5. Living the Prayer
“Damn.” She shot upright, sheets twisting around her legs. She never overslept. Not like this. Her phone rang in her hand. Wynter was calling. Kira hesitated before answering.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, sleeping beauty,” Wynter’s voice teased lightly. Kira exhaled.
“Girl, about to on my way now. I just woke up. I feel like such a fool. I should’ve brought my ass home.
I let time get away from me,” Kira said as she pulled open a drawer and snatched out her scrubs.
Wynter laughed, hearing the panic in her voice.
“It’s cool, Kira. Relax. You know me and your boy Sincere got you.
He called my man last night to tell me you might not be making it in today, so I guess y’all had a ball.
What y’all do, bitch?” Wynter lowered her tone playfully. Kira laughed.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would. Shit, I could be in the bed relaxed and hungover like you, but my black ass is here covering your shift. So yeah, I deserve the tea.” Kira shook her head, smiling as she pulled her hair into a bun.
“You’ll get it over lunch. I owe you.”
“You sure do,” Wynter replied.
“Later, girl.”
“Thanks, Wynter. Talk to you later.” The call ended. Kira stared at her reflection for a second, warmth settled in her chest. That man is heaven-sent, she thought.
Damn, he thought of me when I wasn’t even thinking of myself. She exhaled slowly. She knew she was safe with him. The fact that he could have tried something sexual with her and did nothing hit her differently. It was the kind of protection she wasn’t used to.
She shook her head, realizing she didn’t even recall going home, let alone getting into her bed.
Then shame washed over her, making her feel irresponsible, wondering how that might have looked.
She struggled not to beat herself up when it came to her imperfections.
She was so accustomed to others criticizing her that she learned to do it to herself first, thinking it would hurt a little less if she delivered the blow before anyone else could.
In moments like this, she wanted to hide from the world, calling herself stupid.
How could she know better and still not get it right?
She inhaled deeply for ten seconds, then slowly released the air from her lungs, grounding herself.
She knew that voice wasn’t truth, it was the old version of herself battling the new one.
Both fighting for the spotlight. But she was no longer who she used to be.
She realized it wasn’t about where she had been.
It was about where she was going. Before the spiral could take hold, she reached for her phone and opened her affirmations, reading them aloud softly to herself.
“I am not my past mistakes.”
“I am allowed to grow without punishment.”
“I deserve safe love.”
“I do not have to criticize myself to stay humble.”
“I am becoming the woman I prayed to be.”
“I release the need to be perfect.”
“I am safe.”
Her shoulders lowered as the words settled into her chest. The old version of her grew quieter. She was learning that these things didn’t make her a failure, they made her human. And for the first time, she understood the importance of giving herself the grace others never could.
Just then, Kira’s phone buzzed with a text from Sincere.
Sincere: Hey, ma. You want breakfast or lunch? She smiled.
Kira: Neither. You’re too kind. Good afternoon. A few seconds later, his reply came through.
Sincere: You always gotta be hard on me. These New York women ain’t no joke. You don’t think that I can handle you Detroit? She laughed, typing back quickly.
Kira: Oh, you can handle me, alright. I’m just happy with all you’ve already done. She softened.
Sincere: I get it, ma… but if I want to love on you, let me do that, okay? So, what we about to eat so I can be on my way? She shook her head, laughing now.
Kira: Okay, baby. Steak and eggs cool.
Sincere: Steak and eggs it is. Say less.
Kira didn’t feel the need to get dressed.
Her hair was twisted into a messy bun, pajamas slightly wrinkled, robe tied loosely at her waist. It was going to have to be good enough.
She padded into the kitchen, the cool hardwood brushing against her bare feet.
The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant rhythm of Harlem waking up outside.
She filled the kettle at the sink, watching the water rise, then set it on the stove.
The soft click of the burner breaking the silence felt oddly comforting.
As the flame flickered blue beneath the metal, she leaned against the counter, arms folded, staring out the window. Sunlight spilled across the tops of the brownstones, catching dust particles in the air like they were dancing just for her. Months ago, she wouldn’t have noticed light like this.
