What We Did With the Time

CHAPTER ONE: THE HOUSE ON HARLAN STREET

There were three brothers in the house on Harlan Street.

Not the kind of house people posted online. Not the kind with perfect paint or a driveway that stayed clean. It was a real house—one that creaked in the hallway, one where the screen door slapped shut if you didn’t guide it, one where the kitchen light sometimes needed a second flick of the switch to fully commit.

But it was a faithful house.

It held routine like a heartbeat.

Mornings started with coffee and quiet. Renee moved through the kitchen barefoot, hair wrapped, humming without realizing she was doing it. Terrence sat at the table most mornings with his Bible open—not for show, not for points. Just because that’s how he started his day: grounded.

Shoes lined the doorway like a lineup. Backpacks leaned against the wall. The world waited outside, but inside those walls, everybody knew what time it was.

Trey was eighteen—the oldest. Calm, deliberate, already moving like a man who understood weight. Not burden. Weight. The difference mattered. He noticed little things: a door left unlocked, a bill sitting too long on the counter, his mom’s sigh when she thought no one heard it.

Malik was sixteen—the middle. Fire in his bones. Basketball in his blood. Music in his ears. He could be loud, funny, sharp, and sensitive in the same hour. He and Trey bumped heads often, but it never turned into distance. They fought like brothers, then came right back like nothing happened—because that’s what brothers do when love is the foundation.

Zion was seven—the youngest. Still soft around the edges. Still believing adults always had answers. Still praying out loud like God was sitting on the couch with him.

And their parents?

Thirty-something years married. Same roof. Same promise. Still holding hands without thinking about it.

They weren’t church-every-Sunday people, but they were God-fearing in a way you could feel. Wednesday nights meant Scripture at the table. Phones away. Questions welcomed. The boys knew names in the Bible because their parents made sure they did. Not to be religious. To be rooted.

Terrence would always say the same thing before they started:

“Faith ain’t about being loud. It’s about being real.”

And in that house, it was real.

CHAPTER TWO: BROTHERS WILL BE BROTHERS

Turmoil didn’t mean hatred. It meant life.

Trey wanted order. Malik wanted freedom. Zion wanted attention. That alone could start a war in any household.

One afternoon, Malik came home late from practice with mud on his shoes and an attitude in his voice.

“I told you to call,” Trey said from the kitchen, not even looking up.

“I’m not a kid,” Malik shot back.

“You acting like one.”

Malik’s eyes flashed. Zion stood in the hallway holding a juice box like he was watching a movie. Renee was at the stove stirring a pot like she’d seen this exact scene a thousand times.

Terrence sat at the table, quiet. Letting it play out.

Malik slammed his bag down. Trey stepped closer. Words sharpened.

Then Terrence finally spoke—calm, low, steady.

“Both of y’all,” he said. “Come here.”

They didn’t want to, but they did. Because when Terrence used that tone, it wasn’t anger. It was authority.

He pointed at Trey first.

“You not his father. Don’t forget that.”

Then he pointed at Malik.

“And you not grown until you handle grown responsibilities. Don’t forget that either.”

The room got quiet.

Terrence leaned back in his chair and looked at both of them like he could see years ahead.

“Y’all can disagree,” he said. “But you don’t get to disrespect each other. You understand me?”

Both of them nodded.

Zion whispered, “Yes sir,” like he was included too.

Terrence’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

And just like that, the storm passed.

Not because problems disappeared. But because the house knew how to come back to center.

CHAPTER THREE: THE FIRST SIGN

The first sign something was wrong didn’t come with an alarm.

It came with a pause.

Terrence was washing the car one Saturday, something he’d always done like it was therapy. Trey was outside helping. Malik was in the driveway shooting at a portable hoop. Zion was chasing bubbles Renee blew from the porch steps.

Terrence bent down to scrub the rims and stopped for a second longer than usual.

One hand went to his chest—not dramatic, not painful-looking, just… instinctive. Like his body was asking him to pay attention.

Renee noticed from the porch.

She always noticed.

Terrence stood up and breathed out slowly. He smiled when he caught Renee watching.

“I’m good,” he said before she could ask.

Renee didn’t argue. She didn’t want to make fear a permanent guest in their house.

