Neva kneels quietly beside the bed, her hands clasped at her chest, head bowed low and eyes closed.
Her children lie nestled in peaceful sleep beside her, their soft breaths the only sound in the still room.
She speaks in a whisper, "Our Father in heaven,
Hallowed be Your name.
Thank You for blessing me with another day—for watching over me and my loved ones through the night."
A gentle sigh escapes her lips as the weight of her thoughts settles in her heart.
"Lord, forgive me, for I haven't always been the daughter You've called me to be.
But You saw something in me no one else could.
And I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for
Your unending love and the blessings
You continue to pour into my life."
Her fingers tighten slightly around each other as she continues.
"Help me, Lord, to be a good and meek servant.
Let Your will be done in me and through me—on earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever.
In Jesus' name, Amen."
Neva opens her eyes and begins to rise, but pauses.
A sudden flicker of thought makes her frown.
"Oh," she murmurs softly, her brows lifting in quiet realization.
She sinks back to her knees, settling once more into her prayerful posture. Her eyes close again, and she breathes deeply.
"Thank You for the dreams of my past,
as You had promised me—though they were scattered and faint.
Dear Lord, if it be Your will, please help me unravel my past more clearly,
so it may guide me in writing my sermon.
Thank You for everything. Amen."
"Mama?" a sweet, boyish voice calls.
Neva glances up and sees Rhean sitting up on the bed, rubbing one sleepy eye with a tiny fist. A little pout, soft as a rosebud, rests on his lips.
He had fallen asleep farthest from her.
The twins—stubborn and a little selfish in the way the youngest are—had settled between them during the night, claiming space with sleepy limbs sprawled wide.
Yet Rhean, her eldest bearing a kind heart, always more aware, more willing to sacrifice let them be. Gentle and thoughtful, he quietly bore the role of the helper, trying in his own small ways to ease the weight he sensed on his mother's shoulders.
Truly, her dearest sunshine.
Neva smiles and rises to her feet.
She opens her arms for him, and her son—mirroring his father's sloppy morning grin she so adores—carefully steps around his twin siblings and falls into her embrace, grounding himself safely against her.
"My sweet baby," Neva breathes, pressing a kiss to his rosy cheek, her heart warm and lifted by the familiar weight of his little body in her arms.
"Did you have a good sleep?" she asks softly, brushing away a small trail of drool at the corner of his smile with her thumb.
Rhean nods sleepily, then yawns as he nestles deeper into the crook of her neck. His arms wrap around her, holding on with quiet trust.
Neva chuckles, her voice low, and pats his back with a tender hand—just as she did when he was a baby.
The rhythm is instinctive, soothing. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the peace, the stillness, the blessing of motherhood wrapped in a sleepy morning hug.
And when she opens her softened eyes, in them looks–through a blend of glimmer and ache—made of nostalgia and the mournful lost of many similar mornings she could've had with her son.
It's like the emotions shaped by a kind of weather that defies its own mood: where the blessed sunrays spill gently through somber clouds during a soft drizzle.
She melts into his warmth, breathing in the familiar scent of milk and lotion that clings to him. Her heart tightens with quiet longing—for a son who is already so close, yet whose very closeness makes her yearn even more.
"Would you like to go to the forest on a short walk with me?" Neva asks quietly, breaking the tranquiled silence, still rocking him in her arms gently.
"A walk in the forest?" he exclaims, lifting his head from her shoulder, his doe-like almond eyes meeting hers with bright curiosity.
Neva nods, smiling, still in awe of her beautiful boy.
"I want to," he grins, his cocoa-colored eyes sparkling, lit with glee.
She runs her fingers gently through his soft, fluffy hair, taming the wavy ruffles with tender care. "Yes, but we need to ask for Dada's permission first."
"Okay," he nods, the lovely grin still dancing on his pretty face. But then, almost as quickly, his joy fades. His gaze drifts toward the bed, drawn to his siblings.
