Deep in the cold night, the muffled hiss of snow blends into the winter silence, a whispering flutter marking the turn of another page between Neva's fingers.
An airy yawn leaves her as she marks a verse of Colossians 3:24 in the Scripture.
Above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.
A gust of air sweeps into the room as the door opens, closes with a faint thud, and careful footsteps pad across the floor.
"Still awake?" Rhett's voice glides along the wooden walls of the ancient cottage, a temporary haven made livable through hurried hands and borrowed time.
"Mm-hmm," Neva replies, though her gaze remains tethered to the notebook,
aware of the mattress creaking as the space beside her dips beneath his weight.
Quiet lingers, marked by the gentle rise and fall of their son's breathing, before Rhett murmurs, low and almost lost to the room, "He must've felt alone... afraid."
She looks at him through her lashes.
There is a languid ease in the way his head rests on his palm. But his eyes, soft and shadowed, remain fixed on Rhean, asleep between them,
cocooned beneath the duvets.
He meets her gaze, lantern-light warming the sculpted planes of his handsome face.
A smile curls his lips,
always laying a balm over her sore heart.
She reaches over, gathering the folds of the covers to ease them over him. "It's freezing."
Her catches her hand, and her heart stutters at his playful, fevered smile. "Help warm me." He presses soft, lingering kisses to her fingers.
She draws her hand back too quickly, warmth blooming across her cheeks.
"I still have work," she murmurs quietly.
"Tch." Feigned defeat paints his tone as he lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
He folds an arm beneath his head and turns toward her. "It's nearly three, Angel," he says. "Staying awake this late won't do you any good, especially now."
"I'll be fine soon," she says, turning the page and continuing her careful scrawl.
A sigh leaves him. "Our boy takes after you in stubbornness." He brushes a finger over their son's tiny nose, a gentle boop following.
"I'm worried this one won't be any different."
A small frown pulls at her brow. "Don't you start blaming me, as if you're any easier."
He arches a brow. "Have you ever actually let you husband win an argument?"
She presses her lips together. But she can't think of anything.
"None at all." A teasing grin tugs at his lips.
Her lips part to counter back, only for her to lift a hand as a yawn escapes her,
her eyelids growing heavier with the weight of sleep.
"Your body's betraying you." The mattress sighs beneath him as he stirs. "You won't get anything done without proper rest."
Dazed, she gasps as he steals the Scripture and notebook in one swift motion.
"Give them back—" She swipes at the air as he hoists them up high. A mischievous glint flickers in his own heavy-lidded eyes.
"I said give them back!" she hisses, her voice sharp yet hushed as their son shifts in his sleep between them.
"You'll wake Rhean up."
He gives a daring shrug. "How hard can it be to admit that you're tired?"
"I'm not nearly tired!" Her cheeks flush in frustration.
He leans back as she reaches again, holding the books just out of her grasp.
"I saw you nodding off at dinner."
She collapses into the mattress, a heavy sigh spilling from her lips.
"It's because of the pregnancy!"
"All the more reason to not push yourself too hard." His gaze softens.
"Rest when you need to, Angel."
Exhaustion drapes over her shoulders as she glances down at the covers pooling in her lap. "We don't have time, Rhett."
"Of course, we do," he coos, placing the Scripture and notebook beside his pillow before moving closer to her.
"We only have until spring, and there are over fifty thousand believers waiting to be gathered," she says as he eases her down onto the soft pillows beside him.
"Maybe the angel was wrong." He gathers her into his arms, and she settles against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
"Maybe he meant twenty instead of seventy. You know, just a slip of the tongue?"
She chuckles softly, yet the weight of her calling lingers.
With so little time remaining,
and the hopes of thousands resting upon her shoulders, a numbing heaviness settles over her bones like poured concrete.
She knows He will make a way. She trusts Him, she truly does.
But still... still she can't help the wave of helplessness that washes over her every so often,
or the fear of failure whenever she counts the myriad faults she finds within herself.
