Chapter 7 Something Big Was Coming

The next few days felt like I was living inside two completely different skins.

During the day, I was still good-girl Abby — helping Mom fold laundry, attending youth Bible study, smiling at aunties who pinched my cheeks and told me how blessed I was. I said the right things. I bowed my head at the right moments. I even helped Sister Miriam arrange flowers for the midweek service, my hands moving through white petals while my mind was somewhere it had no business being.

That was the problem. My mind never stayed where it was supposed to anymore.

By Tuesday, the guilt had settled into something quieter and more dangerous than panic. It had become background noise. A low, constant hum beneath everything I did. I was learning to function inside it, and that scared me more than the guilt itself.

When Beth texted — "Walk? The usual path. I need to talk' — I agreed immediately. I needed air that didn't smell like candle wax and secrets.

Mom was at the hallway mirror when I came downstairs, fixing her hair with the focused attention she usually reserved for special occasions. She was wearing her navy dress — the good one, the one with the small pearl buttons she only brought out for important dinners. And she had put on lipstick. A deep, careful burgundy that I had never seen on her before.

Something cold moved through me.

"You're going out?" I asked, leaning against the wall and trying to sound casual.

She turned with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes, baby. Church business. Elder Ezekiel called a few of us together. Don't wait up — there's lasagna in the fridge."

I watched her smooth the dress down for the second time, check her reflection, then check it again.

My mother had never worn that lipstick to anything church-related in my entire life.

"Can I come?"

"No." Too fast. She crossed the room, kissed my forehead, held my face between her palms a moment longer than usual. Her hands were cold. "Stay home. Lock the doors. Read your Bible."

She paused at the door the way she always did when she wanted to say something she hadn't decided how to say.

"Abby."

"Yeah?"

"I love you more than anything in this world. You know that, right?"

The way she said it — like a promise she was making to herself as much as to me — made my chest ache in a way I couldn't name.

"I know, mom."

She left. I stood in the empty hallway for a long moment, staring at the door, thinking about burgundy lipstick and a dress with pearl buttons and a meeting that definitely wasn't about Elder Ezekiel.

-

Beth was already at the garden path when I arrived, her light blue sundress bright against the greenery, her smile even brighter. She linked her arm through mine before I could say hello.

"Happy late birthday, officially adult woman," she announced. "How does it feel?"

"Strange," I said honestly. "Like everyone started seeing me differently overnight and nobody told me why."

"Yes!" She squeezed my arm. "That's exactly it. Did you hear they're going all out for the Purity Ball this year? White drapes, candles, formal courtship introductions — my mom's already sewing my dress. She cried the whole time she took my measurements."

I laughed despite myself. "At least she's excited."

"She's unhinged," Beth corrected warmly. "In the most loving way."

We walked deeper into the garden. The late afternoon light turned everything gold — the flowers, the gravel path, the old couples on benches with their Bibles open and their reading glasses perched at the ends of their noses. It was the kind of scene that should have felt peaceful.

It just felt like a painting of a life I no longer belonged to.

Beth's voice softened. "I'm surprised no family has offered to host a pre-ball gathering yet. Usually someone opens their house so we can all get to know the boys before the pairings. But it's been so quiet this year. Almost too quiet."

"Maybe they're still planning," I offered.

She hummed, unconvinced. Then she stopped walking entirely and turned to face me, her expression shifting from bright to careful in the space of a breath.

"Abby. Can I ask you something real?"

My heart skipped. "Sure."

"You've been different since your birthday. Distant. Distracted." She bit her lip as She held my gaze steadily. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want you to let me in. I care about you. Is everything okay?"

For one terrible, desperate second, I almost told her. The words were right there — the storage room, the guilt, the way I had stopped sleeping properly, the way I kept checking my phone for texts from a number that changed every time.

But I thought about what would happen if I said it out loud. Not the shame of it. The danger of it. Who Beth might tell. Who might overhear.

"I'm fine," I said, and hated how easily the lie came now. "Eighteen feels bigger than I expected. Mom's been extra protective. Everything's just a lot."

Beth studied me for another moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But I'm here. We've been best friends since we were seven. Don't shut me out just because things get complicated."

I squeezed her hand. "I won't."

We walked on, talking lighter things — the Ball, the choir, how Leah had apparently reported two different girls to Elder Ezekiel in the past month alone. Beth did an impression of Leah's righteous walk that made me laugh so hard I nearly tripped on a root.

For about four minutes, I felt like myself again.

Then we turned the corner near the old oak tree, and there they were.

Chloe and Leah sat on a bench with two other girls from youth group. Chloe's face lit up the moment she saw us — that particular smile of hers, the one that looked warm until you felt the calculation underneath it.

"Abby! Beth! Come sit with us."

Beth pulled me over before I could find an excuse. I sat, folded my hands in my lap, and smiled.

Leah looked at me the way a doctor looks at an X-ray. "You look well, Abby. There's something different about you since your birthday. A certain… glow."

"The Lord's been good," I said evenly.

Chloe tilted her head, smile never moving. "He really has. You know, I noticed at the last service that your skin has this warmth to it. Almost like someone's been keeping you very… comfortable." She let the pause breathe just long enough. "It's beautiful, really. Womanhood suits you."

The words were perfectly constructed. Complimentary on the surface. A scalpel underneath.

My face stayed still through sheer force of will.

"Thank you," I said.

Leah folded her hands in her lap. "We were just discussing the Ball. Have any of the boys caught your attention?"

"Not particularly."

"Wise." Her eyes didn't blink. "Some temptations wear very respectable faces. The higher they stand, the harder the fall for the people around them."

Beth laughed nervously and steered the conversation somewhere safer. I sat through another ten minutes of it, smiling and nodding, feeling like something pinned under glass.

When we finally said goodbye and continued walking, Beth whispered, "Leah is genuinely frightening sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" I muttered.

She laughed. I didn't.

I just nodded but didn’t trust myself to speak.

We were almost back to the main road when my phone buzzed.

I glanced at the screen discreetly.

Unknown Number:

'Meet me tonight. 11pm. Behind the old prayer chapel. Don’t make me wait.'

'Does he always get a new number for each time he texts me?' I thought as my hands trembled while I deleted the message.

Beth noticed. “Who’s that?”

“Just spam,” I said quickly.

As we reached the end of the path, I saw Mom’s car already waiting. She had come to pick me up. Her face looked tense even from a distance.

But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.

Parked across the street was a black luxury SUV. The same kind the powerful men in suits had arrived in on my birthday. Two men stood beside it, watching our direction.

One of them looked straight at me.

"I heard Pastor Matt son's fiancée will be coming back here soon." Beth continued, oblivious.

"WHAT?!..."

Mom got out of the car fast. “Abby. Get in. Now.” she said before I was able to ask any other question.

I climbed into the passenger seat and buckled my seatbelt. Mom pulled away from the curb hastily.

Then I glanced into the side mirror.

My blood went cold.

Eli stood at the garden entrance, watching the car leave. His expression was unreadable — still, controlled, the face he wore when he was thinking several moves ahead.

And just behind him, half-hidden in the tree line, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the same retreating car — Caleb.

Neither of them was looking at each other. They were both watching us.

I stared at the mirror until they disappeared from view.

Something was coming. It had been coming for a while. I just hadn't understood until now that it was already here.