The kettle began to murmur, low at first, then building.
Steam curled upward, filling the kitchen with warmth.
She reached for her favorite mug, the one slightly chipped at the rim — and dropped a peppermint tea bag inside.
The scent rose immediately, sharp and clean, grounding.
She poured the hot water slowly, watching the clear liquid turn a soft amber as the tea steeped.
The steam brushed against her face, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting it settle her.
There was a time not too long ago when getting out of bed felt impossible.
When the weight of everything pressed so hard against her chest she could barely breathe.
She had been so deep in a dark tunnel that she couldn’t imagine sunlight ever touching her again.
And now here it was warm against her skin, spilling across her kitchen floor.
She wrapped both hands around the mug, letting the heat sink into her palms before lifting it to her lips.
The first sip was hot, almost too hot. She welcomed it anyway.
Peppermint. Clean. Fresh. Alive. She exhaled slowly.
She had asked God to order her steps, and He did.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. But faithfully.
All He asked for in return was trust and faith.
She tilted her head slightly toward the ceiling.
“Thank you, God. Without You, I am nothing.” And she meant that with her whole heart. She held the warm mug close to her chest, eyes drifting closed.
“Father God
Thank You for the days I didn’t think I would make it through and somehow did.
Thank You for the nights I cried myself to sleep and still woke up with breath in my lungs.
Thank You for protecting me when I didn’t even know I needed protection.
Thank You for the closed doors that felt like rejection but were really redirection.
Thank You for the loneliness that taught me to sit with myself.
Thank You for the heartbreak that forced me to grow.
I didn’t understand it then. I questioned You.
I doubted. I felt forgotten. But You never left.
You carried me through the dark tunnel when I couldn’t see light.
You ordered my steps when I was too tired to walk straight.
You kept me when I wanted to give up. And now…
when I stand in this kitchen, with peace in my chest and sunlight on my face, I know it wasn’t luck.
It was You. Thank You for teaching me that I am not what broke me.
I am what survived it. Continue to guide me.
Continue to humble me. Continue to shape me into the woman You created me to be.
Without You, I am nothing. With You, I am enough. ”
She opened her eyes slowly, breath steady, heart full.
Kira paused for a second, steadying herself.
She felt anxious, but calm. The kind of calm that comes when you know you look good and feel even better.
She walked toward the door slowly, hips swaying naturally, robe tied just loose enough to remind her she was at home.
She wasn’t trying too hard. She didn’t have to.
She owned the space she was in. She opened the door.
Fine as fuck, she thought instantly and the way her lips parted slightly said she wasn’t hiding it well.
Sincere stood there in a fitted tee, chain resting against his chest, roses in one hand like it was nothing. Sunlight from the hallway framed him just right, catching the edge of his smile.
“You look good too, ma,” he said, eyes dragging over her in no rush at all. “But is you gon’ let a nigga in or not? ’Cause I ain’t too proud to beg.” She stepped aside, trying not to smile too wide.
“You don’t have to beg, boo. Come in.” He walked past her slowly, the scent of his cologne trailing behind him.
The apartment felt warmer instantly, like his presence shifted the temperature.
She closed the door and turned toward him.
“Where you want me to put your roses? I got a vase on the kitchen counter.” He glanced around, taking in her space, then back at her.
“Kitchen’s perfect,” he said. “But I ain’t really worried about the flowers right now.
” The way he said it made her heart thump just a little louder.
“The food and the roses smell good,” Kira complimented, her voice soft as she leaned slightly over the counter, breathing in the mix of steak, and fresh petals. Sincere’s eyes stayed on her.
“It’s no competition when it comes to you,” he said quietly.
He stepped closer, closing the small space between them until she felt the warmth of him before his hands even touched her.
One hand brushed gently against her waist, pulling her in just enough to make her breath hitch.
He tilted his head, studying her face for a second like he wanted to remember every detail, then pressed a slow, soft kiss against her lips.
It wasn’t rushed. Just warm. Intentional.
She melted into it, fingers grazing the front of his shirt.