Sometimes, the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills. Welcome to our new series: Valley Hill Apartments!
The Diva pt 1
Written by Saneatra Polk
Jas Monroe closed her eyes and replayed the memory of her husband leaning in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. For a moment, she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of him.
Then the water turned cold.
Reality snapped back fast. Jas stood alone in a shower that couldn’t even hold its heat, staring up at the same popcorn ceiling she used to pray her way out of. She had seen the world, lived in luxury and somehow landed right back at Valley Hills Apartments.
She cried, “God, why am I back?”
She wrapped her robe tight and stormed into the hallway.
“Excuse me, have you seen the maintenance man?”
The woman posting a flyer turned, studying her. Head tilted as she was trying to recall something. “Diva?”
Jas blinked. No one had called her that in years.
“I’m Tanya,” the woman said, smiling like she’d just solved a puzzle. “Saw you pull up—black car, big coat, all that hair. I said, yeah, she a diva. But you live here?”
Jas recognized the woman from decades ago. Tanya and her family lived in 3B. Same eyes. Same voice. Same building.
“Yeah,” Jas said, quieter this time.
Tanya handed her the flyer. “The landlord was the maintenance man and we haven’t seen or heard from him in months. The building is falling apart and we’re organizing.”
Jas took it, avoiding her gaze, and slipped back inside her apartment.
There were boxes everywhere. She opened one at random. It had her husband’s navy blue khakis and matching navy blue button up shirt in it. A man who built millions and lived simply. A man who would hate what this place had become and what she had done trying to outrun grief.
She didn’t come back to Valley Hills by choice.
But as she looked around, something shifted. The question wasn’t echoing anymore—it was answered.
Jas stood, gripping the flyer.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I understand.”
Tonight, she would tell them everything. She wasn’t just back.
She was here to rebuild.
Sis, stay tuned for pt 2! If you are enjoying this series so far, please like, share, and subscribe.
Sometimes, the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills. Welcome to our new series: Valley Hill Apartments!
Sleeping With My Sister’s Man
Written by Deandrea Moore
Her name was Carmen. She was beautiful on the outside and in–a homegirl to men and women. Men found her attractive and intriguing, but never knew what to do with her, so they always opted for the route of using her. They treated her like a shiny trophy, something to be won and placed on a shelf to collect dust. A thing that’s value was wrapped in bragging rights. Carmen had a habit of being picky while simultaneously being an expert in picking wrong. It was something she had down to a science. It was like they had a sixth sense that let them know that she didn’t really value herself or have high standards. Although, she was a master of ‘faking it til you make it.’
So here comes this guy showing interest in her and at first Carmen plays it cool, hard to get. She tries to ignore him and mind her own business. He’s persistent, cool, and collected. So he not only catches, but holds her attention. This was a big deal considering sometimes her attention span could be short. She decides to give him a chance. They start having more conversations which leads to them hanging out. After a few times of hanging out they eventually open the door to adult activities. Now she’s in what one would call a trance–a state of delusion if you will. It’s got her thinking she likes him more than she actually does. She’s ignoring red flags and not thinking clearly. The door they opened had different things waiting on the other side. For him it was the feeling of uninterest after getting what he wanted.
For her it was heartbreak, especially because he’ll give up on true pursuit and never get to know how truly special she is. So since he never had real intentions for her and her self-esteem was down by the river, he treats her like a secret. Lucky for him she can keep it. Mind you there’s nothing wrong with Carmen. She just didn’t value herself enough to make him commit and claim her. So she lets him get away with treating her like that.
Now this is where things get sticky. The whole time she’s sleeping with him she’s unaware that this man is actually her sister’s. Knowing her even if she knew it was her sister’s man her thought process would probably be: “What would you have me do? I was sleeping with him before I knew about you. I mean you’ve got eyes, you can see. You know what he looks like. Plus, I didn’t chase him, he chased me.” Silly logic, I know. It makes sense to someone though. It made sense to Carmen. She wouldn’t care that it was her sister’s man. Getting her needs met and having her ego stroked were much higher on her priority list. And you wouldn’t be able to tell her this man wasn’t hers–delusion had already settled in. Him leaving her with forehead kisses only sealed her delusion. What her sister didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her anyway.
