Ayesha Curry Hears Son Ask Stephen: “Are You Leaving Too?” — Her Reaction SHOCKED Everyone

How a Five-Year-Old’s Question Changed the Curry Family Forever

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The blue glow of the television flickered across the Curry family’s living room in Atherton, California, casting restless shadows on the walls. It was late June, a Tuesday night, and the air felt thick—not with humidity, but with the weight of uncertainty. The world outside was quiet, but inside, the greatest shooter in NBA history was facing a decision that could change everything.

Steph Curry sat on the edge of the sofa, fingers interlaced in that familiar pose Ayesha had come to recognize after more than a decade of marriage. It was his silent prayer posture, the one he used when the pressure was almost too much to carry alone. The television’s blue light revealed the lines of worry deepening on his face.

A sports reporter’s voice echoed through the room:
“Sources close to the organization confirm that Steph Curry is seriously considering his options for next season. The golden era of the Warriors may be coming to an end…”

Sometimes, words spoken by strangers on TV cut deeper than any personal crisis. Speculation had invaded their home, planting seeds of fear where there had only been security.

Ayesha entered, carrying two mugs of chamomile tea—their nighttime tradition, even in the most turbulent times. Her movements were gentle, but her eyes betrayed the same anxiety Steph felt.

She handed him a cup and whispered a silent prayer:
God, give us wisdom. Show us the path we should follow.

Steph tried to smile, but his gaze remained fixed on the screen.
“They’re talking as if my decision is already made,” he muttered. “As if they know what’s in my head better than I do.”

Ayesha sat beside him, resting a comforting hand on his knee.
“Whatever we decide, we’ll do it together. With prayer, and faith that God is guiding us,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart trembled. She wasn’t worried about fame or money, but about how this change might affect their children—especially Canon, their five-year-old son.

Unbeknownst to them, Canon was sitting on the tenth step of the staircase, legs swinging, listening. He wore his Warriors pajamas, his favorite birthday gift. His big, curious eyes watched his parents below, trying to make sense of words like “leaving” and “going away”—words he’d heard too often lately.

Steph’s voice was low, almost a whisper.
“I lie awake at night, wondering if we’re doing the right thing. The Warriors have been our home for so long. This city, our community, our church—everything is connected here.”

Ayesha squeezed his hand. “Maybe God is preparing us for a new season. Maybe it’s time to trust He has bigger plans.”

Canon’s heart pounded. To a five-year-old, “leaving” meant only one thing: people left the ones they loved. He’d seen it happen to friends whose parents separated. He’d heard it in hushed conversations that stopped when he entered the room.

“But what about the kids?” Steph’s voice cracked. “Canon barely remembers living anywhere else. The girls have all their friends and activities here. How do we explain that maybe we have to leave all this behind?”

The word “leave” hit Canon like a punch. Tears welled up in his eyes. If Daddy was talking about leaving, did that mean he’d leave the family too?

That night, as Steph and Ayesha knelt to pray, Canon watched them from the stairs, his chest tight with fear. He’d seen them pray before—when Grandma was sick, when Daddy was injured. Praying meant something serious.
Jesus, please don’t let Daddy go away. Please make him stay with me, Canon whispered into the darkness before falling into a restless sleep.

The days that followed brought no peace—only more pressure. The media, the team, agents, and even friends all wanted answers. But inside their home, a small boy was silently interpreting every adult conversation as a sign that his greatest fear was coming true.

Canon became a shadow, following Steph everywhere. When Steph went to the gym, Canon put on his sneakers, hoping to be included. When Steph took business calls, Canon sat nearby, trying to make sense of words far beyond his understanding.

One morning, Canon clung to Steph’s pant leg.
“Does Daddy have to go to work today?”
Steph knelt down, noticing the dark circles under his son’s eyes.
“Yes, little one. Daddy has practice, but I’ll come home for dinner, like always.”
“Do you promise?” Canon’s voice trembled.
“I promise,” Steph said, kissing his forehead. “Daddy always comes home to you and your sisters.”

But as Steph drove away, Canon pressed his face against the window, watching until the car disappeared. He’d done this every morning for three days, a ritual that made him feel just a little safer.

Ayesha noticed Canon’s anxiety. He followed her everywhere, clinging to her side as she cooked or cleaned. One day, as they made cookies together, he finally asked:
“Mommy, when people pray a lot about something, does that mean it’s bad?”

Ayesha knelt beside him, her heart breaking.
“No, baby. Sometimes we pray because we need help making big decisions. Prayer is just talking to God about what’s in our hearts.”

“But you and Daddy have been praying a lot. And when you pray, you look sad.”

Ayesha hugged him tightly.
“Sometimes adults get worried, too. But whatever happens, our family will stay together.”

Still, Canon’s fears grew. He overheard Ayesha telling her friend, “No matter what we decide, someone is going to get hurt.” To Canon, that meant bad things really could happen.

At dinner, Canon’s questions grew more direct.
“Daddy, if you had to work very far away, would you visit us every day?”
Steph and Ayesha exchanged worried glances.
“Daddy will always be here for you,” Steph said, not realizing that wasn’t the answer Canon needed.

Later, as Steph read Canon a bedtime story, Canon asked,
“Jesus never goes away, right?”
“That’s right, little one. Jesus promised He would never leave us.”
“And you never go away either, right?”
“Of course not,” Steph said, but Canon lay awake, his mind racing, unable to reconcile his father’s promises with all the talk of leaving.

On Saturday afternoon, the question that had grown in Canon’s mind finally burst out.

Steph was in the garage, organizing basketball equipment. Canon appeared in the doorway, his small shoulders tense.

“Daddy, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, buddy. You can ask me anything.”

Canon took a deep breath.
“Are you… are you going away too?” His voice broke, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Steph felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“What?” he whispered, already understanding.

“Are you going away like the other daddies? Are you going to leave and not come back?”

Steph dropped to his knees, pulling Canon into his arms.
“No, baby. No. Daddy is never, ever going away from you.”

But Canon sobbed harder.
“But you keep talking about leaving. You and Mommy keep praying and crying about leaving things.”

Ayesha appeared, drawn by instinct. When she heard Canon’s question, the truth hit her like an avalanche. They had been so careful to shield the kids from details, not realizing that Canon had invented a far scarier story in his mind.

“Oh, my baby,” Ayesha cried, hugging him tight. “Daddy is never going away from you. Never, ever.”

“But Jason from school said his daddy went away and never came back. And Emily only sees her daddy sometimes.”

Steph and Ayesha realized that Canon’s friends’ stories of divorce had mixed with their own conversations, creating a perfect storm of misunderstanding.

Ayesha cupped Canon’s face.
“When Daddy talks about leaving the Warriors, he’s talking about his job. But our family—Mommy, Daddy, you, your sisters—we never separate.”

“But what if work is more important than me?” Canon sobbed.

Steph’s heart broke. He pulled Canon close, looking into his eyes.
“There is nothing in the world more important to Daddy than you, your sisters, and Mommy. Not basketball, not money, not anything.”

Ayesha hugged them both.
“Sometimes adults use confusing words. We should have explained better instead of letting you worry alone.”

Steph made a promise.
“No matter where Daddy works, our family will always stay together. If we ever move, we’ll all go together.”

“Do you promise?” Canon asked, hope flickering in his eyes.

“I promise before God,” Steph said, and in that moment, he and Ayesha both knew what they had to do.

That night, the three of them knelt together and prayed.
“Heavenly Father,” Steph said, “thank you for using our son to show us what really matters. Our first responsibility is to the hearts you’ve placed under our care.”

Canon added his own prayer.
“Jesus, thank you for making Daddy stay. Help me not be afraid.”

When they finished, Steph called his agent.
“I’m staying with the Warriors,” he said, with Canon listening. “My family needs stability. This is our home.”

At dinner, the tension was gone. Riley and Ryan immediately noticed the change.
“Why does everyone seem happier?” Riley asked.

“Because our family learned something important about love and communication,” Ayesha said.

“And because Daddy is staying with the Warriors!” Canon announced, his joy infectious.

Two weeks later, at church, the pastor called them forward.
“This family reminds us that God sometimes uses the simplest questions to answer our most complex prayers. When we put family above ambition, God honors those choices.”

Canon stood proudly, knowing his question had helped his family find peace.

That night, Canon handed his Warriors teddy bear to Steph.
“Do you want to hold Curry Bear? He helped me not be afraid when I thought you were going away.”

Steph hugged Canon and the bear.
“Thank you, buddy. But Curry Bear should stay with you, to remind you that Daddy always comes home.”

Six months later, when a journalist asked Steph why he stayed, he replied,
“Sometimes, the most important decisions aren’t made in boardrooms. They’re made in garages, with your children. Real success is measured by how secure your family feels in your love.”

And so, in the Curry house, Canon grew up knowing that his question—“Are you leaving too?”—was not just a cry of fear, but a gift. A reminder that love, honesty, and family always come first.

Great truths about family are often revealed through the smallest voices. Sometimes, a child’s question can realign an entire family’s priorities—and teach us all what really matters.

Let me know if you’d like a shorter version, a focus on a particular character, or a more journalistic or dramatic tone!