Anna

When I arrived at Dawn's office, Mom was at the desk, filling out paperwork.

She looked exhausted, stress etched into her features. She's been working nonstop since he fell ill a few days ago. I tried to go see him when he first fell ill, yet mom would not let me in. 

The moment she saw me, she stood up.

"Hey, sweetheart," she sighed. "Can you take care of Pastor Dawn for a bit? I need to run home for a moment—I'll be back, but if his caregiver arrives first, come straight home."

I hesitated but nodded. "Um... okay."

I moved toward Dawn's chair, my gaze falling on him.

He looked so pale, drained—exhaustion weighing heavily on his thin frame.

Then, his eyes fluttered open, barely focusing.

"Anna... is that you?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes, Dawn, it's me," I answered softly.

His lips curved into a tired smile, and he made a weak attempt to sit up—but as he shifted, my stomach twisted.

That's when I saw it.

A thick bandage wrapped tightly around his neck, stark against his pale skin.

I froze, my pulse kicking up.

"What happened?" The words spilled out before I could stop them.

Pastor Dawn blinked sluggishly, as if weighing his response.

"It's nothing," he murmured, hoarse—strained, like every word scraped his throat on the way out.

I didn't buy it.

"Hey, you need to lie down," I murmured, pressing a steady hand to his shoulder, trying to push aside my growing unease.

His white hair fell forward, soft strands slipping across his face, momentarily hiding the priest—the authority, the man people sought for guidance.

For a second, he looked less like someone important... and more like someone ordinary. Vulnerable. Human.

Then, without hesitation, he leaned over, resting his head in my lap—just as I had done countless times with him when we were kids.

The bandage was right there, inches away. A silent question I couldn't bring myself to ask.

There were moments—too many to count—where he could be clingy, and I had to remind him to give me space. Other times, his bossiness pushed against my patience.

And yet—despite it all, I wished he would find someone.

Someone who saw the depth in him, who understood the way he buried himself in devotion... and how much he deserved more than just duty and responsibilities.

And deep down, I knew it wasn't just me who saw it.

His breathing was uneven as he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.

"Anna... leave before my caretaker gets here. Can you do that?"

His tone had shifted—not just tired but pleading, something urgent lingering in his words.

I frowned. "Why?"

"I told your mother so many times—I'm fine. You didn't need to be here."

"Shhh." I stroked his hair gently. "Just rest."

Finally, his body relaxed, and I hummed the lullaby he used to sing to me. He always told me his mom taught it to him before she passed away—when he turned ten—from cancer.

But my mind was still stuck on the bandage.

What happened to him?

And why didn't he want me here when his caregiver arrived?

The unanswered questions stayed with me as the quiet settled in, pulling me deeper into the warmth of the moment.

Eventually, sleep claimed me.

Hours must've passed.

When I woke, a blanket had been draped over me.

Pastor Dawn was gone.

Where did he go?

I walked out of the room—it was dark. No lights were on.

I called his name several times.

Then headed back into the room, thinking maybe he had just gone home. But... why didn't he wake me?

I yawned, stretching, the weight of sleep still clinging to me.

"I guess I should go," I murmured, rubbing my eyes.

I folded the blanket neatly, grabbed my bag, and stepped outside—not even checking the time.

But the second I did, darkness swallowed me whole.

Pitch black.

A cold chill coiled in my gut. I turned back toward the door to go inside—I had a bad feeling—but the door was locked. He always locks it at night.

I exhaled sharply, pulling out my phone.

The screen glowed against the night.

12:07 AM.

And dozens of missed calls from Mom.

My stomach tightened.

Oh, shoot.

I broke into a fast walk, the hairs on my neck rising. Someone was watching me.

I started running.

When I finally arrived home, Mom was waiting in the chair by the door.

Arms crossed. Eyes burning with frustration.

The anger hit me the second I stepped inside.

"Hey, Mom," I said with an apologetic smile, trying to keep my voice light. "Sorry I'm back so late—I fell asleep at the church."

Her expression didn't budge.

"Oh, really?" Her voice was sharp. Biting.

"Then why didn't you answer any of my calls? Or let me hear from Pastor Dawn that you passed out?"

