Past the warmth of the sun and the illusion of normalcy that had wrapped around us so briefly.
Past the voices that had waited for us to depart before they discussed what Trey and Chace had been talking about in private.
The further we move, the quieter everything becomes, until the outside world dulls into something distant and unimportant, and all I’m left with is the steady pressure of his hand in mine and the growing weight in my chest that I can’t quite name yet but already understand enough to fear.
By the time we step inside and the door closes behind us, the noise has faded completely, replaced by a silence that feels too heavy for the space it fills.
It is just us now, and whatever truth he is carrying in here with him.
Soft light filters through the partially drawn curtains, casting everything in muted gold, and the bed remains slightly unmade from this morning, the sheets still bearing the quiet imprint of a life that, until recently, felt contained within these walls.
This room has always been our refuge.
I sense the shift in him before he speaks, in the way his hand lingers at my waist after releasing mine, in the controlled rise and fall of his chest, in the quiet precision of his movements as he turns to face me fully.
“Trey…” I begin softly, my voice already threaded with something uncertain.
Say something…
He’s watching me, a fake smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes.
What does this mean? What is he going to say?My stomach starts to feel queasy. The long fingers of dread start to dig and claw through me, phantom fingers pressing into muscles, scratching bone.
“I need you to see something,” he says, his tone gentle but unyielding, as though he has already decided that whatever this is, we are facing it together whether I am ready or not.
Do I want to know? Can I bear more bad news?
The knot of worry is fraying my mind.
My stomach tightens immediately, a sharp pull of instinct that warns me before my mind can catch up.
He pauses briefly, measuring the space between us, the moment itself, before continuing.
Stop dragging this out, please…I feel my composure already shaken. The anticipation is torturous.
“It’s going to be hard…but we need to know if it’s real.”
The word real lands wrong inside me, like something fragile cracking before I can even understand what it is.
He crosses to the dresser and picks up his iPad, returning to me with a steadiness that feels practiced, like he has already walked himself through this moment and come out the other side of it.
When he places it in my hands, our fingers brush, but my heart doesn’t flutter as it is too lost in what’s to come.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
His jaw shifts slightly, tension tightening along the line of it.
“I’m sorry, baby, I think it makes more sense if you just watch.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, and lower my gaze to the screen as I press play.
I hear his voice before the image fully settles, and my breath catches halfway in my chest as recognition slams into me before I can prepare for it.
The screen sharpens into focus, revealing white robes, calm expression, and that same quiet authority.
My lungs forget how to work.
“…The Lord speaks of family…”
