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New city. New youth group. Same impossible spotlight. When Sally Weiss steps into a crowded bungalow in Hialeah, she hopes for something simple: an afternoon where no one cares about the headlines, the crash, or the millions of people who know her name. But normal turns out to be complicated when the room recognizes her before she even sits down. Between awkward questions, unexpected honesty, and the quiet rhythm of a guitar in a living room full of strangers, Sally discovers that friendship might still be possible—if she’s brave enough to be just another teenager in the circle.   Chapter 161 – You Are My Friends The fellowship hall smelled like cumin, garlic, and something sweetly fried. Folding tables bowed slightly under aluminum trays and slow cookers. Someone had labeled everything with neat little cards, though most people ignored them and simply followed their noses. Sally stood with a paper plate that had started modest and ended ambitious. Rice. Chicken. Something Caribbean with plantains. A spoonful of something she couldn’t identify but trusted anyway. She smiled to herself. The last Sunday she’d been here – two Sundays ago -  she’d barely managed toast. Flu, chills, polite smiles. Today she was starving. “Far out, girl,” came a voice beside her. “You eat with gusto.” Sally glanced sideways. Hailey. Curly hair pulled into a loose bun, oversized denim jacket, bright eyes that missed very little. She wasn’t a regular, but her grandparents were long time members. Sally grinned, unapologetic. “Food’s always good. Something about international fusion. You can’t go wrong when five grandmothers are competing.” Hailey laughed. “Fair.” They shifted toward the edge of the room where plastic chairs had been gathered into a loose circle. “You look a bit international yourself, if I might say,” Hailey added, studying her. Sally swallowed her last bite of chicken. “My dad’s Swiss. But I was born here. Well. Up north. Connecticut.” “Cool.” “More like frozen,” Sally replied. “Last weekend was Arctic.” Hailey made a sympathetic face. “Yeah, no thank you.” There was a small pause as people moved around them, clinking forks and paper cups. “Okay,” Hailey said suddenly, lowering her voice like she was confessing something mildly scandalous. “I’m meeting with a youth group this afternoon. I help lead it. It’s kind of a combined thing—several smaller churches. None of them have enough teens for a proper group, so we… merge.” “Like church Voltron,” Sally said lightly. Hailey blinked, then laughed. “Exactly like that.” Sally looked around the hall. Children. Couples. Retirees. She gestured vaguely. “And I’m the only teen here.” Hailey nodded. “You noticed.” Sally made a face. “Subtle.” “I’ve been told to recruit you,” Hailey admitted, hands up in surrender. “Official assignment. I earn points with the elders. My grandfather is one of them. Very political.” Sally tilted her head. “So I’m a church brownie badge.” “Basically,” Hailey grinned. “But the group’s actually fun. Games, discussions, music sometimes. It’s not… awkward.” Sally studied her. “You sure?” “I mean, there’s always one awkward guy,” Hailey conceded. “Statistically unavoidable.” Sally laughed. “You don’t have to,” Hailey added quickly, softening. “Especially if you’re still settling in. I know it’s… a lot. People wondering. Looking.” Sally’s smile thinned just a fraction. “It’s not the first time.” “I figured.” “No,” Sally said after a beat. “I’ll go for it. It should be fun. Meeting new people. Again.” She made a funny face at the last word. Hailey smiled back, gentler now. “You’ll be fine.” “I’ll have to ask my parents,” Sally added. “And see if they can come get me after.” “Don’t worry about that,” Hailey waved off. “I can drive you home. I’m heading back toward Homestead anyway. That’s where I’m from.”  “I’m in Coral Gables,” Sally clarified. “Perfect. Right on my way. I’ll probably have two or three others in the car. We do carpool chaos very well.” Sally nodded slowly. “Okay. That actually sounds… normal.” “It is,” Hailey said. “Very aggressively normal.” Sally glanced across the hall where her parents were talking to a couple near the coffee urn. Her mother caught her eye and raised an eyebrow in silent question. Sally lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug, half-smile. New youth group. New faces. New afternoon. Normal, she told herself. At least as normal as it ever got. -- Permission had been suspiciously easy. A glance. A nod. A soft, “That sounds wonderful, sweetheart.” Adrian had added something about texting when she arrived. Bridget had kissed her cheek like this was exactly what they’d been hoping for. It felt choreographed. Sally noticed. She didn’t mind. If her parents wanted