Chapter 33
The heavy door groaned as Amayah pushed it open, the cold winter air following them into the dim, cavernous space.
“Eli?” she called gently. “Clara? Benji?”
For a heartbeat, only silence answered.
Then—movement. A shuffling. A whisper.
Three small faces peeked out from behind a row of old pews.
Her heart clenched.
“There you are,” she breathed, stepping forward.
Eli stepped out first, chin lifted in a brave wobble. Maisie clung to his sleeve, eyes huge. Benji lagged half a step behind, trying to look tougher than he probably felt. Eventually, the other three children popped up from between the pews also.
“We’re sorry,” Eli blurted. “We didn’t mean to make you freak out.”
“We thought you’d be mad,” Clara whispered.
Amayah knelt, her gloves brushing the cold stone. “I’m not mad. I was worried. So worried. Why did you run?”
The three oldest children exchanged looks. A silent debate.
Finally, Eli raised his trembling chin. “You’re going to send us away, aren’t you?”
“No, sweetie,” Amayah murmured. “That’s not my goal. I only want to help.”
His eyes narrowed. “Help by splitting us up. By calling the cops.”
“I’m not going to lie to you,” she told him. “There are certain legalities in place that I have to abide by. I can’t just let you keep living there with no food and no heat. But I’m not going to leave you either. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Mommy didn’t come back,” Ruby whispered, tears filling her eyes. “We don’t know where she is.”
A chill rippled through Amayah—not from the cold of the building, but from the enormity of what they’d been carrying. Alone. In silence.
“I know, sweetie,” Amayah whispered. “And I’m so sorry.”
Eli wiped his face roughly with the sleeve of his coat. “Do you think she’s okay?”
She heard the fear in his voice, raw and sharp.
Amayah felt it like a weight in her own chest.
How did she answer that?
“Now that we know she’s missing, we can look for her,” Luke said.
“What now? Are you gonna call them?” Clara’s voice trembled as she stared up at them. “The police?”
Amayah hesitated, throat tightening. The question hung in the air like a plea.
Behind her, Luke stepped closer. She met his eyes.
Both knowing the truth.
Both knowing what had to be done.
Amayah opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words that she knew would break these kids’ hearts.
Before she could speak, Luke stepped forward. “I have an idea.”
Luke cleared his throat before starting.
“Because of my job as a reporter, I have a lot of connections in the city. Most of them are good people, the kind who’d want to help families stay together.
I can try to pull some strings, talk to the right department, make sure you don’t get separated while they figure out what happened with your mom. ”
Eli’s eyes widened. “You . . . you can do that?”
“I can try,” Luke said. “It’s a good starting place.”
“But they might split us up first.” Eli crossed his arms, the hope in his gaze quickly dying.
“I know where you can stay,” Amayah announced.
At once, it hit Luke what she was about to say. “Amayah, wait—”
“With me,” she finished, determination in her voice. “You can all stay with me.”
The kids froze.
“Amayah . . .” Luke stepped closer. “Are you sure? This is . . . big. It’s a lot to take on.”
“I know.” She looked at the six faces staring up at her, hope blooming where fear had sat moments before. “And I finally know why God told me to buy that house.”
Luke had no argument left in him. Not against that. Not against the unwavering compassion in her voice.
Eli swallowed hard. “Do you . . . do you mean it? Really?”
Amayah’s answer came with a soft breath, her eyes warm with something steadier than simple reassurance. “I do, Eli. I absolutely do.”
But instead of instant cheers, the moment fractured in quieter, messier ways.
Clara let out a small, choked sob—half relief, half disbelief. Benji threw his arms around his brother, but Eli didn’t move at first. His fingers tightened at his sides, his jaw trembling like he was afraid to trust what he’d just heard.
Maisie ran toward Amayah, but even she hesitated at the last second, looking back as if expecting someone to stop her. When no one did, she finally let Amayah scoop her up, clinging tight, curls brushing Amayah’s cheek.
Eli’s voice shook as he finally whispered, “It might not be that easy. Mom always says people change their minds.”
Amayah rubbed her throat as if it ached. “You’re right. Sometimes adults make promises they shouldn’t. But I’m not making this lightly. It might be complicated, and it won’t all happen today, but I’m here. I’m staying. And we’re going to figure this out together. All of us. One step at a time.”
Eli blinked rapidly, eyes glistening. He gave the smallest nod. Not trust—not yet. But the beginning of it.
Luke exhaled with relief. “Okay then. Let’s make some calls.”
He stepped aside to begin dialing city contacts—his voice low but firm.
As he did, he watched as Amayah gathered the kids close. Not all of them leaned in at once. Clara hovered on the edge before inching nearer, and Eli stood stiffly beside her, as if waiting for the moment the offer was taken back.
But Amayah stayed steady, her arms open, her presence calm, letting them come to her at their own pace.
And for the first time since stepping into the crumbling church, Luke felt something settle inside him.
Hope.
Not the pretty kind—the real kind. The hard-won kind. The kind you choose even before you fully believe in it.
