"The test results have come back negative. I'm making an appointment for a new MRI next week, since it's been six months since your last and you're due for a new one. Meanwhile, I still suggest you follow our other suggestions, including psychotherapy and hypnotism."

"The test is fine." That level tone, like her mother wasn't at all upset. She'd scream about it to her family later. "But I've already said no to your psychotherapy, and I don't believe in hypnotism."

Adira bit her lip and willed the rush of emotion she was suddenly faced with away. She'd known this was going to happen. She'd been expecting nothing less. Tests had been coming back negative for two years, and there was no reason that should have changed today. But every time... every time there was this hope, no matter how stupid you knew it was.

It didn't make any sense. How was it possible for modern medicine to be so clueless as to the condition of one woman?

That woman looked worse every day. She lost more weight, lost more hair, appeared a little sicker as she felt a lot worse, as the days, weeks, and months stretched forward with no relief.

A million tests taken, a million prayers lifted up, and yet nothing worked.

Her mother was a strong woman and theirs was a strong family, but it was becoming too much.

The people around them made everything worse. Their compassion had worn thin after about six months of the mysterious illness, and ever since, all they'd been interested in doing was convincing themselves that she was better because it relieved their discomfort at the idea that she wasn't. They'd ask Adira how Naomi was feeling so that they could appear to be caring, concerned friends, and then when she was honest, they'd turn around her answer to be what they wanted to hear. It was disgusting and possibly the most frustrating thing in her world. Or, the second most frustrating, loser only to that list of negative test results set next to her mother's ever-worsening condition.

Every ounce of strength that Naomi lost was another ounce that she had to have, another pound she had to carry on her own back. Adira's baby brother, Reagan. Her mother had gotten unexpectedly pregnant right in the middle of her illness, and now six months after she'd barely made it through labor, he was more Adira's child than anyone's.

Her mother had never recovered from the strain of the pregnancy and labor on her weakened body, and she'd been in and out of hospital stays ever since. Her father was either at work or caring for her. That left Adira to take care of that baby whenever she wasn't at school, and that time he spent in daycare. Reagan barely knew his parents and was likely to scream when left with them without Adira in the room.

He gurgled now, swiping again at the objects his toy had hanging over his head. But he was losing interest, and she could tell. She didn't blame him. This stuffy hotel room was suffocating, and the doctor was acting like they weren't even there.

She looked outside. It was raining again, almost sleet due to the temperature, which was approaching freezing. It was a horrible day to take a baby out in.

And yet, she could already tell she was going to take him out anyway. In his covered stroller, swaddled with a million blankets, he would be more likely to get too warm than too cold. She was the one that was likely to freeze.

But really, she didn't care. She just needed to breathe the fresh air and be anywhere except that horrible hospital.

Leaving Reagan where he was, she walked to the corner of the room and lifted the stroller folded there out into the open so she could get it ready for him. A few minutes later, he was swaddled and tucked in, and her coat was being tugged over her arms. She added gloves and a beanie, then headed for the door. No one asked, because they were much too wrapped up in their business to even really notice, much less care. She didn't offer an explanation, because, once again, they didn't care. She was sixteen and could do what she wanted, and he was basically her kid, so she could do what she wanted with him, too.

They took the elevator down and headed out into the cold. The streets were busy, even on a Sunday morning. Nashville really never calmed down. She was greeted by her usual mix of judgmental stares and shakes of the head, murmurs between two people, but they hardly even bothered her anymore. It wasn't like she wasn't used to it by now.

So, she just slid her earbuds in and walked, with no real direction or purpose. She just had to get out... out, and as far away from that hospital as she could.

She had homework, but she'd do it later. Sunday nights were made for homework, not Sunday mornings.

Not that they'd been to church in months.

It wasn't because they didn't believe... all of them did, passionately. But between all of the appointments, school, and the people at their church being same people who just wanted to convince themselves that everything was fine when it wasn't, attending Sunday mornings just... had happened less and less, until they stopped going all together.

She didn't miss those people, but she did miss parts of it... the process, the familiarity.

She glanced up, and as if on cue, saw a church down the road. It was large, and she was walking past the parking lot now. It was full of cars and absent of people, suggesting that the service was already in progress.

It took her a moment to realize that she'd stopped walking.

