Part Three: Hearts Awakening
Ann changed clothes three times before settling on a simple blue dress.
She stood in front of the mirror, turning her face slightly to the right. Her hair fell across the scar on her left cheek, just as she wanted it to.
For a moment, she considered canceling.
Dinner with Mark felt different from sitting beside him on a park bench. The bench was safe. They could watch people pass, talk for a while, and then go their separate ways.
Dinner felt like a date.
Ann was not sure she was ready for that.
Her phone buzzed.
“I’m outside,” Mark had written. “No hurry.”
Ann looked at herself one last time.
“Lord, help me,” she whispered.
It was the first prayer she had prayed in a long time without first planning the words.
When she stepped outside, Mark was waiting beside his car. He smiled when he saw her, then seemed to forget what he had meant to say.
“You look beautiful.”
Ann lowered her eyes. “Thank you.”
He opened the door for her, and she slid into the passenger seat.
The restaurant was small and quiet. Mark had chosen a table near the back, away from the crowd. Ann noticed that her chair allowed the scarred side of her face to remain away from most of the room.
She wondered whether he had planned that.
Then she wondered why she still cared.
After they ordered, Mark looked across the table at her.
“May I pray?”
Ann nodded.
He reached across the table and held out his hand. She hesitated for only a moment before placing hers in his.
His hand was warm and steady.
“Father,” Mark prayed, “thank You for this evening. Thank You for bringing people into our lives when we do not know how badly we need them. Thank You for staying near, even when we walk away. Please guide us and help us trust You again. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Ann opened her eyes, but Mark did not release her hand immediately.
Their eyes met.
For a few seconds, the restaurant seemed to disappear. There were no voices, no dishes clattering, and no people passing their table.
There was only Mark looking at her as though he saw everything she tried to hide and had no desire to turn away.
He slowly released her hand.
“I haven’t prayed with anyone in a long time,” Ann said.
“Neither have I.”
“You pray like you still believe God is listening.”
Mark looked down at the table. “I’m beginning to.”
“Because you started going to church again?”
“No.” He looked back at her. “I started going to church again because I was beginning to believe He was listening.”
Ann thought about that.
“I still don’t understand why God allowed the accident,” she said.
“I don’t understand why He allowed Rachel to die.”
“Does that make you angry?”
“Sometimes.”
“Can you be angry with God and still have faith?”
“I hope so.”
Ann smiled faintly. “That is not a very certain answer.”
“I’m not as certain as I once pretended to be.”
His honesty surprised her.
Mark leaned forward slightly. “I used to think faith meant having an answer for everything. After Rachel died, none of my answers helped. I finally had to admit that I did not understand God.”
“And now?”
“Now I think faith means trusting Him when I don’t understand.”
Ann looked down at her hands.
“Maybe I stopped trusting Him,” she said. “I thought I stopped going to church because people stared at me. Maybe that was only part of it.”
“What was the other part?”
“I was angry.”
“At God?”
She nodded. “I prayed before every surgery. I asked Him to make me look like I did before. When that didn’t happen, I thought He had ignored me.”
Mark said nothing for a moment.
“Do you still think He ignored you?”
“I don’t know.”
Their food arrived, ending the conversation for a few minutes. Yet something had changed between them. Ann felt lighter, as if saying the truth aloud had taken away some of its power.
They talked about simpler things while they ate. Mark told her stories about growing up with three brothers and how little food survived long in their house. Ann laughed when he described the time they had blamed a broken window on a bird that had supposedly carried a baseball bat.
Mark watched her laugh.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“You are staring.”
“I like your laugh.”
She touched the hair covering her scar.
Mark noticed the movement.
“Ann, when I look at you, I see you.”
Her hand slowly fell away from her face.
“Not the scar?”
“I see the scar. I’m not going to lie to you and say I don’t.”
Ann’s smile disappeared.
“But it isn’t all I see,” he continued. “It isn’t even the first thing anymore.”
“What is?”
“Your eyes.”
She looked at him.
“They tell the truth,” he said. “Even when you don’t.”
Ann felt her face grow warm. “And what are they telling you now?”
Mark smiled. “That you want me to stop talking.”
“No,” she said softly. “They are not saying that.”
Neither looked away.
Mark finally cleared his throat. “Would you like to meet at the park tomorrow?”
“At our bench?”