I opened my mouth—but she wasn't finished.

"Or were you out fooling around?"

I stiffened. Anger starting to rise.

She's accusing me of something she knows I'd never do. I've always obeyed. Dropped everything when she called.

My pulse spiked with frustration.

"What the heck, Mom?" My voice came out harsher than intended. "You said you were coming back! And now you're accusing me of... fooling around?"

Her eyes flashed. Shock flickered... then hardened with even more anger.

"Young lady, how dare you take that tone with me—your own mother!"

Before I could fire back, Bryan and Jackson appeared, half-asleep, rubbing their eyes.

"What's going on, Mom?" Bryan mumbled.

"Ask your sister," she snapped. "She was supposed to be home by nine—not after midnight!"

"You never gave me a time!" I said it louder than I meant to. Frustration boiling over.

This wasn't the first time.

Every time I spent time with someone she didn't approve of, she freaked out—like it was the end of the world.

This was why I had no friends. Unless they were from work. Or had to be kept secret.

Especially Nick.

The only people I could confide in were Bryon and Jackson—because they didn't care, as long as I was safe.

"Mom, I didn't mean to fall asleep and be out so long." My voice was tight, shaking. "You have no right to get this mad at me."

"Go to your room. Now."

I clenched my fists. "Whatever," I muttered, voice dripping with defiance.

I stormed upstairs, heart pounding, and slammed my bedroom door behind me.

Locked it.

Finally alone.

I grabbed my laptop—my safe place. My escape.

But for the first time... it wasn't working.

With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and texted the only person I wanted to talk to.

Anna: Hey, you up?

Nick: ... Nick: Yeah. What's up, sweetheart?

I called. He picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, sweetheart. What's going on?"

The moment I heard his voice, all the walls inside me cracked. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.

"Hey, hey... don't cry." His voice went soft, laced with concern. "What's the matter?"

"I—I'm just having a bad night," I admitted. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

A pause. Then, even softer:

"Do you want me to come by?"

I hesitated.

"Umm... I'd love that, but I can't have boys over."

He didn't skip a beat.

"I could sneak in."

I sighed. "Mom's still up."

"No problem. I'll come through your window."

A laugh caught in my throat.

"My room's upstairs, Nick."

"I'm already close by. Just open your window, sweetheart."

Nervous anticipation sparked in my chest.

"...Okay," I whispered.

I moved to the window and pushed it open. The cool night air brushed across my skin.

I waited. Phone in hand. Heart fluttering. Sleep tugged at me... pulled me under.

Then— A sound. A quiet shift in the air.

I blinked awake. And there he was.

Like a dark knight in a hoodie, coming to rescue me from everything.

Black hoodie, blue-flamed skull. Baggy jeans. Silent boots.

But it was his eyes that stopped me. Emerald green, glowing in the soft light.

They locked onto mine, steady and unreadable.

I sat up, breath catching.

He slipped through the window without a sound. In a few strides, he was beside me—like he'd always been meant to exist in this space, in this moment.

His arms wrapped around me gently, pulling me into him.

And suddenly, everything felt warmer. Softer. Like I could breathe again.

The scent of his cologne wrapped around me—warm, a little sweet, undeniably his.

I melted into him, letting his presence settle the chaos inside me. His hands were steady, one resting at the curve of my back, the other anchoring me to something real.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered, lips brushing my hair.

And just like that... Everything else faded. The frustration. The loneliness. The weight of the night.

He was here. And for once, that was enough.

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Hey, lovely readers 🖤

This chapter is about the weight we carry when no one’s watching. Anna’s strength has always been quiet—obedient, patient, tucked behind smiles. But tonight, everything cracks. Pastor Dawn’s silence. Her mother’s fury. The locked door. The missed calls. And finally… Nick’s arms.

Thank you for walking through the shadows with us. The rewrites are deeper now. Softer in places. Sharper in others. And this chapter? It’s the breath before the storm.

🕯️ Stay tender. Stay watching. Stay bitten. —Luna-chan🥀

Next time... 

The kiss deepened. The door opened. And by morning, Nick’s arms were the only place she could breathe. But the house wasn’t quiet. Not anymore.

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