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May 1st, 2025

"Shoes, Princess."

Angel crouched in the entryway, holding out her daughter's little white sneakers. Arayah sat on the rug, tutu skirt puffed out like she was auditioning for a play.

"No shoes," she said firmly, crossing her arms.

Angel raised a brow. "So you gon' walk outside barefoot?"

"Yes."

Angel huffed, not in the mood to go back  and forth with a three year old. "Not with me you not. Sit down, Arayah." She slid the Reebok sneakers onto her daughter's feet, tied the laces tight, then tapped her knees. "There. Now you fresh."

Arayah peeked down, then looked up with a grin. "I fresh like you?"

Angel softened, brushing her cheek. "Exactly."

⸻

By the time they reached the sitter's place, Arayah was singing nonsense songs in the backseat. Ms. Denise welcomed them with open arms, scooping the little girl into a hug.

"You be good, Princess," Angel whispered, kissing her daughter's forehead. "Mommy's gotta work."

"Okay. Love you, Mommy."

"Love you too babe,"

Angel held her for a second longer than necessary before letting go. Leaving was always the hardest part—but it was their rhythm.

⸻

The Sparks facility buzzed with post-camp energy. Everyone was tired but hungry for the season to start. Angel laced up her sneakers, tugged her practice jersey over her head, and caught Rickea's eye across the locker room.

"You ready?" Rickea asked.

"Hell naw. Your niece kept me up all night with that damn iPad,"

Practice was grueling but familiar—drills, scrimmages, sweat dripping down her back. Angel thrived in it. Every rebound felt like proof she belonged here.

Afterwards, she and Rickea ducked out to a taco spot on Crenshaw, sliding into a booth with trays piled high.

Rickea scrolled her phone, chewing. "You ever notice fans think they know everything? Like, every detail of our lives?"

Angel snorted. "Girl, please. They don't know half. I posted a picture of my nails and they acting like it's a clue to who I'm dating because some nfl player got the same nail tech as me."

Rickea smirked. "Good thing they don't know about Ray."

Angel leaned back, laughing. "And they won't. Ever. Not if I can help it."

She wasn't harsh, just serious—the kind of tone that left no room for debate.

Rickea nodded. "I know. It's just wild to me. They eat up every little thing we do, but they have no idea you got a whole mini-Angel running the world."

Angel smiled faintly. "That's exactly why. Ray's ours. She don't need all them eyes on her. People be cruel. And once you put something out there, you can't take it back."

Rickea nodded. She just let the words hang, munching her taco. Then, casually, she said, "Speaking of people... I saw Cam on TikTok."

Angel rolled her eyes immediately. "Of course you did."

"Bitch ass was dancing, talking like he famous."

Angel shook her head, biting into her taco with a sharpness that wasn't about the food. "Figures. He always did love attention more than he loved responsibility."

Rickea hesitated. "You ever worry he might... y'know, say something? Try to use Ray for clout?"

Angel's jaw tightened. She dropped her taco, leaning back. "He wouldn't dare. But even if he did—he gave up his rights the second he walked out and never signed up birth certificate. He abandoned us when I was five months pregnant. Ain't no coming back from that."

Her voice hardened, flat with memory.

"He cheated, lied, whatever—I could've gotten over that. But making me carry this whole thing alone? Leaving his daughter before she even had a chance to be born? Nah. That's unforgivable."

Rickea watched her, quiet, letting her speak.

"You not wrong bae. It just bothers me that your left with all this responsiblity and he off Scot free,"

Angel exhaled, picking her taco back up like she hadn't just let the words slice through the air. "Yeah. It's fine though. He don't matter. Not to me. Not to Arayah. He's nothing."

Rickea leaned forward, smirking. "Period. Let's forget his name. Eat your food so we can go my my titi girlll."

Angel chuckled, the edge easing out of her chest. "Don't get me started. Cause you know that girl obsessed with your ass."

