Absolutely. Here is Chapter 15: Bread and Beginnings, a chapter of choice—where Bonitah stands at a crossroads between comfort and calling, and must decide what kind of legacy she wants to leave.
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Chapter 15: Bread and Beginnings
The smell of warm bread filled the air like a prayer answered slowly.
Bonitah stood in the small kitchen space, pulling trays of golden loaves from the oven. Each batch seemed to rise higher than the last, as if the dough itself had begun to believe in her.
The community center was now more than just a lifeline—it was a workshop. A place where she taught two women from her church how to bake. Where laughter mixed with flour. Where hands kneaded stories into every crust.
They called it Rebuild Bakes Co-op now. It wasn't registered yet, but it was real. Women came, learned, baked, sold. Some even whispered dreams of their own shops, their own stalls.
Bonitah 's dream had grown legs.
But with growth came decision.
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One afternoon, while cleaning up, the director of the NGO that had sponsored the resilience award came by. He introduced her to a woman in a sharp gray suit.
"This is Miriam," he said. "She works with a commercial training center in Cape Town. They run entrepreneurship programs for women like you."
Miriam smiled and handed Bonitah a brochure.
"We want to offer you a scholarship to attend a three-month intensive course," she said. "All expenses covered. Accommodation, meals, travel. When you're done, you'll know how to scale this business nationally—maybe even globally."
Bonitah blinked. "Cape Town?"
"Yes," Miriam nodded. "You'll need to relocate. Temporarily, of course. But it's a big step."
Too big, maybe.
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That night, Bonitah lay awake.
Benaiah slept beside her, curled up like a comma in her story—never the end, always the pause that softened everything.
She turned the brochure over in her hands. Cape Town felt far. Three months felt long. What would she do without her son's laugh echoing down the hallway? What would he do without her goodnight prayers?
But the other truth hummed in her chest:
She had prayed for more.
And now, more had knocked on her door.
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The next day, she went to Thando.
"What if I'm not ready?" she asked.
Thando took a long breath. "Then go scared. Go unsure. But don't stay small because comfort feels easier than calling."
Bonitah was quiet.
"And Benaiah?" she whispered.
"He'll miss you," Thando said. "But he'll see you becoming something. Something powerful. What better gift can a mother give her son than a future shaped by courage?"
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They made a plan.
Thando would keep Benaiah. The church would help with food and childcare. The other women would keep the bakery running. They even joked about renaming it Bonitah's Loaves of Faith while she was gone.
The hardest part was the goodbye.
On the day she left, Benaiah ran to her at the bus stop and wrapped his tiny arms around her waist.
"You come back with more bread, Mama," he said.
She knelt and looked into his eyes. "I'll come back with more than bread, my love. I'll come back with doors."
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As the bus pulled away, she didn't cry.
She didn't shake.
She just whispered under her breath:
"Beginnings always feel like breaking—but this time, I know I'm being built."
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