The Diary In The Attic (Part 8)

[Timl1980]

*Because I will be dropping the last two parts of this story tomorrow, I decided to drop part 8 today as well. Thank you for following Anna's story this far, and I look forward to any comments on what you think about this story after it's conclusion tomorrow.

 

Part 8: The Last Ministry

 

Faith is tested most when the heart longs for something it cannot have.

 

By late November, Anna’s body was betraying her faster than she could keep up. The treatments left her nauseous, her legs weak, her hands trembling. Even brushing her hair...what little had grown back...felt like lifting weights.

 

Her parents tried to shield her, but she saw the truth in their eyes. Every day, they watched her fade a little more.

 

One night, after another round of vomiting, Anna sat on the bathroom floor, her back against the cold tile. She pressed her forehead to her knees and whispered into the silence, “Jehovah, I don’t want to give up. Please…don’t let me give up.”

 

A week earlier, she had tried again with Daniel. The memory still burned.

 

They had been sitting outside the library, the autumn air sharp in their lungs. Daniel had been complaining about his Crohn’s flare, about how unfair it was. His voice carried the bitterness of someone who had been hurting too long.

 

Anna had opened the JW Library app and read softly: “And no resident will say: ‘I am sick.’” She looked at him, her voice trembling but hopeful.

 

"That’s Isaiah 33:24. Jehovah promises a time when sickness will be gone. That’s what keeps me going.”

 

But Daniel’s face had hardened. “Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t bring your religion into this. If there was a God, He wouldn’t let us suffer like this. He wouldn’t let you suffer.”

 

Anna’s heart clenched. “Daniel...”

 

“No,” he cut her off, standing abruptly. His voice was sharp, but beneath it was pain. “Maybe the only people we can rely on are each other. Because we’re the only ones who know what this feels like.”

 

And then he had walked away, leaving her sitting there with the verse still glowing on her screen.

 

Now, sitting in her room weeks later, Anna replayed that moment over and over. 

 

She had tried. She had given him the scripture that gave her strength. And he had thrown it back at her.

 

That was why she hadn’t pressed him again. Not because she was ashamed, but because she respected his boundary. Still, she prayed for him every night.

 

Jehovah, please. He’s angry now, but let him remember. Let him remember your promise when he’s ready.

 

That weekend, the congregation organized another letter‑writing campaign. Anna insisted on joining, even though her hands shook so badly she could barely hold the pen.

 

Her mother tried to stop her. “Anna, you need to rest.”

 

But Anna shook her head. “I need to do this.”

 

She sat at the kitchen table, the diary beside her, and wrote slowly, carefully, each word deliberate:

 

Jehovah promises a time when no one will say, ‘I am sick.’ I hold onto that hope every day. I hope you can too.

 

When she finished, she leaned back, exhausted but smiling. For the first time in weeks, she felt useful again.

 

At the next meeting, the elder announced that several people had responded to the letters with appreciation. He read one aloud:

 

“I’ve been sick for years, and I thought God had forgotten me. Thank you for reminding me He hasn’t.”

 

Anna’s eyes filled with tears. She pressed her scarf tighter around her head and whispered, “Thank you, Jehovah. You let me do something.”

 

That night, her phone buzzed. A message from Daniel lit the screen:

 

I don’t care about religion. I don't care about anyone or anything other than you. And if you let me, I’ll be here for you in a way that no one else ever could.

 

Anna’s breath caught. This wasn’t like before. 

 

Before, he had offered her comfort, a place to lean. 

 

Now he was offering himself as the answer...the one who understood her pain, the one she already liked, but the one who did not share her faith.

 

Anna’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. 

 

Her heart pounded. For a moment, the words formed almost on their own:

 

I need you too!

 

The sentence glowed back at her, raw and tempting. It was true...at least a part of her wanted it to be. 

 

She wanted someone who saw her, not her sickness. 

 

Someone who made her feel like a girl again, not just a patient.

 

She closed her eyes. 

 

Suddenly she could almost hear another voice whispering: See? He’s the one who gets it. Isn’t this what you’ve been praying for?

 

Anna pressed the phone against her chest, trembling. She knew that voice. She knew where it came from.

 

“Not like this,” she whispered into the dark as she deliberately deleted the words, every letter vanishing until the screen was blank again. "Please Jehovah...not like this."

 

She set the phone face‑down on the nightstand, but this time she didn’t feel relief. 

 

She felt the weight of the battle pressing harder, the reminder that Satan wasn’t finished with her yet.

Edited Monday at 08:51 AM by Dages

[Dages]

On 10/11/2025 at 9:14 PM, Timl1980 said:

Suddenly he could

she?

[Timl1980]

5 hours ago, Dages said:

she?

Yes, suddenly she could 

[Dages]

Corrected ! Thank you again for this beautiful story