Chapter(: The People Who Came BackAnita didn't know how long she had been sitting there.)
Maybe twenty minutes.
Maybe an hour.
She had stopped checking the time a long while ago.
The room was quiet now, almost unnaturally so after the number of conversations that had filled the house earlier. The faint hum of the air conditioner blended with the occasional sound of movement somewhere in the corridor, while the wall clock continued ticking steadily, indifferent to the fact that Anita felt as though the entire night had been suspended around her.
She sat on the edge of the sofa with her hands loosely clasped between her knees.
Her phone rested beside her.
She had been nervous for so long that the feeling had almost become familiar.
Still, the phone call she had received earlier had eased something inside her.
Not completely.
There were still questions.
Too many of them.
But at least she no longer felt as though she was waiting for some terrible news to arrive.
Her shoulders dropped slightly as she released a slow breath.
She leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes.
For a few seconds, she allowed herself to simply exist without thinking.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
Her eyes opened.
Anita immediately straightened.
Another knock followed.
She reached for her phone almost instinctively.
The screen lit up.
12:30 a.m.
Her brows lifted.
"Already?"
She stared at the time for another second.
She hadn't realized the night had become that late.
"Come in," she called.
The door opened.
Pastor Barnabas stepped inside.
The first thing Anita noticed was how tired he looked.
His shoulders had lost their usual firmness, and the lines beneath his eyes were more obvious beneath the warm light. He had probably been just as emotionally drained as everyone else, but he still managed to give her a small smile.
Anita studied him suspiciously.
"What?"
Barnabas paused.
"I didn't say anything."
"You sighed."
He looked almost offended.
"Am I no longer allowed to sigh?"
"You only sigh like that when something is bothering you."
Barnabas smiled faintly.
"Perhaps I'm simply tired."
Anita didn't believe him.
He walked farther into the room and pulled a chair closer before sitting.
For a moment, he said nothing.
That only made Anita more suspicious.
Finally, he rested his hands against his thighs.
"What about we stay here for the night?"
Anita blinked.
"Stay here?"
"Yes."
She glanced toward the door.
Barnabas noticed the confusion on her face.
"I know you're confused about why your parents aren't here yet."
Anita's fingers tightened together.
"That's putting it mildly."
"I know."
His voice softened.
"But they've been delayed, and I honestly don't think tonight is the right time for everybody to sit down and start having serious conversations."
Anita looked away.
She knew what he meant.
Her emotions were still too close to the surface.
One wrong sentence could send her into anger or tears.
Barnabas continued.
"Everyone is tired. You are tired. Your parents are tired. Your sister has had an exhausting day too."
He paused.
"Tomorrow, everyone can sit down properly. No rushing. No shouting. No trying to explain ten years of problems in the middle of the night."
Anita's mouth twitched.
"You make it sound like we're preparing for a board meeting."
Barnabas smiled.
"With your family? It might actually be easier to organize a board meeting."
Anita almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, she shook her head.
Her eyes lowered.
"Are they really coming?"
The humor disappeared from Barnabas's face.
"Yes."
Anita looked at him.
His answer had been immediate.
Certain.
That helped.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay."
Barnabas leaned back.
"Good."
He had barely finished speaking when the door opened.
Neither of them expected it.
Barnabas turned first.
Anita followed his gaze.
And froze.
A man stood at the entrance.
He looked to be in his fifties, perhaps a little older. His dark hair was interrupted by grey around the sides, and there were noticeable lines across his forehead and beneath his eyes. His clothes were neat but slightly creased from travelling, and one hand still held the handle of a small travel bag.
But Anita didn't notice any of those details for more than a second.
Because standing beside him was her mother.
Her entire body went still.
The room seemed to become strangely quiet.
Even the air conditioner suddenly sounded distant.
Anita stared at them.
Her mother stared back.
Her father's eyes settled on her.
No one spoke.
Anita's lips parted.
The word came out almost without permission.
"Mother..."
Her mother inhaled sharply.
"Anita."
Her voice.
That was what finally broke through Anita's disbelief.
She had heard that voice countless times in her life.
In childhood.
During arguments.
During ordinary conversations.
During moments when everything seemed perfectly normal.
And now, hearing it again after everything that had happened, Anita suddenly felt the painful weight of how much she had missed it.
Her eyes burned.
She stood slowly.
Her knees felt weak, and she had to steady herself with one hand against the arm of the sofa.