her out meeting people her own age, fine. Youth group was probably safer than half the things she could have chosen. Now she sat in the passenger seat of a white, slightly sun-faded Dodge Grand Caravan that hummed with honest mileage. “Inherited from my parents and two older brothers,” Hailey said proudly, patting the steering wheel. “It has survived soccer cleats, spilled milkshakes, and at least one emotional breakup.” Sally ran her fingers lightly over the dashboard. “It’s… big.” “Translation: ancient.” “No,” Sally smiled. “Just… real.” She’d only ever been in black minivans with tinted windows, leather that smelled new, drivers who said “Miss Weiss” like it was part of the ignition sequence. This van had a faint scent of air freshener, and something baked recently. The seats were cloth. Slightly worn. Comfortable. “Are you driving already?” Hailey asked, glancing at her. “Or are you still in theory mode?” “2019 Ford Fiesta,” Sally answered, almost shy. “Manual.” Hailey blinked. “Manual manual?” “Yes.” “Like… three pedals?” “Yes.” “Girl.” Sally laughed. “Didn’t have a choice. My dad thought it was clever. He’s European, remember.” “It has to be economical,” Hailey said. “That, it is,” Sally replied dryly. “But I like it. It’s got character.” “Character means it makes weird noises but you forgive it.” “Exactly.” They merged onto a wider road, then slowly drifted into narrower streets. The scenery shifted almost imperceptibly. Miami proper gave way to low stucco homes in soft pastels—mint, peach, pale yellow. Lawns were smaller here, fences more common. Bougainvillea spilled unapologetically over gates. Wind chimes clinked faintly in the breeze. They turned off Flamingo Way into a residential pocket of Hialeah. Cars lined the street on both sides—compact sedans, pickup trucks, an old Civic with mismatched doors, a newer SUV with tinted windows that tried harder than the rest. “Busy house,” Sally murmured. “Yep,” Hailey grinned. “That’s a good sign.” They slowed in front of a single-story bungalow painted a slightly faded blue. The roof tiles were sun-baked. The porch light was on even though it was still afternoon. Music—soft, rhythmic—leaked through open windows along with the hum of conversation. More cars were angled along the curb than the driveway could logically hold. Someone had parked halfway on the grass. Hailey pulled into a narrow space with practiced confidence. “You’ll be fine,” she said casually, turning off the engine. “They’re normal. Mostly.” Sally looked at the house. It wasn’t intimidating. It wasn’t impressive. It was alive. Laughter burst from inside as the front door opened briefly and someone stepped out to grab something from a car. The scent of grilled meat drifted into the street. Sally felt something loosen in her chest. No one here cared about press releases. No one here would know what a Gulf Craft Majesty 100 was. She reached for the door handle. “You ready?” Hailey asked. Sally nodded once. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s do it.” They stepped out of the van, the door sliding shut with a solid, imperfect thud, and walked toward the bungalow together. -- They didn’t even have to knock. The door swung open before Hailey’s hand reached the bell. A girl—twelve, maybe thirteen—stood there like she had been waiting for something interesting to happen. Dark hair loose over her shoulders, tan skin, sharp eyes that missed nothing. She looked at Hailey. Then at Sally. Recognition flashed. Fast. Then a small frown formed. “Who are you?” the girl demanded. Hailey slipped her shoes off casually. “Easy, Megan. This is Sally. She’s new.” Sally stepped forward a little. The porch felt suddenly smaller. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sally.” Megan didn’t move aside yet. “What’s your last name?” she asked, blunt but not rude. Just… direct. The kind of bossy that came from being the youngest sibling who had learned to claim space loudly. Sally hesitated for half a second. “Weiss,” she said evenly. “Sally Weiss.” Hailey froze mid-shoe-removal. Megan blinked. Then blinked again. “Sally Weiss?” she repeated slowly. Sally braced herself. “Yeah.” Megan’s eyes widened. “THE Sally Weiss?” Sally shrugged, one shoulder lifting slightly. “I guess?” That was all it took. Megan spun around so fast her hair whipped through the air like a flag. “Emma! Audrey! Look who’s here! Look who’s here!” she shouted into the house, voice ricocheting down the hallway. “Sally Weiss! The famous Sally Weiss! She’s here! Come meet her!” The volume echoed deeper into the bungalow. Sally closed her eyes briefly. Hailey looked at her with exaggerated innocence. “Famous Sally Weiss, huh?” she said, one eyebrow raised. “Sorry. Didn’t recognize you.” Sally let out a breath through her