No. She wasn't going in there, looking like a teen mom, late for service. That was just asking to be judged.

But she still didn't start walking again.

What if she slipped in and slipped out, without talking to anyone? They could glare their judgement all they wanted as long as she didn't have to listen to it.

She was doing it. She didn't know why... she just felt like she had to.

The trek up the walkway seemed excruciatingly long, because it left her so exposed. Why didn't she want to be seen? If they judged her, they were jerks. She realized that it was a reasonable assumption to make that the child that was with her was hers. But they still shouldn't be judging her over it, especially because none of them were interested in hearing her story and realizing that they might not be seeing the big picture. And yet, as used to those stares as she was, she still hated getting them from Christians.

It made her feel guilty for something she'd never even done.

She shoved the feeling down as she finally made it to the doors and pulled one open, holding it with her foot as she pushed the stroller through. The gallery was open as she walked in, and she saw a sign pointing her to the check-in for the nursery. She only considered it for a moment before discarding the idea. She definitely did not need to amp up the judgement as far as it would go if she tried to check him in as a sixteen-year-old.

So instead, she followed the signs... and the sound of worship already going on... to the sanctuary and slipped in one of the side doors. It was a large church with a full band and the whole smoke and lights worship experience. She didn't really care one way or another about that, but the dimmed lights were nice because it made it harder to see her. She found a row of chairs lined up at the back of the room and parked the stroller at the end of it. She peeked inside, but miraculously, Reagan was still asleep despite the noise, so she left him there with the hood down.

They were singing "Cornerstone", which was one of Adira's favorite worship songs, so she focused in on the screen and did her best to think about God instead of the eyes that were close enough to bore into her. It was fine. Their opinion of her literally didn't matter.

She managed to zone them out for the rest of worship, but that didn't stop more and more eyes from noticing her. By the time the lights came up for the sermon, she sat down and resigned herself to her fate. She'd known this was coming, and she'd come in anyway. And despite how annoying this was, she still didn't want to leave.

She just... felt like she was supposed to be here. And she had no idea why.

Moriah was doing some shows in California that weekend, so Joel had come to church by himself. Of course, since his parents and all of his siblings and their families who lived in the Nashville area attended the same church as him, being "alone" didn't last for long, and he still had his usual group to sit with, not to mention his church friends to talk to.

He'd become particularly close with the youth pastor, Isaac, partially because they just clicked and partially because they shared a passion to reach hurting young people. They'd quickly connected over it, often going to coffee to share what the Lord had been doing in each of their ministries and pray for the teenagers both in Isaac's youth group and in Joel's fanbase. Every once in a while, Joel and Luke would even go to the Wednesday youth meeting to help lead worship and hang out with the kids, many of whom were for KING & COUNTRY fans themselves. That connection had quickly become Joel's favorite part of the church.

He'd had a short conversation with Isaac that morning, but he was always busy on Sundays since that was when he held the middle school service for the week. So, Joel had said hi to him, some of the youth he knew, and a few other friends before going into the sanctuary and finding a seat in between Luke and their father.

They were about halfway through worship, in the middle of singing "Cornerstone", when he first heard the whispering behind him. It was a pair of fifty-something year-old women who obviously thought they were being quiet whereas they were really being the exact opposite since they were having to reach each other's aged ears over the top of the worship music.

"I've never seen that girl before. She's not in the youth group, is she?"

"I don't think so. I'm sure I would have noticed if someone like her had been hanging around with them."

"The lack of restraint in teenagers these days is just sickening. She can't be more than seventeen."

"It's becoming more and more common all the time. Pretty soon, that'll be even more commonplace than it already is, even in churches."

Joel's eyebrows furrowed. Who were they talking about, and why did they sound so judgmental about it? They didn't even know this person.

His curiosity got the best of him, and he turned slightly, following their censorious gazes to the back of the sanctuary. He immediately spotted the unfortunate victim of their disapproval. There was a girl, no more than seventeen, as they had said, with a covered stroller next to her. Her eyes were on the screen, and he could tell she was just trying to focus on worship and block out the gazes and whispers of the people around her. He turned to face the front again, not wanting to make her problem worse, but his mind remained on her.

