The Diary In The Attic (Part 9)

[Timl1980]

Part 9: Standing Firm

 

Faith isn’t proven in ease, but in the moment you choose where your heart belongs.

 

December came with snow, and with it, a sharper decline. Anna could no longer climb the stairs without help. Her breaths came shallow, her body frail.

 

 The diary sat on her nightstand, its cover worn, her own notes tucked inside. 

 

She touched it often, as if drawing strength from the faith of the one who had written before her.

 

Her parents tried to smile, but she saw the grief in their eyes. Michael grew quieter, his anger dulled into a heavy silence. 

 

The house itself seemed hushed, as though it too was holding its breath.

 

One afternoon, her phone buzzed. Daniel’s name lit the screen just as her mother walked in with a folded blanket. 

 

She paused, her eyes softening. “Is this the boy from school you told me about?”

 

Anna hesitated, then nodded. “He’s been kind. But…he doesn’t understand. I tried to share the truth with him a couple of times, and he got angry. I thought maybe I could help him, but…” Her voice trailed off.

 

Her father joined them, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand rested gently on hers. “Anna, you’ve always wanted to help people. That’s beautiful. But you know where your heart belongs.”

 

Anna swallowed hard. “I know. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t let him pull me away.”

 

Her mother brushed a strand of scarf‑covered hair from her forehead. “Then be clear, sweetheart. Jehovah will give you the strength.”

 

With their quiet encouragement, Anna picked up her phone. Her fingers trembled, but she typed slowly, carefully:

 

Daniel, I’m grateful for your kindness. But I need to be clear...I can’t build the kind of friendship you want. My faith comes first. I’ll always remember your support, but I have to stand firm.

 

She pressed send.

 

Minutes later, his reply came: So your religion matters more than people?

 

Anna’s heart ached. She wanted to explain, to soften the words, to keep him close.

 

But slowly she steadied her hands and typed back: Jehovah has always been there for me. I hope one day you’ll see that too.

 

There was no response. The silence that followed was heavy, but also freeing. She set the phone aside and whispered, “Thank you, Jehovah. Please remember him.”

 

That evening, Michael sat at her bedside, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His voice was low, almost ashamed. “I don’t get it. You’re so calm. Aren’t you scared?”

 

Anna reached for his hand, her fingers weak but steady. “Of course I’m scared. But I’m not alone. Jehovah’s holding me. And he’ll hold you too, if you let him.”

 

Michael’s eyes filled with tears. For the first time in months, he whispered, “Maybe…maybe I’ll try praying again.”

 

Anna smiled faintly. “That’s all he wants. Just try.”

 

The next day, several sisters came by with casseroles, freshly baked bread and flowers. They sat around her bed, singing Anna's favorite Kingdom songs softly from a brothers tablet. Anna’s voice was too weak to join, but she mouthed the words, tears streaming down her cheeks.

 

One sister leaned close and whispered, “You’ve encouraged us more than you know, Anna. You’ve shown us what faith looks like.”

 

Anna shook her head, whispering the next words. “It’s not me. It’s Jehovah.”

 

That night, the house was quiet. Her family gathered close, their presence a circle of warmth around her frail body. Her breaths were shallow, but her eyes were clear.

 

She whispered, “We are still here. We are still standing.”

 

And as her family wept softly, Anna rested in the quiet certainty that Jehovah saw her, that he would never forget her, and that soon she would be in the safest place possible...in his memory.