I’ll let you in on one more thing: Carmen’s sister wasn’t related by way of biology. They didn’t share a parent of any sort. She was her sister-in-Christ. The same God died for both their sins, so that made them kin. Carmen’s ‘sister’ hadn’t even found the man yet. That didn’t matter though. God never intended for them to get together. That was somebody else’s husband. Her husband was out there somewhere, but God wanted her to wait and save herself for him. Many of us are out here moving like Carmen. We don’t value ourselves or our bodies, so we allow men access that wasn’t truly earned. Opening doors that are harder to close than we think. We are sleeping with our sister’s man and delaying the process of not only the man meant for us to find us, but of him finding our sister. Once Carmen understood this she could navigate dating with intention and think of herself as something precious–to be treasured and stewarded over.
Sis, navigate dating with intention and remember that you are precious. Trust that you are not meant to be hidden, borrowed, or confused with someone else’s place. What God has for you will be clear, covered, and committed.
Sometimes, the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills. Welcome to our new series: Valley Hills Apartments!
“I’ve been crying ‘Cause I’m lonely (For you) Smiles have all turned to tears But tears won’t wash away the fears That you’re never ever gonna return To ease the fire that within me burns…”
“Come see about me”
My name is Amani and I just moved into Valley Hill Apartments. My mother used to play music every Saturday. It motivated her through mopping the floors, washing our laundry, and cooking Sunday dinner. But the song she sang along to the loudest was “Come See About Me” by the Supremes. I often wondered if she reminisced about good times with my dad, but the times I witnessed were not so good.
Today, that song popped up in my mind and I began to sing it just as loud as she once did. I sat in my oversized lounge chair with my cup of tea looking out of the window of my small apartment with unpacked boxes.
I find myself in a new place, in a new city, but I am still lost. I am tired. I am carrying mountains of debt. I owe myself exponentially. I am stressed. I have health issues for which my doctor apathetically prescribed pills I can’t even pronounce. And in fact, I need more medicine, the kind that only one doctor can prescribe. I sip my tea, breathing heavily through my nostrils reflecting on how no one wants to help me or even let me rest on their shoulders. But after all, no one knew I was hurting, mad, disappointed, in need. I always keep my mouth shut and regurgitate, “I’m fine.”
I made myself invisible so others could be seen, time after time. After all, I am to be seen and not heard, but somehow my toxic trait said, “go a little deeper and not be seen at all.” After all, you don’t want to be perceived as prideful. So, I refused help—thinking they would like me more.
I live in purpose and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, but I realized some of my achievements were starting to adorn my worth like a heavy gold chain around my neck. Then, one day, an old lady reminded me that my worth isn’t predicated upon what I do or the titles I bear. She reminded me that I am already valuable–fearfully and wonderfully made. I inhale, then I exhale.
I glance once more around my apartment. I may not have it all figured out. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed and tired because I keep trying to lift loads all on my own, without wisdom and in my own strength. And sometimes I think I have to keep moving without resting, feeling and being. I instinctively pick up my cell phone. “Call Lina,” I command. I need to check on my sister.
“Are you okay?” I ask. We end our conversation with a plan to meet up for lunch at a restaurant with our favorite food we enjoyed as little girls. I hang up the phone and tap the reverse button in the camera, flipping it to face me.
And I can hear the woman clearly as she stares back at me through the lens.
“Come see about me,” she sings with all her heart, trying her best to imitate the pitch of the lead singer of the song.
“I hear you just as clear as I hear the rain tapping on my window,” I compassionately inform her.
With hope and with clarity, I respond further: “I see you. I will love you as I love others. I will not neglect you. This next season is yours.”
Sis, stop trying to pour from an empty cup. It’s okay to see about you too. When you do, you show up to your God-given arenas more authentic, more capable, more grateful, and fully present.
In this new series, the ladies of Valley Hills Apartments share pieces of their lives through short stories, prose, and poetry. Some moments may make you laugh. Some may make you pause and reflect. And each piece will leave you with a little encouragement.
Because sometimes the best wisdom comes from women who have walked through the valley and are still learning to keep their eyes on the hills.
Come on in and meet the ladies of Valley Hills Apartments!
From the Valley to the Hills
Disclaimer: These short stories and poems are works of creative expression, written by writers, Tannika Nikeya, Deandrea Moore, and Saneatra Polk, and are intended to inspire and encourage young ladies and women. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Additionally, this series includes AI-generated visuals used for presentation, created by Tannika Nikeya, Saneatra Polk, and Deandrea Moore.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee Pt 4
(c) 2025
Written by Tannika Nikeya
[Flashback from pt 3: Just then zzzz, zap could be heard and then a pop.
