Chapter 3 Where are our provisions

*Bur!ed Alive*

(for miracle)

Episode 3️⃣

I had searched everywhere for him, scouring every nook and cranny, from our bedroom to the backyard, but he was nowhere to be found. I had looked in all his favorite spots, the places he usually retreated to when he needed some time to himself, but there was no sign of him. I had called out his name, shouting it loud enough for him to hear me from afar, but only the silence replied. I rushed back into the house, my heart racing with worry, to ask my children if they knew his whereabouts, or if he had mentioned to them that he was going somewhere, but none of them had any idea where he had gone. They all shook their heads, their faces etched with concern, as I questioned them again and again, hoping that one of them might remember something, anything, that could lead me to him. But they knew nothing, and I was left with only my fears and doubts to keep me company. I felt like I was losing my mind, searching every room, every corner, every inch of our home, but he was vanished, gone without a trace.

"So where could he be?" I quizzed, my voice trembling with panic, as my mind raced with all the terrible possibilities. "Could he have gone out for a walk and been kidnapped? Or maybe he was involved in an accident and is lying in a hospital somewhere? Or perhaps...oh no, perhaps he's left me and the children, and we'll never see him again?" I thought to myself, my imagination running wild with all the worst-case scenarios. I felt a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead as I thought about all the things that could have happened to him. I was consumed by a sense of desperation and helplessness, feeling like I was stuck in a nightmare from which I couldn't wake up. "Where could he be?" I repeated, my voice rising in desperation, as if someone, anyone, would answer me and put an end to my torment. But the only response was the deafening silence that surrounded me, leaving me to my fears and doubts.

"I don't understand," my son said, his voice laced with confusion and worry, "Dad hasn't been feeling too well lately, and he doesn't even know anyone here yet, so where has he gone?" He asked rhetorically, his eyes wide with concern, as if hoping someone would provide a logical explanation for his father's disappearance. "He's been struggling to adjust to this new place, and we've all been trying to support him. So, it doesn't make sense that he would just vanish like this," he continued, his words trailing off as he shook his head in disbelief. "Did he mention anything to you, Mom? Anything at all that might give us a clue about where he might have gone?" He asked, his eyes pleading for any information that could help us unravel the mystery of his father's disappearance. I shook my head, feeling a lump form in my throat, as I tried to hold back tears of frustration and fear. "No, sweetie, he didn't say anything to me. I thought he was still sleeping in his room, but when I went to check on him, he was gone." I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, as we both stood there, lost and helpless, wondering what could have happened to my husband, his father.

We were still standing there, confused and bewildered, trying to make sense of my husband's disappearance, when we suddenly heard knocks on the door. My heart skipped a beat as I turned swiftly toward the direction where the knock came from, my mind racing with all sorts of possibilities. We hadn't yet recovered from the shock of the previous night's events, and the van driver's abrupt departure earlier that morning had only added to our unease. He had left without a word to any of us, which was unusual, and it had only added to our growing sense of unease. And now, these knocks on the door, firm and insistent, were making my heart race even faster. My children and I turned swiftly to look at each other, our eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation, and then our gaze shifted to the door, as if willing it to open by itself and reveal the person or people behind the knocks. The knocks came again, louder and more insistent this time, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to summon the courage to open the door and face whatever or whoever was on the other side.

"Who is that?" My son asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes glued towards the direction of the door, his gaze fixed on the spot where the knocks were coming from, as if trying to pierce through the wood and see who or what was on the other side. His eyes were wide with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, his mind racing with all sorts of possibilities, from the familiar face of his father walking back in, to the unknown presence of a stranger who might bring news, good or bad. His body was tense, his small frame straight and stiff, as if bracing himself for whatever was to come. I could see the fear and uncertainty etched on his face, the same fear that was gripping my heart, as we both stood there, frozen in anticipation, waiting for the door to open and reveal the identity of the person knocking. The knocks came again, louder and more insistent, and my son's eyes never left the door, his gaze fixed on it with an intensity that was almost palpable, as if willing the door to open by sheer force of will.

"It's Layla," the voice said, the sound of her name echoing through the silence like a ray of hope, a familiar and comforting presence in the midst of uncertainty and fear. The voice was soft and gentle, yet firm and confident, a voice that seemed to carry a sense of purpose and determination. As soon as I heard her name, my heart skipped a beat, and I felt a surge of relief wash over me. I knew Layla, she was a kind and trusted friend, someone who had been a source of support and strength in difficult times. I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing here, at our doorstep, at this moment of all moments. Had she heard about my husband's disappearance? Was she here to offer help, or to bring news? The questions swirled in my mind as I hesitated for a moment, my hand on the door handle, before finally opening the door to reveal Layla's warm and compassionate smile.

"The little girl," said my daughter, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes looking up at me with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, as if seeking clarification or confirmation. Her gaze was fixed on mine, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if trying to understand the significance of Layla's presence. She was still trying to process the events of the past day, the sudden disappearance of her father, and now, the arrival of this unexpected visitor. Her small face was etched with concern, her lips slightly parted, as if she was about to ask a question, but was hesitant to do so. I could see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to make sense of it all, and my heart went out to her, wanting to shield her from the pain and uncertainty that we were all facing. I offered her a reassuring smile, trying to convey a sense of calm and control, even though I was feeling none of those things myself. "Yes, sweetie, it's Layla," I said, my voice soft and gentle, trying to provide some comfort and stability in this chaotic situation.

"Open the door," I instructed, my voice firm but gentle, trying to convey a sense of calm and control, despite the turmoil that was brewing inside me. My daughter nodded, her eyes still fixed on mine, as if seeking reassurance, before hurrying to the door with a sense of purpose. She reached out and grasped the handle, her small hand wrapping around it tightly, and then, with a quick turn, she had the door unlocked and swinging open. The creak of the hinges seemed loud in the silence, as if echoing through the room, as Layla's smiling face came into view. My daughter stepped back, her eyes still fixed on Layla, as if unsure what to make of this unexpected visitor, but Layla's warm smile and gentle demeanor quickly put her at ease. Layla's eyes met mine, and I could see the concern and empathy etched on her face, as she took in the scene before her - my worried expression, my daughter's confusion, and the tension that filled the air. Without a word, she stepped inside, her presence a calming balm to our frazzled nerves, and I felt a sense of gratitude wash over me, knowing that we were not alone in this difficult moment.

