1

The sun had barely slipped past the blinds when Angel Reese heard the sound. Not her alarm, not the ding of her phone—something softer, lighter. The small shuffle of bare feet on carpet. A hum, then a giggle, then—

"Mommy!"

Angel cracked one eye open. She didn't even get the chance to roll over before a three-year-old blur launched itself onto the bed, knees pressing into the mattress like little springs. Angel groaned dramatically, tugging the comforter over her head.

"Too early, Ray. Way too early," she mumbled from under the blanket.

A tiny hand pried at the covers. "No sleep. Wake up, Mommy!"

Angel peeked out with one eye. Her daughter's brown face filled her vision, eyes bright and curious, lips sticky from... something. Angel sat up, narrowing her eyes. "What's on your mouth?"

Arayah froze for a second before grinning. "A 'nack."

Angel tilted her head. "What snack?"

Arayah pressed both hands over her mouth, giggling so hard her curls shook.

"Rayyy," Angel warned, trying not to laugh. "You didn't get into the fruit snacks already, did you mama?"

"No." The word stretched out, the way only toddlers could do when they were absolutely lying.

Angel sighed, rubbing her temples. "Girl, it is not even seven thirty. You gotta let the sun rise before you start lying to me."

Arayah didn't respond—she just crawled across Angel's lap and settled herself right in the middle, Minnie Mouse blanket trailing behind her like a cape. Angel looked down at her mini-me, her "L.A.," as her mama liked to call her, and felt that familiar warmth spread through her chest.

"Alright, Princess," Angel whispered, kissing the top of her head. "What are we doing this morning?"

"Pancakes." The answer came quick, confident, like it had been decided long before Angel opened her eyes.

Angel chuckled. "Oh, so you're just the boss, huh?"

"I boss," Arayah repeated proudly. She raised her arms like Angel did after big games, her "flex," only hers looked like tiny chicken wings.

Angel couldn't stop laughing. "Oh my God, not the flex. Girl, you ain't got no muscles yet."

"Yes, I do!" Arayah insisted, patting her tiny bicep. "I Strong. Like you."

Angel's smile softened. "Yeah... just like mommy."

⸻

Breakfast in their apartment was always a production. Angel carried Arayah into the kitchen, still half-asleep herself, while the little girl squirmed until Angel set her on the counter. Arayah immediately went for the pancake mix box, dragging it across the surface with a loud scrape.

"Can I stir?"

"Not yet. Mommy's gotta crack the eggs first." Angel tied her satin scarf tighter around her hair, pulled a mixing bowl from the cabinet, and set it in front of her daughter. "No touching 'til I say so."

Arayah crossed her arms, her pout already forming. "I big now. I stir."

Angel looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. "What did I say Arayah? Wait till mommy says so."

"Kay."

She meant it, Angel could tell. But meaning it and managing it were two different things when you were three. By the time they got the batter mixed, there was a streak of flour on Arayah's cheek, a dusting on the counter, and Angel fighting not to laugh at the mess.

"You look like a snowman," Angel teased, wiping her daughter's face with a paper towel.

"Not snowman. I a Princess," Arayah corrected, holding her chin high.

Angel gave in with a smile. "You right. My bad."

She cooked while Arayah sang off-key in the background, a mash-up of nursery rhymes and whatever she'd heard on the radio in the car. Every so often she'd shout, "Flip it, Mommy!" like she was coaching from the sidelines.

When Angel finally set the plate of mini pancakes on the table, Arayah clapped her hands. "Syrup, syrup, syrup!"

"Say please."

"Please, syrup."

Angel drizzled just enough to keep it sweet without turning breakfast into a sugar bomb. They sat together at the small table by the window, sunlight spilling over their plates. Angel ate slowly, scrolling through her phone, while Arayah shoveled tiny bites into her mouth, talking in between chews.

"Mommy, I go to the park today."

"The park?" Angel looked up. "You think you got energy for the park after you just ran through my whole kitchen?"

Arayah nodded vigorously, syrup dotting the corner of her lip. "Swings and the Big slide. Pleaseeeee?"

Angel leaned back in her chair, studying her. She had practice later, media obligations too—but one look at Arayah's hopeful little face, and she knew the answer before she even said it.

"Alright. But only if you let Mommy do your hair first."

That earned a dramatic groan. "Noooooo."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "No hair, no park. Deal?"

Arayah sighed, slumping in her chair. "Okaytyy."

⸻

Hair time was always a battlefield. Arayah sat between Angel's knees on the living room floor, clutching her iPad like it was her lifeline. Ms.Rachel blasted from the speakers while Angel worked through her daughter's braids, fingers steady but gentle.

"Hold still, Ray."

"I am still!" And still she was not. Angel always joked to herself about Arayah being the list tender headed child in the world.

"You movin' like you got ants in your pants. Sit still baby."

"No baby. I'm a big girl," Arayah muttered, eyes glued to the screen.

Angel chuckled, tying the end of a braid with a pink rubber band. "You not gon' let me call you baby. no more?"

"Nuh uh. Only titi ," Arayah replied matter-of-factly, referring to Rickea, Angel's best friend.

Angel rolled her eyes. "So Titi got privileges, but me—your mama—I don't?"

Arayah shrugged, clearly unbothered.

Angel shook her head, smiling despite herself. "You too much, girl."

When the last braid was tied off, Angel kissed the top of her head. "Okay, you look cute. Park time?"

Arayah whipped her head around so fast the beads clicked. "Park time!"

⸻

At the park, Angel sat on the bench with her hood pulled low and shades covering her eyes. Even in sweats, even with her face bare, people still stared. That was her reality now—"Angel Reese, Bayou Barbie, WNBA star." Fame followed her everywhere, even here, even when she just wanted to be "Mommy."

Thank god, no one knew that she was a mom, much less what Arayah looked like. Her daughter could enjoy life in peace, and that was all Angel ever wanted for her.

But as she watched Arayah climb the steps of the big slide, arms pumping with determination, the noise faded. Her daughter squealed all the way down, landing in a heap at the bottom. She scrambled up, ran to the swings, and shouted, "Push me!"

Angel stood, jogging over. She placed her hands on the small of her daughter's back and gave a gentle push. The squeals returned, louder this time, filling the whole park.

"Higher, Mommy! I fly!"

Angel laughed, steadying the swing. "Not too high, Princess. I need you safe."

"I'm safe. Swings are funny mommy!," Arayah said fill of giggles.

Angel's heart beamed as she watched her little mini me.

And in that moment—sun on their skin, laughter in her ears—Angel forgot about everything else. The media, the critics, the weight of being twenty-three and raising a child in front of the world. None of it mattered. All that mattered was this: her daughter's joy, her daughter's trust, her daughter's love.

Her Arayah. Her reason.

Excuse all errors-yall know I can't stay gone for long 🥲😭

Ajah ❤️