What if the saints of old walked among us today-would we honor their triumphs, or whisper about their secrets?
Zarinna knows the weight of hidden truths. Once devoted, now marked by choices she cannot undo, she carries shame like a shadow she cannot...
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ZARINNA NEVER THOUGHT she'd have the courage to come back.
After all that had happened, after all this time, a reluctant knot of fear still lingered in her chest. How would they welcome her? Would they still look at her with the same suspicion, the same veiled disdain? For a moment, though, the presence of David beside her washed a wave of relief over her throbbing heart, a balm to the anxiety clawing at her.
"This is it," she murmured, her voice barely carrying above the hum of the city. David guided the motorcycle to a full stop beside a two-story concrete building. The structure, a government establishment, was familiar even after so long, and a cascade of memories rushed back—whitewashed walls, a pathway perpetually littered with leaves, the stairs leading down to the church. Every detail was etched in her memory, stirring nostalgia, hope, and trepidation all at once. It was her church—the church where she had been revived and trained, and also the church where she had once faltered.
"Go on ahead, dear. I'll find a place to park this," David said with a gentle smile.
Zarinna nodded, stepping off the motorcycle and lifting her helmet. "Don't take too long, okay?"
With a nod, he advanced, and Zarinna inhaled a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage she could summon. The cold wind brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine as she descended the stairs. She could already hear the faint strains of music, the amplified voices of people in prayer and song reaching her ears like a distant call.
She paused, pressing a hand to her chest as she attempted to gather her scattered thoughts. Lord, You have given me a testimony. Let Your Spirit attest to the mighty things You have done today, she prayed silently.
With her lips pressed into a small, determined smile, she took the final step, approaching the bifold doors with a steadiness she didn't feel. For so many years she had walked through these doors weighed down by sin, and now an indescribable gratefulness surged through her heart. She was no longer that woman; she was restored, made new.
A familiar face emerged before her—Clara. Recognition lit the woman's features, her previously reserved expression softening into astonishment and joy.
"Zarinna?" Clara's voice trembled with wonder. "Is that really you?"
"Yes, Clara," Zarinna confirmed, her voice quiet but steady.
"Oh my gosh!" Clara's radiant smile broke through, the sharpness of past scowls entirely gone. "It's been so long! Come, let's get inside!"
Zarinna nodded, stepping into the church with a cautious but hopeful heart. "Thank you."
"Are you alone?" Clara asked, guiding her toward the main hall.