Her father noticed immediately.
He stepped forward.
"Anita."
She looked at him.
There was no accusation in his expression.
No anger.
Just exhaustion.
And something else.
Something warm.
Her throat tightened.
"Father..."
Her mother was already walking toward her.
She didn't ask anything.
She didn't demand an explanation.
She simply reached out.
Anita's control disappeared.
She stepped into her mother's arms.
Her mother held her tightly.
Anita's hands clutched the back of her mother's clothes.
For several seconds, she didn't cry.
She simply stood there.
Then her breathing became uneven.
Her shoulders trembled.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Her mother immediately tightened her embrace.
"You're all right," she whispered.
Anita shook her head.
"I thought..."
She couldn't finish.
Her mother stroked her back.
"I know."
"I thought you weren't coming."
"We told you we would."
"I know, but I..."
Her voice broke.
Her mother didn't make her finish.
She simply held her.
Anita closed her eyes.
She hadn't realized how frightened she had been until that moment.
She had been pretending she was waiting patiently.
Pretending she was simply tired.
Pretending she wasn't imagining every possible reason for their absence.
But now that her mother was actually standing there, Anita felt something inside her finally loosen.
Across the room, Barnabas watched quietly.
A sincere smile appeared on his face.
He had seen Anita hold herself together for hours.
Now she didn't have to.
For once, she was allowed to be somebody's daughter instead of the person expected to have all the answers.
Her father stood a few feet away.
His eyes were damp.
He looked down briefly and rubbed beneath one eye with his thumb before clearing his throat.
Barnabas noticed.
He smiled a little wider.
"Long journey?"
The older man looked at him.
"Longer than it should have been."
Barnabas chuckled softly.
"At least you arrived safely."
"Eventually."
His father finally moved closer.
Anita pulled away from her mother and immediately wiped her cheeks.
She looked embarrassed.
Her mother touched her face.
"Don't hide them."
Anita lowered her hand.
"I'm fine."
Her father gave her a look.
"You're crying."
"That doesn't mean I'm not fine."
Barnabas smiled.
"There she is."
Anita turned toward him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She narrowed her eyes.
He looked away.
Her father couldn't help smiling.
Anita caught it.
"You're smiling too."
"Am I not allowed?"
"Not when I'm crying."
Her father gave a quiet laugh.
The sound was small, but it changed the atmosphere.
Anita looked at him for a moment.
Then her father opened his arms.
She hesitated.
It was barely noticeable.
But her father saw it.
He didn't force her.
He simply waited.
Anita swallowed.
Then she stepped forward.
Her father embraced her.
His arms went around her shoulders, and Anita rested her cheek against his chest.
She could hear his heartbeat.
Steady.
Human.
Familiar.
His hand moved slowly across her back.
Anita closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Her father's hand paused.
"No."
She lifted her head.
"But—"
"Not tonight."
His tone wasn't harsh.
It was gentle.
"Whatever needs to be said can be said tomorrow."
Anita stared at him.
He touched her cheek.
"You've been carrying enough tonight."
Her eyes became wet again.
Her mother nodded.
"He's right."
Anita released a tired breath.
"Everyone keeps saying tomorrow."
Barnabas raised one finger.
"Because tomorrow is an excellent invention."
Anita looked at him.
He smiled.
She shook her head.
"You are impossible."
"And yet I'm still invited to stay."
Her father looked at him.
"You're staying."
Barnabas's eyebrows lifted.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course."
Anita looked between them.
"Why is everyone deciding where they are sleeping?"
Her mother answered immediately.
"Because it's twelve-thirty in the morning."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It answers enough of it."
Anita sighed.
Her father smiled.
"You are staying too."
"Father—"
"No arguments."
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Anita finally surrendered.
"Fine."
Her mother smiled.
"Good."
Something about the exchange felt strangely normal.
That was perhaps what touched Anita most.
There was still pain beneath the surface.
There were things they needed to discuss.
But for a few minutes, they were simply a family standing in a room arguing over sleep arrangements after midnight.
Barnabas eventually cleared his throat.
"I believe this is the first sensible decision we've made tonight."
Anita gave him an unimpressed look.
"Don't make it sound like you've been supervising us."
"I have."
"Nobody asked you to."
"I volunteered."
Her father laughed quietly.
Her mother shook her head.
Anita almost smiled.
Then her mother looked at her more closely.