But that night, when everybody was asleep, she rolled over in bed and listened to Terrence’s breathing. Not because it sounded wrong—because it sounded different.

A wife of thirty-plus years learns the sound of her husband’s life.

She learns when it shifts.

“Baby,” she whispered in the dark. “You sure you okay?”

Terrence was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “Yeah.”

But the word didn’t land like it used to.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE APPOINTMENT

Terrence went to the doctor alone at first.

Not because he didn’t trust Renee.

Because he didn’t want worry living in her eyes before it had to.

The doctor’s office smelled like antiseptic and patience. The kind of waiting room where everyone pretends not to listen to the quiet anxieties around them.

When Terrence finally sat in that chair, the doctor didn’t rush.

He spoke carefully. Like truth needed to be carried, not thrown.

He explained options.

There were surgeries that might help. Procedures that could remove part of the problem, slow what was happening, buy time. But the time would come with recovery. With pain. With needles. With anesthesia. With the possibility of Terrence waking up not feeling like himself.

There were risks.

Complications.

Long hospital nights.

Outcomes that couldn’t be promised.

Terrence didn’t ask, “Will I live?”

He asked, “How will I live?”

He asked about quality. About being able to walk. To drive. To pray without pain in his chest. To hold his wife. To hug his sons the same way.

The doctor answered honestly.

Surgery could help.

Surgery could fail.

And even if it helped, it could change everything.

Terrence sat back, hands folded, eyes steady.

“I appreciate you,” he said. “For being straight.”

The doctor nodded. “You should talk with your family.”

Terrence’s voice didn’t shake.

“I will,” he said. “But I already prayed. I know where I’m at.”

CHAPTER FIVE: THE CONVERSATION IN THE DARK

That night, Renee felt it before he even spoke.

Terrence didn’t turn the TV on. He just sat beside her on the couch and reached for her hand like he needed to anchor himself to something true.

“They gave me choices,” he said quietly.

Renee’s throat tightened. “Choices like what?”

Terrence told her everything. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just honest. He explained the surgery, the risks, the recovery, the uncertainty.

Renee cried, but not loudly. The kind of crying that happens when your heart is trying not to break all the way.

Terrence wiped her tears with his thumb.

“I’m not scared,” he said. “I’m prepared.”

Renee shook her head.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered.

Terrence nodded like he understood. Like he’d been holding that same thought for her.

“I’m not trying to leave you,” he said. “I’m just… trusting God with the next step.”

“And if the next step is surgery?” she asked, voice cracking.

Terrence was quiet.

Then he said it.

“I’m not doing it.”

Renee’s eyes searched his face like she could find a different answer there.

“Terrence—”

He held her hand tighter.

“Baby,” he said. “I’m not running from help. I’m choosing peace. God got me.”

That sentence hit the room like a weight.

Renee looked down at their hands, intertwined like they’d been for decades.

“It hurts,” she whispered.

Terrence kissed her forehead. “I know.”

But she didn’t leave him standing alone in his decision.

Because love like theirs wasn’t fragile.

It was loyal.

“I’m with you,” she said. “Even when it hurts.”

CHAPTER SIX: THE HERO TALK

Terrence didn’t tell the boys all at once.

He told them in the way fathers do when they’re trying to protect their sons from fear while still teaching them truth.

Trey was first. Late night. Kitchen table. Two glasses of water. One light on.

Trey listened without blinking.

When his dad finished, Trey’s voice came out low.

“So what you need from me?”

Terrence smiled, soft.

“Keep being solid,” he said. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Trey swallowed hard.

“You my hero,” Trey said. Like it wasn’t even a thought—just a fact.

Terrence stared at him for a second like he was trying not to let emotion move first.

“Nah,” he said quietly. “I’m just your father.”

But both of them knew what Trey meant.

Malik found out next.

And Malik didn’t take it quiet.

“Why wouldn’t you do surgery?” Malik asked, pacing. “That don’t make sense to me, Dad.”

Terrence didn’t argue back. He let Malik talk. Let him burn through the fear disguised as frustration.

Then Terrence said, “Come here.”

Malik tried to resist, but Terrence pulled him into a hug anyway—strong, patient, unshakable.

