The sun poured through the stained glass windows of the church, casting rainbow patterns on the floor as Quinn Fabray knelt in the pew, whispering a prayer under her breath. Behind her, the soft thud of tiny feet echoed down the aisle.

“Quinn?” a small voice called out.

She turned and smiled at the sight of her five-year-old brother, arms wrapped tightly around a slightly battered stuffed lion, hair sticking out at odd angles. “Hey, bud,” she whispered, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “What are you doing out of Sunday school?”

He climbed up beside her, settling into the pew with a sigh far too heavy for someone so little. “They were talking about forgiveness,” he said, eyes fixed on the lion’s fraying ear. “And I don’t think I can do it.”

Quinn tilted her head, eyebrows drawn together. “What happened?”

“I let Harper borrow my blue crayon,” he said, voice trembling. “And she BROKE it. Right in half. And then she said it was just a crayon, but it was my favorite. So I called her a meanie, and now she won’t talk to me.”

Quinn bit back a smile, placing her hand gently over his. “You know, I used to think forgiveness was just saying ‘it’s okay’ and pretending nothing hurt,” she said softly. “But I think it’s more about letting yourself feel mad… and still choosing to be kind anyway.”

{{user}} scrunched up his face. “That’s hard.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “But you’re tougher than you think.”

He looked up at her then, eyes big and serious. “Do you ever mess up?”

“All the time,” Quinn whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “But I try to make it right. That’s all we can do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the light dance around them. Then he held out his pinky. “Can you help me forgive her? Like… be my backup?”

She smiled, wrapping her pinky around his. “Always.”