"You look exhausted."
"I am."
"Have you eaten?"
Anita hesitated.
Her mother immediately noticed.
"Anita."
"I wasn't hungry."
"That wasn't my question."
Anita sighed.
"I ate something earlier."
"Something?"
"Mother."
Her father looked toward Barnabas.
Barnabas raised his hands.
"Don't involve me."
Her mother ignored both men.
"We'll get you something small before you sleep."
"I'm not hungry."
"You can still eat a little."
Anita wanted to protest.
Instead, she simply nodded.
Perhaps she was too tired to argue.
Her mother reached out and squeezed her hand.
Then she looked toward Barnabas.
"You should stay too."
Barnabas nodded.
"Thank you."
Her father added quietly, "It's late, and we still have things to arrange."
Anita looked at him.
"Arrange what?"
There was the slightest pause.
Too slight for most people.
Not slight enough for Anita.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Father."
"Nothing."
Anita turned toward Barnabas.
His expression was suddenly far too innocent.
She pointed at him.
"You know something."
"I know that you should sleep."
"That's not what I asked."
Barnabas smiled.
"I know nothing else."
Her mother turned away.
Anita stared at her.
"Mother."
Her mother pressed her lips together to hide a smile.
Anita's suspicion deepened.
"Why are you smiling?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
Her father cleared his throat.
Barnabas looked toward the ceiling.
Anita stared at all three of them.
"You're hiding something."
Her mother finally looked at her.
"Perhaps."
Anita's eyes widened.
"Perhaps?"
Her mother smiled.
"But you're not finding out tonight."
"Why?"
"Because you need to sleep."
Anita looked genuinely offended.
"That's unfair."
Her father chuckled.
"It's necessary."
Anita crossed her arms.
"Fine."
She turned toward the hallway.
Then stopped.
She looked back at her parents.
Her mother was still watching her.
Her father stood beside her.
Barnabas remained nearby, smiling quietly.
Anita's expression softened.
"Thank you for coming."
The words were simple.
But her parents understood the weight behind them.
Her mother's eyes immediately became glossy.
Her father nodded.
"We'll always come."
Anita swallowed.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Then she nodded.
"Good night."
"Good night, my daughter."
She walked away.
Her steps were slow.
Not because she was afraid anymore.
She was simply exhausted.
Once she disappeared down the hallway, Barnabas looked at her parents.
His smile became warmer.
"She needed that."
Her mother nodded.
"I know."
Her father sighed.
"Tomorrow won't be easy."
"No," Barnabas agreed.
"But it doesn't have to be."
The older woman looked toward the hallway where Anita had disappeared.
"We'll let both girls sleep first."
Her husband nodded.
"And then?"
A small smile appeared on her face.
"Then we surprise them."
Barnabas's eyebrows lifted.
"You're still doing that?"
"Of course."
He smiled sincerely.
"Good."
Her husband gave a tired laugh.
"She already suspects something."
"Anita has always been observant."
Barnabas folded his arms.
"Then perhaps we should stop behaving suspiciously."
They all fell silent.
Then Anita's father looked at him.
"You're the one who told her to stay."
Barnabas blinked.
"That was sensible."
"And now you're involved."
Barnabas smiled.
"Apparently."
The three of them quietly laughed.
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The house was still carrying too many emotions for loud laughter.
But it was enough.
Tonight, nobody would force explanations.
Nobody would demand answers.
Nobody would reopen wounds simply because everyone had finally gathered in one place.
They would sleep.
They would wake.
They would eat together.
And then, when everyone was rested enough to listen and speak without anger or exhaustion controlling them, they would sit down and face the truth properly.
For now, Anita had what she had secretly needed all evening.
Her mother had come.
Her father had come.
And neither had turned away from her.
That knowledge followed her into her room.
She changed into something comfortable, washed her face, and stood for a while in front of the mirror.
Her eyes were swollen.
Her face looked tired.
But beneath the exhaustion, something had changed.
She no longer looked as frightened.
Anita touched the edge of her reflection with her fingertips before letting her hand fall.
Tomorrow would bring questions.
Tomorrow might hurt.
Tomorrow might change things again.
But tonight, she could finally sleep knowing that when she had looked toward the door, the people she had been waiting for had actually come through it.
And downstairs, while Anita and her sister prepared to sleep, their parents and Barnabas quietly began preparing the surprise that would make the following morning a little warmer than either woman expected.