Right as my son said “Mummy, let’s eat the bread!” I felt something twist in my chest. I told him “No”—firmly enough to scare him. Hours later, my friend returned the bread untouched… and what she confessed changed everything.

Months passed.
We moved to a better place.
New neighbors.
New routines.
A fresh chapter.

Occasionally, I’d see bread tied with ribbon in a bakery window and feel a small jolt in my chest — the memory of that day returning like a quiet knock.

Not fear.
Just clarity.

Years later, when Naza visited us in our new home, she told me:

“That day you refused to open that bread…
I learned something.
Sometimes God whispers through instinct, and some people hear it louder.”

We laughed about it then — the nervous kind of laughter that acknowledges what could have been, and what didn’t need to happen.

But that day, something inside me ripened:

the courage to trust my own voice, even when others don’t understand it.

Last month, Kene turned eleven.
At his birthday party, his smile lit up the room as he blew out the candles.
Watching him, I felt something shift inside me — a soft reminder:

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