The house was quiet that evening. From the corner of the room, her husband sat with his head bowed, whispering a prayer like he always did. Their child tugged at her sleeve, eyes curious.

“Mommy… why is Daddy always doing that?”

She paused, then smiled gently. “Because God listens to Daddy.”

The child tilted their head. “But… doesn’t God listen to you too?”

Her smile faltered for just a moment, though her voice stayed soft. “He listens to Daddy because Daddy believes in Him. But He doesn’t listen to me… because I don’t believe in Him.”

The child blinked, quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. She brushed their hair back, her voice warm again. “Come on. Let’s get some ice cream.” She led the child away, shielding them from the weight of the silence that lingered behind.

When she returned, the air felt heavier. Her husband was still where she had left him, though now his gaze was fixed on her. They had been married for years, yet moments like this reminded her of the quiet distance between them, faith on one side, the universe on the other.

“I prayed for you,” he said at last, voice low and steady. “Even when you stopped believing.”