Chapter 2 Gray's Devotion

Gray watched the steam rise from the cup of tea in his hands, swirling like quiet prayers he hadn't yet whispered. The living room was dim, lit only by the soft golden glow of the floor lamp beside Cassandra's armchair. The TV played some muted documentary neither of them was really watching. They were both lost in thought, each holding onto the silence like it might break if handled the wrong way.

Cassandra sat across from him, legs tucked beneath her, knitting something she hadn't named yet. She always knitted when she couldn't find the words. Yarn had become her safe place. Gray admired how calm she looked, even though he knew her heart had its own storms.

"I called May again," he said finally, breaking the stillness like cracking ice.

Cassandra didn't look up. "Did she answer?"

He shook his head. "She texted 'Maybe.' That's all."

"That's something," she replied gently, eyes on her work. "She's still reading your messages."

Gray sighed and leaned back. The couch creaked, tired like him. "I just want her to come home. Even if it's just to sit at the table. No preaching, no pressure. Just... come home."

"She's not ready." Cassandra finally paused her knitting and met his eyes. "But she knows you're here. That matters."

Gray nodded, though it didn't make him feel better. It hurt watching May drift like this-living fast, shutting them out, burying herself in all the wrong places. She was his little sister. He used to walk her to school, carry her when she scraped her knees. Now he could barely reach her heart.

"Sometimes I wonder if I failed her," he whispered, more to himself.

"You didn't," Cassandra said firmly. "The person who hurt her failed her. You've only ever loved her."

He looked at his wife, her brown eyes steady and warm, and for a moment, something inside him settled. She had a way of anchoring him-reminding him that not everything was falling apart.

But the ache lingered.

Especially when he glanced over at the framed ultrasound picture on the shelf beside the family Bible.

An empty promise.

They'd put it there after their first pregnancy. It had lasted all of seven weeks.

Now, three years and four failed attempts later, it sat like a trophy of broken dreams. He didn't have the heart to move it.

"Cassandra," he said softly, "what if this never happens for us?"

She paused. "The baby?"

He nodded, words catching in his throat.

She put down the knitting and walked over to sit beside him. Her fingers laced through his, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "Then we keep trusting. Maybe not for what we want-but for peace, for purpose, for each other."

Gray swallowed hard. "I know God has a plan. I just... I thought it would look different by now."

Cassandra gave a small, tired smile. "We're both waiting for something, aren't we?"

He chuckled dryly. "Yeah. May to come home. A child. A break in the silence."

"And still," she said, squeezing his hand, "we're here. Together. Still choosing to believe."

Gray looked down at their hands. No baby in the next room. No guarantee of a miracle. But there was love. There was her.

That had to count for something.

***

The next morning came with golden sun spilling through the kitchen blinds. Gray stood by the stove, flipping pancakes while gospel music played softly from the speaker. He always made breakfast on Saturdays. Cassandra said it was his way of talking to God with flour and butter.

She wandered in wearing her robe, eyes still sleepy.

"You're up early," she said, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

"Couldn't sleep," he admitted.

She peeked over his shoulder. "These better not be burnt."

"They're not. I flipped them with the grace of the Holy Spirit."

She laughed, and the sound made him smile for the first time that morning. He needed that.

They ate in silence for a while, comfortable and warm, sunlight dancing across their plates. After breakfast, Cassandra headed to the garden. Tending to her flowers was therapy for her-something about watching life bloom in her hands gave her hope.

Gray sat on the porch, Bible open in his lap, eyes scanning the familiar verses.

Psalm 27:14 – Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage.

He read it twice. Then a third time.

He closed his eyes.

"God, I'm waiting," he whispered. "Help me not grow tired. Help me love May, even when she pushes away. Help me hold Cassandra together when I'm falling apart too. If this is the test, please don't let me fail it."

The breeze brushed past him like a soft answer. Not loud. Not certain. But enough for now.

***

That evening, Gray and Cassandra stood at the sink, washing dishes together.

"You know who's coming home tomorrow?" Cassandra said, nudging him.

"Your mom?" he guessed.

"Salmon."

Gray blinked. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "He called while you were outside. Said he'll be in town for two weeks. Wants to stop by."

Gray dried his hands. "He's always traveling."

"Big shoes to fill," she said. "Son of a megachurch pastor and all."

"Yeah, but Salmon's different. He's not just about the pulpit." Gray smiled faintly. "He's real. Grounded. May always liked him-before everything happened."

Cassandra tilted her head. "Maybe his timing is divine."

Gray raised an eyebrow. "You think God's sending Salmon after her?"

"I think," she said thoughtfully, "sometimes God uses people to chase the ones running the hardest."

He thought about that. Salmon had a way of getting through to people without preaching at them. Just by being... him.

It was a long shot, but Gray had run out of clever plans.

"Let's pray he sees her," he said. "And that she listens."

Cassandra leaned her head on his shoulder again.

They stood like that for a while, hands warm from the dishwater, hearts heavy with hope.

***

Later that night, Gray sat at his desk, typing an email to Salmon.

Hey brother,

Glad to hear you're coming around. I'll pick you up at the airport if you want. Cassandra's already planning to make that spicy chicken you love.

There's... something I should ask you, though.

It's about May.

She's hurting. Still angry. Still lost. I've tried everything I know. But maybe God will use you to reach her in ways I can't. Just-talk to her. See her. Remind her she's not forgotten.

We've both been waiting. Maybe the wait's almost over.

Grace and peace,

Gray

He hit send and leaned back, letting out a long breath.

Some things were out of his hands now.

But even in the dark, he held on to faith like a lifeline-because sometimes that's all you have when answers don't come.

And because he believed... even if May couldn't yet.