Xaiya Davis, a pregnant mother trapped in a toxic relationship, struggles to keep life together for herself and her young daughter. When Zaméir, her reserved childhood friend and now a renowned lawyer, returns to town for an amazing job offer, their...
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"When God-uh move, y'all hear me? When God-uh move, Him nah stop, ya know? Yuh will prosper!" The pastor shouted in Patois, his voice booming throughout the church, hands raised high as if trying to grab the heavens. His suit, a bit too tight in the chest, stretched across his broad frame as he paced dramatically, sweat glistening on his forehead. His eyes were wide, and his face flushed with fervor, making his words spill out like an urgent call.
XAIYA DAVIS shifted in the pew, trying to find a more comfortable position. The long cotton lavender dress she wore clung awkwardly to her six-month belly, accompanied by the dark brown worn Birkenstock slides, on her swollen feet were beginning to feel tight. Her slicked-back bun, once smooth and polished, now had stray curls poking out from all angles thanks to the humidity creeping in through the church doors.
Xaiya sat with her knees drawn up, her hand resting lightly on her daughter Amara's back as the child bounced on her lap. Amara, squirmed and giggled, her little body wiggling with excitement.
She could feel the heaviness of her pregnancy, but there was something comforting about being at church, surrounded by family, the sounds of prayer, and the familiar warmth of the church.
"Hallelujah!" someone shouted from the front, causing the pastor to smile knowingly, his eyes flashing with a mix of passion and anticipation. He was a heavyset man with a broad, rounded face and an imposing presence that seemed to fill every corner of the church. He wore a long, flowing robe, his hands gesturing wildly as he moved across the pulpit.
The pastor continued, his voice rising in pitch. "I said, when God move, Him make a way—fi yuh and fi yuh baby! Somebody here today fi break dem chains!" His hands swept dramatically across the air, and a few of the older women around them shouted out in agreement, clapping their hands.
He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes scanning the congregation. Some were with him, eyes wide, hanging on every word. Others, like Xaiya, were simply listening, her mind wandering a little, but the sound of his voice brought her back to the moment. The music in the background slowly faded, and everything felt amplified as he raised his hands, eyes closed.
"Bow yuh head now, bow yuh head. Dis fi somebody right yah, right now. God a call yuh outta yuh struggle, outta yuh situation! Can I get a witness?"
The sound of rustling heads as people lowered them in reverence echoed through the sanctuary. Xaiya, with her eyes closed, exhaled deeply, the weight of the past few weeks pressing down on her shoulders. She had grown up in this church—this was where she found peace when life felt too loud. Every Sunday, from the time she could remember, her mama would make sure they came here. It wasn't just tradition—it was her way of escaping, of hearing something that made her believe there was still hope in the world.
The pastor's voice grew louder, a mixture of passion and command. "I said when God-uh opens that door-uh, it's your time to prosper, it's your time to rise!" He paced across the stage, his voice shaking. "Who's ready for their breakthrough? Y'all hearing me?"
