Gwen stood in the hallway, the silence pressing in. The comfort she’d clung to last week now felt fake—every kind word, every gesture, suddenly rehearsed.
She sank into a chair, skin crawling in her own body. Losing her husband had cut deep; being tricked out of her home was a final, merciless blow.
Her chest burned to scream, to throw something—but she couldn’t move.
Trusting Elizabeth now felt painfully naive. Gwen let her tears fall, unaware that heartbreak wasn’t the end—at least, not yet.
At the church office, Elizabeth’s voice was unexpectedly soft. “Let me carry that,” she said, reaching for the folder in Gwen’s hands.
Most of the meeting blurred—papers, dates, music choices. Gwen kept waiting for a sharp remark, but it never came.
When they stepped outside, Gwen was already halfway to her car when Elizabeth called out, “Wait a second, Gwen.” Her tone was gentle—almost unfamiliar.