Gregory jumped back from one of the major coffee machines, with his eyes wide and his head leaned back.]
It had sat comfortably for years on the café’s counter turning one cup of coffee or chai tea at a time. The cafe crews had done their best to keep this old machine alive and lately it had been so temperamental. Gregory touched the machine, an idea he knew he shouldn’t have accepted into his mind, but it was instinctive. “It’s cool,” he said as everyone behind the counter watched.
Mr. Daniels was also watching. Gregory set a long cup under one of the openings of the machine and pressed a button. Out flowed brown liquid whose scent pleasingly filled the air of the little cafe.
As Lesliana left the cash register, Jacob, another daytime crew member, stepped up with a warm smile to ring up the next customer. It was a quick break for Lesliana. She often sat down at one of the little tables to check her emails and eat and drink a little something, a blueberry muffin and hot Chai tea, her usual in the morning. She scoured her emails and then checked her student portal anxiously as she sipped her tea. She had submitted her research paper a couple of days ago to her psychology professor and was awaiting her grade.
In the midst of the morning, song after song played in the café adding to the cozy vibes and morning pace that had picked up. Mr. Daniels took another sip of his cup of coffee. This time no steam greeted him.
Kimberly just then rushed from the back with a cell phone on her ear propped up by her shoulder and a bunch of pastries in her hand all concealed in their individual wraps. She dropped them down on the small counter next to the pastries display. She would put a couple of them in the display to show their delectableness and store the rest for customers to purchase. When her hands were clear, she grabbed her cell phone to hold it, her face filled with concern.
We see Lesliana anxiously checking her student portal while trying to enjoy her break. What’s one time you had to wait for important news (like a grade, a job offer, or a diagnosis) while trying to carry on with your normal daily routine? How did you manage that stress?
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Some paths don’t make sense until you look back and see the world you helped heal. Trust your calling. Trust your glow. The journey is worth it. 🌍💛
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Today at the P’osies Cafe we have Part 3 of Mr. Daniels and His Cup, written by me, Tannika Nikeya.
In today’s story we have humility, hope, humor… and a coffee machine about to snap. So sit back and enjoy.
Part 3 Daytime Crew
(c) 2025
Mr. Daniels nodded his head, his face serene, and proceeded back to his seat at his usual table in the middle of the café.
“Shrek was about to blow his lid about his darn wallet he lost.” exclaimed Gregory. The café broke out into united chuckles.
The momentary burst of laughter then faded, leaving the familiar, comforting clatter of cups and the low hum of conversation. The café went on about their usual routines and morning bustle serving each customer and sending them on their way with their favorite beverages and pastries.
Mr. Daniels watched the staff settle back into their rhythm. His coffee, from which he had just taken a tiny sip, sent up a faint, comforting steam.
He noted Kimberly wiping down the counter with long, firm strokes. She was such a pleasant young lady who embodied the virtue he just told the man in the expensive blue suit to possess. She served more than just coffee; she served humility and patience that accompanied her smile. She doesn’t know her power yet, but it is immense, he thought.
Next was Lesliana, shy and timid, back at the register, her big smile reappearing as she thanked a customer. Lesliana worked to help pay for her college classes. It wasn’t easy to juggle her studies and a job but she needed the money for school. This was her seventh year at a four-year university, but this was her last year. My last year of college she would tell Mr. Daniels. Many of them mistake velocity for progress, Mr. Daniels mused, but patience and trusting God’s timing is a virtue. She carries hope, a quiet fire that needs only gentle tending.
And Gregory, who had a rough childhood in foster care, was already making the next customer laugh. He thought his job was only making the latest latte or frappuccino. It was not. His task is the balancing of sorrow and bringing joy to customers, Mr. Daniels thought as he observed him. For Gregory, laughter was a mechanism he used to aid himself in difficult times. And now the laughter he coaxes out is a necessary pressure release for the souls gathered there.
Mr. Daniels folded back his newspaper and set it on the table next to his cup of coffee. He often poured his attention into the stories of the daytime crew more than he read the newspaper.