Isaiah has rolled into the space Rhean had just vacated, now pressed against the very edge of the bed. The wall keeps him from falling, his small back turned toward Inaya. The motion must have tugged the duvet off them both. Their tiny bodies lie half-exposed in the morning chill, vulnerable in sleep.
"What about them?" Rhean asks in a small, hesitant voice.
Neva leans forward with him still nestled in her arms and gently pulls the duvet back over the twins, tucking it around their little bodies with care.
"They won't be awake until much later," she whispers.
Then she straightens up, securing Rhean against her with both hands, feeling the warmth of him, steady and close.
She glances toward the open window facing east.
The lacy white blinds have been pulled apart to either side, letting the golden morning light spill in.
A breath of sweet, fresh breeze drifts through the room—whispers of forest air, singing softly with the chirping birds and rustle of leaves.
She turns to Rhean, a quiet smile playing on her lips.
"We don't have to tell them," she says, eyes twinkling.
"It can be our little secret." She smiles and rubs their noses together affectionately.
Rhean giggles, his laughter light and bright as morning.
Neva, still swooning over the little soul in her arms—his joy like music to her ears—in love, she presses a flurry of ticklish kisses to his rosy, chubby cheeks.
More giggles erupt from her sunshine boy, hearty and unrestrained, warming the room like the rising sun.
---
"I met Zoro in the forest too," Rhean's boyish voice chirps, blending with the birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze.
Neva looks down, her gaze meeting his as he glances up at her with bright eyes.
"Is that so?" she asks softly.
"Yes," Rhean grins cheekily. "We became friends immediately."
Neva chuckles, brushing a hand gently through his tousled hair.
"Do you miss him?" she asks, resting her chin atop his head, her arms wrapping protectively around him as he sits in her lap.
Rhean nods, his voice quieter now. "I do. But I want to be with you more."
He leans forward, reaching for another yellow dandelion. A mini bouquet of wildflowers already rests in his hand, loosely gathered, their colors soft and sunlit.
Neva's gaze softens. "And is Zoro okay with you being gone for so long?"
A slight frown forms between Rhean's brows as he thinks deeply. After a moment, he nods—though not with full confidence. "He'll be alright. Zoro understands."
Neva smiles. "Zoro is a good friend of yours."
Rhean nods again and turns to face her. Then, with a grin tugging at his lips, he holds up the small bouquet he's carefully gathered—yellow dandelions laced with pink asters, their stems clutched tightly in his little hand.
"For you," he says.
Neva beams, her heart blooming with joy. She cups his face, placing an affectionate kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you. It's beautiful," she murmurs, in awe of her son and the little bouquet crafted by his tiny hands and tender heart.
Rhean giggles in delight.
Suddenly, a kaleidoscopic butterfly flutters before his eyes—its wings shimmering with the mystical colors of autumn: amber, crimson, gold, and twilight violet.
Enraptured, he rises from his mother's lap, gaze locked on the fleeting magic in the air. Without a word, he chases after the drifting butterfly.
"Don't go too far!" Neva calls after him, a note of gentle caution in her voice.
"I won't!" Rhean replies, his voice light and bright as he runs through the dandelion-strewn meadow—an open clearing they had stumbled upon not long ago, hidden like a secret within the forest.
Neva lifts her gaze, eyes tracing the golden rays of the maturing day as they filter through the canopy of trees.
The sunlight glistens on dew-speckled pastures and wavering leaves, casting a soft glow over the clearing—a quiet, sacred moment suspended in time.
"You're awfully quiet," she says, glancing back at Rhett.
He stands a few paces behind them, arms crossed, leaning against a tree, his eyes distant.
Rhett meets her gaze. He doesn't respond immediately, but instead pushes off the trunk and starts toward her.
"Is something on your mind?" she asks gently as he settles beside her, his arm slipping naturally around her waist, drawing her in close.
"Not really," he whispers, resting his head on her shoulder.
Neva places her hand over his, her thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles.
"Do you regret bringing us here?" she asks softly, leaning into him, her gaze drifting toward Rhean—now on his knees, quietly focused on the butterfly that has come to rest on a dandelion.
