Chapter 19: 25 Weeks - Morning Devotion
Anaijiah woke to the slow, warm path of a kiss being traced down her belly. The room was hushed, bathed in the pale gold of a Sunday morning filtering through the sheer curtains. She blinked, sleep still clinging to the edges of her vision, and looked down.
Nevaieh’s head was pillowed on her hip, her dark hair a wild spill across the sheets. Her lips moved with a solemn, reverent focus against Anaijiah’s stretched skin, following the new, silvery lines that mapped the expansion of her body. A hum vibrated against her, low and content.
“Buenos días, mi princesa,” Nevaieh murmured, the words whispered directly to the curve of Anaijiah’s stomach. A powerful, rolling kick answered immediately, a flutter under Nevaieh’s lips. Nevaieh laughed, a soft, private sound Anaijiah knew few ever heard. “Sí, sí, I know. You’re hungry. You’re always hungry. Just like your mama.”
She turned her head, pressing her cheek to Anaijiah’s belly, listening. Her eyes, when she lifted them to meet Anaijiah’s gaze, were unguarded, filled with a wonder that still managed to steal Anaijiah’s breath. “She’s telling me her name,” Nevaieh said, her voice rough with sleep and something else.
“Oh yeah?” Anaijiah’s hand came down, her fingers threading into Nevaieh’s hair. “What’s she saying?”
Nevaieh shifted, rising up on her elbows to loom over Anaijiah. The early light caught the teardrop tattoo on her cheek, softening its harsh story. “Ana’vieah Iesha Ellis Wright.” She said it slowly, letting each syllable land. “Ana, for her brave, beautiful mother. Vieah, for the life she’s given us. Iesha, after my sister. Ellis, for my father. Wright… because she is. She’s right here. She’s right for us.”
The air left Anaijiah’s lungs in a quiet rush. The name was a monument, a lineage, a claim. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a declaration, woven from both their histories. It was perfect. A lump formed in Anaijiah’s throat, too solid to speak around. She could only nod, her eyes burning.
Nevaieh saw the tears welling and leaned down, catching one with her lips as it traced a path down Anaijiah’s temple. “Now,” she whispered, her mouth moving to Anaijiah’s ear, her breath hot. “Let me show mama how much I love our little family.” Her grin against Anaijiah’s skin was pure, sinful promise.
Her hand, which had been splayed possessively on Anaijiah’s hip, slid beneath the waistband of her panties. Her touch was knowing, a lazy, confident exploration that drew a sharp gasp from Anaijiah’s lips. This was different from their usual hunger. This was slower, a deep, worshipful claiming. Nevaieh kissed her way up Anaijiah’s torso, her tongue tracing the outline of a starfish tattoo on her rib cage, before finally finding Anaijiah’s mouth.
The kiss tasted of sleep and intention. Nevaieh’s fingers worked a slow, devastating rhythm between Anaijiah’s thighs, her thumb pressing just so, making Anaijiah arch off the mattress with a broken sound.
“Shhh, relax,” Nevaieh murmured against her lips. “Just feel it.” Her other hand cradled the full weight of Anaijiah’s breast, her thumb brushing over a peaked nipple, sensitive and heavy. Every touch was amplified, every sensation blurred at the edges by the profound, grounding reality of the baby between them.
Anaijiah let herself drown in it. She surrendered to the slow-building tide, her fingers clutching at Nevaieh’s shoulders, her back, any anchor she could find. The world narrowed to this sunlit room, to the scent of their skin, to the press of Nevaieh’s body alongside hers, to the incredible, knowing curl of her fingers.
When the peak hit, it rolled through her in deep, warm waves, not a sharp crest but a sustained, melting release. She cried out, muffling the sound into Nevaieh’s shoulder, her body trembling.
Nevaieh held her through it, her movements gentling until they stilled. She kept her hand where it was, a warm, comforting weight as Anaijiah floated back down. For long minutes, they just breathed, tangled together in the quiet.
“I love you,” Nevaieh said into the hollow of Anaijiah’s throat. The words were still rare enough to feel seismic.
“I love you too,” Anaijiah breathed back, her voice raspy. She traced the lines of the phoenix tattoo on Nevaieh’s shoulder blade. “Ana’vieah.” Saying it aloud made it real. It made a person out of the kicks and flutters.
