Page 4 of Protector Book Boyfriend

“Who?”

“You know who you, ass... Porsha.” She whispers her name as if it’s never to be spoken out loud.

“Yeah,” I say.

She looks at me, unable to hide the displeasure on her face. “I think the universe is trying to tell you something,” she says softly, disappointment lodged in her throat. Sable squeezes my hand, her own troubles momentarily forgotten. “Go say hi.”

I hesitate. “You sure?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” she assures me, her smile genuine. “Go.”

Chapter Two

Porsha

I’LL ADMIT, I CAME out tonight with a bad attitude. And I take full responsibility for that.

I sit in my car, my fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel, as I try to calm down. The AC blasts cold air, but I turn it off and roll down the windows, needing to feel the warm country breeze on my face. I glance in the rearview mirror and see the dusty roads of my small town, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of Houston where I used to live. Nia, my five-year-old daughter, is wide awake in her car seat, her big brown eyes glued to her iPad as she mimics dance moves from her favorite Disney characters. I’m thankful she hasn’t fallen asleep, but wonder if letting her skip naptime was a wise choice. I have no idea if I’m going to pay for that split-second decision, but letting her lie around watching her favorite Disney clips on YouTube today was so much easier than me trying to force her into submission, also known as naptime. As I scroll through my Spotify playlist, trying to find a song to lift my spirits, I can’t help but think about how much things have changed since my divorce. My ex-husband, Anthony, used to control everything, including our finances. But now, thanks to me hustling to get my jewelry company off the ground, I can afford to treat myself and Nia to a nice dinner at a restaurant that was once out of reach. But just when I start to feel good about myself and my independence, Anthony’s call comes through along with the reminder of why it was a good thing he divorced me. It was his way of punishing me for wanting to be more than just his wife. Jokes on him though, because ever since, Nia and I have thrived. And, of course, he hates it. I felt helpless and trapped in that marriage. He belittled me and made me feel like I couldn’t survive without him. I wanted to believe in more than what he showed me, so I learned how to make jewelry that everybody loved. A while after that, our marriage was over, and according to him, it was all my fault. Even though my ex-husband may no longer be in control of my life, his words still feel like a gut punch. And tonight, after arguing for a full thirty minutes over the phone, he got under my skin again. He knows what buttons to push to set me off, and I hate that for me. Surprisingly, things are better now, though not by much. We never had a perfect relationship, but at least now, after eight months, we’re not constantly at each other’s throats like we were before. And most importantly, I’m taking care of myself and my daughter on my own - proving that I don’t need anyone else to validate my worth or provide for us. I shouldn’t let my ex get to me and it’s kind of embarrassing that I did. As I pull into the parking lot, I find a spot close to the entrance. The rain falls lightly, creating a soothing sound against the roof of my car. I sit there for a moment, watching the droplets slide down the windshield, lost in my thoughts, before I snap to it. I hop out quickly, unbuckling Nia from her seat. I throw her onto my shoulder, and hurry inside before the rain picks up.

Rise is crowded tonight.

I sit with my daughter at a cozy corner table in the most popular soufflé restaurant in Dallas, anticipation buzzing in the air. The restaurant is bustling with energy, the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked soufflés filling the room. My Nia is bubbling with excitement, her eyes wide as she takes in the vibrant atmosphere.

“Mama, look!” she says, pointing at a towering soufflé being served at a nearby table. I smile, loving how thrilled she is to be out with me.

I glance at the entrance, spotting Zahara walking in. My best friend looks as chic and confident as ever, her stride purposeful as she heads towards us. As a commercial real estate agent and brokerage owner, she always exudes an air of success and determination.

“Hey, Nia-bear!”

Zahara greets my daughter, then gives me a warm hug before leaning down to give Nia a playful high-five. “And how’s my favorite little lady doing tonight?”

My daughter giggles, clearly delighted by the attention. “Hey, Zee Zee,” Nia says, “We’re getting soufflés!”

“Are you?” Zahara chides playfully. “Yummy,” she says with a smile.

Zahara slides into the seat across from me, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. She pins me with a worried expression. “So, how’s the move to Trinity Falls going?”

“It’s a big change, but it feels right,” I say, excitement creeping into my voice. “I’m using the divorce settlement to buy land and build a home for us. Somewhere near the mountains. It’s so peaceful. A fresh start.”

“That sounds... like you’re gonna be out somewhere chopping wood,” she says, apprehension in her voice.

“I think you can buy chopped wood—or logs,” I smile, my spirit filled with optimism and the wonder of actually living in the mountain region of Trinity Falls.

Zahara nods, her expression supportive. “Well, that could be amazing,” she says, picking up her menu. “You deserve a fresh start, Porsha. A new beginning in a beautiful place.”

Soon after, the waiter arrives to take our orders, and we dive into a conversation about the plans for my new home, the designs I have in mind, and the little garden I want to create for my daughter to play in. Our food arrives, and the sight of the golden, fluffy soufflés brings a delighted squeal from my Nia, who's now standing up in her chair. Her joy is infectious, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

As our evening winds down, the waiter brings the bill. I reach for it, ready to cover our night out. But as I glance at the total, a sinking feeling hits me. I underestimated the cost of the evening, so my credit card might not be enough to cover it all. I try to hide my worry, but Zahara catches my unease.

“Hey,” she says gently, taking the leather-bound bill folder from my hands. “How about we split this?”

I hesitate, embarrassment drowning me. “Zahara, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” she interrupts, her tone firm but kind. “You’re my girl. You and Nia are my family. We support each other, remember?”

Relief washes over me, and I nod, grateful for her understanding. “Thank you,” I whisper.

As we gather our things to leave, I have a renewed sense of hope. With friends like Zahara by my side and my daughter’s infectious joy, I know we’re going to be just fine. This move, this new chapter—it’s going to be so worth it.

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