nose. “Just Sally.” Hailey bumped her shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” “From the twelve-year-olds?” “Especially from the twelve-year-olds.” Footsteps thundered down the hallway. A door banged somewhere. Someone yelled, “No way!” from the back of the house. Within seconds, the small entryway filled with faces. Girls. A couple of boys peeking from behind them. Curious. Whispering. Wide-eyed. “Is it really her?” “That’s her.” “She looks normal.” “She’s taller than I thought.” “Does she have security?” Sally stood there in jeans and sneakers, suddenly very aware of her hands. She lifted one in a small wave. “Hi,” she said again, softer this time but steady. The room quieted just a fraction. Emma—older, maybe sixteen—stepped forward first. “You’re actually here,” she said, not unkindly. Just stunned. “I am,” Sally replied. “You survived that plane crash,” someone whispered. Sally nodded once. “Yeah.” Another girl squinted at her. “You have like… millions of followers.” Sally tilted her head. “I have homework too.” A few nervous laughs broke the tension. Hailey clapped her hands lightly. “Okay! Everyone breathe. She’s a human. I promise.” Megan reappeared at Sally’s side, now transformed from gatekeeper to unofficial publicist. “She’s famous,” Megan whispered loudly to no one in particular. “Like, actually famous.” Sally leaned slightly toward her. “I still don’t know where the snacks are.” Megan blinked. Then grinned. “Kitchen,” she said, finally stepping aside to let them in. And just like that, the hallway swallowed Sally Weiss—famous or not—into a house that smelled like food and noise and normal teenage chaos. -- Only it wasn’t normal at all. Not really. Sally tried to shrink into the background, but the room wouldn’t let her. When Hailey guided her into the living room, Diego and Gloria—her hosts—stood to greet her. Diego shook her hand warmly, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Recognition. Calculation. Awe tucked behind hospitality. “We’re very happy you’re here,” Gloria said, hugging her lightly. “Make yourself at home.” Sally smiled. “Thank you for having me.” It sounded simple. It didn’t feel simple. The teens hovered. Not too close. Not too far. Chips were passed around. Conversations about algebra tests and annoying teachers continued, but every few seconds someone glanced at her. Megan, however, had zero hesitation. She plopped down beside Sally and immediately began rearranging the snack situation. “These are the good ones,” Megan announced, dropping a pile of spicy chips onto Sally’s plate without asking. “The plain ones are boring.” Sally blinked at the growing mound. “I can serve myself.” “I know,” Megan replied, already pouring more soda into Sally’s plastic cup. “But you’re a guest.” “A famous guest,” someone whispered. Sally pretended not to hear. The chatter shifted awkwardly around her. “So… how’s Miami?” a girl asked, trying to sound casual. “It’s warmer than Connecticut,” Sally replied. “That’s not hard,” a boy muttered. Laughter loosened the room slightly. Hailey clapped her hands once. “Okay, gang. Circle up.” Furniture scraped. Teens grabbed pillows, settled on sofas, cross-legged on the floor, leaning against walls. The living room wasn’t large, but it felt alive. Sally sat near the edge of a couch. Megan claimed the floor right in front of her like an unofficial bodyguard. “Alright,” Hailey began, standing with easy confidence. “As I said, this is Sally. She’s new. Moved to Miami not long ago.” “Yeah, I read about it,” an eager girl said, raising her hand halfway like she was in class. “Welcome to Miami.” “Thanks,” Sally replied. “Is your mom really having a baby?” another girl asked immediately, emboldened now. “It was in the news.” Sally nodded. “Yeah. Due in July.” “Ooooh,” someone whispered. “What school do you go to?” a boy asked, voice cracking slightly. “I homeschool,” Sally answered. “That must be nice,” someone said. “It’s still school,” Sally replied. More eyes. More curiosity. Hailey lifted her hands gently. “Let’s regroup. There will be time for questions later.” The room quieted. “As I was saying,” Hailey continued, pride creeping into her voice, “welcome to Gideon’s Three Hundred.” Sally tilted her head. “Gideon’s three hundred?” Megan spun around dramatically from her spot on the floor. “Gideon brought thirty thousand soldiers to fight a war,” she said, hands flying. “But God said that was too many. He only needed three hundred to win. And they did!” She finished triumphantly, as if she personally had been there. A flicker of recognition passed through Sally’s eyes. She remembered the story. Judges. The men drinking from the river. The fear. The odds. The three hundred weren’t impressive. They were obedient. “They weren’t the biggest