Kimberly would often talk about her parents. Her dad was gravely ill. As often as she smiled, no one knew just how worried she was about her dad who had lost so much weight and could barely walk now, and her mom who looked after him. After work, Kimberly would stop by to check on her dad and her mom. This Saturday, she looked forward to sitting in with her dad while her mom got a 60-minute massage courtesy of Kimberly. But at this moment, worry lay right behind her smile because her mom reported her dad hasn’t been eating much.
She had prayed with her mom after her mom gave her the news, trying to chuck fear aside and nurture hope for a miracle.
Mr. Daniels knew about her dad as he had listened intently to every detail Kimberly shared about him. He had watched as her colleagues wrapped their arms around her and assured her it would be okay.
Kimberly threw herself into her work, making sure the cafe ran smoothly and delivered those same cozy vibes it gave each day. The sun settled in just as the crew did, alternating spots and illuminating the cafe through the big picture window. The crew picked up their pace as the store became more alive.
Just then zzzz, zap could be heard and then a pop.
Gregory jumped back from one of the major coffee machines, with his eyes wide and his head leaned back.
Hey Friends, welcome back to the P’osies Cafe Series! We apologize that P’osies Cafe was closed yesterday. Some things came up and we got a bit delayed. Nonetheless, we are open today and have a new treat here at the cafe: part two of Mr. Daniels andHisCup of Coffee.
Enjoy!
Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee: The Lost Wallet (c) 2025
But Kimberly didn’t think he was rich at all. She had watched him on numerous occasions pull out coins and count them slowly, then hand them gently over to her or one of the baristas in exchange for his routine coffee.
And today was the same. Mr. Daniels limped in, gave his usual nod and proceeded to the line. When it was time for him to order his morning coffee or shall we say daily coffee. He would sip on this one cup his entire stay. Kimberly appeared from the back with a stack of cups in her hands. “Hi, Mr. Daniels, good morning!” “How are you today?”
“I’m well, Kimberly,” he slowly replied. “I hope all is well with you, today.”
“Oh, Mr. Daniels, this morning has been rough.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that Kimberly,” Mr. Daniels empathized. “But don’t worry, things will work out just fine,” he continued.
Kimberly let out a sigh and then released a smile. Mr. Daniels, in the midst of paying for his coffee, pulled 16 quarters out of his coin pouch. He laid them down on the counter, counted them one by one, and then picked them back up and handed them to Lesliana. Lesliana was another daytime crew member but also a full-time student at the local college. She seemed shy and timid but always smiled big. In fact the daytime crew at the P’osies Café, no matter what happened at the cafe or in their personal lives, never hesitated to smile. That was what set them apart. Their smiles were just as warm and inviting as the café.
After Mr. Daniels received his coffee. He sat down at his usual table. He set his coffee down and picked up the newspaper that was placed on the table by Kimberly earlier anticipating his arrival. While the steam rose from his coffee, he opened the newspaper to read or browse. No one knew if he read the newspaper thoroughly but he sat there quietly. Not one word.
The chimes on the door eagerly announces the next set of customers coming in one by one. A rosy cheek woman with a baby in the stroller who too had rosy cheeks. Two teen girls giggling, excited about the day ahead. A tall teen boy with glasses and corn rows whose face was buried in his phone. A petite woman with long hair, dressed in a mustard color blazer, long leather black skirt and leopard heels. She quietly and confidently walked in. And then a buff man wearing an expensive blue suit, white shirt and carrying a briefcase and talking on his phone came into the café.
Mr. Daniels slowly looked up at the man. In fact, everyone turned their attention to him as he came in because he was loud, a little too loud for the morning time where people had only been up for one to a few hours.
Some of the daytime crew felt relieved when he received his coffee and exited the café. But five minutes later he was back. He frantically rushed in even louder than when he came in before. And the chimes retreated back to their resting position just as quickly as they did when he rushed in. His briefcase swinging in his hands. “Where’s my wallet?” he belted out.
“Excuse me sir,” Lesliana softly responded.
“Where is my wallet?” he repeated. “I remember having it here at the counter.”
Kimberly walked over to the cash register and Lesliana. “Sir, we can surely take a look around the store right quick. Are you sure this is the last spot you had your wallet?” asked Kimberly.
“Come on, I know when I last had my wallet.” He retorted impatiently.
The man announced that he will call the cops.