As soon as the door opened, the little girl rushed in, her small frame darting through the doorway with a sense of urgency, as if she had been waiting for this moment for a long time. Her eyes shone like bright stars, sparkling with excitement and anticipation, and a bright smile spread across her face, illuminating the room with a warm and joyful glow. She moved with a sense of purpose, her short legs carrying her quickly across the room, as if she had a mission to accomplish, her tiny feet pattering against the floor like a gentle drumbeat. Her long, curly hair bounced with each step, and her dress fluttered behind her like a tiny cloud, trailing behind her like a banner of joy. She was a whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm, and her presence was like a breath of fresh air, filling the room with a sense of hope and possibility. As she moved towards me, her arms outstretched, I could see the love and adoration shining in her eyes, and my heart swelled with emotion, knowing that this little girl was here to bring comfort and support in our time of need. She was a tiny bundle of sunshine, bursting into our lives like a ray of light, and I couldn't help but smile as she enveloped me in a tight hug, her small arms wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

"Good afternoon ma, good afternoon aunty, good afternoon uncle," she greeted, her voice sweet and melodious, as she bent her knees in a graceful curtsy, her small body folding elegantly as she dipped down, her head bowing slightly in respect. Her eyes sparkled with warmth and politeness, shining like bright stars on a clear night, as she acknowledged each of us with a personalized greeting, her voice rising and falling in a gentle cadence. Her words were like a gentle breeze on a summer day, soft and soothing, filling the room with a sense of warmth and welcome. As she straightened up, her dress fluttered back into place, and her curly hair bounced with the movement, like a joyful springs bursting into life. Her smile was like a ray of sunshine, bright and radiant, illuminating the room with a sense of happiness and contentment. The gentle gesture of her curtsy, the sweetness of her voice, and the warmth of her smile all combined to create a sense of charm and grace, like a delicate flower blooming in the desert, unexpected and precious.

"Good afternoon," we replied in chorus, our voices blending together in perfect harmony, like a gentle echo reverberating through the room. The words were spoken in unison, a synchronized greeting that seemed to come from a single entity, rather than three separate individuals. The sound was warm and rich, like a comforting embrace, enveloping the little girl in a sense of welcome and belonging. Our voices were like a soothing balm, calming and reassuring, filling the room with a sense of peace and tranquility. As we spoke, our faces smiled in unison, our lips curling upwards in a gentle curve, our eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth and kindness. The little girl's face lit up in response, her eyes sparkling with delight, her own smile broadening as she felt the warmth and inclusivity of our greeting. The moment was like a shared breath, a collective exhalation of joy and connection, a sense of community and togetherness that transcended words. In that instant, we were all united, our hearts beating as one, our spirits lifted by the simple yet profound act of greeting each other with love and kindness.

"How are you?" I asked with a smile, my voice gentle and caring, like a soft breeze on a summer day. The words were spoken with genuine interest and concern, a inquiry into the little girl's well-being that came from a place of kindness and compassion. As I asked, my eyes locked onto hers, searching for any sign of happiness or distress, my gaze warm and encouraging. My smile was like a ray of sunshine, bright and uplifting, intended to put her at ease and make her feel comfortable opening up to me. The question hung in the air like a gentle invitation, a chance for her to share her thoughts and feelings, and for me to offer support and guidance. I leaned forward slightly, my body language open and receptive, my ears ready to listen to her response, my heart prepared to offer comfort and understanding. The moment was like a gentle pause in the hustle and bustle of life, a brief but precious opportunity to connect with another human being on a deeper level.

"I'm fine ma," she said, her voice small and hesitant, like a gentle whisper in the wind. The words were spoken with a hint of uncertainty, a subtle tremble that betrayed her true emotions. As she continued, her voice gained strength and conviction, like a river flowing steadily to its destination. "Ma, the pastor is in church preaching," she said, her eyes wide with concern, "and I heard my Daddy say that some elders are already in the palace planning on how to chase him out of there with weapons." The words tumbled out like a sudden storm, a burst of revelation that left me feeling shocked and disturbed. She scratched her head, a nervous habit that revealed her inner turmoil, like a leaf rustling in the breeze. Her eyes clouded with worry, like a shadow cast by a passing cloud, and her small frame seemed to shrink under the weight of her words. The innocence and naivety of her youth were momentarily replaced by a somber awareness, a glimpse of the harsh realities that lay beyond the safety of our little world. The room fell silent, like a held breath, as the weight of her words sank in, and I felt my heart ache with a mix of sadness and fear for the future.

Our jaws dropped immediately, as the three of us turned to look at each other, our faces frozen in shock and disbelief, like statues carved from stone. Our eyes widened in unison, like three mirrors reflecting the same astonishment, as we struggled to process the gravity of the little girl's words. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if the very air itself was stunned into silence, and the only sound was the soft hum of understanding slowly dawning on us. Our heads swiveled in synchrony, like three puppets on the same string, as we turned to face each other, our gazes locking in a shared moment of incredulity. The shock was palpable, like a physical force that slammed into us, leaving us reeling and gasping for air. Our minds raced with questions, like wild horses galloping across the plains, as we tried to comprehend the implications of what we had just heard. The little girl's words hung in the air, like a challenge, a call to action, or a warning, and we knew that our lives would never be the same again. Time seemed to slow, like a river flowing through molasses, as we absorbed the weight of her revelation, our faces etched with concern, our hearts heavy with foreboding.

"Please, take me to the church" I said in a trembling tone, my voice barely above a whisper, like a leaf rustling in the gentle breeze. The words were spoken with a sense of urgency and desperation, like a cry for help in a dark and lonely place. My voice cracked with emotion, like a fragile vase shattering on the floor, as I struggled to contain the fear and anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me. My eyes pleaded with my companions, like a beggar seeking alms, as I implored them to take me to the church, to the place where the pastor's words would bring solace and comfort. My body trembled like a leaf, my hands shaking like fragile twigs, as I reached out for support, for a guiding hand to lead me through the darkness that had suddenly descended upon us. The church, once a symbol of peace and tranquility, now represented a beacon of hope, a refuge from the storm that raged around us. I needed to be there, to find shelter from the tempest that threatened to consume us all. "Please," I repeated, my voice barely audible, like a whispered secret, "take me to the church."