Why were so many Christians like the two women behind him? They didn't know her story. Maybe she'd been taken advantage of in the worst way. Maybe she'd grown up without a father and had no one to teach her what love was supposed to be. Worse, maybe her father had been abusive. Or maybe she'd just made a single mistake that had changed her life forever. The possibilities were endless, and yet here they were, casting blame on her when they didn't even know her name.

She'd kept the baby, despite the endless backlash she may have gotten for it, and here she was, bringing it with her to church. No matter what mistakes she had made in the past, she was obviously doing her absolute best to give her child everything it needed now. And though they didn't know whether or not she was already a Christian, she was here, so if she wasn't, she was obviously searching. Joel just hoped she wasn't pushed away by the judgement in the gazes and murmurs around her.

He made a mental note to find her after the service, to make sure she didn't leave without at least one person greeting her like Jesus would.

He spent the entire sermon and shorter worship set that followed it with her in the back of his mind. He knew he would have anyway, but it was made incredibly easy thanks to the same women who'd noticed her in worship and their running commentary about her and her parenting.

They were being harsh, but Joel thought she was doing an incredible job.

He stole the occasional glance back to her, and each time, the child was either in the stroller and asleep or extremely content, or happily being held... sometimes drinking from a bottle, sometimes playing with the small toys she entertained him with. He didn't make a sound the entire time. And yet, according to those women behind him, the poor girl was doing a horrible job.

And this was probably the way she was received just about everywhere she went.

When they were finally dismissed at the end of service, the girl tucked her son back into his stroller quickly, obviously keen to get out before she had to deal with any conversations with the people who had been glaring at her for the entire service. Luke turned to him and opened his mouth, but Joel held up a hand, his eyes fixed on the side door the teen was slipping out of.

"Just a second... I'll be right back."

And he hurried after her, not wanting to lose her in the rush of people leaving the room. He spotted her as he emerged from the sanctuary, already well on her way to the front doors. It was hard to catch up to her without being too awkward about, but he did the best that he could, managing to get ahead of her and hook around so that he was approaching her from the front rather behind.

Their eyes met, and he offered her a smile, closing the distance between them and holding out his hand.

"Welcome to Cross Point," he said as naturally as he could, trying to mimic the ease with which the greeters did this. "I haven't seen you around before."

She forced a smile, shaking his offered hand hesitantly. "Um... yeah, it's the first time we've been here."

"We're happy to have you," he replied. "I'm Joel, by the way."

"Adira." She glanced hesitantly at the stroller and added, "and this is Reagan."

"Hello, Reagan," Joel greeted the baby, and it returned his smile, gurgling up at him.

His mother managed a tense smile.

"How old is he?"

"About six months now." There was still hesitancy in her voice. "He was born in September."

"Fall babies are the best," he told her easily. "My wife was born in October."

She just fabricated another smile, not responding. There was a short silence, before she broke it, suddenly, like she didn't know how else to say what she needed to.

"He's not mine, you know. I mean... he's my brother."

Joel hesitated before responding carefully, "I can't tell you I didn't think he was yours, but I hope to know I didn't think any less of you over it."

She let out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, you'd be the first."

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I'm sorry so many Christians are like that, judging you without even stopping to hear your story."

She shrugged. "It's just the way it is. I know that's a reasonable assumption, I just... I just get sick of the judgement, I guess."

"I can only imagine," he agreed, hesitating before adding, "You seem to be an amazing sister, though."

She repeated the shrug. "Just doing what needs to be done."

"What brought you here today?" He was curious about the story between she and her brother, but he decided it would be better to start out with some easier questions.

"I just needed to get out." The look in her eyes was slight desperate and full of dread, like she hated the thought of going back. "So, we started to walk, and we ended up here."

"I'm glad you did." He sighed slightly. "I hope people didn't make you too miserable."

"If that made me miserable, I'd constantly be miserable," she replied matter-of-factly. "It's fine. Frustrating sometimes, but fine."

He nodded, understanding but still hating the thought of her dealing with that every day. "Where do you go to school?" he asked after a moment.

"Hillsboro..." Another nod recognized the name. "I'm a junior over there."

"I know you must get sick of this question, but do you know what you're going to do after high school?"

She exhaled slowly. "I've always wanted to go to law school, become an attorney. But with Reagan... I don't know, maybe I'll just have to put that on hold, at least for a few years."

