Warmth slipped into her voice before she could stop it. “I meant every word. A church isn’t just a building—it’s a place where people should feel welcome, no matter what’s going on in their lives.”
Eli nodded once, like he was tucking her answer into some private corner of his mind. Then he stepped outside with his siblings.
A swirl of murmured thank-yous and shy smiles trailed behind the group as they disappeared back into the frozen dark.
The house went still.
Too still.
And yet . . . warmer, somehow. As though their brief presence had left a quiet ember behind.
Amayah stood near the door a moment longer. The air felt heavier now—not peaceful but weighted. Echoes of laughter and scraped forks still clung to the corners like ghosts already fading.
Her gaze drifted to the empty plates on the table. The crumpled napkins. The smears of sauce across the counter.
Then her throat tightened.
She turned and walked back into the kitchen, pressing her palms to the edge of the sink as her shoulders rose and fell in one slow, silent breath. Then another. And another.
“I don’t know the best way to help those kids,” she finally murmured.
“You’re helping them by doing what you’re doing,” Luke said from behind her.
“I feel like I should do more.”
“Like by calling child protective services?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to take the kids from their mother. Or each other. I just . . . I guess sometimes it’s hard to know what the right thing is.”
“The right thing is for you to keep feeding them. To continue keeping an eye on them.”
After another moment, Amayah nodded, though the action felt heavy. “I guess you’re right.”
Yet somehow, doing those things didn’t feel like enough.
CHAPTER 13
Luke leaned against the counter,surveying the disaster the Crumps left behind—sauce splatters, puddles on the floor, chairs scooted at impossible angles.
He was concerned for the kids and their well-being. But he was also concerned for Amayah.
She appeared burdened by all of this. And that, on top of the man stalking her, was a lot for anyone to take on.
“You barely touched your dinner,” he said quietly nodding toward her plate still on the table. “Why don’t you eat while I clean up?”
“I’m not that hungry. Besides, Maisie sneezed all over my plate.” She offered a faint smile.
That single statement eroded another piece of his carefully constructed skepticism.
He was beginning to think Amayah was the real deal. He’d barely remembered his story objective while he’d been here tonight. He had glanced once at the table when he first walked into the kitchen, and he’d noticed the folder was now gone—the one that had held the real estate contract.
And he honestly didn’t even care.
“What’s their story?” he asked as he rolled up his sleeves to do dishes. “I mean, I know you told me a little. But what else do you know?”
Amayah hesitated before saying, “I know their mom has been raising them alone since I moved in. She works at a local diner when she can. Struggles when she can’t. I’ve offered help more than once, but she’s always said no. I tried to bring them groceries before, but she rejected that. Pride, maybe. Or fear.”
“You think she’s okay?” he pressed as he dunked some plates into the soapy water.
