Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lydia walked down the High Street with a light, unhurried stride, the early-afternoon sun warming her shoulders.
After a focused morning of translation work, she was looking forward to a quiet coffee at The Meeting Place and a chance to review the updated stall allocations for the Brookleigh Bay Carnival.
As she neared the café’s terrace, she spotted the Parker children gathered around a picnic table beneath a striped umbrella.
Ollie was animatedly chatting with Rob and Josh, while Sophie leaned across the gap between the tables, completely absorbed in Emma’s plastic pony.
A gentle warmth rose in Lydia’s chest at the sight.
Instinctively, she glanced around for William — expecting his steady presence somewhere nearby. Not seeing him outside, she stepped toward the café door.
And froze.
Through the glass, William stood in the queue. Right beside him — far too close — was Hilary Dalton. Tall, polished and effortlessly confident, Hilary leaned towards him with a bright, appraising smile. Then she reached out and closed her fingers around William’s forearm.
Lydia did not wait to see what happened next.
A cold shock went through her. For one disorienting instant, the café dissolved into Málaga — Miguel with another woman, the excuses that had followed, and the humiliation of discovering how easily she had been deceived.
“Of course,” she whispered. “What did you expect?”
She turned sharply and strode across the square towards the church office. She needed steadiness. She needed Mark. She needed to stop mistaking steadiness for safety.
The heavy oak door thudded behind her as she stepped inside. Mark looked up from a stack of papers, immediately taking in her flushed cheeks and rigid posture.
“Lydia? I thought you were grabbing a coffee.”
She dropped her binders onto the table with a decisive thud. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s get these Carnival master lists sorted. We’ve got a lot to do before Saturday.”
Mark studied her for a moment — long enough to recognise the brittle brightness in her eyes. He didn’t press. He simply closed the folder in front of him.
“Before we start… may I pray with you?”
Lydia’s throat tightened. For a moment she considered brushing him off. But the cool quiet of the office wrapped around her, and the weight in her chest felt too heavy to carry alone. She nodded once.
Mark moved to stand beside her, leaving a respectful space between them, and bowed his head.
“Father, thank You that You know us completely. You see what we carry, even when we can’t put it into words.
I pray for Lydia — for peace where there’s turmoil, for clarity where there’s confusion, and for Your comfort to settle her heart.
Remind her that she is held, she is loved, and she is never alone. Amen.”
Lydia kept her eyes closed for a moment longer. The ache remained, but something inside her had loosened.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Mark rested his hand on the closed folder. “Right then. Let’s get to it.”