Relief.
The next morning, Mon’nique took Nyla to a clinic before sunrise.
Nyla needed answers.
And Mon’nique was not playing about her health.
The nurse checked her vitals. The doctor ran tests.
Then the doctor looked at Nyla with careful eyes and said the words that made her chest loosen for the first time in days.
“The pregnancy is still there. The baby is okay right now.”
Nyla covered her mouth and cried.
Still there.
Still alive.
Still holding on.
Mon’nique grabbed her hand. “You hear that?” she said, voice shaking. “Your baby is still here.”
Back at the house, another support arrived.
Aunt Denise Walker—Reverend Curtis’s younger sister—came over that afternoon carrying food, blankets, and the kind of love that walks in prepared.
Aunt Denise was warm, strong, and practical. The kind of woman who could pray for you and fight for you in the same hour.
She sat beside Nyla and took her face gently in her hands.
“Listen to me,” she said. “You will not beg that man. You will not chase that house. You will not go where you are hated.”
Nyla nodded slowly, because something was changing inside her.
Not just fear. Not just grief.
Resolve.
