I sat on the edge of my bed, one hand resting on my lap, the other absentmindedly rubbing the corner of my Bible. The sound of celebration downstairs was muffled now—just a distant mix of music, voices, and clapping.
But my thoughts were louder.
"The day they brought her home…"
I couldn't un-hear it. Couldn't convince myself I misunderstood.
I tried to pray—to push it away in the name of peace—but instead of clarity, I felt a strange weight in my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. Just... knowing. A whisper of truth trying to rise.
A soft knock came at the door. Then a familiar voice, laced with concern.
"Patience? Are you okay?"
I hesitated before answering. "Come in."
Chris opened the door slowly and stepped inside. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he said, his voice gentle. "You just disappeared."
"I needed air," I replied, not quite meeting his eyes.
He closed the door behind him, then sat beside me, close but respectful. His presence was quiet and calm, like a still breeze at the edge of a storm.
"I knew something was off today," he said softly. "And I knew you'd hide it behind that smile you wear so well."
I chuckled without humour. "So you're psychic now?"
"No. Just observant. And maybe slightly obsessed." He smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
I didn't smile back.
Instead, I looked at him. Really looked. "I heard something," I said. "Downstairs. Two aunties. They were talking… about the day 'they brought me home.' Not born. Brought."
His brows furrowed. "You think they were talking about you?"
"I don't know. But it didn't sit right. And with everything else going on in my head lately—school, stress—I just…"
I trailed off.
Chris reached out slowly and took my hand in his. "Hey," he said, his voice low. "Don't do that. Don't spiral into questions you don't have answers to yet. It could've been about someone else. Or maybe it was just old gist, taken out of context."
I swallowed. "But what if it wasn't?"
He took a breath. "Then we pray. We wait. And we trust God's timing."
His thumb moved gently over my fingers, and for a moment, his eyes searched mine—not with pity, but with something softer. Steadier.
"You're not alone, Patience. No matter what that whisper meant. I'm here. And God is too—even in the shadows."
The room was quiet for a moment. Still.
I nodded slowly. "Thank you."
He smiled, and for the first time that day, I felt my chest loosen just a little. Like maybe I didn't need to figure everything out in one day. Like maybe I could rest in being known, even in uncertainty.
Just then, a soft buzz came from the home intercom. Mum's voice followed:
> "Patience? We need you downstairs o! Come and rescue your siblings before they turn this party upside down. Games are starting!"
I sighed. "Saved by the speaker."
Chris stood and reached for my hand again. "Come on. Let's face the fun. You don't want to miss Patrick cheating at musical chairs again."
That made me laugh—really laugh.
As we walked out of the room, fingers loosely intertwined, I whispered a quiet prayer in my heart.
> Lord, if something is coming... please give me the strength to face it. And thank You—for people who stay.