Ayesha Curry Hears Son Ask Stephen: “Are You Leaving Too?” — Her Reaction SHOCKED Everyone
.
.
.
The Night the Curry Family Learned What Matters Most
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 a Tuesday night in late June, the air heavy with more than just California’s summer humidity. Uncertainty had settled in the house, replacing the usual warmth with a quiet tension.
Stephen Curry sat on the edge of the sofa, fingers interlaced in silent prayer—a gesture Ayesha had come to recognize over more than a decade of marriage. The TV murmured with sports analysts dissecting every detail of Steph’s career, speculating about his possible departure from the Golden State Warriors. “The golden era may be ending,” one voice declared, “and everyone wants to know—where will Steph Curry go next?”
Ayesha entered the room carrying two cups of chamomile tea, their nightly ritual even in the most turbulent times. She handed Steph a cup, whispering a prayer for wisdom under her breath. He accepted it with a grateful smile, but his eyes remained fixed on the screen, worry etched into his face.
“They act like my decision’s already made,” Steph muttered, frustration breaking through his calm. “Like they know my mind better than I do.”
Ayesha sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “Whatever we decide, we’ll do it together—with prayer and faith that God is guiding us.”
But her own heart was heavy, not with fears of money or fame, but for their children—especially five-year-old Canon, who knew only the security of this home.
At that very moment, Canon sat quietly on the tenth step of the staircase, his small feet swinging above the floor, wearing his favorite Warriors pajamas. He listened, wide-eyed, to the grown-up conversation below. The words “leaving” and “going away” had haunted the house for weeks. Canon didn’t understand contracts or career moves. In his mind, people who left didn’t always come back.
Steph’s voice dropped. “I lie awake wondering if we’re doing the right thing. The Warriors have been our home for so long. Our church, our friends—everything is here.”
“Maybe God is preparing us for a new season,” Ayesha said softly. “Maybe we’re being called to trust Him for something bigger.”
Canon’s heart pounded. To a five-year-old, “going away” could only mean one thing: people you loved might disappear.
That night, after Steph and Ayesha prayed in the living room, Canon lay awake in bed, clutching his teddy bear. He whispered a prayer of his own: “Jesus, please don’t let Daddy go away. Please make him stay with me.”
The next morning, Canon clung to Steph’s pant leg as he prepared to leave for practice. “Do you have to go to work today?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“Yes, little one. But I’ll be home for dinner, like always,” Steph promised, not noticing the dark circles under his son’s eyes.
“Do you promise?” Canon pressed.
“I promise,” Steph replied, kissing his forehead.
But as Steph drove away, Canon pressed his face to the window, watching until the car disappeared. A new ritual had begun—one born from fear, not habit.
Ayesha noticed Canon’s clinginess, how he followed her around the kitchen, how his usual joy was replaced by a quiet anxiety. While they made cookies together, Canon finally asked, “Mommy, when people pray a lot, does that mean something bad is happening?”
Ayesha’s heart ached. “No, sweetheart. Sometimes we pray because we’re grateful, or because we need help with big decisions. Prayer is talking to God about anything in our hearts.”
“But you and Daddy look sad when you pray,” Canon said, his brow furrowed.
Ayesha knelt down, hugging him tightly. “We’re just trying to make the best decision for our family. Whatever happens, we’ll always be together.”
But Canon’s fears grew. He overheard Ayesha on the phone with her friend Diana: “Steph’s being pulled in so many directions. I feel like someone’s going to get hurt, no matter what we decide.”
To Canon, “someone is going to get hurt” sounded like confirmation of his worst fears.
At dinner that night, Canon asked, “Daddy, if you had to work far away, would you visit us every day?”
Steph and Ayesha exchanged glances. “Why do you ask, buddy?” Steph replied gently.
“Just wondering,” Canon said, but his voice was serious.
Later, as Steph tucked him in, Canon asked, “Jesus never goes away, right?”
“That’s right,” Steph said, smiling. “Jesus promised He’d never leave us.”
“And you never go away either, right?” Canon asked, eyes wide.
“Of course not. Daddy will always be here for you.”
But as Steph turned out the light, Canon lay awake, struggling to reconcile his father’s promises with the talk of leaving and change.
Three days passed. Canon became a silent shadow, following Steph everywhere, watching, listening, trying to make sense of a world suddenly unstable.
On Saturday, while Steph organized basketballs in the garage and Ayesha prepared dinner, Canon finally summoned the courage to ask the question that had haunted him.
He stood in the garage doorway, twisting his small hands. “Daddy, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, buddy. You can always ask me anything.”
Canon’s voice shook. “Are you… are you going away too?”
The words hit Steph like a punch. He knelt, pulling Canon close. “No, baby. Daddy is never, ever going away from you.”
“But you keep talking about leaving. You and Mommy keep praying and crying and talking about leaving things behind.”
Ayesha entered, drawn by instinct. She saw Canon’s tears and understood at once—her son’s anxiety, his questions, his sleepless nights. They had tried to protect their children from the details, but had left Canon alone with his imagination.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, hugging him tightly. “When Daddy talks about leaving the Warriors, he’s talking about his job—not about leaving our family. Our family never separates.”
“But what if work is more important than me?” Canon sobbed.
Steph’s heart broke. He pulled Canon to his chest. “There is nothing in the world more important to Daddy than you, your sisters, and Mommy. Nothing. Not basketball, not money, not anything. Our family is the most important thing.”
Ayesha pulled them both into a hug. “Sometimes adults use confusing words,” she admitted. “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 have to move, we’ll all go together. I promise before God.”
Canon’s tears slowed. “Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Steph said, and in that moment, clarity dawned for both parents. All the prayer, all the worry—God had used their son’s question to show them what really mattered.
“Daddy’s going to stay with the Warriors,” Steph said. “Not just for basketball—but because this is our home, and our family needs stability.”
That night, the family prayed together in the garage, surrounded by basketballs and sports equipment, but it felt like sacred ground. Canon added his own prayer: “Jesus, thank you for making Daddy stay. Help me not be afraid.”
Peace settled over them for the first time in weeks.
Later, Steph called his agent in front of Canon. “I’ve made my decision. I’m staying with the Warriors. My family needs stability. This is our home.”
Canon’s smile returned, his fears replaced by security.
Two weeks later, at church, the pastor shared their story. “Sometimes God uses the simplest questions to answer our most complex prayers. The wisdom of a child can show us what matters most.”
At home, Canon offered his teddy bear to Steph. “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 about his decision, he replied, “Sometimes the most important decisions aren’t made in boardrooms, but in garages with your children. Real success is measured by how secure your loved ones feel in your love.”
And so, in that house in Atherton, Canon Curry grew up knowing that his question—“Are you leaving too?”—had not only expressed his deepest fear, but had become the gift that realigned his family’s priorities forever.
play video:
