The Spare Room

When I first arrived in New Jersey, it wasn’t with excitement. It was with exhaustion. I had just come off deployment and went straight into a courtroom to fight for joint custody of my son. By the grace of God, I was granted it. But when I walked out of that courthouse, reality hit me hard.

I didn’t have a home.

For weeks, my boy and I lived out of a hotel room. We ate meals on the edge of the bed, our bags piled in the corner, trying to make it feel like something it wasn’t. At night, I held him close and told him we were going to be okay, even when I wasn’t sure how.

But God always has a way of sending the right people at the right time.

A chief from my new command noticed my situation and quietly told Melora. At the time, she was living on base in a three-bedroom house with just her son. Without hesitation, she said words that stunned me:

“She can come here. I’ve got space. Tell her she and her boy can move in.”

That spare room wasn’t just a roof over our heads. It was a lifeline. A gift. A blessing I never saw coming.

And it became the beginning of something I will cherish forever.

In that house, Melora and I became more than friends. We became sisters. We shared meals, stories, tears, and laughter. Our kids played like brothers, and our bond grew roots that nothing could shake.

Even when life eventually pulled us apart, the foundation of that friendship never crumbled.

And years later, when our paths crossed again in ways too wild to be coincidence, I knew the truth.

It wasn’t random. It wasn’t luck.

It was divine.

Stay tuned.