Page 44 of Divine Temptations
And even surrounded by all this holy bullshit, he’d been bright. Not dimmed or diminished. Not like these people who believed they were chosen by God just because they were loud and judgmental.
Ethan wasn’t chosen. Ethan chose. He chose compassion when they chose condemnation. He chose me.
Even if he couldn’t stay.
The organ creaked to life and the old lady up front, Sister something, started banging out the first hymn like it was a funeral march. Everyone around me stood up, all at once, like Jesus himself had whispered “Rise.”
I didn’t move.
I just sat there, hands on my thighs, watching them. Then the song ended, and everyone sat again in unison. The scrape of wooden pews echoed like creaky bones settling.
Then the real torture began.
Brother Thomas stepped up to the pulpit like a man with a mission. He smoothed down his tie, adjusted his mic, and launched into a Bible lesson so disturbing it made me flinch.
Genesis 22. Abraham and Isaac. The test of faith. You know, the one where God’s like, “Hey Abe, stab your kid for me, would you?” And Abraham’s like, “Sure, Big G, anything for You.”
What the actual hell?
The more he droned on about obedience and loyalty and sacrificing what you love, the more my hands curled into fists in my lap. The man sounded gleeful about it, like he couldn’t wait to be tested in the same way.
I almost stood up and walked out.
And then the church doors creaked open behind me.
I froze.
Then I turned my head, my heart pounding in my ears, a million thoughts crashing through my brain at once.
And there he was.
Ethan.
Hair a little messy, like he’d driven with the windows down. A denim jacket I hadn’t seen before clinging to his shoulders. His eyes searched the room until they landed on me, and when they did, the breath got punched right out of my chest.
Jesus.
He looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept in days.
He looked like I felt.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t fucking breathe.
Because at that moment, I didn’t care about Abraham or Isaac or obedience or any of it.
All I knew was that Ethan was here.
And maybe, just maybe, he came back for me.
You could hear a pin drop.
The congregation turned like a wave, heads swiveling, gasps rippling through the pews like gossip at a Baptist potluck.
Ethan walked slowly down the center aisle, eyes fixed on the pulpit. On Brother Thomas.
I could barely process it. Could barely sit still. My entire body felt like it was thrumming with lightning, like every nerve ending had remembered what it meant to be alive.
And then I realized Ethan wasn’t just visiting.
