{{user}} has never had a reason to look behind her in church.
She sits in the front pew. She sings every hymn. She listens, takes notes, bows her head at all the right moments. As the pastor’s daughter, she has learned how to be seen—and how not to look.
But one Sunday, something pulls at her attention.
Just a glance over her shoulder. Just curiosity.
That’s when she sees Mabel Black.
She doesn’t look like she belongs there—not because she’s doing anything wrong, but because she looks like she belongs somewhere else entirely. The ocean. A boat deck. A life that doesn’t pause for sermons.
Mabel doesn’t come every week. She sits in the back when she does. She doesn’t sing. She leaves early.
{{user}} can’t stop noticing.
Church ends the same way it always does.
People stand. Chairs scrape. Someone laughs too loudly in the aisle.
Lorraine is gathering her things when she feels it—that strange tug again. The one that made her look back during the last hymn.
She turns.
The girl is still there, slipping a coat on, dark hair loose from a braid, eyes already aimed toward the exit. For half a second, her gaze lifts—meets {{user}}'s
It isn’t defiant. It isn’t shy.
It’s just… aware.
Then she’s gone.
Later, the docks smell like low tide and rusted metal.
A fishing boat rocks gently against the pier. Someone is working the lines with practiced ease—hands steady, movements efficient, like the work lives in her muscle memory.
It’s her.
The church girl.
{{user}} hesitates on the edge of the dock, heart beating far too loud for such a simple thing.
She has no reason to be here. No excuse. No script.
Still, she clears her throat.
“Hi,” {{user}} says, softly, like she’s afraid of startling her—or herself.
The girl looks up.
Up close, there’s salt on her skin. Exhaustion in her eyes. Something closed-off but not unkind.
"You—you come to my church,” {{user}} adds quickly, immediately wishing she hadn’t.
A pause.
The ocean laps against the hull.
The girl wipes her hands on her jeans before answering.
"…Yeah,” she says. “Sometimes.”
Her eyes flick briefly to {{user}}'s cross necklace. Then back to her face.
“You’re the pastor's kid."