"Do I?" he echoes, almost to himself—his voice low, weighted with something unsaid.
"It'll all work out," Neva says, the words meant for him, but maybe more for herself.
"I hope you only recover the good parts," Rhett murmurs.
"You know I have to remember it all—even the most inconvenient parts," she replies gently.
Almost instinctively, her thoughts begin to reach for the past again—like fingertips brushing through the delicate fabric of old memories.
She remembers—this scene, this feeling—mirrored in a cherished corner of her memory chest. A soft smile tugs at her lips, warm and full of gratitude for the present.
It no longer suffocates her, no longer agonizes as it once did when she used to reach into the void, searching for color on the blank white canvas of what had been lost.
Now, she can touch those memories. She can hold them close, let them live inside her—both the love and the tears.
"We've been through so much," she whispers. "We'll make it through this time too."
She lifts his hand to her lips and kisses it gently.
"We will," Rhett says, quiet but sure.
"Yes," she breathes. "We have a wonderful Lord watching over us."
Rhett lifts his head, meeting her thawing gaze.
His eyes are deep, reflecting the quiet storm of emotions stirring within him.
He leans in, and they share a kiss—tender, hopeful, and threaded with the passion of everything they've endured.
When they part, Neva cradles his face between her hands and plants a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. He scrunches his nose instinctively, making her laugh.
"So, when will your team arrive?" she asks.
"Hopefully before the day of the sermon," he replies. "But they'll be here soon."
He had told her the night before about his request to Elk—after a hard-won truce—to send a few of his most trustworthy agents. Elk, unsurprisingly furious, had agreed, not for Rhett's sake, but because the criminal he's determined to capture is among them.
"Should we go back?" Rhett asks.
"I think we should," Neva says, her gaze drifting upward to the golden sky above their heads.
"The children will be waking soon. I need to prepare breakfast, and Nana with the priest will arrive by nine." As she speaks, she rises slowly to her feet, the bouquet of dandelions and aster in her firm grip.
"Rhean, we need to head back."
"No, I want to stay a bit longer," Rhean declares. Then he runs toward them, excitement lighting up his face.
"Mama, Dada, I want to go to that lake!" he says, pointing toward the east.
"A lake?" Rhett asks, eyebrows raised as he turns in the direction Rhean is pointing.
Neva follows his gaze but sees nothing—no glint of water, not even a spring.
"When did you find a lake?" Rhett asks again, puzzled.
"I'll take you there," Rhean insists, grabbing both their hands and tugging them gently, leading them out of the clearing.
Soon enough, a natural archway—woven by the wilderness—reveals a fleeting glimpse of an emerald lake beyond. The canopy of vines and bending branches forms a living portal, almost sacred in its stillness.
Before Rhean can wander off in his excitement, Rhett grabs his arm.
"Don't go off alone. It's still a forest," he warns firmly.
Rhean pouts but obediently matches his pace to theirs.
As they approach, Neva's eyes widen in awe.
White lotus flowers bloom on the surface of the lake, their delicate petals untouched by the breeze. The water shimmers like glass beneath the filtered sunlight.
Rhett ducks low, pushing aside a curtain of vines as they step through the overgrown entryway into the clearing by the lake.
Rhean gasps, nearing the edge.
But then—he freezes.
Neva's breath catches. A sharp gasp escapes her lips as she stumbles back in instinctive fear. Rhett quickly steadies her, his brows furrowed in alarm.
Then he smells it—that nauseating sweetness, thick and cloying.
A sickly blend of rotting eggs, wet decay, and something metallic, like blood and mold festering together.
The sight confirms it.
Corpses—bloated, limp, and grotesquely still—float across the emerald lake, their forms distorted, drifting among the once-beautiful white lotuses.
Rhett's breath hitches.
Without a word, he scoops up Rhean—rigid with shock—and grabs Neva by the hand.
His grip is firm, urgent.
"Don't look," he murmurs, low and hoarse, more to shield than command.
And with that, they turn and hurry back through the veil of vines—away from the horror now burned into their memory, fleeing the beauty that masked something far more sinister.