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| Whispers of Forgiveness |
It started with a name.
A single document — a custody agreement, a relinquishment of rights. Loren Baker.
Her father had never spoken it aloud, but now it echoed in Eve’s mind.
When she asked about her mother growing up, his answers were always the same. He’d turn away, his eyes darkened by bitterness. Her mother had vanished when Eve was just a baby. One morning, she was simply gone. No explanation. No goodbyes. Her father had been left to pick up the pieces — a man hollowed out by heartbreak. He never spoke about Loren.
"Some people don’t deserve forgiveness," he once said.
Eve believed him.
Her best friend Cassandra had been the first to suggest otherwise.
“So, are you going to go?” Cassandra asked, her voice gentle.
Eve shrugged, tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “I don’t know.”
“You have the address.” Cassandra’s gaze was steady. “That’s more than you’ve ever had before.”
“I don’t know if I want it,” Eve muttered. “What good will it do? She left. She’s a stranger.”
“She’s your mother,” Cassandra said softly. “You’ve wondered about her your whole life. Isn’t that why you kept that document instead of throwing it away?”
Eve scowled. “Maybe I kept it to remind myself why I don’t need her.”
Cassandra didn’t flinch. “Or maybe you kept it because part of you wants answers.”
“Answers?” Eve scoffed, her fingers curling tightly around the cup. “She left me. What could she possibly say that would make any of that okay?”
“She doesn’t have to make it okay,” Cassandra said. “But maybe hearing the truth will help you let go.”
Eve’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need closure. I’ve lived without her for this long.”
“Living without her isn’t the same as healing,” Cassandra replied gently. “You can’t tell me you don’t think about her. And now you have the chance to find out why.”
Eve opened her mouth to argue, but the words never came. Every time she thought of that name — Loren Baker — the questions rose like shadows she couldn’t shake. Why had she left? Had she ever wanted to come back? Did she regret it?
“I just… I don’t know if I can face her,” Eve whispered.
Cassandra reached across the table, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to know. Just take the first step. The rest will come.”
Eve swallowed hard. The rest. That’s what terrified her most.
And now, here she was.
The house stood before her, a quaint cottage with vibrant flowers climbing up its brick facade. The garden was lush and carefully tended, blooms of every color swaying gently in the breeze. Eve hesitated, gripping the car keys tightly. She could still turn back. But something in her refused to run.
With a deep breath, she knocked on the door three times. The sound echoed in the stillness. Seconds stretched into eternity before the door creaked open.
The woman who answered was older than Eve expected, but she had aged gracefully. Her silver-streaked hair was neatly styled, and though faint lines traced her face, there was an elegance in her posture. A familiarity lingered in her eyes — a reflection of Eve’s own. For a moment, neither spoke.
Loren frowned, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Can I help you?”
Eve’s mouth went dry. She had rehearsed this, but now the words stuck. “I… I found your name. In my father’s things. You’re Loren Baker, aren’t you?”
Loren’s face paled. Her hand gripped the doorframe, as though steadying herself. For a moment, she said nothing — only stared, disbelief flickering across her face.
“I am.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “And you are?”
“Eve,” she said, her throat tightening. “Eve Leakes. Samuel’s daughter. Your daughter.”
Loren’s eyes widened. She blinked rapidly, her lips parted in silent shock.
“Eve…” Her voice faltered. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Inside, the house was small and cluttered, but not unkempt. The furniture was worn, the air tinged with the scent of old books and lavender. A dusty cross hung above the mantle. Family photographs lined the shelves, though none bore Eve’s face.
Loren gestured for her to sit, but Eve remained standing. Her eyes flicked around the room, searching for signs of the woman who had disappeared from her life.
“I suppose you want answers,” Loren said softly.
“I do.” Eve’s voice was steady, though her chest ached. “Why did you leave? Why did you just… disappear?”
Loren clasped her trembling hands together. “Your father. He was a good man in many ways. But his drinking… it consumed him.”
Eve stiffened. The words didn’t fit. Her father had always been steady — a quiet, dependable man. She searched her memories for any signs she might have missed, but there were none. No bottles tucked away, no slurred words or stumbling steps. He was the man who read her bedtime stories, the one who held her when nightmares crept in.
"He wasn’t a drinker," Eve said firmly, shaking her head. "My father wasn’t like that."
But even as the words left her mouth, something stirred. A memory — faint but persistent. The tension in his jaw when he thought she wasn’t looking. The closed door of his study. The way he sometimes spoke with a rough edge, regret flickering in his eyes.
Had she only seen what she wanted to see?
Loren’s eyes were full of sorrow. “I prayed for that. I prayed he’d change.” She paused. “But when I left, he wasn’t a man who could be reasoned with. I thought leaving you with him would be safer than staying. I thought I was protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” Eve’s voice cracked. “You left me with a man you claim was a drunk? And then what? You disappeared?”
Loren’s tears brimmed, but she didn’t look away. “I thought if I stayed away, it would give you a chance at a better life. But every day, I regretted it. I watched from a distance. I wrote letters I never sent. I was afraid you’d hate me.”
Eve clenched her fists. “You’re right. I do. And I hate that I do.”
The words struck like a slap, but Loren didn’t flinch. “I understand.”
That night, alone in her childhood room, Eve paced. She opened drawers, pulled old photo albums from the shelves, searching for answers. But there were none. Only faded pictures of a smiling father, a little girl on his shoulders.
On the nightstand, a small Bible sat untouched. A gift from her father when she turned sixteen. She traced her fingers over the cracked leather, the memory tugging at her. She opened it without thinking.
A faint underline marked a single verse:
"Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." (Ephesians 4:32)
Forgiveness. The word gnawed at her. Could she even fathom what that meant?
The next morning, Eve stood at Loren’s door once more. She didn’t bring flowers or gifts. Just herself.
Loren opened the door, surprise flickering across her face.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you all at once,” Eve said, her voice steady. “But I’m willing to try. It’s going to take time. And I don’t know what that looks like.”
Loren’s face crumpled with relief, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Thank you.”
They stood there, two broken souls finding the first threads of healing. And in that moment, Eve felt something shift. The bitterness loosened its grip, and a quiet whisper stirred in her heart.
"Thank You, Lord."