Blue and red lights washed across the church’s brick facade, flashing against the winter-dark sky like a heartbeat finally slowing. Paramedics moved methodically, checking the Crump kids one by one—blood pressure cuffs, flashlights to the eyes, warm blankets from the ambulance.
Police officers scribbled notes onto damp notepads, breath clouding in the air as they took final statements.
Luke had done his part.
So had Amayah.
They’d both answered questions, retold the same details, offered the same reassurances.
Now the commotion had quieted, leaving the church steps strangely calm. Snow drifted lazily in the air, softening the edges of everything.
The kids were safe.
Yet Luke felt anything but steady.
Amayah stood beside him, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the glowing stained-glass window above them. The church looked almost holy in the emergency lights—like a place built for beginnings and confessions.
Silence settled between them. A real, fragile silence. The kind made of things too big to say.
Luke cleared his throat, unsure where to begin. “I . . . guess we should talk.”
She let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “Probably.”
He hesitated—then took the least brave path possible.
“Darren.” He grimaced inwardly the moment the name left his mouth. “Are you really going to talk to him? After everything he told you?”
Her gaze stayed on the church window, its colors flickering with distant ambulance lights.
“Yes.” Her voice was soft but sure. “I am. For a long time, I . . . blamed myself for everything that happened with Isaac. I thought it was my fault for not seeing it, not stopping it.” A hollow breath escaped her.
“But hearing Darren tonight—hearing my own advice to him—I realized I needed that reminder too.”
Luke watched her, a knot tightening in his throat.
He had never met someone who carried grace like she did—lightly, but fiercely.
He glanced at the church. “So you’re really trying to buy this place, huh?”
She glanced up at the steeple and nodded. “I’ve been trying to keep it quiet until everything was final. There’s so much that still has to happen—repairs, inspections, approvals. But it’s been on my heart for months.”
For a moment, awe flickered through him—and then guilt chased it down.
He had his own confessions to share.
He raked a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words.
“I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you the whole truth up front, Amayah.
When I first took the assignment from my editor, I .
. . I didn’t know who you were. I figured you were like Celeste.
Then I met you and . . . I realized I was totally wrong. ”
She turned to him. “Why me? Why did you decide to make me the focus of this article?”
“Because of what happened to Hannah.”
“Who’s Hannah?”
“Hannah Roberts.”
Amayah’s expression shifted to recognition then sadness. “Is she the reporter who died last year?”
Luke nodded. “We were friends. She tried to follow in the footsteps of this woman named Celeste, who was an influencer. And, as a result, Hannah lost her life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I should’ve tried to help Hannah, to pull her out.
But I didn’t. And now . . . I can’t. It’s too late.
” His voice roughened. “So when my editor asked me to write an article that would expose the hidden life of a popular influencer . . . I agreed. I thought . . . maybe shining light into the dark would make up for what I didn’t do for her. ”
“When you realized I wasn’t a fake, you could have told me the truth.”
“I wanted to. I even tried to a couple of times. But things kept coming up and interrupting us.” He ran a hand through his hair. “By then, I was in too deep.”
“So what now?”
“My editor gave me an ultimatum—do the article or quit. So I quit.”
Her eyes widened. “You really quit?”
“That’s not the kind of reporter I want to be.”
“I appreciate that sentiment—”
“It’s more than a sentiment.” He touched her arm. “If I can’t do something with integrity, then I don’t want to do it.”
Admiration flickered in her gaze. “Is your editor going to run the article anyway?”
“I have all my notes. She doesn’t have any of that.” He shrugged. “I can’t make any promises as to what she’ll do. But I can’t imagine she would pursue this. She knows there will be backlash, especially if I come forward with what I know.”
“I see.”
He tilted his head. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Amayah. But you’ve got to believe me when I say I’m so sorry.”
Amayah looked at him with something gentle—something that made his chest ache. “Luke . . . you were grieving. Trying to make sense of a loss that didn’t make sense.” She let out a breath. “You made choices out of pain. I’ve done the same.”
He stared at her, not sure how she could say that without bitterness.
“We both made mistakes. But we’re standing here now. And the kids are safe. And—” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know what happens next.”
A cold gust brushed between them, carrying the faint sound of the paramedics packing up equipment.
Luke forced himself to speak the words that had been clawing at him since the moment he realized how badly he’d misjudged her.
“I understand if you never want to talk to me again.” His voice was low, raw. “And if that’s the case . . . I just want you to know that you are one of the most incredible women I’ve ever met. And I’m sorry—truly sorry—for any heartbreak I caused you.”
Her breath hitched.
Slowly—tentatively—she stepped closer.
He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Not until she lifted her eyes to his with a softness that undid him completely.
“Luke,” she whispered. “I’m not walking away.”
The world seemed to slow.
The snow.
The lights.
The quiet hum of the ambulance.
She was right there—close enough that her breath warmed the space between them.
He reached out, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “Are you sure?”
Her answering smile was small, steady. “I am.”
He leaned in—carefully, reverently—and pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was soft.
Gentle.
The kind that felt like a beginning, not an apology.
The kind that felt like a doorway opening.