Since the church was connected to the Father's residence next door, returning the cup would be easy.
Messiah stepped out into the small courtyard and headed toward the main house.
"I came to return the cup," he said.
His throat was still dry.
The water hadn't washed away the taste of last night.
Voices rose from inside.
"I don't know why!"
A young voice—
a girl's—sharp with stubborn defiance.
"Maria, you know why. This is no longer a place for you to live. You need to become independent."
"I don't understand! Why are you trying to send me away, Father?"
Her wide eyes trembled, on the verge of tears, fixed on him in accusation.
"Maria…"
The Father's thick fingers reached out, gently touching her small head.
She brushed his hand away.
Then she stormed out of the room.
Messiah stood frozen at the entrance.
The cup was still in his hand.