"Ok ma" Layla said with a nod, her voice soft and reassuring, like a gentle breeze on a summer day. The words were spoken with a sense of understanding and compassion, like a warm embrace on a cold winter's night. She nodded her head, her dark hair bobbing up and down, like a gentle wave on a peaceful ocean. Her eyes shone with kindness, like a beacon of light in a dark forest, as she gestured for us to follow her. And we did, like sheep following a shepherd, our feet moving in unison, like a well-rehearsed dance. We trailed behind her, our footsteps echoing through the quiet streets, like a solemn procession. The church loomed ahead, its tall spire reaching for the sky, like a giant's fist punching through the clouds. Its stone walls seemed to radiate a sense of peace and tranquility, like a calming balm for our troubled souls. As we approached, the heavy wooden doors creaked open, like a welcoming embrace, and we stepped inside, our eyes adjusting to the dim light, like a gentle awakening from a deep slumber. The air inside was thick with the scent of incense and old books, like a comforting blanket wrapped around our shoulders. We slid into the pews, our bodies sinking into the soft cushions, like a sigh of relief. And then, we waited, our eyes fixed on the pastor, like a lifeline, our hearts seeking solace in his words.

We started to hear my husband's voice from afar as we approached, preaching at the top of his voice, like a mighty river overflowing its banks. The sound of his words grew louder and clearer, like a beacon shining brighter with each step, guiding us towards the church. His voice was like thunder on a stormy day, shaking the very foundations of the building, and yet, it was also like a gentle rain, soothing and calming the soul. He spoke with passion and conviction, like a warrior fighting for a noble cause, his words piercing the air like arrows shot from a bow. The intensity of his preaching was like a wildfire spreading rapidly, consuming every obstacle in its path, and we were drawn to it like moths to a flame. As we entered the church, his voice enveloped us, like a warm embrace on a cold winter's night, and we felt the power of his words, like a strong wind lifting us up, carrying us along on a tide of hope and renewal. The congregation was mesmerized, like a crowd in a trance, hanging on every word, as he spoke of love, forgiveness, and redemption, his voice echoing off the stone walls, like a chorus of angels singing in harmony. We slid into the pews, our faces upturned, like flowers reaching for the sun, drinking in the words, like a thirsty traveler drinking from a cool, clear stream.

"What's all these for Christ's sake?" I lamented, my voice bursting forth in a mixture of anguish and frustration, like a dam breaking under the weight of a raging torrent. The words tumbled out of my mouth, like a cascade of despair, as I rushed towards the church, my feet pounding the ground, like a drumbeat in a primitive ritual. My eyes scanned the scene before me, like a searching spotlight, taking in the chaos and confusion, the crowd of people, the weapons and angry faces, and my heart sank, like a stone cast into a deep well. I felt like a shipwrecked sailor, clinging to a fragile liferaft, adrift in a stormy sea, as I struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the disaster unfolding before me. The church, once a symbol of peace and tranquility, now resembled a battleground, like a war-torn city, ravaged by the conflicts of humanity. I hastened towards it, my soul tormented by the thought of what might be happening inside, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios, like a runaway horse, unbridled and uncontrolled. "What's all these for Christ's sake?" I repeated, my voice cracking with emotion, like a tree branch snapping under the weight of a heavy snowfall, as I pushed through the crowd, my determination fueled by a sense of urgency and desperation.

As soon as he saw us, he paused, his eyes locking onto ours like a magnet, his gaze piercing through the chaos like a beacon of hope. The words he was speaking seemed to hang in mid-air, like a suspended breath, as he took in the scene before him. I and the kids hurried to him, our feet moving swiftly, like a river flowing to its destination, our faces etched with concern and worry. We surrounded him, like a protective shield, our eyes pleading with him to explain the turmoil that had erupted like a volcano. Layla, however, stood by the corner, her slender figure silhouetted against the wall, like a statue carved from stone. Her eyes remained fixed on the scene, her expression unreadable, like a mask hiding her true emotions. She seemed to be a sentinel, watching and waiting, like a guardian angel, as we reunited with our husband and father. The pastor's pause seemed to last an eternity, like a moment frozen in time, as we awaited his explanation, our hearts suspended in mid-air, like a delicate balance waiting to be tipped.

"We need to leave here now!" I said, my voice urgent and insistent, like a warning bell tolling in a tower, as I reached him and grasped his arm, my fingers closing around it like a vice. The words tumbled out of my mouth, like a river overflowing its banks, as I pulled him towards me, my eyes locking onto his, like a magnet drawing metal. I could feel the tension in his body, like a coiled spring ready to snap, as he resisted my pull, his gaze darting around the room, like a wild animal searching for an escape route. "We need to leave here now!" I repeated, my voice rising in pitch, like a siren wailing in the night, as I tugged him harder, my fingers digging deep into his flesh, like claws grasping for purchase. The children clustered around us, like a brood of chicks seeking shelter under their mother's wings, their eyes wide with fear, like two full moons shining in the dark. Layla remained by the corner, her eyes fixed on us, like a hawk watching its prey, her face a mask of calm, like a still pond reflecting the sky above. The pastor's eyes finally met mine, like two ships passing in the night, and I saw the flicker of understanding, like a spark igniting a flame, as he nodded, his body relaxing, like a bowstring releasing its tension, and we turned, like a family of deer, and fled, like a storm wind blowing through the church.

"What's going on?" He quizzed, his voice laced with a mix of confusion and concern, like a detective investigating a crime scene, as he looked at us one after the other, his eyes scanning our faces, like a searchlight probing for clues. His gaze lingered on each of us, like a painter studying his subjects, taking in every detail, every expression, every nuance. He seemed to be searching for answers, like a thirsty traveler seeking an oasis in the desert, as he tried to make sense of the chaos that had erupted, like a tornado tearing through a peaceful landscape. His eyes narrowed, like a hawk focusing on its prey, as he studied Layla, standing by the corner, her face a mask of calm, like a still pond reflecting the sky above. He turned to me, his eyes piercing, like a sword cutting through uncertainty, as he tried to read my expression, like a book revealing its secrets. Then, he looked at the children, their faces etched with fear, like two full moons shining in the dark, and his expression softened, like a summer breeze soothing a parched landscape. "What's going on?" he repeated, his voice gentle, like a father comforting his children, as he tried to unravel the mystery that had brought us to this point, like a thread pulled from a intricate tapestry.

