Naomi's POV Of course I don't expect peace to arrive with a ribbon. It came quietly—on the breeze, in the pause between headlines, in the space where fear had lived but no longer ruled.It arrived the morning of the Sanborn relaunch, it was not a rebranding.Not a PR event, it was a rebirth.--- The courtyard outside The Haven was decorated not with luxury, but with care—chalk art drawn by local kids, flower garlands woven by volunteers, tables filled with hand-painted cards.This was not a “Met Gala”.This was a gathering.And every person present had once been a part of Sanborn’s silence—or its survival, Including me.The new Sanborn model was built from the bones of the old one—but this time, it had a heartbeat.Six local chapters launching within the year.Each led by women who had lived the struggle—not just studied it.It was no longer just shelters.Sanctuaries, with schools, Therapy. Advocacy,Dignity.We’d partnered with different midwives, Counselors, Community centers, Eve
Naomi’s POVToday I didn't wake up to noise, I woke up to shiny light from the window. It was golden and had a magnificent sight to behold.Memories of last night in the bathing tub kept flooding my mind and I was smiling like a baby. I could remember his lips on my bud.Oh my!!! Just thinking about it is making me hard already so early in the morning. I turned around to look at his lovely face but only to notice Raymond had already left the bed.I removed the duvet from my body and put on my robe and left the room. I could smell cinnamon from downstairs—his attempt at pancakes without Miranda’s usual supervision.I stayed there for a moment, hand resting over the swell of my belly, and admiring my man in the kitchen. I felt somehow plumpy this morning.I went over to Miranda's room to check on her and so made sure she uses her medicine.I got to her room and noticed she was still sleeping. She looked really beautiful this morning. I walked up to her bed and removed the strand of hai
Naomi’s POVThe applause from the crowd wasn't fake, it was really obvious that it was genuine. I felt really fulfilled.The day after the Sanborn Summit, silence returned with sharper edges.Our inboxes were flooded—not with praise, but questions. There were demands for clarification, Legal disclaimers, Statements “under review.”Three donors pulled out even before lunch.Two more froze their pledges “pending further transparency.”And at 3:07 p.m., I received the first cease-and-desist letter—thinly veiled as a “friendly suggestion” to withdraw accusations against Valeska Industries.Raymond read it twice and muttered, “Friendly my ass.”I didn’t answer, I couldn’t.I was already growing and I'd make sure to get to the end of this, I promise.…….By that evening, I’d run through four cups of mint tea, two calls with lawyers, and one half-hearted apology from a board member who said she was “disappointed in my tone.”I was at the edge of something—tired, brittle, fighting not to snap
Naomi’s POVThree days have passed.Seventy-two hours since Samuel Knox handed me a lifeline dressed as leverage.I hadn’t called him, and I hadn’t burned the folder either.But I have done something worse—something no one expected of me.I used it to build a stage.---On Thursday morning, I called an emergency strategy session at The Haven. Raymond, Leona, Beatrice, Kendra, and even Rachel sat around the conference table. Not one of them knew exactly what I had planned, but they showed up anyway.I stood at the head of the table, holding the thick folder.“I’m not keeping this secret,” I said.Rachel’s brow furrowed, “Are you giving it to the press?”“No,” I said. I’m giving it to the people.”Beatrice leaned forward. “How?”“We’re hosting a public summit at The Haven.This is open to stakeholders, critics, funders, reporters, even the ones who hate me. Everyone who thinks they have a claim on Sanborn—let them come and say it to my face if they dared.”“You’re doing nothing than in
Naomi's POV The address was not not somewhere popular, it was just a coffee shop on the corner of Locke and 72nd, Brick front, a Painted door and a faded chalkboard sign that read: Open minds, open mugs. It could’ve been any café in the city but I don't know why it was here.But the air was different, it was tense. Raymond parked across the street and cut the engine. “Sure you want to do this?”“No,” I said. “But I need to.”He reached over and squeezed my hand, “I’ll be right here if you need me.”“I know.”I stepped out of the car and crossed the street slowly, heart hammering against my ribs. The shop bell jingled faintly as I opened the door. Inside: quiet jazz, warm lighting, a few early-morning regulars. Nothing suspicious.Except the man sitting in the back corner, alone with a file folder and a familiar tension in his shoulders.He stood as I approached.He was tall, he had Salt-and-pepper hair. Impeccably dressed in a navy coat.He extended his hand. “Naomi.”I froze.“You
Naomi's POV The interview ended at exactly 8:00 p.m.By 8:03, I was already trending on four social media platforms.By 8:07, there were hashtags I hadn’t authorized and headlines I hadn’t written or thought about.How fast people spread rumors or even jump into conclusions.And by 8:15, my inbox was an avalanche—sympathy, skepticism, celebration, and venom all twisted into one tidal wave of “Naomi, you’re everything,” and “Naomi, how dare you.”I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it's definitely not this.---Raymond didn’t ask questions when I stepped into the car outside the studio. He just reached across the console and laced our fingers together.“Relax babe,You’re shaking,” he said softly.“I think I’m still in shock.”“You were brilliant there.”“I was visible,” I whispered. “That’s what they’ll remember.”“Then make sure it’s for the right reasons.”His voice was calm, it was soothing, like an anchor in the storm.We didn’t speak much the rest of the drive. I watched the