Night pressed against the house windows, the darkness outside made complete by the warm yellow light within. The front door stood ajar, just enough to let in a whisper of cool air that stirred the curtains. Faith sat on the couch, alone in the living room, her body convulsing with sobs that seemed to come from some deep, wounded place. Behind her, the table lamp cast her shadow on the wall—elongated, distorted, and strangely doubled, as if some unseen presence loomed over her shoulder. The floorboards of the porch creaked. Grace let herself in without knocking, her movements efficient and purposeful. Hope followed a step behind, reaching to close the front door but leaving it slightly open as if afraid to commit to being fully inside. The doubled shadow on the wall vanished, leaving only Faith's singular silhouette, trembling with grief. Faith looked up, her face blotchy and swollen. "I can't believe this has happened." Her voice was raw, scraped hollow. Hope moved toward Faith, arms outstretched, but Faith pulled away from the offered comfort, coiling tighter into herself. "Believe it," Grace said, the words landing like stones. "But have faith in God." Faith pressed her palms against her eyes. "I don't know if I can handle this." "She's left us no choice." Grace's voice was calm, almost clinical. "We can't leave her like that." Hope shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a nervous habit she'd had since childhood. "Can't we just call someone to help us with—" "You're naive," Grace cut her off, the edge in her voice suggesting this wasn't the first time she'd made this observation. "We need to keep this private... keep her here." Faith's brow furrowed. "We don't have the necessary things here to—" "We'll leave Hope, go into town, and grab a few—" "She has no faith," Faith interrupted, shooting a cold glance at Hope. "She'll only get in the way." Hope's face flushed. "I won't screw this up. I swear." Faith's eyes narrowed, assessing, disbelieving. "To God," Hope added, the words hanging in the air between them. The front door cracked open just enough for a sliver of night to peek through. Outside, the world held its breath. Inside, the three women stood, frozen, locked in some unspoken pact. A dim lamp spilled its weak light across their faces, but the shadows—those stretched far, long, and twisted until they bled into one dark, shapeless mass on the wall. No one uttered another word. They didn’t need to. The choice had been made.
Chapter 24