"I don't understand," I said, my voice laced with confusion and frustration, like a puzzle with missing pieces, "we were warned to leave this place in three days. I was expecting you to wake up so we could start making preparations for us to leave, only to find you nowhere to be found." My words tumbled out like a waterfall, cascading over the rocks of uncertainty. "I thought we had a plan, a chance to escape, to flee from the danger that lurks in every corner of this place. But instead, I find you here, in the midst of chaos, like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a sinking vessel." My gaze locked onto his, like a magnet drawing metal, as I pleaded with him to understand the gravity of our situation. "The little girl came to inform us that you were here, and that they are currently planning at the palace to come attack you with weapons. Please, we must leave now," I urged, my voice rising like a warning bell, "we can't waste any more time, the clock is ticking, and our lives are hanging in the balance." I grasped his arm, my fingers closing around it like a vice, as I pulled him towards me, my eyes burning with urgency, like a beacon shining in the dark. "We have to go, now, before it's too late," I whispered, my voice like a gentle breeze on a summer day, but laced with the desperation of a soul fighting for survival.

"Let them come," he said, his voice firm and resolute, like a rock standing tall against the raging tide. "I didn't send myself here, God sent me," he declared, his eyes shining with conviction, like a beacon shining bright in the darkness. He raised his Bible, holding it aloft like a shield, its pages rustling softly, like the whisper of the divine. "This is my armor, my sword, my protection," he said, his voice filled with a deep faith, like a river flowing from the heart of the believer. "I will not be intimidated, I will not be swayed, for I know that I am here on a mission from God," he proclaimed, his words echoing through the space, like a clarion call to battle. His eyes seemed to bore into the souls of those around him, like a burning fire, as he defied the forces of darkness, like a lone warrior standing against the gates of hell. "Let them come," he repeated, his voice unwavering, like a mountain standing firm against the tempests. "For I know that God is with me, and with Him, I will not be defeated."

"Dad, please, stop it now," my daughter implored, her voice trembling with emotion, like a leaf quivering in the wind. "We know that God sent you," she acknowledged, her words laced with a mix of desperation and frustration, "but at this point, I don't know if God will even support what you're doing." Her eyes flashed with anger, like a spark igniting a flame, as she confronted him, her voice rising in protest. "Does it mean that our lives and yours don't even matter to you?" she demanded, her words piercing the air like a dagger, as she struggled to comprehend his unwavering resolve. "Are you so blinded by your faith that you're willing to sacrifice everything, everyone, for this cause?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion, like a vessel strained to the breaking point. "We're your family, Dad, your flesh and blood, and yet you're willing to risk our lives, our well-being, for something that may not even be God's will." Her words hung in the air, like a challenge, a plea, a cry for reason, as she sought to penetrate the armor of his conviction, to reach the father she once knew, before the zeal of his mission consumed him entirely.

"Keep quiet! Do not speak of God like that," my son raged, his voice thundering through the space like a stormy tempest, his words echoing off the walls like a rebuke. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, like a wildfire burning out of control, as he glared at his sister, his face twisted in a mixture of anger and indignation. "How dare you question Dad's faith?" he growled, his voice low and menacing, like a predator stalking its prey. "Don't you know that God is on our side, that He has chosen us for this great purpose?" he demanded, his words tumbling out in a torrent of righteous fury. "You should be ashamed of yourself, doubting like that," he spat, his contempt and disgust palpable, like a tangible force in the air. "Keep quiet, and don't profane the name of God with your doubts and fears," he commanded,

"That's ok, it's ok," I yelled, my voice piercing the air like a siren, a desperate attempt to calm the storm that was brewing. The words tumbled out of my mouth like a dam breaking, a flood of reassurance and comfort, as I tried to soothe the savage beast of anger and fear that had been unleashed. "It's alright, my children, don't fight," I pleaded, my voice cracking with emotion, like a tree branch snapping under the weight of a heavy snowfall. "We're all scared, we're all confused, but we must stick together," I urged, my words falling like raindrops on parched earth, seeking to quench the thirst of uncertainty. "We'll get through this, we'll face it together, as a family," I promised, my voice a lifeline thrown to those drowning in a sea of despair. "That's ok, it's ok," I repeated, my words a mantra of hope, a beacon shining bright in the darkness, as I sought to guide my children back to the safe harbor of love and understanding.

"Darling, have you seen what you've caused?" I asked, my voice laced with a mix of desperation and urgency, like a warning bell tolling in the night. "Please, I beg you, let's leave here before they meet us here," I pleaded, my words tumbling out like a river overflowing its banks, as I gazed at him with a mixture of fear and supplication. I rubbed both palms together, a nervous gesture, like a worried prayer, as I sought to convey the gravity of our situation. But he just stood there, smiling, like a statue carved from stone, his expression unyielding, like a fortress wall. His eyes seemed to gleam with a fierce determination, like a warrior ready for battle, as he defied the danger that lurked around us, like a lion tamer facing his fiercest beast. I felt a chill run down my spine, like a cold wind blowing through a winter's night, as I realized that he was not going to back down, that he was willing to risk everything, including our lives, for his beliefs. "Please, my love, listen to me," I whispered, my voice barely audible, like a leaf rustling in the wind, as I sought to penetrate the armor of his conviction, to reach the man I once knew, before the zeal of his mission consumed him entirely.

"You know what? You all can leave," he said, his voice firm and resolute, like a judge pronouncing sentence. "I haven't finished with the message I was passing across," he declared, his eyes gleaming with a fierce intensity, like a prophet on a mission from God. He clutched the Bible to his chest, like a shield protecting his heart, as he defied our pleas to depart. "I will not be silenced," he seemed to say, his jaw set in determination, like a rock unyielding to the tempests. "I will not be swayed," he implied, his gaze unwavering, like a beacon shining bright in the darkness. "I will finish what I started, no matter the cost," he seemed to declare, his voice echoing through the space, like a challenge to the universe. The Bible, clutched tightly in his hand, seemed to symbolize his unwavering commitment to his cause, like a banner waving high in the wind. We, his family, were mere bystanders, like spectators watching a train wreck in slow motion, powerless to stop the inevitable.

"Passing a message across to who?" I quizzed, my voice laced with confusion and incredulity, like a detective investigating a baffling crime scene. I looked around, my gaze sweeping the empty seats, like a searchlight scanning a desolate landscape. "These are empty seats," I pointed out, my words dripping with logic and reason, like a gentle rain shower nourishing a parched garden. "Don't you see?" I asked, my eyes locking onto his, like a magnet drawing metal, as I sought to pierce the veil of his conviction. "There's no one here to receive your message," I emphasized, my voice gentle, like a summer breeze rustling the leaves, yet laced with a hint of urgency, like a warning bell tolling in the distance. The empty seats seemed to mock us, like a cruel joke, their vacancy a stark reminder of the futility of his mission. Yet, he stood firm, like a rock unyielding to the tempests, his grip on the Bible unwavering, like a lifeline to his very soul.