group,” Sally said quietly, almost to herself. “Just the chosen ones.” Hailey looked at her, surprised. “Exactly,” she said. The room shifted again. Not quite normal. But not impossible either. For the first time since she stepped through the door, Sally felt something settle. Maybe being the only “famous” one in a room didn’t matter. Maybe being one of the three hundred did. -- Hailey stood in the middle of the circle with her Bible open, her earlier playfulness softened into something steadier. “Okay,” she began, glancing around at the faces. “Quick question. Who here feels like the least likely person for anything big?” A few hands went up. A few smirks. A few eyes dropped. Megan raised both hands dramatically. Sally didn’t raise hers. But she felt the question. Hailey smiled faintly. “Good. Then this is for you. It’s about David and Goliath.” She flipped a page. “David shows up in 1 Samuel 17 as the least likely candidate. He’s not trained for war. His brothers don’t respect him. He’s not even supposed to be there. He’s delivering lunch for his older brothers.” A few chuckles. “He’s small. Young. Overlooked. And the story doesn’t hide that. His weakness isn’t a typo in the story. It is the story.” Sally leaned forward slightly. “Goliath,” Hailey continued, “isn’t just a big enemy. He represents a world that measures worth by size, experience, credentials, intimidation. Sound familiar?” A boy across the room muttered, “School.” Laughter. Hailey nodded. “Exactly.” She looked down at the page. “David’s key moment isn’t when he throws the stone. It’s when he speaks. He reframes reality.” She read slowly. “You come to me with a sword and with a spear and with a javelin, but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts.” The room quieted. “David doesn’t deny Goliath’s strength,” Hailey said. “He just refuses to accept that strength as the ultimate category.” Sally felt something shift inside her. “The battle is the Lord’s,” Hailey added softly. She closed her Bible halfway. “Now fast-forward. The Apostle Paul.” A few teens shifted. “Paul could’ve leaned into being impressive. Educated. Persuasive. But listen to how he describes himself.” She read again. “I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling.” “That doesn’t sound like a superhero,” someone said. “Exactly,” Hailey replied. “Paul refuses rhetorical armor the way David refused Saul’s armor. Both of them understand something: when you rely on your own strength, you actually obscure what God is doing.” She turned another page. “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Silence lingered for a beat. “It’s the same theology in two testaments,” Hailey said. “David without armor. Paul without self-reliance.” She looked around the room. “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” Sally felt that one land. “We live in a culture obsessed with visibility,” Hailey continued. “Confidence. Dominance. Performance. But the Bible quietly says—that’s not how God works.” Emma frowned thoughtfully. “So weakness isn’t… embarrassing?” she asked. “It can feel embarrassing,” Hailey answered honestly. “But it’s not disqualifying.” Sally spoke without planning to. “David didn’t win by becoming stronger than Goliath,” she said slowly. “He won by trusting the Lord.” A few heads turned toward her. Hailey smiled. “Yes.” “And Paul didn’t win by being impressive,” Sally added, finding her footing. “He trusted God’s grace.” The room felt smaller now. Closer. “So the question isn’t ‘How do I become strong enough?’” Hailey said. “It’s ‘Who am I trusting?’” No one laughed this time. For a moment, Sally forgot about being recognized at the door. Forgot about articles. Forgot about who people thought she was. In the circle, she was just another teenager listening to a story about weakness not being the end of the narrative. And somewhere in that small bungalow in Hialeah, she realized again what she kept rediscovering: The Bible wasn’t a collection of heroic stories. It was a collection of surrendered ones. It was a whole. -- The circle didn’t dissolve after the study. It deepened. Hailey didn’t push it. She just asked, quietly, “So… where does this hit you?” There was a pause. The kind that could go awkward. Then a girl with straightened hair and nervous hands spoke first. “I get bullied,” she said plainly. “Not like… shoved into lockers. Just… comments. Online. About my teeth. I’m getting braces next month.” She gave a tight smile. “So that’ll probably get worse before it gets better.” A few nods around the circle. “You’ll look like a robot,” Megan offered helpfully. “Thanks,” the girl deadpanned. Laughter softened it. A boy leaned back against the wall. “Soccer tryouts,” he muttered. “Coach says I’m good. Just not… starting good. Feels like almost is