Chapter 3 Mira's visit.

The antiseptic scent of the hospital clung to the air like a reminder-sharp, sterile, inescapable.

Mira sat on a cracked plastic chair beside her father's hospital bed, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

The beeping of machines filled the silence.

Pastor Lawson looked smaller beneath the white sheets.

The oxygen mask over his face didn't hide the gauntness in his cheeks.

But his eyes-soft brown and unwavering-were still her father's.

Still strong. Still unshaken.

"Mira," he rasped, pulling the mask away briefly.

"There's something we need to talk about."

She stood immediately, adjusting his pillow and placing a cool hand on his forehead. "Dad, please. You need to rest. The doctor said your heart-"

"My heart will rest in heaven if you keep ignoring me," he interrupted with a weak smile.

Mira stiffened. The joke landed like a brick in her chest.

"Don't say that," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I still need you."

"You've always been strong," he said.

"Even when your mother died, you were only twelve, and yet you handled the guests, the arrangements... you were more composed than I was."

Mira looked away, swallowing hard. She remembered that day too clearly. The look on his face when the doctors told them the cancer had won.

The way he collapsed in front of the house that night, sobbing into his hands while she stood there, frozen.

"You never broke down, Mira," he said, smiling faintly. "Even when you wanted to. You've always carried more than your share."

"Maybe that's why I'm so tired now," she whispered.

He chuckled softly but then coughed, his body trembling from the effort.

She rushed to hold him steady. "Please, don't talk too much."

"I have to," he said between shallow breaths.

"Because time doesn't wait. And I need you to understand, Mira."

She pulled the chair closer and sat back down, gripping his frail hand in hers. The skin was cool, almost papery.

So different from the strong hands that used to lift her onto his shoulders when she wanted to take her Bible from the top shelf on Sunday mornings.

He looked at her now with quiet urgency. "Nathan Cole isn't a kind man. He's not warm or loving. But he's the only one who's offered help when everyone else turned their backs."

Mira tensed. She was still contemplating about Nathan's proposal. Even the popular name alone made her stomach twist.

"I know he's not who you imagined marrying," Pastor Lawson continued gently.

"You always said you'd marry someone like me. A man of God. Someone gentle."

She smiled faintly at the memory. "I used to draw our wedding in my school books. I even gave him a name-Jared."

"Jared, the missionary husband," he chuckled. "Who'd preach in the streets and write you love letters every morning."

Mira nodded, but her smile faded quickly. "That dream is long gone."

"Not gone," he corrected. "Just waiting. Maybe Jared doesn't come with a grand entrance. Maybe he will come wearing a mask first."

She frowned. "Nathan is not Jared."

"No. But who he is... might not be all he becomes."

She exhaled slowly, not ready to be convinced.

"Do you think Mom would've agreed to this?" she asked suddenly.

He paused, thoughtful. "Your mother had a strong spirit. She believed in sacrifice. But she also believed in purpose. If she were here, she would ask you one question-Can you see God in this?"

Mira was quiet.

"I've prayed about this, Mira. I wouldn't bring this to you if I hadn't felt peace in my spirit."

"But it's a contract," she said bitterly. "There's no love. Just an agreement. A transaction."

"Maybe love will grow. Maybe it won't. But I've seen marriages built on less. And I've also seen marriages built on love crumble when hardship comes."

She sighed, rubbing her hands together. "And if I say no?"

"Then we pray to Jesus for another way," he said softly.

"But the doctors said I need surgery within the next few weeks. And Mira... we don't have weeks."

Her chest tightened. That word again.

Every breath he took now felt like a borrowed moment.

"I feel like I'm walking into a cage," she whispered. "A golden one, maybe. But still a cage."

He nodded, not denying it. "Maybe. But sometimes the path to freedom starts inside the cage. Sometimes God lets us walk through hard things to birth something greater."

Mira looked at him again, really looked. The strong man of her childhood, now weakened, yet somehow still the strongest person she knew. His faith hadn't wavered once. Even now, facing death, he was thinking about her future.

"I don't want to lose you," she said.

"You won't," he smiled. "Even if I go home to heaven, you'll always have Jesus. In every prayer, every decision. He'll be there."

Her lips trembled. "I'm scared."

"But don't let fear make your decisions. Let Him lead you."

She leaned forward and laid her head gently on his chest, listening to the faint beat of his heart.

"I'll do it," she whispered, tears soaking into the hospital gown. "I'll marry him."

He just placed his hand on her back, gently rubbing like he used to when she had nightmares as a child.

And in that cold hospital room, surrounded by machines and shadows, Mira Lawson chose duty over dreams.

Her tears had soaked through the front of his hospital gown, but she didn't care. For the first time in weeks, she cried freely.

No pretenses. No brave face.

Just a daughter mourning the slow loss of her father... and the rapid unraveling of her dreams.

After a while, Pastor Lawson stroked her hair gently, the way he used to when she was a child with tangled curls.

"You're doing the right thing," he murmured. "Even if it doesn't feel like it now."

She sat up, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. "Then why does it feel like I'm betraying myself?"

His expression grew serious. "Because sometimes obedience costs us comfort. But it's in those moments that character is born. Don't forget, Mira-you are more than this moment. More than this marriage."

A nurse peeked into the room, smiling politely. "Visiting time's almost over."

Mira nodded, her throat too thick with emotion to respond.

As the nurse disappeared, her father touched her wrist. "There's something I've been meaning to give you."

He reached toward the nightstand drawer and slowly pulled it open, wincing with the movement.

Mira quickly helped him, and from inside, he retrieved a small, folded piece of paper.

"What's this?" she asked, unfolding it carefully.

"My wedding vow to your mother," he said.

"I wrote it on the day I asked her to marry me. Never got around to rewriting it for the ceremony, so I kept it all these years."

Mira's eyes scanned the yellowed page. The ink was faded, but the words still stood strong.

"I don't promise you a perfect life, but I vow to walk through every imperfect moment with you. I don't promise riches, but I vow to keep you covered in prayer. And even when I fail you as a man, I vow never to fail you as a servant of God."

Her hand trembled slightly as she folded the paper again and pressed it to her chest.

"I want you to have that," he whispered. "It's a reminder that love isn't always loud. Sometimes, it's quiet. Steady. Chosen."

A tear rolled down her cheek again. "I wish Nathan could love like that."

"Maybe he can," her father said. "Or maybe he needs someone like you to show him how."

A knock came on the door just then, and Mira turned to see one of the hospital's admin staff peeking in.

"Excuse me, Miss Lawson. There's a woman in the lobby. She says she's here to speak with you. Mr. Cole's assistant."

Mira's stomach dropped.

Already?

She looked back at her father, who nodded slowly, as though expecting it.

"Go," he said. "The beginning of purpose often comes dressed in discomfort."

Mira stood, legs shaky, clutching her bag and her father's vow tightly in her fist.

"I'll come back tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting."

She took one last look at him before stepping into the hallway.

As she made her way toward the lobby, each step echoed with uncertainty.

Nathan Cole's world was waiting for her.

She spotted a tall, sharply dressed woman standing near the waiting area.

"Miss Lawson?" She asked.

"Yes?"

"I'm Miss Riley, Mr. Cole's assistant. I've been instructed to inform you that Mr. Cole would like to meet with you tomorrow at Cole Enterprises, 8 a.m. sharp."

She continued.

"His time is limited. The meeting will be brief and... straightforward."

"Tell him I'll be there."

Riley gave a small nod. "I'll let him know. Have a good evening, Miss Lawson."

Without waiting for more, she handed out a card and walked off with a calm, unhurried pace.