He smiled again, his lips curving upward in a gentle, enigmatic arc, like a sunrise breaking over the horizon. The corners of his eyes crinkled, like the pages of a well-loved book, as he revealed a hint of warmth, a glimmer of kindness, like a ray of light piercing through the clouds. And then, his gaze shifted, like a slow-moving river, to settle upon me, his eyes locking onto mine with an unnerving intensity, like a magnet drawing metal. His stare was piercing, like a shaft of light illuminating the darkest recesses of my soul, as if he could see beyond the façade, into the very depths of my being. I felt a shiver run down my spine, like a leaf rustling in the autumn breeze, as he seemed to bore into my very essence, like a master craftsman examining his finest creation. The silence between us was palpable, like a living, breathing entity, as we stood there, suspended in time, like two actors frozen in a dramatic tableau.

"You see, very soon, all these empty chairs will be filled with people," he said, his voice filled with conviction, like a prophet foretelling a future event. "And some won't even have seats to sit on," he continued, his eyes gleaming with a fervent intensity, like a beacon shining bright in the darkness. "They will stand outside by the windows to listen to the message of God," he declared, his words painting a vivid picture of a crowd eager to hear his words, like a thirsty traveler seeking an oasis in the desert.

"Go with the kids," he instructed, his gaze softening, like a gentle breeze on a summer's day, as he turned his attention to me. "If you don't see me in one or two hours," he added, his voice laced with a hint of warning, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, "just know that like Christ, I have been persecuted." His words hung in the air, like a challenge, a declaration of his willingness to suffer for his beliefs, like a martyr embracing his fate. The comparison to Christ was not lost on me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, like a leaf rustling in the autumn breeze, as I realized the depth of his conviction, like a river flowing unyielding to the sea.

"What?!" I exclaimed, my voice bursting forth like a sudden explosion, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and alarm. "We are never going to leave here without you," I added, my words tumbling out in a passionate plea, like a river overflowing its banks. "How can you even suggest such a thing?" I asked, my tone incredulous, like a person hearing a ridiculous proposition. "We're a family, we stick together, no matter what," I declared, my voice firm, like a rock unyielding to the tempests. "We've been through so much already, and now you're talking about being persecuted like Christ?" I continued, my words laced with emotion, like a heart beating with love and concern. "No, no, no! We're not going anywhere without you," I repeated, my voice rising, like a crescendo of determination, as I grasped his arm, like a lifeline, holding on for dear life.

"Dad, look, I understand what you are trying to do ok? But at this point, you need to give this a second thought. Mom is not ready to leave without you, can we just go home now, please?" My 15 year old son said.

"Dad, look, I understand what you are trying to do, okay?" my 15-year-old son said, his voice laced with a mix of empathy and urgency, like a gentle rain shower trying to soothe a parched earth. "But at this point, you need to give this a second thought," he continued, his words dripping with reason and logic, like a calm river flowing through a peaceful landscape. "Mom is not ready to leave without you," he pointed out, his tone filled with concern, like a warning bell tolling in the distance. "Can we just go home now, please?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion, like a tender leaf rustling in the wind.

He spoke like a wise old soul, beyond his years, his words carrying a weight that belied his tender age. His eyes pleaded with his father, like a lost puppy searching for its master, as he sought to penetrate the armor of conviction that had taken hold of his dad's heart. The room seemed to hold its breath, like a held breath waiting to be exhaled, as we all waited for his response, like a verdict from a judge. The tension was palpable, like a thick fog that refused to lift, as we hung in the balance, like a seesaw teetering on the edge of collapse.

My husband sighed, a deep, audible exhale that seemed to release a weight from his shoulders, like a balloon deflating slowly. And then, he opened his arms, wide and inviting, like a warm embrace on a cold winter's night, and hugged me, holding me close, like a treasured possession. His arms wrapped around me, strong and gentle, like a river flowing around a rock, enveloping me in a sense of safety and security. "Let's go," he said, his voice low and husky, like a soft whisper in my ear, with a smile that crept up, like a sunrise slowly illuminating the horizon. His eyes crinkled at the corners, like a well-loved book, as he gazed at me, his expression softening, like a summer breeze rustling the leaves. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate, like a mist evaporating in the sun, as we stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, like two souls reunited. The moment hung suspended, like a pause in a symphony, as we savored the warmth and love that flowed between us, like a river flowing effortlessly to the sea.

I wasn't just happy on our way home, I was radiating joy, like a sunbeam bursting through the clouds, illuminating everything in its path. But, my happiness was tempered with a hint of apprehension, like a delicate flower blooming in a cracked pot, as I kept turning and looking around, my eyes scanning the crowds with a mixture of fear and paranoia, like a rabbit constantly checking for predators. I was like a fugitive, fleeing from the scene of a crime, my heart racing with anticipation, like a drumbeat in my chest, as I constantly looked over my shoulder, expecting to see the Palace people hot on our heels.

His arms were around my shoulders, a warm and comforting embrace, like a shield protecting me from harm, but mine were folded, like a barrier, a defensive stance, as if I was preparing for battle. My hands were clenched into fists, like a warrior gripping their sword, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. And for the first time, I doubted God's love, like a crack in a mirror, a small fissure that threatened to shatter the entire reflection. The thought crept in, like a thief in the night, stealing my peace and replacing it with uncertainty, like a dark cloud casting a shadow over my soul. How could a loving God allow such things to happen, like a parent standing idly by while their child suffered? The question swirled in my mind, like a whirlpool, pulling me down into the depths of despair, as I struggled to reconcile the God I thought I knew with the harsh realities of our situation.

I felt like a ship lost at sea, tossed about by waves of uncertainty, as I grappled with the idea that God's love might not be as unconditional as I had always believed. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, like a cold wind blowing through a winter's night, as I wondered if we were truly alone in this fight. The Palace people, with their zealotry and intolerance, seemed to be the embodiment of evil, like a dark force seeking to snuff out the light of love and acceptance. And I couldn't help but wonder, like a child seeking reassurance from their parent, if God was truly on our side.

"Did He send us here to die if we are not able to win souls?" I thought to myself, the question echoing in my mind like a haunting refrain, as we walked away from the Palace, our footsteps echoing off the walls like a death knell. The words swirled in my brain, like a maelstrom, churning up doubts and fears, like a stormy sea. Did God really care about us, or were we just pawns in some grand game, expendable and insignificant?

