The apartment was still, the low hum of the heater the only sound as Anna sat on the edge of her bed, the morning light soft against the walls. Nine roses stood proud in the vase on the kitchen counter, their presence both comforting and unsettling. Each one seemed to carry a message she hadn’t fully embraced but couldn’t ignore.
She rested her hand on her womb, her thoughts drawn again to the baby. The reality of it pressed closer every day, insistent and unavoidable. It wasn’t just the physical sensation—it was the haunting pull of the decision she still hadn’t made. The truths from the roses lingered in her heart, quietly urging her forward, though the fear of her inadequacy felt louder.
When she opened the door, the cold air bit at her skin, sharp and relentless. She stepped onto the landing, her eyes immediately finding the tenth rose. Its vivid petals rested on the black mailbox, vivid against the frost. She reached for it, her fingers brushing the cool stem, its delicate weight grounding her in the stillness of the moment.
And then, before she unfolded the note, it was as though a small light pierced the shadowed corners of her soul, revealing both the depth of the darkness she had been living in and the existence of light she hadn’t dared to hope for. It was like fumbling in a vast, uncharted cavern—hands brushing against cold stone, searching blindly for an exit—when the faintest glimmer broke through a hidden crack. Not blinding or overwhelming, but gentle and sure, it was enough to awaken her to the possibility of something beyond. Beyond the words. Beyond the roses. Beyond herself.
Words. It occurred to her that words like "love," "trust," and "forever" had unraveled her faith in their promise, fraying her at the seams until she felt hollow, broken. But these roses kept appearing, mysteriously, persistently, orchestrating a quiet symphony that softened her doubt. Much like a child’s anticipation of presence on Christmas morning. Her heart was beginning to anticipate the words before she even opened the door. She was starting to yearn for them. And in that yearning, something deeper was awakening: a fragile, flickering belief.
She glanced at the rose in her hand, its luminous petals vivid against the frost, and felt its quiet persistence mirroring something within her. Like the roses, these words were becoming real. Like the life within her. A tender gust of grace breaking through the darkness, drawing her toward something she couldn’t yet name but felt she desperately needed.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone understood what she needed before she did. That someone believed for her when she couldn’t.
With eager anticipation she unraveled the familiar twine and unfolded the note. The words washed over her like a wave, both gentle and penetrating.
"You are forgiven."
For a long moment, she stood frozen, the note extending its solemn truth. Forgiven. The word was heavy and yet impossibly light, pressing against the rawest parts of her heart. It touched wounds she hadn’t let herself acknowledge, places she thought had long since hardened. A whisper rose from the depths of her soul, fragile but insistent:
“Lord, help me to believe.”
More than words, meaning lingered as she moved through the day, the note tucked carefully into her coat pocket. At work, the office buzzed with holiday chatter, but Anna barely registered it. Her mind was elsewhere, turning over the note’s message like a stone in her hands.
She thought about her mistakes, the choices that had led her here. She thought about Tayler, his words of love that had turned hollow, the note he’d left behind. “I’m sorry.” It hadn’t felt like forgiveness. It had felt like abandonment.
And then there was her family. Her mother’s quiet, patient love, her father’s distant but steady presence. Could they forgive her? Did they even think there was anything to forgive?
The question that scared her most was whether she could forgive herself.
When she got home, the roses greeted her like old friends. She ran her fingers over their petals, the messages lined up beside them on the counter. She took the newest note from her pocket, her eyes scanning the words again.
"You are forgiven."
The ache in her chest deepened. Forgiveness had always seemed like something out of reach, a concept reserved for people stronger, better, holier than her. But the note didn’t ask for strength or holiness. It simply offered the words, unconditionally, as though they had always been hers to claim.
Her phone buzzed, breaking the silence. She picked it up and saw a text from Paul.
"Hey Anna, just thinking about you. I know we haven’t talked much lately, but I hope you know how much I care about you. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"
Anna stared at the message, her heart tightening. Paul had always been the softer one, the brother who reached out when others pulled away. She thought about calling him, but the thought felt too overwhelming. Instead, she replied.
"Thanks, Paul. That means a lot."
His response came quickly. "Always here for you, sis. Seriously, anytime."
She set the phone down, her chest heavy with the ache of unspoken words. Paul’s kindness felt like another note, a faint echo of something she wasn’t ready to believe.
That evening, Anna sat at the table with the newest rose in her hands. She thought about the baby, the quiet life growing inside her. She thought about her mother’s texts, her father’s silence, her brothers’ reserved but steadfast presence. She thought about Tayler, his absence a shadow that still lingered.
But most of all, she thought about herself. The part of her that had carried guilt and shame for so long it had become a second skin. The part of her that couldn’t imagine a world where forgiveness was possible.
She gave voice to a longing buried deep within her—a key she had carried without knowing, its purpose just now beginning to surface. Her breath wavered as the words broke free.
"You are forgiven."
The words danced on the edge of belief, elusive and uncertain. But they didn’t feel impossible anymore. A spark of something she hadn’t felt in years stirred within her—a lightness, a breath, a tender touch of grace.
In the night’s warm embrace, Anna placed her hand on her womb and let the words linger in her mind. Forgiven. It wasn’t an answer. It wasn’t a solution. But it was a beginning.
And for now, that was enough.
