Chapter 4

Saturday mornings in the Penny household usually followed a familiar rhythm—lighthearted chores, laughter over who could fold laundry the fastest, and a reward of pancakes if Susie helped with the dishes. But today was different.

After tidying up the breakfast dishes, Raymond settled onto the couch and pulled Susie into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. He hesitated for a moment, then kissed the top of her head.

“Honey,” he said softly, “do you know what today is?” Susie looked up at him, sensing the shift in his tone. She shook her head.

“It’s been three years today since Mummy passed away.”

Susie’s little fingers curled into his sleeve. “Oh,” she whispered.

She was too young to hold many concrete memories, but she understood loss in the way a child does—through feelings more than details. Her mother had been a presence, warm and comforting, and then suddenly, one day, she was gone.

“I thought we could visit her grave today,” Raymond continued, “bring her some flowers. And maybe we could tell each other stories about her. Would you like that?”

Susie nodded slowly, then a little more firmly. “I’d like that.”

Raymond smiled, though there was a sheen of sadness in his eyes. “Good. Mummy would like that too.”

That afternoon, after lunch, they visited a small florist’s shop. Susie took her time choosing, carefully inspecting each bouquet before settling on one with soft pink roses and white lilies. “These are pretty,” she decided.

“They are,” Raymond agreed, and together they bought the flowers and drove to the cemetery. At the gravesite, Raymond knelt beside his daughter, their hands entwined as they placed the bouquet on the polished stone. “Hi, love,” he murmured, his voice catching slightly. “Susie and I are here to visit. We miss you.”

Susie looked at the headstone and then, in a small but steady voice, added, “I miss you too, Mummy. Daddy says you used to sing me songs at night. I think I remember, but I’m not sure.”

Raymond swallowed hard. “She did. She had a beautiful voice.” They sat there quietly for a while, sharing stories, weaving together memories—some sharp, some faded, but all precious.

That evening, after dinner, Raymond pulled out their old photo albums and played a few home videos. Susie giggled at the sight of herself as a chubby-cheeked toddler, clumsily running into her mother’s arms. The sound of his wife’s laughter filled the room, and for a moment, it felt as though she were still there.

When it was time for bed, Raymond held Susie a little longer than usual, stroking her hair as she drifted off. But once she was asleep, the weight of the day settled heavily on him. He had spent three years navigating grief, learning how to be both mother and father, pouring everything he had into Susie. And yet, tonight, something felt different.

His thoughts drifted—unexpectedly—to Isobel. The past few days had been ... unsettling. Not just the dinner, or the way Susie had taken to her, but something deeper. A shift in the way he saw her, in the way he felt when he was around her. He didn’t know what to do with it. And for the first time in years, he felt the distinct urge to talk to someone—someone who could give him clarity, a direction.

An old memory surfaced, unbidden. As a boy, his parents had sometimes taken him to church. Not often, but enough that he remembered the quiet stillness, the idea that there was something—someone—watching, listening. He had dismissed it as a teenager, deciding he didn’t need that kind of belief. But now ... what if there was something in it after all? What if, at the very least, it wouldn’t hurt to try?

By the time he turned off the lights, he had made up his mind.

Across town, Isobel spent most of Saturday feeling inexplicably restless. She wandered around her apartment, starting tasks and abandoning them halfway through. She read half a page of a book before tossing it aside. She made coffee and forgot to drink it. It was infuriating.

She had spent years perfecting her composure, keeping emotions at bay, locking away anything that might make her vulnerable. And yet, somehow, in just a few short days, cracks had started to form. She told herself it was nothing. Just exhaustion. Just an overreaction. And yet, by evening, she found herself curled up on the couch, again hugging Bunny like a lifeline.

Sunday morning arrived, and she made a decision. Enough of this. She needed to get out, clear her head. So she laced up her walking shoes and set off through the quiet streets, inhaling the crisp morning air. Walking had always helped her think.

Half an hour into her route, she turned a corner and heard it—music. Choral voices, rising and falling in harmony, drifting from the open doors of a small church. She slowed her steps.

She had never been inside a church in her life. Not for a service, at least. And yet, for some reason, she felt drawn to it. The logical part of her mind scoffed—what was she expecting to find in there? She wasn’t religious. She wasn’t looking for answers. And yet, almost before she realized it, her feet had carried her to the steps. She hesitated for only a moment. Then, taking a breath, she stepped inside.

... .

Raymond knew nothing about the churches in his area, and when he looked online, the names and descriptions meant little to him. Should he find a large church where he could blend into the background, or a smaller one where he might feel less intimidated? He had no real idea what he wanted from the experience—if anything at all. He just knew that something in him was unsettled, and after the previous night’s thoughts, he couldn’t shake the feeling that attending a service, just this once, might offer some kind of clarity.

After some deliberation, he settled on a modest-looking church not far from home. On the website, it seemed like a middle ground—neither imposing nor overly grand. At the very least, he hoped it would be a place of calm reflection, not the kind of loud, exuberant worship he’d heard about in passing.

Susie was delighted. A new adventure, especially one connected in some way to her mother, filled her with excitement. And anywhere she went with Daddy was good.

When they arrived, Raymond was surprised by the mix of people. There were families with young children, older couples, and even a few people sitting on their own. Despite news reports about declining church attendance, the congregation seemed vibrant and engaged. He was relieved that he and Susie wouldn’t stand out as obvious newcomers.