"Did God love us at all?" I wondered, the doubt creeping in like a thief in the night, stealing my peace and replacing it with uncertainty. I felt like a small boat, adrift on a turbulent ocean, tossed about by waves of fear and confusion. How could a loving God allow us to suffer so, like a parent standing idly by while their child was tormented? The thought pierced my heart, like a sharp arrow, leaving a gaping wound that seemed to gush with every step.

As we walked, the silence between us was oppressive, like a heavy fog that refused to lift, weighing us down with its crushing weight. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, with no escape from the darkness that seemed to closing in around me. The questions swirled, like a vortex, pulling me down into the depths of despair, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were walking away from the very presence of God, leaving behind the love and protection that we so desperately needed.

We finally reached home, exhausted and drained from our ordeal, like travelers stumbling upon an oasis after crossing a scorching desert. Layla was still with us, a constant presence, like a shadow that refused to leave our side. As I reached out to open the front door, my hand hesitated, like a bird hovering over a nest, sensing something amiss. And then, I noticed it - the lock had been spoilt, like a broken seal on a precious package, leaving our home vulnerable and exposed.

My eyes widened in shock, like a window bursting open to reveal a breathtaking view, as I turned to my husband, my mouth agape, like a silent scream. The look on my face must have mirrored the alarm that was racing through my mind, like a siren blaring in the dead of night. I couldn't believe it - our sanctuary, our haven, had been breached, like a fortress wall crumbling under siege. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, like a cold wind whispering secrets in my ear, as I wondered what other surprises lay in store for us. My husband's expression mirrored mine, like a reflection in a still pond, as we stood there, frozen in uncertainty, like two statues guarding a secret.

"What is it?" He quizzed, his voice laced with concern, like a gentle probe seeking to uncover a hidden truth. His eyes narrowed, like a detective scrutinizing a clue, as he took in my expression, like a canvas painted with a mix of emotions. My face must have been a picture of shock, like a snapshot of a moment frozen in time, with a hint of fear lurking in the corners, like a shadow waiting to pounce.

He stepped closer, like a magnet drawn to steel, his gaze intensifying, like a beam of light focused on a tiny spot. "What's wrong?" he pressed, his tone soft, like a summer breeze rustling the leaves, yet insistent, like a river flowing relentlessly to the sea. His words hung in the air, like a challenge, a call to reveal the secrets that my face seemed to hold, like a locked treasure chest waiting to be opened. I hesitated, like a traveler pausing at a crossroads, unsure which path to take, before finally revealing the truth, like a whispered secret shared between old friends.

"The lock, it's been spoilt," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, like a secret shared in a crowded room. I pointed toward it, my finger extended, like an accusatory finger pointing out a crime scene. The words hung in the air, like a dark cloud hovering over us, as I gestured toward the lock, now a twisted and mangled mess, like a broken toy discarded on the floor.

He rushed forward, like a firefighter responding to a distress call, his eyes fixed on the lock, like a detective examining a piece of evidence. His face scrunched up, like a puzzle solver trying to make sense of a complex clue, as he took in the damage, like a doctor assessing a patient's wounds. The lock's once-smooth surface was now scratched and gouged, like a canvas ravaged by a reckless artist, its metal innards exposed, like a patient's internal organs laid bare on an operating table.

He reached out, like a surgeon about to perform an emergency procedure, and gingerly touched the lock, as if it might suddenly come to life, like a sleeping dragon awakened by a careless touch. His eyes met mine, like two old friends sharing a knowing glance, and I could see the unspoken questions dancing in his mind, like a swirling storm of thoughts and emotions. Who could have done this? And why? The questions hung in the air, like a challenge, a call to action, as we stood there, frozen in uncertainty, like two actors waiting for the next scene to unfold.

"Who could have done this?" He asked, his voice laced with a mix of shock, anger, and disbelief, like a triple-layered cake with each layer revealing a different emotion. He looked at us one after the other, his eyes scanning our faces, like a searchlight probing for clues in a dark alley. His gaze lingered on each of us, like a detective studying suspects in a lineup, searching for a flicker of guilt or a hint of deceit.

First, he looked at me, his eyes boring into mine, like a drill seeking to extract a hidden truth. I felt like a witness under cross-examination, like a defendant on trial, as he seemed to be asking, "Could you have done this? Did you have a hand in this?" Then, he turned to Layla, his gaze softening slightly, like a summer breeze caressing a sunflower, as if to say, "Surely not you, dear one. You're just a child." But the question still lingered, like a whisper in the wind, "Or could you have been involved?"

Finally, he turned to himself, like a mirror reflecting his own thoughts, and seemed to ask, "Could I have done this? Was I so careless, so negligent, as to allow this to happen?" The questions swirled around us, like a whirlwind, as we stood there, each of us lost in our own thoughts, like three separate islands in a stormy sea. The silence was oppressive, like a heavy fog that refused to lift, as we struggled to find answers to the questions that swirled around us like a maze with no escape.

And then, a little boy, with a mop of curly hair and a smile that could light up a room, who was riding a tire by the house, stopped all of a sudden, like a clock whose mechanism had jammed. He had been circling around the yard, laughing and shouting with glee, like a bird singing its morning song, his tire screeching and scraping against the pavement, like a symphony of sounds. But now, he froze, like a statue, his eyes fixed on us, like a camera lens focusing on its subject.

The tire, once a vibrant red, now worn and faded, like a rose that had lost its bloom, came to a halt, like a car skidding to a stop on a wet road. The little boy's eyes, like two shiny marbles, sparkled with curiosity, like a detective investigating a crime scene. He seemed to sense that something was amiss, like a dog sniffing out a hidden treat, and his gaze darted from one face to another, like a bee flitting from flower to flower.

For a moment, he just sat there, like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit, his tire still spinning lazily, like a top winding down. Then, like a rabbit hopping out of its burrow, he jumped off the tire and ran towards us, like a messenger delivering urgent news. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice like a gentle breeze on a summer day, his eyes wide with concern, like a nurse tending to a patient. And we, like actors on a stage, paused, like a scene suspended in mid-air, unsure of how to respond, like a pianist hesitating over a difficult chord.

"Layla, I will tell your Mommy," he said, his voice like a swift wind carrying a message, his words tumbling out in a rush, like a waterfall cascading down a rocky slope. And then, like a rabbit released from a trap, he sprinted away, his little legs moving like a blur, his feet pounding the pavement, like a drumbeat echoing through the neighborhood.

