My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

chapter 34

**Fiona's POV**

As soon as I stepped into my house, I closed the door behind me and let out a long, slow breath. Samuel’s words echoed in my mind: *Don’t go to work today*. It wasn’t exactly a request, more like a command. I considered resisting, just to spite him, but then I realized that a day at home wouldn’t be the worst thing. My body felt heavier than usual, and after everything that had happened yesterday, maybe rest was what I needed.

But I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was listening to him. It wasn't about obeying his command; it was about *me*, making a choice to take a break. At least, that’s what I told myself.

I tossed my bag onto the couch and kicked off my shoes, trying to convince myself that I could relax. But after about an hour, the boredom began to creep in. I wandered around my house, looking for something to do, something to fill the time. The silence of the empty house only made my thoughts louder, and I hated it.

What did I normally do when I was home? I couldn’t think of anything. It hit me then, like a cold slap in the face—my entire life revolved around work. Everything I did, everything I *was* seemed to be tied to my job. And for what? My father barely acknowledged my efforts, no matter how much I tried to prove myself.

I sank down onto the couch, feeling the weight of those thoughts pressing down on me. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did. I thought I’d gotten used to it, the constant disapproval, the never-ending need for his validation. But in this moment, it stung like it was fresh.

I glanced to the corner of the room and spotted my Bible and journal sitting on the side table. For a moment, I hesitated, then shrugged to myself. *What else can I do?* I grabbed them and sat down, flipping through the worn pages until I found what I was looking for: Psalm 23 and 27, my comfort scriptures.

I read aloud softly, feeling the words wash over me like a balm:

*"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..."*

Each verse seemed to settle something deep within me, easing the ache in my chest. I continued reading until I reached Psalm 27:10, where it said, *"Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up."*

I paused there, letting the words sink in. I had read that verse a hundred times before, but today, it hit differently. My parents had abandoned me in every sense that mattered, but God hadn’t. He never would.

“Lord, I feel so lost sometimes,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “I try to be strong, to pretend like everything is fine, but I know it’s not. I know I can’t do this without You. Please help me... take me up, just like You promised.”

I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm as I finished my prayer. With a flick of my wrist, I turned the pages to the story of Rahab, the harlot who’d received grace despite her past. It always amazed me how someone like her could be part of the lineage of Jesus Christ. It reminded me that God could use anyone, no matter their background, no matter their mistakes.

“Thank you for grace,” I murmured, offering another silent prayer.

After a moment, I flipped again, this time to the story of Mary Magdalene. I could never read this without feeling an overwhelming sense of God’s mercy. Mary had been forgiven so much, and instead of holding her past against her, Jesus had given her a place of honor in His story. It gave me hope—hope that I, too, could be forgiven, that I could forgive myself.

I bowed my head once more, this time feeling a deeper conviction. “God, I know You’ve forgiven me. Help me forgive myself. Help me be strong enough to tell Samuel the truth, no matter what happens. I can’t keep running.”