The secret we buried

Chapter 1: Elias Pov

“For the last time, Dad, I’m not going! This conversation is over!”

“That is not the end of this discussion, Harper Grace!”

The shouting match echoed from the living room like thunder rolling through the old Craftsman house on Maplewood Lane. I flinched at the table, spoon halfway to my mouth, the sugary crunch of my cereal the only sound in the otherwise peaceful kitchen. My sister’s multi-colored curls and fiery temper had a way of turning Sunday mornings into battlegrounds.

I kept scrolling on my phone, pretending the chaos was just background noise. Another peaceful breakfast ruined.

“You know what? Maybe I should just stay on campus full-time if this is what coming home means!” Harper stormed into the kitchen, yanking open the cabinet for her favorite mug—the chipped one with the faded band logo.

Dad followed close behind, his graying blond hair disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration. Mom appeared moments later, her warm brown eyes already pleading for peace.

“Harper, honey, we just want what’s best—” Mom started, reaching out.

“Stop pressuring me to go to church!” Harper snapped, recoiling. “I told you I hate it there. The judgment, the fake smiles, the endless rules. I’m done.”

I stayed statue-still, hoping invisibility would save me. My half-eaten bowl of cereal suddenly felt like a shield. Dad’s gaze swept the room and landed on me like a spotlight.

“Elias and Lucas don’t have any problem going every week,” he said pointedly.

Oh no.

I froze mid-spoonful. “Uh… what?”

Harper shot Dad a glare. “Don’t drag him into this! He’s still in high school. I’m an adult.”

Mom intervened gently. “Go finish getting ready upstairs, sweetie. We’ll handle this.”

I didn’t need telling twice. I dumped my dishes, grabbed my stuff, and escaped to my room, the argument fading behind me. A quick shower, some music to drown out the tension, and I was checking my reflection. Black curls still a bit too long, grazing my eyebrows.

I worked in the hair product Harper had bullied me into buying—at least they look intentional now- then threw on dark jeans, a gray button-down, and my reliable gray high-tops. Georgia heat in September was no joke, but the church had its dress code.

Thanks for the car, by the way, I prayed silently as I headed downstairs. Seriously. Couldn’t do this without Eileen.

My beat-up but beloved red Honda Fit waited in the driveway like a faithful friend. Lucas was already lurking by the back door, Nintendo Switch in hand. “Can I ride with you?”

“Sure, hop in.”

The drive to Eternal Light Community Church took fifteen minutes through Willow Creek’s tree-lined streets. Lucas was quieter these days—less hyper kid, more moody teen with acne and a permanent hood up. “Guess Harper’s done with church,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” I replied. “She never really fit the mold anyway.”

I felt the familiar guilt twist in my gut. Skipping church sounded like heaven sometimes—an extra day to sleep, scroll, or just breathe. But the thought alone brought shame. What kind of Christian even thinks that? God sent His son for me, and I can’t sit through one service?

Eternal Light’s campus was a mix of traditional white steeple and the newer, trendier Foundation youth building—industrial wood paneling, lowercase logo, trying way too hard to be “relevant.” I parked near the exit for a fast escape.

My phone buzzed.

MARCUS: You here yet?

ELIAS: Just pulled up.

Inside the Foundation, Chase—the spiky-haired youth pastor—clapped me on the shoulder. “Elias, my man! How’s that TikTok blowing up?”嗯。

“Same as usual,” I said with a polite smile. “No virality yet.”

Chase launched into his pitch about managing the church’s account. I gave my standard “too busy” excuse and escaped to the back wall where Marcus was waiting, glasses perched on his nose, phone already out.

“Chase still hunting for his TikTok savior?” Marcus smirked.

“Relentless.” We slid down to the cool concrete floor. “Saturday’s video flopped, but this weekend’s ghost hunt? That’s the one.”

Marcus grinned. “Finally bringing the good camera. TikTok’s trash for editing anyway.”

We bantered about platforms and potential paranormal footage until a familiar voice cut through.

“Elias!”

Sophia skipped over, copper hair bouncing, vanilla perfume hitting like a sugar bomb. She’d just returned from a two-week mission trip to South Africa. Her hug nearly knocked me over. “I missed you so much! God did incredible things there—you have to hear everything.”

I hugged her back lightly, forcing enthusiasm. “That’s awesome, Soph. How was the flight?”

She launched into stories, eyes sparkling, then poked my chest. “Coffee this week? We need to talk about what the Spirit’s doing right here in Willow Creek.”

“Definitely. I’ll check my schedule at Ridgeview Grill and text you.”

She beamed and headed off to help with worship setup. Marcus gave me the look. “Still weird?”

“It’s been months,” I muttered. “Drop it.”

Worship started soon after. The music swelled—guitars, drums, Sophia’s angelic voice leading. For a few minutes, everything else faded. The presence of God felt real, close. My hands lifted slightly, eyes closed. This part always made church worth it. The stress of school, the restaurant job, college applications, and the confusing ache I couldn’t quite name—it all quieted.

But then reality crept back. Sophia’s glow, the mission trip high, the expectation in her eyes. I tuned out a bit, staring at the back wall.

After worship, we grabbed seats for Chase’s lesson. I saved one for Sophia, who arrived with her massive highlighted Bible and journal. Two months ago, her quirks had seemed endearing. Now they made my skin crawl with a mix of guilt and something sharper.

The rest of the morning blurred: main service with my parents a few rows ahead, the same familiar sermon rhythms. I fought off one near-nod. Lucas appeared silently between services. Marcus stuck close. I avoided lingering near Sophia, grateful the post-trip attention kept her busy.

Thanks for that, I prayed. And sorry for zoning out during the message. And… other stuff.

Before the final song ended, Marcus, Lucas, and I slipped out the back, heading for freedom and Eileen’s reliable engine.

The guilt lingered as I drove home, but so did the quiet relief. Another Sunday survived.