He dashed off, like a messenger on a mission, his determination and urgency palpable, like a beacon shining bright. His small frame disappeared from view, like a leaf blown away by an autumn gust, leaving us standing there, like statues frozen in time. The silence that followed was like a held breath, a moment of anticipation, as we waited to see what would happen next, like a audience waiting for the curtain to rise on a new act.

The words he left behind, like a trail of breadcrumbs, led us to wonder what he had seen, what he had heard, and what he would reveal, like a puzzle waiting to be solved. And Layla, like a flower trembling in the breeze, seemed to sense the weight of his words, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and uncertainty, like a rabbit caught in a sudden storm.

"Layla, please, I think you should go home now," I said to her, my voice laced with a gentle urgency, like a summer breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers. The words were spoken softly, like a lullaby, but with a firmness that conveyed the seriousness of the situation, like a gentle but insistent tap on the shoulder.

"Okay, ma," she replied, her voice like a tiny bird chirping in response, her eyes looking up at me with a trust that pierced my heart, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. The simplicity of her response belied the complexity of the emotions that swirled around us, like a quiet pool hiding depths beneath its surface.

"Bye-bye, ma," she added, her voice like a whisper in the wind, as she turned to leave, her small frame disappearing from view, like a leaf floating away on a stream. The words hung in the air, like a lingering fragrance, as I watched her go, my heart heavy with a mix of emotions, like a scale balancing joy and sorrow.

The silence that followed was like a held breath, a moment of pause, as I stood there, like a sentinel guarding a secret, wondering what lay ahead, like a traveler standing at a crossroads, unsure which path to take. The memory of her smile, like a snapshot in my mind, lingered, a reminder of the innocence and trust that had just walked out of our lives, like a fleeting sunset that leaves behind a sky of memories.

I and the children were scared to go in, our hearts racing like wild animals, our feet heavy with trepidation, like lead weights pulling us back. The thought of entering our violated home, like a sanctuary desecrated, filled us with dread, like a dark cloud looming over us. But my husband, like a brave warrior leading his troops into battle, took the lead, his determination and courage inspiring us to follow, like a beacon shining bright in the darkness.

As we stepped inside, our eyes scanned the rooms, like searchlights probing for clues, and we were met with a surreal sight. Everything in the living room and the bedroom was intact, like a perfectly preserved snapshot, untouched and unblemished, like a work of art protected by a glass shield. The furniture, the decorations, the personal treasures, all remained in their rightful places, like soldiers standing at attention, waiting for their next command. It was as if the intruder had deliberately avoided touching anything, like a thief who only steals the most precious item, leaving the rest behind, like a puzzle with a missing piece.

And yet, the front door, like a sentinel guarding the entrance, had been spoilt, like a broken lock on a treasure chest. The question echoed in our minds, like a refrain in a haunting melody, why? Why would someone go to the trouble of breaking in, only to leave everything else untouched? It was a mystery, like an unsolved riddle, a puzzle waiting to be solved, a secret hidden behind a mask of normalcy.

"What did that person come here for then?" My son quizzed, his voice like a curious probe, seeking answers to the puzzle that lay before us. His eyes, like two shiny marbles, sparkled with intrigue, as he scanned the room, like a detective searching for clues.

"Who knows?" I replied, my voice a gentle shrug, as I continued to survey our surroundings, my gaze darting from one object to another, like a bee flitting from flower to flower. My mind was a jumble of questions, like a knot waiting to be untangled, as I struggled to make sense of the scene before us.

The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a crime scene, with every object a potential clue, every detail a possible lead. I felt like a detective, searching for the missing piece, the key to unlocking the mystery that had unfolded under our roof. My son's question hung in the air, like a challenge, a call to action, as we both stood there, like two sleuths on the hunt, determined to uncover the truth.

I then told the kids to go in and pack their bags, my voice firm but laced with a hint of urgency, like a gentle breeze carrying a sense of purpose. "We're leaving tomorrow," I added, like a punctuation mark emphasizing the gravity of the situation. They both nodded, like two soldiers receiving orders, and quickly dispersed to their rooms to pack their bags, like efficient little bees gathering nectar.

Meanwhile, my husband sat there, like a statue, his expression a mask of silence, his eyes fixed on some invisible point, like a sailor lost at sea. His silence was palpable, like a heavy fog that refused to lift, and I couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were swirling in his mind, like a whirlpool churning beneath the surface.

After packing everything, I headed into the kitchen, like a chef preparing for a feast, to make something for us to eat. But, to my dismay, I discovered that our gas, foodstuff, and water were nowhere to be found, like a magician's trick gone wrong. The kitchen, once a hub of activity, was now a barren landscape, like a desert devoid of oasis.

I rushed into the living room, like a messenger delivering urgent news, to inform my husband about the disappearance of our essentials. His expression remained unchanged, like a rock impervious to weather, but his eyes flickered, like a candle flame dancing in the wind. We all ran back into the kitchen, like a team of detectives searching for clues, scouring every nook and cranny, but found none, like a treasure chest that had been plundered. The silence that followed was like a scream in the darkness, a cry for answers that refused to come.

"You know what?" I exclaimed, my voice like a clap of thunder on a stormy night, echoing through the room and shaking the very foundations of our sanity. "As soon as the day breaks, we're out of here!" I thundered, my words a declaration of war, a battle cry against the unknown forces that had invaded our home and our lives.

I stomped away into the bedroom, my footsteps like a drumbeat, a rhythmic expression of my determination and frustration. The floor creaked beneath my feet, like a groaning sigh, as if the very house itself was protesting our decision to leave. But I was resolute, my mind made up, like a general leading his troops into battle.

The bedroom, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison cell, a place of confinement and fear. I couldn't wait to escape its walls, to flee from the memories that lingered in every corner, like ghosts waiting to pounce. I was like a wild animal, trapped and desperate to break free, to find safety and solace in the unknown.

As I slammed the door behind me, like a judge delivering a verdict, I knew that our lives would never be the same. We were leaving behind the familiar, the comfortable, and the known, and venturing into the unknown, like pioneers exploring uncharted territory. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, like a cold wind on a winter's night, but I was ready, like a warrior armed for battle, to face whatever lay ahead.

Later that night, we were so famished, our stomachs growling like a pack of wolves, our bodies weak from the lack of sustenance. But there was nothing we could do, like prisoners trapped in a cell with no key in sight. My husband had gone out earlier, like a brave hunter, to fetch us some food, but no one wanted to sell to him, like a door slammed shut in his face.

