Chapter 3 Birthday in the House of God

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes the message flashed behind them in bright white letters.

‘You should be more careful about where you disappear to.’

I kept checking my phone until the battery died. No new texts. No name. No explanation. Just the cold knowledge that someone had watched me walk into that storage room with Eli and decided to tell me about it.

Today was supposed to be special.

My eighteenth birthday.

Instead I woke up with a knot in my stomach that refused to loosen.

“Abby, sweetheart,” Mom called from the kitchen, her voice too bright. “Come eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

I came downstairs. She’d made pancakes with strawberries, my favorite. She was smiling, but her eyes kept darting to the windows like she expected someone to be standing outside watching the house.

“Happy birthday, my beautiful girl,” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. Her arms stayed around me longer than usual. “You look so pure this morning.”

I forced a smile. “Thank you.”

We sat down. She kept glancing at me, then at the front door, then back at me. Finally I couldn’t take it.

“Mum… why are you acting weird? You keep looking at me like something’s wrong.”

She set her fork down and reached across the table. Her fingers were cold.

“I just want you close to me today, okay? Don’t wander off by yourself at church. Stay where I can see you. Promise me.”

I frowned. “Why? What’s going on?”

Mom smiled again, but it never reached her eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about, baby. Just… mothers worry. Especially on big days like this. You’re eighteen now. The world looks at you differently.”

The words sent a strange chill down my spine.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

She squeezed my hand once, then let go and stood up to clear the plates. “It means you’re not a little girl anymore. That’s all. God has big plans for you. Eat up. We don’t want to be late.”

She changed the subject so fast it felt deliberate. I sat there staring at the half-eaten pancake, the anonymous message still sitting heavy in my chest, and wondered why everyone kept telling me not to wander.

The entire drive to church her hands stayed tight on the steering wheel. She checked the rearview mirror more than once. I checked it too. No black SUV. No unfamiliar cars. Just ordinary morning traffic. Still, the knot in my stomach refused to leave.

The chapel was fuller than usual. Birthday announcements always brought extra people, but today it felt different.

I sat in our regular spot in the third row and felt eyes on me. Not the usual sisters smiling and waving. These were different. A few men I didn’t recognize stood near the back in dark, expensive-looking suits. They weren’t talking to anyone. They weren’t holding Bibles.

Especially him.

Eli stood near the front beside Pastor Matt, tall and composed in a crisp blue shirt. The short beard made the hard line of his jaw look even more deliberate. When our eyes met across the room he gave me the smallest nod. My thighs pressed together on instinct.

‘Stop it, Abby. It’s your birthday. Be normal.’

The service started like always. Then Pastor Matt stepped forward with a warm smile that somehow still felt heavy.

“Today we celebrate a special young lady turning eighteen. Abigail Thompson, stand up, dear.”

My legs felt shaky as I stood. People clapped. Some sisters shouted “Amen!” and “God bless you!”

Eli was watching me the entire time.

Pastor Matt kept speaking. “Eighteen is a sacred threshold. A time when responsibility begins. When purity becomes not just a promise but a covenant. When God begins to reveal the plans He has held in waiting. We rejoice with Sister Abigail as she steps into this new season of her life.”

I sat back down slowly. Mom’s hand found mine and held on tight. I remembered her words at breakfast. ‘The world looks at you differently.’ Pastor Matt had just said almost the same thing in different clothes. The two statements sat side by side in my head and refused to leave.

After the main message the youth were dismissed for a short break before the final prayer. I told Mom I needed the bathroom. She reminded me again “Stay close,” before reluctantly letting me go.

I didn’t go far.

I stood in the side hallway trying to breathe. That was when Eli found me.

He didn’t pull me into any storage room. He simply stopped a respectful distance away, hands in his pockets, the perfect picture of the pastor’s son greeting a young sister on her birthday.

“Happy birthday, Abby,” he said, voice low enough that only I could hear the weight under the politeness.

“Thank you, sir.”

His eyes moved over my face like he was checking for damage. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep much.”

Something flickered behind his expression — concern, or recognition, or both. For a second I thought he might ask why.

Instead he only said, “Be careful today,” and walked past me toward the main hall before anyone could notice how long we had stood there.

I watched him go. My heart was still beating too fast.

When I returned to my seat Pastor Matt was already making another announcement.

“And as many of you know, preparations for this year’s Purity Ball will begin soon. It is one of the most sacred celebrations in our community. A time of commitment, of pairing, of walking forward in the light God has ordained. We ask every family to begin preparing their hearts. The official announcements will be made soon”

Beside me, Mom went completely still.

Her hand closed around my wrist hard enough to hurt. I looked at her. The color had drained from her face. She was staring straight ahead at Pastor Matt like she had just heard something she had been dreading.

I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong.

That was when I saw him.

I knew him immediately.

The particular man from last night – the one in the dark navy suit who had spoken quietly to Mom and made her whole face change. He was standing near the side door now, watching me. Our eyes met. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away.

She started walking toward us.

Mom’s grip on my wrist tightened until I felt the bones shift. Her face had gone pale.

The man stopped directly in front of our pew. He looked at Mom first, then at me, then back at Mom.

“It’s time,” he said quietly.

Mom’s hand started shaking around mine.

I didn’t know what “it” was.

I only knew that my eighteenth birthday had stopped feeling like a celebration the moment those two words left the man’s mouth.