“That will be fine sir but while you do that I will continue to check the floor. Can you retrace your movements?” She asked him.
Kimberly took a deep breath and told Lesliana to help the next customer who had come in after the man. Kimberly stepped from behind the counter and began to walk around the store looking at the floors and tables.
The man turned red and demanded his wallet, his voice high and grating. Kimberly grew worried. She frantically searched for the wallet of the man with the expensive blue suit, her eyes darting under tables.
Just then, Mr. Daniels slowly rose. Every joint seemed to creak a silent protest, but he moved with quiet, deliberate determination toward the belligerent man. Mr. Daniels didn’t speak until he was right beside him, and then, he gently extended an old hand holding a black leather wallet.
The man stopped mid-sentence, his jaw hanging. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled, his eyes narrowing at the old man’s patched coat and worn shoes.
“And how did you get my wallet?”
Mr. Daniels held his gaze—a gaze that held no judgment, only patience.
“You dropped it here on the floor as you left,” Mr. Daniels stated simply. Then, his voice softened, carrying just enough weight to cut through the man’s anger. “Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays foolishness. I understand that you lost your wallet, sir, but please be patient and kind.”
The man snatched the wallet back. He looked down at the soft-spoken old man, ready to unleash another loud, dismissive retort. But something in Mr. Daniel’s eyes—a depth that seemed out of place in a coffee shop, or perhaps the sheer, unruffled calm—captivated his attention.
The man didn’t soften completely; the impatience was ingrained. Instead of arguing or shouting, the man merely gave a curt, tight nod—a visible effort at restraint.
“Right,” the buff man muttered, shoving the wallet into his inner suit pocket. He looked around the cafe, his face still flushed, then spun around and walked out the door, mumbling something under his breath.
“Thanks, Mr. Daniels,” Kimberly said with a relieved smile, watching the door swing shut.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee pt 1
(c) 2025
Written by Tannika Nikeya
An hour after the sun rose to announce the morning, “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles serenaded the small café on the corner of a quiet street. As the song played, the sun smiled on the café, beaming its light through the big front window with its sign: P’osies Café.
It wasn’t a major coffee spot, but it was a quaint and cozy “mom and pop” shop in the neighborhood—a true staple.
Warm colors, potted Pothos and Fiddle Leaf Fig plants, and dim lantern-style light fixtures hung over some of the tables. Unique abstract artwork adorned the walls. The wood tables and chairs added to the cozy charm, complemented by faux fur throw pillows in autumn hues of yellow, orange, and red.
One by one, customers walked into the café, the door chimes eagerly announcing each entrance. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. A new spice—pumpkin—hinted at the arrival of a new season.
Some customers came in with smiles and cheerful greetings; others offered polite nods, still adjusting to the morning and mentally preparing for the day ahead.
As each customer entered, the daytime crew greeted them with warm smiles and hearty good mornings. Some even had custom greetings for their favorite regulars. But when Mr. Daniels walked through the door with a slight limp and a soft nod—just as he did every morning at 7:45 a.m. sharp—the entire morning crew chimed in together:
“Hello, Mr. Daniels.”
And Kimberly, as always, asked,
“How are you this morning?”
Kimberly was one of the managers and the supervisor of the daytime crew. She had long locs and a beautiful smile—one that included both her eyes and her mouth and illuminated her rich, dark skin. Mr. Daniels often reminded her that she was beautiful and that she had the loveliest smile.
“In life,” he would say, “a smile from the heart and a joyful laugh are just as potent as medicine.”
Kimberly loved when Mr. Daniels shared his wisdom or stories from his younger days—sometimes about life, sometimes about the war. He was a sweet old man, kind and gentle, who looked fragile and poor. She would often tell the baristas to give him his change back, but he always refused. He would not take his drink if they didn’t accept his payment.
Every time he visited the café, he sat at the same table. He wore the same old brown jacket with patches, the same brown slacks, and the same white shirt. His black shoes were worn and cracked—just as weary as his jacket. And he always ordered the same coffee: almond milk, no sugar.
Most of the daytime crew thought he might be homeless because of his worn clothing and how he stayed for hours, sometimes until the crew clocked out.
Gregory—the one who kept everyone laughing—would always joke,
“That man ain’t homeless. He probably got a one-bedroom with a closet full of money. He’s rich, how much you want to bet?”
Tannika Nikeya 