worse than bad.” Another girl spoke up. “My parents are fighting a lot. Not like… dramatic. Just quiet. And that’s worse.” The room shifted again. No one tried to fix anything. In the corner, someone had been quietly tapping a rhythm the whole time. Soft. Steady. A dark-haired teen sat on a cajón, long fingers resting against the wooden box. He had the kind of face that looked older than it was trying to be. Early shadow of a mustache. Long hair brushing his shoulders. A hint of something cinematic about him. If Sally had to describe it, she would’ve said he looked like a teenage Antonio Banderas dropped into suburban Miami. He kept the beat gentle. Not drawing attention. Just grounding the room. Then he spoke, still tapping. “My Abuela passed last month.” The rhythm didn’t stop. “She lived with us,” he continued. “Since I was little. She used to wake me up for school. Even when I didn’t want to go.” He smiled faintly. “Now the house is… quiet.” The tapping slowed. “I keep expecting to hear her.” Silence wrapped around the words. He glanced up, catching Sally’s eyes for a brief second. Almost apologetic. He lifted one hand and gave her a lazy wave. “My name is Alejandro,” he said. Simple. Modest. “Sally,” she replied softly, returning the wave. He nodded once and resumed the gentle beat. More stories followed. “I feel behind everyone.” “I don’t know what I’m good at.” “I feel invisible.” “I feel too visible.” That last one hung in the air a little longer than the others. Sally felt it land. But no one looked at her. Not yet. She was grateful. For once, she wasn’t the headline. She wasn’t the example. She wasn’t the miracle girl or the famous girl or the girl from the article. She was just another teen sitting cross-legged in a crowded living room, listening to other people’s fears spill out in honest, unfiltered fragments. The cajón kept its quiet heartbeat. Alejandro’s fingers tapping like something steady beneath the noise. Sally folded her hands loosely in her lap. Weakness wasn’t theoretical anymore. It had braces. It had bench seats. It had empty chairs at breakfast tables. And she was thankful, deeply thankful, that for a little while the spotlight had moved. Not away from her completely. But wide enough to let everyone else breathe too. -- The question didn’t come loudly It came straight. “Were you afraid?” The girl with the braces was looking directly at Sally now. Not curious in a sensational way. Just searching. Sally leaned back slightly, caught off guard. “When the plane was going down?” the girl clarified. The room tightened. Hailey shifted in her seat, ready to intervene, to soften, to redirect. Sally gave her a small shake of the head. It was okay. Alejandro’s fingers stopped on the cajón. The rhythm dissolved into silence. He was watching her now, steady, not intrusive. Sally pressed her lips together for a moment. “Not afraid,” she said slowly. “Not of death, anyway.” A few brows furrowed. “I was more in… wonder,” she continued. “Like—now? Right now? Is this it?” Her voice wasn’t dramatic. Just honest. “I guess I was more afraid of the crash itself. The impact. The pain.” “You weren’t afraid of dying?” Emma asked, frowning. Sally shook her head. “I knew little,” she admitted. “But I knew I was going to Paradise. Like the thief on the cross.” The room went still. “Only,” she added quietly, “I didn’t go. And I got to experience all the pain I was afraid of. Not for a second or two. But hours. Days. Weeks in the hospital.” She let out a small breath. “But it was okay, I guess.” “Okay?” Megan whispered, wide-eyed. Sally smiled faintly. “Not fun. But okay.” “So you really converted before the accident?” Emma asked, incredulous. “That wasn’t just… media stuff?” Sally gave a weak, almost amused smile. “No. It wasn’t fake news.” “How did you come to Christ?” The question came softly. Alejandro. His voice wasn’t pushing. Just inviting. Sally turned toward him. “Long story,” she said. “Short version? A friend gave me a Bible because I had questions about her faith. Her brother told me to start with the Gospels. Start with Jesus.” She swallowed lightly. “So I read. And it made sense. It felt like it was calling out to me. But there was… a wall. Like I understood it, but I couldn’t quite step into it.” She looked down at her hands. “Then I read Luke. The thief on the cross. He just says, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ And Jesus says—” “Today, you will be with me in Paradise,” Alejandro finished, eyes bright. Sally looked up at him, surprised and impressed. “Yeah. And then the wall was down, and I was… in”. “That’s… heavy,” Emma murmured. Hailey leaned forward slightly. “It goes to show,” she said gently, “God doesn’t need heroes to make headlines. You’ve seen it in David. You’ve seen it