✨ Mini Novel:
“The Weight of Protection”
This novel is about a gorgeous, darker skinned Italian-Native woman named Maria Carvaullo from Bronx, NY USA, who had a very passionate and loving boyfriend, RaQuil, who desired very strongly to marry her, but he had an intense problem withtwo things: forgiveness and anger.
He'd even scared the ba-jeebles out of her one time because he got angry with her, because she came home late and didn't have him come pick her up. In his mind, he's not abusive or angry, he's simply protective...
Maria Carvaullo was born beneath Bronx streetlights that flickered like tired stars, their glow catching the warm bronze of her skin as she walked home each night. Her beauty was not really loud—it was steady, rooted, and ancestral. Italian fire lived in her hands; Native memory lived in her bones. She carried both with quiet dignity, like sacred heirlooms.
She loved deeply. That was her gift and, some days, it was her cross.
Her boyfriend loved her too—fiercely, possessively, with a devotion that spoke of marriage, rings, futures, and things forever. He told her often that she was his answered prayer. And he believed it. Truly. Yet inside him lived a storm that forgiveness never quite accomplished.
When Maria came home late one evening, having chosen to walk instead of calling him for a ride, the storm rose.
His voice sharpened. His presence filled the room like thunder pressing against glass. He never laid a hand on her—but fear does not always need touch to leave stern bruises. Her heart raced. Her breath shrank. And when it was over, he stood certain of his righteousness.
“I’m not angry,” he told himself.
“I’m protective.”
But Scripture says, “The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”
And love—true love—“is patient, is kind… it is not easily angered.”
Maria knew these verses. She had learned them the way some people learn lullabies. Yet knowing the Word and living safely within it are not always the same thing.
She prayed for him. She prayed for calmness and peace. She prayed that love would be enough to heal what he refused to name.
But the Bible also teaches that repentance is not regret—it is turning. And he would not turn. He believed that his extreme love excused his fury. He believed fear was a form of authentic care.
Maria began to understand another scripture, quieter but firmer:
“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
One night, she packed her things while the city slept. No drama. No shouting. Just tears falling into folded clothes. Leaving broke her heart—but staying would have broken her spirit.
He woke to absence. To silence. To the echo of a love he thought he owned.
Maria walked into a future that hurt—but did not harm her. She carried grief, yes, but also wisdom. She learned that love without gentleness is not love. That protection without humility becomes control. That God’s laws are not cages—but coverings.
And though the ending was sad, it was powerful:
Maria chose peace.
Not because she stopped loving—but because she finally loved herself enough to believe that true, pure, holy love never requires fear.
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