The warmth of his hand glides along her back before slipping down to her bottom, where he gives her a gentle squeeze. "Are you asleep?"
In answer, she only shakes her head slightly against him.
But then she whispers wearily, "I don't know how."
"Angel," he murmurs.
"I... I really don't know how..." Oh... she feels so lost. So... so lost,
as if she's trapped in a maze swallowed by unrelenting darkness, not even the faintest flicker of light piercing through.
He leans back just enough to find tears trickling down her face. "You'll be fine."
He caresses her cheek, his hand warm and rough against her skin. "You know He always makes things right. He always has."
She sniffles, nestling against his chest as his arms tighten around her. "I know. I know..."
But still...
He presses a kiss to her hair. "Are you missing the twins?" he asks softly. "Don't worry. I'll bring them back soon."
"No," she whispers. "They're safer with him."
"You don't trust me to protect them?"
His voice is calm, but there's a hint of a faint waver that betrays his hurt.
"I do." She lifts her gaze to his with a frown, her heart aching. "Of course I do."
He brushes a few strands of hair from her temple. "I'm sorry I kept the truth from you. But that toy was harmless. I had to let Knight believe I didn't know. And I made sure he won't try anything like that again."
She doesn't want to think about it.
The fact that Knight could do something so horrible. That she had no idea her children had been in the jaws of danger inside their own home.
Even if he hadn't meant it, even if he'd done it for the sake of the mission...
No. It's ridiculous. It's just so disturbing that he could put innocent lives in such danger, no matter the cause.
"He shouldn't have done it," she mumbles. "I can't trust him."
He inhales slowly before saying, "What if we take a break tomorrow?"
"We can't." She turns onto her side, facing their son. "The Word hasn't spread enough. There's so much left to do. So many places yet to visit. And there's so little time—"
"Shh..." He presses her closer to him, his breath warm against her ear as he whispers, "You worry too much."
"It's not like I can help it," she murmurs as he brushes a kiss along her neck,
his warm lips against her skin undoing something tight within her.
"If I keep you hard at work for the rest of the night," he rasps. "Will you change your mind about travelling tomorrow?"
Heat floods her cheeks,
her body slowly melting against him as his lips trail soft, lingering kisses down her neck and shoulder.
"Tell me, Angel." His voice is needy, laced with a fevered heat that sets her heart racing, sweet anticipation blossoming in a dizzying haze.
In response, she tilts her head, and his lips find hers in a slow, unravelling kiss, his hand sliding from her thigh, tracing the length of her arm, before cupping her face.
In a breath lost to feverish ache, she feels him hover over her, deepening the kiss until it binds them both in a rising tide of passion and a teasing flare of euphoria.
Her hands wander from his neck down the firm strength of his chest before her practiced, nimble fingers begin unfastening the buttons of his shirt.
"Mama..."
They both freeze, motionless. And all that remains is the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat echoing her husband's, while the wind hums against the windowpanes.
Slowly pulling away, they glance at their son as he mumbles, "Dada took my crayons."
Then he rolls over onto his side, turning away from them, his gentle snores soon filling the winter stillness.
A long, relieved sigh escapes them both before they share a breathy laugh.
And then she realizes... how blind has she been?
Here, in the warmth of her husband and son, within the safe walls of a cottage in a land that has never welcomed them,
with a new little heart pulsing within her womb, she's already
living in one of God's answered prayers.
"I can't believe we get to have another of him." His voice is filled with a sweet awe.
Breathing his familiar warmth in, she places his hand over her lower belly. "Me too."
"Will you atleast take tomorrow off?" he asks softly, "...for our baby?"
"A day of resting won't hurt, I suppose," she says.
"Well decided." He leans in to playfully nip at her lower lip.
"Ow—it hurts—" She presses a hand against his chest.
But he silences her with another kiss, and she finds herself falling for his charm deeper still,
his hand drifting up the seams of her stomach as they pick up the unfinished tale of their love where they had left it.