in Paul. It’s not about strength. It’s about trust.” Audrey, who had been silent until now, spoke carefully. “After the crash… were you angry? At God?” Sally shook her head almost immediately. “No. I had questions. A lot of them. But not doubts.” She paused. “It was a steep learning curve. But if the crash hadn’t happened… my parents would probably still be lost. Looking at me like I was the strange one.” She stopped herself there. “That’s a story for another time,” she added gently. She didn’t want the room bending entirely toward her. Alejandro seemed to sense it. Without another word, he began tapping again. Soft at first. Then steadier. Diego reached for his guitar and tuned quickly, fingers practiced and quiet. The first chord rang out warm and simple. Alejandro’s beat grew firmer, grounding the room again. Voices rose hesitantly at first. Then together. Not performance. Not spectacle. Just teenagers in a crowded living room, singing about grace and strength made perfect in weakness. Sally didn’t feel famous in that moment. She felt small. Held. And somehow exactly where she was supposed to be. -- The drive back felt different from the ride there. Quieter. Not awkward. Just full. Hailey kept both hands on the wheel of the aging Grand Caravan, the engine humming faithfully beneath them. Outside, Miami slid by in streaks of neon and palm shadows. Gemma, the girl in braces, and Ian, her brother, sat in the back, whispering occasionally, then falling silent again. Every so often Gemma leaned forward between the seats. “You okay?” she asked Sally once, almost protectively. “I’m good,” Sally smiled. “Really.” They had insisted she sit in the front. “You’re the guest,” Ian had said firmly. As if the passenger seat was a throne. Sally didn’t argue. When they turned onto Solano Prado, Hailey’s posture changed slightly.  The guard gate appeared ahead, illuminated and orderly. “Oh,” Hailey said, braking a little too quickly. The van dipped forward. “Am I allowed to go in?” There was awe in her voice. Not envy. Just disbelief. Sally laughed, bright and easy. “Of course. You’re my friends.” She pointed toward the visitor’s lane. “Just roll the window down so he sees me. I don’t have my tag.” Hailey obeyed, rolling the window down with a whir. The guard stepped forward, professional, alert. Then he saw her. His expression shifted immediately. “Miss Weiss! Of course. Welcome.” The barrier lifted with a smooth mechanical hum. Hailey blinked. “That was… easy.” Sally shrugged. “He’s nice.” The van rolled forward again, slower now. Gemma pressed her forehead lightly to the glass. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. Mansions rose on either side. White columns. Glass facades. Perfectly trimmed hedges. Long driveways disappearing into soft uplighting. No one spoke for almost a full minute. It wasn’t judgment. It was processing. Sally watched their reflections in the windshield instead of the houses. She didn’t feel embarrassed. She didn’t feel proud. She just felt aware. “It’s at the end,” she said gently, pointing ahead. “My mom probably has snacks ready. She assumes youth group equals starvation.” A small laugh rippled through the van. They approached an open gate. Warm lights glowed from beneath the porch roof. “In there,” Sally directed softly. “You can pull up by the front door.” Hailey eased the van through the gate like she was docking a boat. Bridget was already standing under the porch lights, one hand resting lightly against the column, the other raised in greeting. She looked elegant, but relaxed. Not staged. Not formal. Just a mother waiting. Hailey turned off the engine. For a second, no one moved. Gemma exhaled slowly. “You live here?” she whispered. Sally smiled. “Yeah.” Not apologizing. Not boasting. Just stating. She reached for the door handle and opened it. “Come on,” she said. “Before my mom decides to send out a search party with cookies.” -- In the end, it wasn’t awkward. Not really. It could have been. The high ceilings. The marble floors. The quiet echo of their sneakers as they stepped inside. The way the foyer opened like something out of a magazine. But then Adrian appeared. Not in a suit. Not imposing. Just in jeans and a light sweater, sleeves pushed up. “So this is the famous youth delegation,” he said warmly, stepping forward with an easy smile. “I’ve heard reports.” Hailey blinked. “Good reports, I hope.” “Outstanding,” Adrian replied gravely. “My daughter came back smiling. That earns high marks.” Ian straightened instinctively when Adrian shook his hand. Gemma, braces flashing, managed a polite “Nice to meet you, sir.” “None of that,” Adrian said gently. “Adrian is fine.” And just like that, the house shrank a little. Bridget ushered them further in, soft and luminous in the