Nevaieh finally shifted, pulling her hand free and bringing her fingers to her own mouth, her eyes locked on Anaijiah’s. The gesture was intensely possessive. Then she collapsed onto her back beside her, one arm thrown over her eyes. “Now I’m starving. Your daughter demands pancakes.”
“Our daughter,” Anaijiah corrected, propping herself up on an elbow.
“Our daughter,” Nevaieh conceded, a smirk playing on her lips. “She’s a tyrant. A beautiful, tiny tyrant.”
The domestic ease of the morning unfolded like a dream. Nevaieh, barefoot and wearing only a pair of soft black sweatpants, manned the stove in the vast kitchen, flipping blueberry pancakes with a surprising deftness. Anaijiah sat at the island counter, wrapped in Nevaieh’s robe, sipping orange juice and watching her. The sunlight streamed in, glinting off the stainless steel and highlighting the dark ink that swirled across Nevaieh’s back, a stark contrast to the mundane task.
Anaijiah’s phone buzzed on the counter—a text from Zara. You alive up there in the sky palace? Or has she locked you in the jewelry closet?
She smiled and typed back. Alive. Being fed pancakes. Someone is practicing her nurturing skills.
Scary, Zara replied instantly. Tell her not to get any ideas about running a day care.
“What’s funny?” Nevaieh asked, sliding a plate stacked with pancakes in front of Anaijiah.
“Zara. She says you’re scary.”
Nevaieh drizzled maple syrup in a careful spiral. “Good. She should think that.” She looked up, her eyes softening. “But not you. Never you.”
They ate in a comfortable quiet, broken only by the clink of forks and the distant hum of the city below. Anaijiah felt settled, her body languid and satisfied. The soreness from yesterday was still there, but it was background noise now.
Nevaieh’s phone, face-down on the counter, vibrated with a low, persistent buzz. She ignored it, focusing on cutting a perfect bite of pancake. It buzzed again. And again.
Anaijiah watched her. The easy relaxation that had softened Nevaieh’s features was slowly leaching away, replaced by a familiar, watchful tension. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly with each buzz.
“You should get that,” Anaijiah said softly.
“It’s Sunday.”
“It’s your phone.”
With a curt sigh, Nevaieh flipped it over. Her eyes scanned the screen. The last vestiges of softness vanished, replaced by the cold, analytical mask Anaijiah knew too well. The mask of the Jefa.
“Problems?” Anaijiah asked, her own appetite fading.
Nevaieh stood up, picking up her phone and her plate. She walked to the sink. “A small thing. Needs clarification.” Her tone was dismissive, but her shoulders were rigid. She dumped the rest of her pancakes in the trash, a quick, wasteful motion. “I have to make a call. In the office.”
“The Green Street Boys?” Anaijiah’s heart did a dull, heavy thud.
Nevaieh turned, leaning back against the counter. She crossed her arms, but it wasn’t a casual gesture. It was a barricade. “It’s handled. The… geography… is being reinforced. Don’t worry about it.”
“You said it was done.” The words came out sharper than she intended.
“It is done. This is just maintenance.” Nevaieh pushed off the counter and came over, bending to kiss the top of Anaijiah’s head. Her lips were warm, but the gesture felt procedural. “Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll be quick.”
She walked out of the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the polished concrete. A moment later, Anaijiah heard the solid thunk of the office door closing, then the faint, muffled sound of her voice, low and rapid-fire.
Anaijiah looked down at her own plate. The syrup had soaked through the stack, making a soggy, sweet crater. The lazy, sun-drenched peace of minutes before felt like something she’d imagined.
She placed a hand on her belly, where Nevaieh’s lips had been, where their daughter now rested. Ana’vieah Iesha Ellis Wright. A name built from love and legacy, from soft morning kisses and hard history.
Outside the penthouse walls, the city buzzed, a hive of alliances and betrayals. Inside, the scent of blueberries and syrup still hung in the air. Anaijiah listened to the indistinct, urgent murmur of Nevaieh’s voice through the door, a reminder that the fortress had drawbridges for a reason. Peace was a series of moments, stolen and defended. She took a deep breath, forking up a cold, syrupy bite, and resolved to savor this one while it lasted.
