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 inshadow. 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.
Across the yard, Saint leaned against a post, arms folded, scanning faces the way only a man who’s lived war can. Our eyes met for a split second. He didn’t nod. Didn’t smile. Just looked, then shifted his weight like he was ready for whatever the next hour held.
The room cheered as the first candle was blown out, but the sound hit my ears muted, distant, like I was underwater. I tightened my grip on faith and on my daughter. Something was circling this joy, and I could feel its breath on my neck.
Through the window, just past the porch lights, a blacked-out SUV idled too long. No plates on the front, windows tinted darker than legal. I clocked a flicker—phone screen light flashing once inside. A signal.
Someone slipped in through the side gate, hoodie pulled tight, face turned from the cameras Saint had posted. They kept their head down, phone pressed to their ear, eyes scanning the yard like they weren’t here for cake. My spirit didn’t just whisper now—it roared.
I shifted Aaliyah on my hip and reached for Ro’s arm, fingers pressing his jacket just firm enough for him to feel me say pay attention.
Saint moved. Not quick, not loud—just repositioned himself near the gate, body language stiff, hand hovering close to the piece he never flaunted. The way his eyes narrowed told me I wasn’t imagining it.
Someone laughed too loud by the food table. Someone else’s phone rang twice, no answer.
In the far corner, Trigger’s boy Mouse was watching everything from the fence line, jaw tight. His hand ghosted his pocket like he was waiting for a call that never came.
I smiled for another cousin’s photo, but my hand was already on Aaliyah’s back, praying over every breath she took.
The smell of barbecue and birthday cake felt like a mask over something sour. The vibe shifted—the way only the streets know how to warn you. I kissed my daughter’s curls and whispered to her spirit, “You covered, baby. You covered.”
Ro caught my eye from across the room. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Not the way he was a second ago. He gave me that slight chin tilt—barely there, but I knew him. He saw it too.
I moved on instinct, stepping between the SUV and my baby girl, heart slamming against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat. The laughter, the music, the chatter—it all vanished. The block felt like it stopped breathing. Even the air felt heavy, pressing against my skin.
The SUV door swung open with a groan that cut through the silence, and a masked man slid out, hood low over his face, gloved hands steady. His boots hit the asphalt—smack, smack, smack—a sound that made my stomach twist. He moved fast. Too fast.
“Yo!” Ro’s voice boomed behind me, deep and sharp, and chairs scraped hard against concrete. Red cups toppled, glass shattered somewhere. The sound of panic rose like thunder.
I clutched Aaliyah tight to my chest, her curls brushing my chin, her little giggle slicing me in half like she didn’t understand the danger. Another man came from the passenger side, moving like smoke, grabbing my wrist. “RO!” I screamed, twisting away, heart hammering.
Ro’s boots hit the ground hard, thud-thud-thud, the sound of him running toward us. A gun flashed in his hand, but they were too fast. One of them ripped Aaliyah from my arms, and the sight of her pink dress crumpled in his grip sent my soul screaming louder than my voice.
“DADDY!” she wailed, reaching for him.
“DROP HER!” Ro’s roar shook the air, and the crack of a warning shot split the night—CRACK!Smoke curled from the bullet’s mark in the pavement, but the men didn’t flinch.
Another door slammed. A third man stepped out, gun raised. Two shots cracked—BANG! BANG!Glass exploded behind me like falling stars. Screams erupted, kids crying, aunties cursing, neighbors scattering. The birthday party turned into a warzone in seconds.
“RO! PLEASE!” My own voice was raw, shredded, as I fell backward onto the pavement, scrambling.
Ro ducked behind a car, firing back, the smell of gunpowder thick and bitter in the air. My hands trembled as I reached for Aaliyah, but she was already gone, swallowed by that black SUV. The tires screeched loud enough to rattle windows as it fishtailed, speeding off.
“NO!” Ro’s roar ripped through me as he chased after them, gun in hand, his voice breaking under the weight of rage and fear.
The silence that followed was worse than the gunfire. Balloons popped underfoot—POP! POP!Sharp and mocking, and whispers spread like snakes slithering through grass. I was on my knees in the driveway, arms out, like I could still feel Aaliyah’s warmth if I reached far enough.
Ro slid down beside me, his chest heaving. My sobs were choking me. “They took her!” I cried, my voice cracking so hard it felt like my ribs were splitting.
His arm wrapped around me, solid but trembling, his other hand still locked around the Glock, knuckles white. I buried my face in his shirt, smelling gunpowder and sweat and fear.
The smell of barbecue and birthday candles clung to the air, taunting me, while streamers fluttered like caution tape. Aaliyah’s little pink sneaker lay in the driveway. Ro picked it up, his big hand trembling around something so small.