“Faith ain’t quitting,” Terrence said. “Faith is trusting when you don’t control the outcome.”

Malik’s voice cracked for half a second, then he swallowed it down.

“You my hero too,” Malik muttered, like it was embarrassing to say.

Terrence smiled into his son’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Even when you loud.”

Malik laughed through the emotion because that’s what Malik did.

Zion was last.

Terrence knelt down to his eye level.

Zion’s little face was serious like he already knew it was important.

“Daddy… you sick?” he asked.

Terrence nodded.

Zion’s eyes got glossy immediately.

“You gonna be okay?”

Terrence didn’t lie.

He told the deepest truth.

“Yes,” he said. “No matter what. God got me. And God got you too.”

Zion threw his arms around his dad’s neck and held on like he was trying to hold time still.

CHAPTER SEVEN: WHAT THEY DID WITH THE TIME

After that, time changed.

Not because the clocks moved differently.

Because every moment felt louder.

Dinner lasted longer.

Terrence asked more questions. Not small talk questions—real ones.

“How you feeling, son?”

“What you been thinking about lately?”

“What you want your life to stand for?”

Trey started helping more without being asked.

Malik practiced harder, but he also laughed more, like he was trying to make joy a habit.

Zion started praying with more intention.

Not just “God bless this food.”

But prayers like:

“God, keep Daddy strong.”

“God, keep Mommy’s heart from hurting too much.”

“God, help Trey and Malik stop fighting.”

Wednesday nights at the table became sacred.

Renee would read.

Terrence would explain.

The boys would ask questions.

Sometimes the questions got heavy.

“Why do people die?” Zion asked once, voice small.

Terrence didn’t rush it.

“Because this world ain’t forever,” he said. “But love is. And God is.”

Renee reached across the table and held Terrence’s hand under the wood where no one could see it shaking.

The family didn’t fall apart.

They folded closer.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE MORNING THAT CHANGED THE HOUSE

The morning Terrence didn’t wake up, it was quiet.

No storm outside.

No thunder.

No dramatic signs.

Just stillness.

Renee knew before she knew.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, hand on his chest, like she was waiting for a breath that wasn’t coming.

When she finally called the boys in, her voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

Trey walked in first. He saw his mother’s face and understood without words. His knees almost buckled, but he caught himself because that’s what first sons do.

Malik came in right after and froze. His mouth opened like he wanted to speak, but the sound got stuck somewhere in the middle of his chest.

Zion walked in last, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He looked at his dad.

Then he looked at his mom.

Then he asked the question that broke the room:

“Is Daddy with Jesus now?”

Renee fell to her knees and pulled Zion into her arms.

“Yes, baby,” she whispered. “Yes.”

CHAPTER NINE: THE SPACE BETWEEN US

Grief didn’t explode in their house.

It settled.

It moved into the corners like a new roommate nobody invited.

The house listened more than it spoke.

People brought food. People made calls. People said things like “he’s in a better place” and “God needed another angel,” and Renee smiled politely even when her soul didn’t feel polite.

Trey stepped up without anyone asking.

He handled details.

He answered phones.

He stood tall when his mother needed him tall.

Malik broke down later, alone. In the garage, where nobody could see him. Where he could finally let the hero title feel real—because heroes aren’t supposed to leave.

Zion prayed every night like it was his job.

Sometimes he asked God why.

Sometimes he just said, “I miss him.”

And somehow, those were the most honest prayers in the house.

Renee stayed faithful.

Not because it didn’t hurt.

Because she had practiced faith for too long to let pain rewrite her foundation.

One night, months later, she sat on the porch with a blanket around her shoulders, Bible open on her lap. The mailbox still leaned left. The porch steps still dipped. The world kept moving like nothing happened.

She whispered into the night:

“Thank you for the years.”

And for the first time in a long time, her chest loosened just a little.

Because love doesn’t disappear.

It changes shape.

There were still three brothers in the house on Harlan Street.

Still one loving mother.

And still a father’s presence—felt in the way Trey locked doors at night, in the way Malik disciplined his fire, in the way Zion prayed out loud without fear.

They were still together.

And in the space between who they were and who they were becoming—

God remained.