He felt compassion for her overwhelm him at the look in her eyes, exhibiting so much stress and responsibility, a level that she was much too young to be facing.

"What about your parents?" It seemed like a good time to ask. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine..."

"No, it's okay." She glanced back at Reagan, tucking his blanket a little more tightly around him in an instinctual action. "My mom got sick about two years ago, and no one can figure out what's wrong. A million tests, a million prayers, but nothing's worked. She and my dad accidentally got pregnant in the middle of it, and she's gotten worse since, especially after he was born. So, she hasn't been able to take care of him, and my dad just doesn't have time."

"So, you're not his mother, but you've had to act as his mother since he was born?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry... that must be so hard. But you're obviously doing an amazing job."

She shook her head a little. "We're surviving. Amazing is definitely overstating it, though."

"I can certainly imagine that it would feel that way." He hesitated before going on. "You know, a similar thing happened to my brother. Not for as long, but he got sick, started losing weight really fast, and they couldn't figure out why. When they finally did, it was just really hard for them to get on top of it. He had a young son at the time... a little older than Reagan is, but... it was tough, really tough. And I'm sure what you're dealing with is even harder."

"Is he alright now?" she asked.

Joel smiled a little. "He is. He's here right now, actually, with his wife and three sons. He went into remission a while ago. But none of us will ever forget how scary it was to feel like we were going to lose him."

"Yeah," she sighed. "It's... not a great feeling."

As he met her eyes, he found a window to her soul in the fear, pain, and stress that was clearly written there. Like she felt that too and was scared by it, she looked away, back to her brother.

Joel kept his eyes on her anyway. "But God's got you, you know?" he asked softly. "I know it sounds weak, but it's true. In the middle of Luke's sickness, that was something I couldn't feel at all. But now, looking back, we were on His shoulders the entire time."

"Yeah." The word was stronger this time, but it was a protective strength and he could tell, put up to shield herself so he couldn't see inside her again. "I know there's a purpose, and I know I don't have to be able to see it."

"But it's still hard," he added meaningfully. "Especially if you're trying to do it by yourself."

She shrugged. "Sometimes, you've gotta do things like this by yourself. People need you to be strong, and that means handling everything, even when it's hard."

"I felt like that for the longest time when Luke was sick," he told her seriously, "but it was hell to try to do, and there came a point where I broke. I'm so lucky that I had people... my close friends, my family, and my wife... who were there for me when I did, but I wish I would have let them be there for me so I didn't have to."

"I won't break." Despite the brokenness he could still see on her face, there was also a steady determination now. "I can't, so I won't. I'll be fine."

He smiled a little. "You seem like an incredible girl, Adira. You're stronger than I am, I can tell that already. But can I give you my number? Just in case you change your mind, just in case you need anything?"

Confusion spilled across her face, a broken confusion that made it clear she'd been expecting him to pretend to care and then move on, because that was what so many people had done before him.

"I... why would you want to do that?" The question came out a whisper.

He reached out, gently placing a hand on her arm. "Because you," he told her softly. "are solid gold. No matter what anyone says, no matter what anyone treats you like. And you're going through hell right now. I'd just like the privilege of being able to walk through it beside you, if you'll let me."

Once again, she looked away, but this time, her eyes were filling as she did. She took a deep, shaky breath, trying and failing to hide them from him.

"I mean..." He could barely hear her voice. "If you wanna do that... Give me your number, I mean, I'm not gonna tell you that you can't."

He smiled, a little sadly, and turned to the nearby welcome desk, grabbing a pen and a bulletin and scribbling a line of numbers on the back. She kept her gaze down as he handed it to her.

"No matter what it is," he told her, "no matter when you need it, just give me a call, alright? If I'm not in town, I'll find someone who is."

She desperately swiped at the water on her face, taking a deep, shaky breath and managing. "Thanks."

He nodded, feeling his heart break for her all over again. "Anytime. And I'll hope to see you again next week?"

She nodded slightly. "We'll try."

"Good." He offered her a smile. "I'll let you go. But I can't tell you how glad I am that you came today, and that I met you."

She managed her own half-hearted smile. "Well, thanks for being an awesome person, I guess. Have a good rest of your day."

"You as well."

But he had the sinking feeling that it wasn't going to happen for her.