much; he knew. I knew. We were stepping into a day that wouldn’t just test us—it might change us.
Still, I smiled at him. “C’mon,” I whispered, tucking Aaliyah into my arms. “Let’s make her birthday special.”
He nodded, jaw tight, and grabbed the diaper bag. We were moving through the motions, but every step out of that apartment felt like walking on holy ground and broken glass at the same time.
The air outside was damp, that early-morning mist sticking to our clothes like worry you couldn’t shake.
Ro locked the door behind us, his hand lingering on the knob for a beat longer than usual, his eyes scanning the hallway with that sharpness I’d come to recognize—it wasn’t paranoia, it was survival.
Aaliyah’s soft hums and tiny hands clutching her blanket were the only things breaking the tension.
I slipped Aaliyah into her dress, a yellow sundress with tiny white daisies stitched along the hem.
I held it up, smoothing the fabric over my arm like it was something sacred, buttoning it carefully as she babbled softly.
Ro leaned forward, steadying her with those big, calloused hands that had seen too much violence but softened instantly at her laugh.
His touch was careful, reverent even, like he was holding something holy.
He was seeing the daughter he’d almost missed.
“You look just like your mama,” he exhaled, low enough that he probably didn’t mean for me to hear it. I pretended not to.
We moved around the apartment quietly, the three of us, but the weight in the air was thick.
Breakfast was simple—scrambled eggs, toast, and a bottle for Aaliyah.
Ro stood at the window, eating with one hand and keeping his other near the Glock on the counter.
His eyes scanned the street constantly, that old habit of counting cars and memorizing license plates flickering behind his stare.
“You see somethin’?” I asked softly, balancing Aaliyah on my hip.
“Not yet,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “But I don’t like how empty it feels out there.”
We packed her gifts into a bag, wrapped in paper she’d tear apart before lunch. Ro loaded the Impala, his movements sharp, efficient, but I could feel the tension in every slam of the trunk, every glance over his shoulder.
Inside, I slipped on a simple dress, smoothing it over my hips while Ro watched me through the mirror. There was a hunger in his eyes, but it wasn’t lust—it was fear and love all tangled up, like he was memorizing me in case he didn’t get another chance.
I reached for his hand. “We’re fine,” I whispered.
He nodded once but didn’t say it back.
Before we left, I knelt beside the bed with Aaliyah in my arms, pressing my forehead to hers.
“God, put Your angels around us today,” I whispered.
“Around this car. Around this block. Around this family.” Ro stood behind me, silent but close, and I could feel the heat of his presence, the unspoken agreement that he needed that prayer as much as I did.
When we finally stepped outside, the day had fully broken, sunlight streaking through thinning clouds.
The streets were awake, kids pedaling bikes too big for them, corner stores propping their doors open.
But even with the normal hum of Crest life, I felt the eyes—unseen but certain. Watching. Waiting.
Ro opened the Impala’s back door for me, his hand lingering on my arm just long enough for me to feel his heartbeat in his grip. “Stay close,” he muttered, voice gravelly, eyes scanning the block.
We were heading to Aaliyah’s party, but it felt like more than a birthday. It felt like stepping into a battlefield dressed in Sunday clothes.
He nodded, jaw tight, and grabbed the diaper bag.
We were moving through the motions, but every step out of that apartment felt like walking on holy ground and broken glass at the same time.
The air outside was thick with drizzle and tension, a weight that clung to our shoulders like judgment.
I could feel Ro’s presence beside me, steady but heavy, like he was carrying ghosts with every step.
Aaliyah babbled softly against my chest, her little fingers gripping my chain like she knew something I didn’t.
My spirit was unsettled, a warning hum in my bones, but I tucked it behind a smile because today was her day.
The day I promised her joy. The day I refused to let fear win.
Cars lined the block, bright balloons swaying in the misty wind, neighbors calling greetings we didn’t fully hear.
Ro’s eyes scanned every shadow, every porch, every passing face.
My heart pounded with every creak of a screen door, every bark of a dog, every low rumble of an engine in the distance.
I whispered a prayer under my breath as we climbed the steps to the yard, my fingers tightening around Aaliyah’s blanket.
“Cover us, Lord. Keep us invisible to evil, and visible to Your angels.”
As we rounded the corner, the sound of laughter spilled into the street, tangled with the thump of bass from a speaker balanced on a folding chair.
The yard was alive—balloons tied to the chain-link fence, a bounce house sagging slightly in the drizzle, tables lined with foil pans of barbecue and pastel-colored cupcakes.
Neighbors filled the yard, their chatter and greetings warm, but their eyes followed us with curiosity.
Aaliyah squealed, kicking her legs, reaching for the bright balloons as if she sensed none of the tension we carried.
Ro’s hand rested at the small of my back, firm, protective, his other hand gripping the diaper bag like it weighed more than just bottles and wipes.
My gaze swept the yard, catching the way a group of older women stood near the porch, whispering behind polite smiles, while men posted at the gate gave nods that were too sharp to be casual.
I offered a soft “hello,” my voice calm, practiced, but my spirit was scanning the air the way Ro scanned faces.
Inside, the living room was crowded with warmth and color—streamers, confetti, and posters of cartoon characters Aaliyah couldn’t even name yet.
The smell of fried chicken, mac and cheese, and candles mixed with baby powder and perfume.
I bent to kiss her cheek as Ro took her from me, lifting her up so she could giggle at the decorations.
I exhaled a quiet prayer under my breath, letting my hand brush over her soft curls.
We moved through the house, greeting family, smiling at cousins, dodging questions about “how we been.” Every smile I gave was layered with prayer; every laugh was laced with vigilance.
The joy in the room was real—but so was the weight in my chest. I didn’t need confirmation that something was coming.
I felt it. The Spirit was already whispering.
Outside the window, headlights slowed as a car crept past the house, rain streaking its windshield, driver’s face hidden in shadow. No one else seemed to notice, laughter drowning out the hum of its engine as it rolled on. But my spirit clocked it.
Aaliyah giggled in Ro’s arms, her little hands clapping as someone lit a candle on the cake.
I forced a smile, but my eyes kept moving—front door slightly ajar with guests coming in, kitchen curtains shifting just enough for a breeze that didn’t match the weather, a shadow near the gate that lingered one second too long before melting back into the street.
I whispered a prayer again under my breath, words low and steady. “Cover us, Lord. Hide us in plain sight.” My palm brushed Aaliyah’s back, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat, innocent and steady. That was all that mattered. But the Spirit in me wasn’t at ease—it was pacing.