She took a deep breath, forking up a cold, syrupy bite, and resolved to savor this one while it lasted.
She was rinsing her plate when the first fluttering roll shifted inside her, a deep, internal tug that stole her breath. It was more than a kick. It was a whole, slow-motion revolution. She braced her hands on the cool quartz countertop, head bowed, as a sudden, jittery energy lit up her nerves. Her heart kicked in time with the baby’s movements, a frantic, double-time beat.
"Whoa, little one," she whispered to the empty kitchen. "What's all that about in there?"
Silence answered her from the office. The baby rolled again, a powerful, insistent motion that pressed outward against the confines of her skin. She slipped a hand under the robe, splaying her fingers wide over the taut curve. The movement was visible now, a distinct, sliding bulge that traveled from one side to the other, like a small sea creature pushing against the walls of a glass tank. Awe pulsed through her, bright and sharp, cutting through the quiet anxiety of Nevaieh's phone call.
"Okay, you're dancing," Anaijiah murmured, leaning back against the counter for balance. Her voice in the quiet room was a soft, intimate thread. "You feel that music, don't you? Pancake music. Sugar rush."
The flutters became sharper, more pronounced jabs, a flurry of activity that made her gasp. She could almost map a tiny heel, an elbow. This wasn't the sleepy morning rhythm Nevaieh had whispered to. This was a full-blown party. A smile broke across her face, wide and involuntary, as she watched the fascinating, alien ripples beneath her palm. For a moment, the office, the phone, the city outside, none of it existed. There was just this silent, vibrant conversation happening under her own skin.
"You're strong," she said, her voice thick with an emotion she couldn't name. "You hear that, Ana'vieah? You're so damn strong already." Speaking the name aloud to her belly made the whole thing real in a new, staggering way. This wasn't just a baby. This was a person with a name, a history she hadn't even lived yet, a future already being fought for in whispers behind closed doors.
She closed her eyes, focusing entirely on the internal gymnastics. "Your mama's a little intense, you know that? She's in there right now, making sure the whole world knows you're coming. That you're hers.Ours." A particularly forceful kick made her wince and laugh softly, a puff of air through her nose. "Yeah, you tell her. When she comes out, you tell her to chill the hell out."
The knob on the office door turned. Anaijiah’s eyes snapped open, her smile fading only a fraction. She kept her hand on her belly, feeling the final, defiant little punches as Nevaieh emerged.
Nevaieh paused in the doorway, the phone still clenched in her hand. Her face was a careful blank, the professional mask firmly back in place. But then her gaze dropped to Anaijiah's hand, to the subtle, rippling movement still visible beneath the thin robe. Her rigid posture softened, increment by increment."Is she…?" Nevaieh’s voice was rough.
"Throwing a rave," Anaijiah said, her own voice light, trying to pull them both back to the morning. "It's like a laser light show in there.Come feel."
Nevaieh crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, placing her phone face-down on the counter with finality. She didn't speak. She just knelt on the cool kitchen floor, right where she'd stood making pancakes, and pressed her ear against Anaijiah's belly, replacing Anaijiah's hand with her own. Her red bandana, the ever-present flag of her other life, was a stark, coarse splash of color against the soft blue robe. For a long moment, she was completely still, listening.
A sudden, solid thump kicked against her cheek.
Nevaieh flinched, startled, then a sound escaped her—a choked, wet laugh of pure wonder. Her eyes, when she looked up at Anaijiah, held a sheen of moisture. The mask was gone, shattered by a tiny, mighty foot. "She's furious," Nevaieh whispered, her grin crooked and real. "What did you do to her?"
"Told her you were scaring people again," Anaijiah said, her fingers carding through Nevaieh’s hair."Good." Nevaieh planted a firm kiss on the spot where the kick had landed."She should know. Gotta keep her sharp." She rested her head there again, and they stayed like that in the silent, sunlit kitchen—one standing, one kneeling, connected by the frantic, living dance between them. The baby’s movements began to slow, settling into a gentle, rhythmic pattern of hiccups that vibrated against Nevaieh's skin.