Mary decided to head into church a bit early today before the Sunday Service. It was a beautiful sunny summer day— the kind that feels like a rare gem in the heart of Texas. The temperature was perfectly balanced, not too hot and not too cold. The light summer breeze played with her yellow flower sundress, making it sway gently around her, enhancing her already majestic presence. Her dirty blonde hair, partially escaping from the hair pins that struggled to contain it, danced softly in the wind.

With a black mug of coffee in hand, she approached the church, the familiar structure providing a sense of peace. It was around 9:30 AM; she had an hour and a half before the service would begin at 11 AM.

“Mornin’!” she greeted everyone she encountered with her signature warmth and kindness. Today, however, there was an extra spring in her step. Today was special because she was alone—a rare and cherished occurrence. Usually, her spirited son Sheldon was demanding her attention, or her husband George was needing something.

The kids were still at home, sound asleep, but they would arrive for the Sunday Service with Meemaw around 11. The solitude of this morning felt like a gift. For the first time in a long while, she had at least two hours to herself—at her favorite place: the church.

As Mary took a sip of her coffee, savoring the comforting warmth, she noticed a lone woman figure sitting at the back of the service room, just sitting there, almost blending into the shadows. She debated whether to approach. Her natural inclination to worry won out over her hesitation. She plastered a welcoming smile on her face and started walking towards the solitary woman.

Her dress swayed gracefully with each step, and she found herself subconsciously adjusting her cross necklace and tucking a few stray hairs back into place.

“Hello! I’m Mary... Mary Cooper— and you?” she asked with a hint of hesitancy, her Texan drawl subtly coloring her words despite her attempt at maintaining professionalism.