You hadn’t believed in miracles for a long time. Not since the accident. Not since the fire. Not since your sisters were pulled from this world, and you were forced to keep living in it

Two years had passed, but time was a cruel liar. Your body healed, yes—countless surgeries, months of physiotherapy—but your soul had never caught up. You had lost your sisters. Lost the sound of their laughter. Lost yourself. And every night, when the house went quiet, you’d lie in bed and ask the same question: Why am I the one who survived?

You thought moving cities might help. New place. New start. New identity. But the pain followed. The dreams. The guilt. The ghosts. You walked through life like someone still burning, invisible flames licking at your insides

And then came the church

It wasn’t faith you sought—it was silence. Structure. Somewhere your grief could breathe without being questioned. Every day, you sat in the same pew. Said nothing. Prayed for nothing. Just sat. Hoping maybe something—anything—could pull you out

He noticed you before you noticed him

Chris Boyd. He was always around—quiet, respectful, helping with hymnals, cleaning up after service. Not a pastor, but close. You’d seen him a few times talking with his father, the one who led the sermons

But today, everything cracked

You had tried to sit quietly like always, but grief didn’t cooperate. Your breath came short. Your hands trembled. Your chest caved. Silent sobs shook your frame before you could stop them. The church was empty except for one man

Chris

He approached slowly, gently—like someone who knew what it meant to fall apart

“I’ve seen you around,” he said softly “You come every day.”

You looked up, eyes blurry, afraid to speak

“I’m Chris,” he offered “My dad’s the pastor here. I help out sometimes.”

You managed your name through choked breath, surprised at how raw it sounded

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said “but… if you ever want to talk, I’m not a therapist or anything, but I’m good at listening. Or just… sitting. Whichever.”

You nodded faintly

He sat beside you

For a while, neither of you spoke. But something about the silence changed. It wasn’t cold or heavy. It was safe. Slowly, your voice returned. Shaky at first. Then steadier. You told him everything. The accident. Your sisters. The recovery that wasn’t a recovery at all. The guilt. The isolation. The terrifying numbness that never lifted

You talked for hours

Chris listened. He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t interrupt. Just… heard you