warm light. “Shoes wherever you’re comfortable,” she said. “And come to the kitchen before you faint from hunger.” “The snacks are aggressive,” Sally added. “They are generous,” Bridget corrected with a smile. The kitchen, bright and welcoming, did the rest of the work. A large wooden bowl of homemade popcorn sat in the center island. Not microwaved. Real butter. Lightly salted. Beside it were cut fruit, small brownies, tortilla chips with guacamole, and a plate of still-warm cookies. Gemma’s eyes widened. “You made all this?” Bridget laughed softly. “I had help. But yes.” Ian reached cautiously for popcorn, as if testing the normality of it. Sally bumped his shoulder lightly. “It’s not ceremonial. You can eat.” Within minutes, the grandeur of the house faded behind crunching popcorn and second helpings. Hailey leaned against the counter, relaxed now. “I was nervous at the gate,” she admitted. “I thought they’d scan my license plate and reject me.” Sally grinned. “You passed inspection.” Adrian poured soft drinks into simple glasses and handed them around like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. “So,” he said casually, “who won the theological debate tonight?” Alejandro wasn’t there, but his name came up. Laughter followed. Someone mentioned David and Goliath again. Gemma described Sally’s answer about the plane in breathless admiration until Sally threw a piece of popcorn at her. “Stop,” Sally muttered, cheeks pink. “I just answered a question.” “Yeah,” Gemma said. “But like… calmly.” Sally shrugged. “It’s just life,” she said. And in that kitchen, surrounded by buttered popcorn and mismatched laughter, it almost felt exactly that. Just life. When it was finally time to go, no one seemed intimidated anymore. They hugged Bridget without stiffness. Adrian clapped Ian on the shoulder. Hailey promised to text. At the door, Gemma turned once more, looking at Sally. “You’re not… different,” she said carefully. Sally tilted her head. “I hope not.” Gemma shook her head. “I mean—you are. But not in the way people say.” Sally smiled softly. “Good,” she said. The old minivan pulled away from the circular driveway without ceremony. Inside the house, the lights glowed warm and steady. And for once, the size of it all didn’t matter. What mattered was that it had felt easy. -- Sally on her bed, hugging her knees, chin resting lightly on them.  Her t-shirt pooled around her waist. The familiar diaper wrapped around her like a ritual she’d grown into. Bridget sat beside her, one hand resting gently around Sally’s ankle, thumb moving absently back and forth. “Busy day tomorrow,” Bridget said softly. Sally exhaled through her nose. “Yeah. No rest for the wicked.” “Funny bunny,” Bridget replied, lightly swatting her knee. “But you do have to meet Elena. And we need to get the ball rolling at the foundation. Your dad has been practically pacing about his Miami office.” Sally smiled faintly at that image. “He’s going to rearrange furniture on day one,” she predicted. “Without question.” Sally’s shoulders drooped. A yawn caught her mid-sentence. “I guess I can let tomorrow be tomorrow,” she murmured. “I’m wiped out.” “I can see that.” Bridget studied her daughter carefully. “I take it you were thoroughly interrogated?” Sally gave a small shrug. “Nothing dramatic. Just curiosity. Plane questions. Faith questions. You know… normal Sunday stuff.” Her tone was light, but tired. Bridget’s lips pressed together briefly. She knew what that meant. Every new group. Every new setting. The story would arrive before Sally could. “It was fine,” Sally added quietly. “I didn’t mind.” Her mother nodded, though she knew the weight of it would follow her daughter for years. “Well,” Bridget said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Sally’s face, “get some sleep. You spent long enough in the bathroom, and you already get a full star, dry or not dry.” Sally gave a sleepy smile at that. She pressed her hand on Bridget’s stomach.. “Night, Mom. Night, Oskar.” She slid down under the sheets, curling instinctively into her familiar fetal position, knees tucked up, hands folded near her chest. “Can you turn the lights off?” she murmured. Bridget stood, switched off the lamp, and the room softened into moonlit shadows. She leaned down, pressed a quiet kiss to Sally’s forehead. “Sleep well, darling.” From the doorway she paused for just a second, listening to the steady rhythm of her daughter’s breathing begin to slow. Tomorrow would come. But for now, the house was still.

Winter storm win. Not looking as bad as it was earlier.

Aiko and Konyo sat down in the sandbox and started playing, building a sandcastle, “Rei, come and help.” Azumi sat down on the bench and watched them.

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