But I do not let it. I hold myself steady, forcing my gaze forward again, away from them, away from the doubt rising like a tide.
A man clears his throat. "She wants that?"
"Yes," I answer without hesitation.
"She told you this?" another presses.
"She did."
The words land gentler, differently than before. Someone nods.
"That is what we want for all our children," a woman murmurs. "Is it not?"
The silence stretches.
It tightens around us like a rope drawn slowly taut.
Neaga inhales.
For a moment, I think she will refuse me. I see the pride flicker in her jaw, the old stubbornness that has always set her apart. Then her gaze finds mine.
It holds.
There is something there—shock, yes. Relief. Gratefulness.
Very slowly, she lowers her eyes.
"It is true. I wish to return," she says at last.
I see the tightness at the corners of her eyes, the way her jaw clenches as she speaks. Her hand lifts slowly as she crosses herself. Forehead. Chest. Shoulder. Shoulder.
The movement is careful, almost exaggerated.
Ilinca peers from behind her skirt, wide-eyed as her mother bows her head further. "If God will have me," she says, "I will kneel."
Relief floods through me so suddenly my knees nearly give way. Thank God. It might actually work.
Silence settles again, heavy and expectant. No one dares speak first. No one dares break whatever fragile thing has formed between us.
The edge of the mob dulls. I turn, finally, toward Popa Vasile.
"Father," I say, my voice steadier now, "would it not be right to baptize them? To welcome them fully?"
The phrase feels almost too fitting.
"Does not God forgive those who ask?" I press, softer now. "Does He not rejoice when one returns?"
Popa Vasile does not answer. He stands very still, hands folded before him, gaze lowered as if in contemplation.
Then he looks up. His eyes find mine, and something in them makes my breath falter. It is subtle, so much that I almost think I imagine it.
But it is there, unmistakable. A flicker of anger that does not belong to this moment.
I shiver. Have I gone too far? Have I stepped beyond where I was meant to stand?
But it is gone as fast as it came, his expression smoothing as he steps forward. The crowd parts for him as one, creating a narrow path through bodies and breath and tension. All eyes fix on him. Even the wind seems to still as he stops a few paces from Neaga’s threshold.
At last, he inclines his head.