⸻

That night, alone in her apartment, Angel scrolled through her socials. After they picked her up, Arayah insisted on staying with Rickea, who couldn't say no. So Angel had the night off.

There were so many Fans speculating about her birthday plans, edits of her highlights, gossip about her hair, her outfits, her smile. They knew everything and nothing all at once.

She set the phone aside, closing her eyes.

Her daughter's laugh echoed in her head, soft and grounding. Arayah was safe. Private. Hers.

And that was how it would stay.

May 6th, 2025 — Angel's 23rd Birthday

The first thing Angel felt that morning wasn't sunlight or the buzz of her phone. It was a tiny hand patting her cheek.

"Mommy. Mommyyy."

She cracked one eye open and saw her daughter standing by the bed, curls wild, wearing mismatched pajamas and a triumphant grin.

"It's your birf-day!" Arayah squealed, climbing up onto the mattress.

Angel laughed, catching her before she toppled over. "Who told you that?"

"Grandma," Arayah said proudly, plopping onto her chest. "She say we gon' sing. And have cake. A-and balloons."

Angel kissed her forehead. "And you rendered all of that, huh?"

Arayah giggled, then pressed her face into Angel's neck. "Happy birf-day, Mommy."

The words melted her heart in a way nothing else could. All the interviews, highlights, trophies—none of them compared to this.

⸻

Later that evening, Angel drove them across town to her mother's house. The moment the front door opened, the smell of baked chicken and cornbread wrapped around her like a hug.

"Birthday girl!" her mom called, pulling Angel in with one arm and scooping Arayah with the other.

The living room buzzed with cousins, siblings, and laughter. A banner stretched across the wall—Happy 23, Angel!—clearly a product of her brothers' handiwork.

Angel set her daughter down, watching her instantly become the center of attention. Arayah dashed between relatives, showing off her tutu and shouting, "time for cake !" like she was the party host.

Angel just shook her head, smiling. That was her little princess—fearless, loud, adored.

⸻

Dinner was loud and messy, the way family dinners always were. Angel sat between her brothers, sneaking bites of fried catfish off their plates while Arayah perched in a booster seat, demanding to taste everyone's food.

At one point, her mom raised a glass of sweet tea. "To my baby girl. Twenty-three years of blessing this family with your heart & your drive. You are truly so special, and so loved, I named you with purpose, one because duh," she said as she gestured towards herself making them all laugh, " but also because you embodied the meaning of being an angel since birth. You are doing amazing things in life, including being the best mother ever. I couldn't ask for a better daughter. Happy birthday baby girl,"

Everyone clapped. Angel ducked her head, suddenly emotional and shy despite all the arenas she'd performed in.

"Love you, Ma," she murmured, fighting back tears as she hugged her mother.

"I meannn ion got no big speech ready or nothing like ma' did. But you're a great sister, a great basketball player, a great mom, and an even better person. So happy birthday, we love you A," Julian said as she smiled thanking her little brother as well.

When it was cake time, Arayah refused to let anyone light the candles until she had climbed onto Angel's lap.

"You Ready, Mommy?"

"Ready, Princess."

They blew together, the flames disappearing in one puff. Everyone cheered, but Angel only looked at her daughter, cheeks round from blowing so hard.

"Good job, mama," she whispered.

"Okay L.A, com here so Gigi can get pictures of mommy with her cake by herself," Angel's mother requested and the toddler nodded, climbing from her lap. Angel giggled knowing that the really had three generations of Angel's with that nickname; L.A , aka little Angel.

Later, when wrapping paper littered the floor, Arayah toddled over with a folded piece of construction paper.

"I make this for you."

Angel opened it carefully. Inside was a crayon drawing—scribbled lines, shaky hearts, and in big uneven hearts.

Her throat tightened. "You made this Ray?"

"With Gigi ," Arayah nodded. "You gotta keep it forever."

Angel hugged her close, eyes burning. "I promise boo. Forever and ever."

Excuse all errorsAjah