The kids had eventually succumbed to their exhaustion, their little bodies surrendering to the pangs of hunger, and had fallen asleep, like two flowers wilting in the scorching sun. But I remained in the living room, sitting in one of the couches, like a sentinel guarding a secret, my mind racing with thoughts, like a wild horse galloping across the plains.

As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, I suddenly heard a whisper by the window, like a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of a tree. It was a soft, gentle voice, like a summer rain shower on a parched earth, and it sent shivers down my spine, like a cold wind on a winter's night. I froze, like a statue, my heart pounding in my chest, like a drumbeat in the darkness, as I strained to listen, like a detective trying to crack a code.

"Who is that?" I asked, my voice trembling like a leaf in a storm, my heart racing with fear, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. I was so frightened, like a child lost in a dark forest, that I could barely speak, my words barely above a whisper.

"Layla ma, I brought you food," she said, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer day, soft and soothing, but also laced with a hint of urgency, like a secret message delivered under the cover of darkness. She spoke in silent whispers, like a conspirator sharing a hidden truth, her words barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

I rushed to the window, like a magnet drawn to steel, my feet moving swiftly and silently, like a ghost gliding across the floor. I pulled back the curtain, like a revealer of secrets, and peered out into the night, my eyes scanning the darkness, like a searchlight probing for a hidden truth. And then, I saw her, like a vision materializing out of the shadows, a young girl, like a angel of mercy, holding a basket of food, like a gift from the gods.

"What?!" I exclaimed, my voice like a sudden crack of thunder on a stormy night, bursting forth from my lips in a mixture of shock and disbelief. My eyes widened in wonder, like a door flung open to reveal a hidden treasure, as I struggled to comprehend the unexpected turn of events.

"From where?" I quizzed, my words tumbling out in a rush, like a pent-up flood bursting through a dam. My curiosity was piqued, like a hunter on the scent of prey, as I sought to uncover the source of this unexpected bounty. I leaned forward, like a detective interrogating a witness, my gaze piercing and intense, as I demanded answers to the questions swirling in my mind like a whirlwind.

The girl's face, like a canvas of secrets, revealed nothing, but her eyes, like two shining stars on a clear night, sparkled with a hint of mischief, like a playful imp hiding behind a mask of innocence. Her smile, like a sunrise breaking over the horizon, was enigmatic, leaving me to wonder what lay behind her mysterious gift, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"It's my portion, ma, take it," she said, her voice like a gentle brook babbling through a peaceful meadow, soft and soothing, yet laced with a deep empathy and understanding. Her words were like a warm embrace on a cold winter's night, enveloping me in a sense of gratitude and wonder.

"I heard my parents discussing how the palace guards came and took your things away from the kitchen," she continued, her voice like a whispering wind carrying secrets and stories from far-off lands. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight as she spoke, revealing a deep concern and compassion for our plight.

"So I brought my portion of food for you people," she said, her words like a precious gift wrapped in love and kindness, "because I know you must be hungry." Her voice was like a gentle melody, a symphony of love and generosity, as she offered us a share of her own sustenance, like a beacon of hope in a dark and uncertain world.

Her selfless act was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, illuminating the darkness and reminding us that even in the most difficult times, there is always hope and always kindness to be found. And in that moment, I knew that this young girl's heart was a wellspring of love and compassion, a true gift to our world.

I smiled, my lips curving upwards in a gentle arc, like a sunrise breaking over the horizon, and then shook my head, my eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and humility. "Never mind, Layla, please go and eat your food," I said, my voice like a soft breeze on a summer day, gentle and soothing. I added, "Thank you so much," my words like a heartfelt prayer, expressing my deep appreciation for her kindness.

But Layla, like a stubborn flower refusing to bloom, shook her head, her ponytail swishing like a metronome, marking the rhythm of her determination. Her eyes, like two shining stars, sparkled with a fierce light, like a beacon guiding me through treacherous waters. Her small face, like a delicate porcelain doll, set in a firm expression, like a resolve etched in stone.

"No, ma," she said, her voice like a tiny bell ringing out clear and true, "I won't eat until you and your family have eaten too." Her words, like a gentle rain shower nourishing a parched garden, watered my heart, and I felt a surge of love and admiration for this young girl, who like a guardian angel, watched over us with such care and concern.

"I'm not leaving here if you don't take it," she said, her voice like a resolute declaration, a statement of unwavering determination, leaving no room for negotiation or compromise. Her words, like a gentle yet firm grip, took hold of my heart, and I knew I had no choice but to accept her offer.

And so, with a sense of gratitude and humility, I took the food from her outstretched hands, like a beggar receiving alms from a generous stranger. That little portion, like a precious gem, was all we had to sustain us for the night, and I knew that my kids and I would be grateful for every morsel.

As I looked at the small amount of food, like a meager ration in a time of scarcity, I felt a pang of sadness and worry, wondering how we would make ends meet, how we would survive this difficult time. But then, I looked into Layla's eyes, shining like two bright stars in the darkness, and I saw the kindness and generosity that had driven her to share what little she had, and my heart swelled with gratitude and love.

That little portion of food, like a tiny seed planted in fertile soil, nourished us not just physically, but also spiritually, reminding us that even in the darkest times, there is always hope, always kindness, and always love to be found. And as we ate, like a family sharing a meal together, I knew that we would never forget this small act of kindness, this tiny spark of humanity that had illuminated our lives.

The following morning, as early as 5am, like a gentle whisper in the darkness, I woke my husband, shaking him gently, like a leaf rustling in the breeze, to tell him that we should leave, that it was time to depart, like a bird taking flight. But he refused, like a stubborn mule digging in its heels, his eyes closed, his face set in a determined expression, like a rock refusing to yield.

Well, I left him there, like a sailor abandoning ship, and I and the kids went outside, carrying our bags, like heavy burdens, with the car keys, like a lifeline, clutched in my hand. But when we reached the parking spot, like a oasis in the desert, the car was nowhere to be found, like a mirage vanishing into thin air. My heart sank, like a stone dropping into a well, and I felt a wave of panic wash over me, like a stormy sea crashing against the shore.

I looked around, like a lost traveler searching for a landmark, but the car was gone, like a thief in the night, leaving us stranded, like a shipwrecked crew on a deserted island. The kids looked up at me, like two frightened rabbits seeking shelter, and I knew I had to think fast, like a quick-witted fox outsmarting a predator, to find a way out of this predicament, to get us to safety, like a haven in the storm.

To be continued!