The next morning, Sunday, Mr. Philip's voice rang through the house like a trumpet.
"Wakey wakey! Church day!"
I stirred under the covers, half-asleep, until the sound of footsteps neared and suddenly—tickles. Real, actual tickles. Mr. Philip had cracked open my door and reached in just enough to ruffle my side with a chuckle.
"Up, young lady! It's the Lord's Day!"
I couldn't help the surprised laugh that escaped me. It was silly, but it pulled something deep from within—an old, almost forgotten feeling.
My mom used to do the exact same thing. Sunday mornings, no matter how tired we were, she'd come in with a bright voice and fingers ready for tickles, always saying, "The Lord's house won't wait for sleepyheads!"
She never played with God. Never skipped a service.
And just like that, I missed her. So fiercely it nearly knocked the breath out of me.
This was the first time Mr. Philip had ever woken us up for church since we'd moved in. A small thing, maybe, but to me—it felt big. Like another piece of our lives was slowly returning.
Emily and Josh were already up and getting dressed excitedly, like they'd just been told we were going to a carnival. I picked out a pale blue dress and brushed my hair back into a low bun. For once, we didn't feel like guests in someone else's home. We felt… like a family.
Well—almost all of us.
Because one person was noticeably missing when we gathered in the living room.
"Where's Shawn?" Mr. Philip asked, adjusting his cufflinks as he glanced around.
Emily shrugged. Josh looked up from trying to fix his tiny tie.
I tried not to say anything, but a part of me wasn't surprised.
Mr. Philip sighed and turned toward the stairs. "Shawn!"
A few seconds passed, then came a voice—loud, lazy, and unapologetic—from upstairs.
"I'm not going!"
Mr. Philip frowned. "Excuse me?"
We all froze. The tension was immediate.
Shawn appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing in sweatpants and a hoodie, clearly not dressed for anything remotely holy.
"I said I'm not going," he repeated, more calmly this time, but with a hint of challenge in his voice. "You know church isn't really my thing."
Mr. Philip's jaw tightened. "You live under this roof, Shawn."
"And I respect that," Shawn said, arms crossed. "But I'm not going to sit through a sermon I don't believe in just to tick a box."
His words landed like a slap. Emily blinked up at him. Josh's little mouth dropped open.
Mr. Philip stepped forward, his tone low and sharp. "It's not about ticking boxes. It's about grounding yourself. Showing up. Especially when others look up to you."
Shawn's gaze flicked briefly to me—just for a second. "I don't think I'm anyone's role model."
Mr. Philip shook his head, clearly holding back stronger words. "Then at least come as their brother."
Silence. For a moment, I thought he might actually give in.
But Shawn turned and disappeared back down the hallway without another word.
I felt Mr. Philip's disappointment hang heavy in the air, but he didn't chase after him. He just sighed, turned to us, and said quietly, "Let's go."
And so we did.
We went to church without Shawn.
But his absence followed us like a shadow.
We arrived at church just on time, the parking lot already half full and the sound of music spilling out from the sanctuary doors. Mr. Philip turned off the ignition and handed each of us a small envelope.
"Just in case there's an offering," he said with a smile. "It's not much, but always good to have something to give."
I looked down at mine, fingers brushing the soft paper. I remembered Mama doing this too—slipping coins into our palms before service, whispering, "God sees the heart, even if it's only a little."
Inside, the atmosphere was warm and alive. The choir was already singing, their voices rising with joy. People clapped and swayed to the rhythm. Emily's eyes lit up, and Josh swayed a little on his feet, grinning at the drums.
The service moved beautifully—songs, dance, powerful testimonies, a stirring sermon that spoke about restoration, about how God finds the broken and gives them a place again.
It felt like it was meant for us.
After the closing prayer, Mr. Philip led us toward the front, where a group of men and women were standing, shaking hands and chatting. One of them turned, a tall, warm-looking man in a beige suit.
"Pastor," Mr. Philip greeted, extending his hand. "I'd like you to meet someone."
The pastor smiled. "Of course."
"These are Chris's children. Anne, Emily, and Josh." He placed a hand gently on my shoulder. "Remember my longtime friend Chris? These are his kids."
The pastor's smile faltered slightly, and something tender passed across his face.
"Ever since he died," Mr. Philip continued, "life hasn't been easy for them. Their uncles denied them every property Chris left behind, and eventually, they were thrown out. Their mother… she died of a heart attack. The pain, the betrayal—it was too much."
Silence fell over the small circle around us.
Mr. Philip looked at me, then down at Emily and Josh, who were both quietly clinging to my sides. "It was left to Anne here. She did everything to take care of her siblings. Fought to survive."
My throat tightened.
"But they're safe now," he finished, his voice steady. "They live with me."
The pastor looked at us with kind eyes, and slowly, he nodded. "God's hand is surely on you," he said gently. "You're not alone anymore."
I didn't know what to say. But I felt something settle inside me—something I hadn't felt in a long time.
The pastor turned to Mr. Philip, eyes filled with genuine admiration. "God bless you, sir," he said. "You didn't just give these children a home—you saved their lives. Only God knows what they could've gone through if you hadn't stepped in."
Mr. Philip gave a small nod, almost shy under the praise. "They saved me too," he murmured.
The pastor crouched a little, looking directly at us now—especially at me. His voice turned gentle. "You're a brave young girl, Anne. What you did for your siblings… that kind of strength doesn't come easy. Don't ever let anyone make you feel small because of your past. God sees it all. He sees you."
I didn't say anything, just gave a soft nod, suddenly feeling like if I opened my mouth, I might cry.
Emily leaned into me, and Josh was perched proudly on Mr. Philip's shoulders, his small arms flailing excitedly.
"I'm taller than the pastor!" Josh shouted, pointing down dramatically. "Look! I can touch the sky!"
We all burst into laughter—even the pastor couldn't help but chuckle.
"Well, we've got a prophet in the making!" he said, grinning. "Just don't fly away, young man!"
Josh grinned like he'd won something big, patting the top of Mr. Philip's head proudly.
After a few more laughs and kind words, the pastor said a quick prayer over us, then hugged Emily and gave me a warm handshake. "You'll be just fine," he whispered. "Keep walking forward."
We said our goodbyes, waving to a few others Mr. Philip knew, then made our way back to the car.
As we drove off, the church slowly shrinking behind us, I glanced at my siblings in the backseat—smiling, talking about the music, about Josh's "big moment" I let myself smile too.