Page 17 of His Elder

Please write soon. And remember: the Lord never gives us trials we cannot bear. Whatever challenges you're facing, He is with you. We are all so proud of you.

All our love,

Mom

I stared at the screen until the words blurred. The cursor blinked at me from the reply box, patient and accusing.

Dear Mom,

I'm sorry I haven't written sooner. You're right—the days get away from me out here. But I'm healthy and safe, and the work is going well. We have several investigators progressing toward baptism, including a wonderful family who I really believe will accept the gospel.

Lies and half-truths. The Morenos were progressing, yes, but toward what? A baptism that Kempton was pushing me to schedule before they were ready? And the work wasn't going well—it was going exactly as statistics predicted. Rejection after rejection after tiny, insufficient victory.

Please don't worry. I'm exactly where the Lord needs me to be, doing exactly what He needs me to do. Give everyone my love. Tell Rachel I'll write her soon.

Love,

Samuel

I hit send before I could second-guess the words.

Next to me, Vance had gone completely still.

I shouldn't have looked. I knew I shouldn't have. But his stillness was wrong, unnatural, and when I glanced over, I saw his face reflected in the monitor—pale, shocked, like he'd been struck.

His inbox was open. One email, near the top, sender nameMom. Subject line:Your father.

Vance clicked it. I looked away, focused on my own screen, but I could see him in my peripheral vision. Could see the way his hand moved to cover his mouth as he read.

The silence stretched. Around us, keyboards clattered. Someone laughed at a video. A printer whirred to life behind the counter.

Vance logged out.

Just like that. Closed the browser, stood up, walked toward the door without a word.

I grabbed my bag and followed.

He didn't speak on the walk back to the apartment. Didn't respond when I asked if he was okay. Just walked with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against a wind that didn't exist.

I let him have the silence. Whatever he'd read, it wasn't my business. We weren't friends. We were barely even companions—just two people trapped in the same cage, circling each other warily.

But I remembered the look on his face.

Back at the apartment, Vance disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower start, water hammering against tile. It ran for a long time—longer than mission rules technically allowed, but I wasn't about to knock and remind him of the White Handbook's guidance on conservation.

The shower was still running.

*****

That night, I woke to the sound of crying.

Quiet, muffled, the kind of crying someone does when they're desperately trying not to be heard. For a moment, I thought I'd imagined it—a leftover fragment from the dream I'd been having, something about water and drowning and hands pulling me down into darkness.

Then I heard it again. A wet, shaking breath. The rustle of sheets.

Vance.

I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to my companion fall apart in the darkness.