Chapter 1
The rain had not stopped in three days. It tapped relentlessly against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that matched the dull ache in Sarah's chest. She sat curled up on the couch, her mother's old knit blanket wrapped around her shoulders, though it did little to ward off the cold that had settled inside her.
She had stopped keeping track of the days. Since the funeral, time had blurred into an endless stretch of gray. Friends had come and gone, leaving behind whispered condolences and sad smiles, but none of it had touched the void inside her. How could they understand? How could they possibly know what it was like to lose everything in an instant?
She used to believe in God's plan. Used to believe in the warmth of prayer, the comfort of scripture. Now, every verse felt hollow, every hymn a cruel mockery. If there was a divine plan, it had taken everything from her—her parents, her home, her sense of self. She had spent years building her life around faith, and now, it lay in ruins.
A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. But then, another knock, followed by a familiar voice.
"Sarah, it's Mrs. Thompson."
With a sigh, Sarah pushed herself up from the couch. Mrs. Thompson had been her neighbor since she was a child, a kind elderly woman who always had a fresh-baked pie cooling on her windowsill. She had been one of the few people to check in on Sarah regularly since the accident, bringing food, warm words, and—when Sarah would allow it—quiet company.
Sarah opened the door, and Mrs. Thompson smiled gently, holding up a small basket. "I made some of my apple muffins. Thought you might like some."
Sarah hesitated, then stepped aside, allowing the woman to enter. Mrs. Thompson moved with the slow grace of someone who had seen many years and carried them well. She placed the basket on the coffee table and sat down in the armchair across from Sarah.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rain and the occasional creak of the house settling. Finally, Mrs. Thompson broke the silence.
"I know you're hurting, dear."
Sarah let out a bitter laugh. "That's an understatement."
Mrs. Thompson nodded, unoffended. "I lost my husband when I was about your age," she said, her voice soft but steady. "It felt like the world had ended. I didn't think I'd ever get through it."
Sarah looked up, surprised. "You never talk about him."
Mrs. Thompson smiled wistfully. "Some pain takes time to speak of. But I remember the way grief felt—like I was walking through a fog, unable to see what was ahead. I questioned everything, especially my faith. I was angry. I felt abandoned."
Sarah swallowed hard. "Did it ever get better?"
The older woman reached for Sarah's hand, squeezing it gently. "Not all at once. But little by little, light finds its way back in."
Sarah turned her gaze back to the rain. She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that one day, the weight crushing her chest would lift. But right now, it felt impossible.
Mrs. Thompson stood, smoothing out the folds of her cardigan. "I won't stay long, dear. But I want you to do something for me."
Sarah arched an eyebrow. "What?"
"Come by my house tomorrow. Just for a little while. I have something to show you."
Sarah hesitated. She had barely left the house in weeks. The idea of stepping out into the world, of facing people, felt overwhelming.
But there was something in Mrs. Thompson's gaze—something warm and knowing—that made her nod. "Okay."
Mrs. Thompson smiled. "Good girl. And in the meantime, eat a muffin. They always help."
After she left, Sarah sat staring at the basket for a long time before finally reaching in and pulling out a muffin. She took a tentative bite. It was warm, spiced with cinnamon, tasting of something painfully familiar.
For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel entirely numb.
The next morning, Sarah hesitated at the doorstep of Mrs. Thompson's house. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth from the recent rain. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.
Mrs. Thompson answered almost immediately, beaming. "Come in, dear."
Sarah followed her into the cozy living room, where a fire crackled in the hearth. But it wasn't the warmth of the fire that caught her attention—it was the walls, lined with photographs. Some old, some new. Faces she didn't recognize mixed in with familiar ones. At the center of them all was a single framed quote:
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." — John 1:5
Mrs. Thompson caught her gaze. "I started this wall after my husband passed. Every person here is someone who helped me find my way back."
Sarah traced the edge of a photo with her fingertip. "How?"
"They reminded me that love doesn't disappear, even when people do," Mrs. Thompson said gently. "Grief can make the world feel empty, but it's not. Love is still here and always will be, because God is love.
"God says, "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee"- Hebrew 13.5
In the kindness of strangers. In laughter. In the way the sun rises every morning, no matter how dark the night was."
Sarah blinked back tears. "I don't know if I can believe that yet."
Mrs. Thompson patted her hand. "That's okay. Just let yourself see it."
Sarah stood there for a long time, absorbing the warmth of the room, the weight of Mrs. Thompson's words. Maybe she wasn't ready to believe yet.
But for the first time in a long while, she wanted to try.