Chapter 13: Cracks in the Foundation

Living in Sacramento and raising my kids was something I truly needed after years of running the streets. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had a real foundation. I had my own place, my own car, my son, my daughter, and another baby on the way. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.

I was happy.

My best friend was at my house almost every day. She didn’t have children of her own, so she loved mine like they were hers. Between her, my neighbors, and a few friends who lived in the apartments, life finally felt normal—something I had never really experienced before.

Even though my daughter wasn’t my baby father he was a great dad. He loved the kids, and for a while we made a good team. But somewhere along the way, things started changing. He began staying out later and later. I wanted him to work, to help us build something bigger than survival, but I think he became comfortable with me carrying the weight.

The provider.

The problem solver.

The one who always figured it out.

That comfort slowly turned into arguments.

Arguments turned into fights.

The peace we had built started showing cracks.

His brother and his girlfriend moved into the apartment right behind ours. At first, everything was cool. We laughed together, smoked together at times, and I would look out for them time to time. But after a while, I started noticing a pattern. They were always short on rent, always asking to borrow something, always needing help after spending their money if you ask me getting high on cocaine.

See, one thing about snakes—they’ll eventually shed their skin. Snakes represent deception. Hidden enemies. Manipulation. People who strike without warning.

But as a lion protecting her cubs, my kingdom, and everything I’d fought to build, a snake was the least of my worries.

I was dealing with what every kingdom attracts…

Hyenas.

The opportunists.

The ones who circle around waiting for weakness. The ones who steal food they never hunted for, attack in numbers, and prey on vulnerable cubs because they’re too cowardly to face the lion head-on.

See, hyenas don’t mind eating off another man’s plate as long as they don’t have to hunt for it themselves.

I had spent so much time watching for snakes, I almost forgot about the hyenas.

And the crazy part?

Sometimes they don’t come looking like enemies.

Sometimes they come looking like family.

Neighbors.

Friends.

People asking for help.

By the time you realize what they are…

they’ve already been circling your kingdom.

The funny thing is, people always saw me as the threat.

They never stopped to ask what it took for me to survive… or what I was protecting.

They saw the scars, the confidence, the silence, the way I moved, and mistook it for intimidation.

The streets taught me how to strategize before they ever taught me how to dream.

Growing up, you always heard the saying, “Life is like chess, not checkers.”

Shit… I spent the majority of my childhood trying to make moves, thinking three or four steps ahead because survival didn’t leave room for mistakes. Every decision felt like a piece on the board. One wrong move could cost you your freedom, your family, your future—or even your life.

I learned to protect my king before I ever learned my own worth.

Looking back now, I realize I was never really playing chess.

I was surviving.

Playing a game where I never got to choose the rules, only the consequences.

The hardest lesson wasn’t learning how to make the next move.

It was learning that sometimes…

the strongest move…

is walking away from the board altogether.

Still…

The streets taught me one lesson I could never forget.

That life has a way of making you suspicious whenever things become too peaceful.

”Aware”

Every time I found happiness, a part of me waited for something to go wrong.

Then I went into labor.

For a moment, every fear disappeared.

Bringing my newborn home filled the apartment with a kind of love I had never known. Watching my children meet their new sibling, hearing little laughs echo through the house, and feeling my family wrapped around me made me believe I had finally outrun my past.

For the first time in years…

I wasn’t looking over my shoulder.

For two weeks, I wasn’t surviving.

I was simply a mother.

Healing.

Loving my babies.

Learning this new version of myself.

Then there was a knock at the door.

One knock…

that turned my heart cold.

The foundation I had worked so hard to build…

was about to crack.