The church was nearly empty that morning.
A few candles burned at the altar, their flames trembling as if afraid of the silence that filled the space.
Daniel sat in the same pew he always did—third from the back, far enough to be unseen, but close enough to hear every word the pastor spoke.
Except this time, Pastor Gregory wasn't there.
Instead, a man Daniel had never seen before stood at the pulpit. He was tall, with weathered hands and a face carved by years of sun and sorrow. His clothes were plain, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something Daniel couldn't name.
When the man spoke, his voice rolled through the church like thunder softened by mercy.
> "Sometimes," he said, "we bury our sins thinking they will rot with time. But sin doesn't rot—it roots. It grows. It takes the shape of our fears and drinks from our silence."
Daniel froze.
The man's gaze swept slowly across the room. For one terrifying moment, it stopped on him. And Daniel felt exposed—like the stranger could see straight through his chest, straight into the thing he'd been hiding.
> "There are those among us," the man continued, "who believe they sinned for love. Who say, 'I did it to protect someone. To spare them pain.' But the road to hell, dear friends, is paved with reasons that sound noble."
Daniel's hands clenched around the pew until his knuckles turned white.
It couldn't be coincidence. It couldn't.
He shifted uncomfortably, his heart pounding. The stranger's words felt too sharp, too direct, as if he were reading from Daniel's own confession.
And then, the man smiled faintly—a kind of knowing smile.
> "But there's good news," he said, his tone softening. "If sin can take root, so can grace. If you dare to uncover what you've buried."
Silence fell.
The stranger closed his Bible, his gaze flicking once more to Daniel before he stepped down from the pulpit and walked toward the door.
Daniel watched him go, confusion swirling in his chest. Who was this man? A visiting preacher? A traveler? Or something else entirely?
When the service ended, Daniel followed him outside.
But the street was empty. No trace of footprints. No shadow turning the corner.
He was simply… gone.
That night, Daniel dreamed of the man again.
Standing by the lake.
Holding something—a baby wrapped in white cloth—and whispering words Daniel couldn't make out.
When Daniel woke, sweat soaked his shirt and his heart raced with a single thought that refused to fade:
"If sin can take root, so can grace…"