“I think we can call it ours by now.”
“I would like that.”
“I’ll bring coffee.”
“And I’ll bring my notebook.”
Mark drove Ann home slowly, though neither mentioned that he had taken the longer way.
They talked during most of the drive, but when he pulled into her driveway, both became quiet. The porch light shone across the front of the house.
“Thank you for dinner,” Ann said.
“Thank you for coming.”
For a moment, neither moved. Ann reached for the door handle, then looked back at him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there.”
“At our bench?”
Mark smiled. “At our bench.”
Their eyes held longer than either intended.
“Good night, Mark.”
“Good night, Ann.”
She stepped from the car and walked toward the house. At the door, she turned. Mark was still there, watching her. She gave him a small wave, and he returned it.
Neither wanted the evening to end, but tomorrow suddenly did not seem very far away.
The next morning, Ann arrived first.
She sat in her usual place at the far end of the bench, but this time she did not pull her hair across her face.
Mark approached carrying two cups of coffee and a worn Bible.
“You brought it,” she said.
“I thought we might read something together.”
He handed her a cup and sat beside her. There was less space between them than before.
Mark opened the Bible.
“I found this last night,” he said. “It made me think of us.”
He read:
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3).
Ann stared at the verse.
“Us?” she asked.
“Your wound can be seen,” Mark said. “Mine can’t. But we were both wounded.”
“And you think God is healing us?”
“I think He has already begun.”
Ann touched the edge of the page.
“I used to think healing meant the wound disappeared.”
“So did I.”
“What do you think it means now?”
Mark looked at her. “Maybe healing means the wound no longer controls your life.”
Ann turned toward the path. A woman passed while pushing a stroller. She glanced at Ann, then continued walking.
Ann waited for the old feeling to come. The urge to turn away. The shame. The need to hide.
It came, but it did not stay.
“Maybe healing means you are no longer afraid to let someone come near the wound,” Mark added.
Ann looked back at him.
“Are you afraid to let someone come near yours?”
“Yes.”
“Because of Rachel?”
He nodded. “Sometimes caring about you feels like I’m leaving her behind.”
Ann felt a sudden ache in her chest.
“You loved her.”
“I still do, in a way.”
“You should.”
Mark searched Ann’s face. “Does that bother you?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But I would be more bothered if you could forget someone you loved that easily.”
He smiled, but sadness remained in his eyes.
“I’m afraid too,” Ann said.
“Of me?”
“Of what will happen if you get close enough to change your mind.”
“I’m not Eric.”
“I know.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You cannot promise that.”
“No,” he said. “But I can promise that I will not leave because of your scar.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Mark reached for her hand.
This time, Ann did not hesitate.
They sat quietly, their hands joined between them.
“Would you pray with me?” Mark asked.
“You pray.”
“I prayed last night. I think it’s your turn.”
Ann gave him a nervous look. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell God the truth.”
She closed her eyes.
“Lord, I’m still hurt. I’m still angry sometimes, and I still don’t understand. But I’m sorry I blamed You for everything and then refused to speak to You.”
Her voice trembled. Mark tightened his hand around hers.
“Thank You for not leaving me alone, even when I felt alone. Thank You for bringing Mark to this bench. Please help both of us trust You again. And help us not be afraid of whatever You are doing. Amen.”
When Ann opened her eyes, Mark was staring at her.
“What?” she asked.
“That was beautiful.”
“It was not.”
“It was honest.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You told me to tell the truth.”
“You did.”
They remained on the bench until the morning sun climbed higher. They read several more verses, but neither tried to turn their time together into a sermon. They simply talked about the words and what they meant to two people learning to trust God again.
When it was time to leave, they stood beside the bench.
“I’m glad you came back that second Saturday,” Mark said.
“I almost didn’t.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I almost didn’t either.”
Ann smiled. “What changed your mind?”
“I prayed.”
“You were praying then?”
“Only a few words.”
“What did you say?”
“‘Lord, if she comes back, help me not to say something foolish.’”
Ann laughed. “Did God answer?”
“Not completely.”
She laughed again, and Mark stepped closer.
The hug began carefully.
Ann placed her arms around him, expecting it to last only a moment. But Mark held her as though she mattered. There was no pity in his embrace and no fear in hers.
Neither let go.
Ann rested her head against his shoulder. Mark closed his eyes.
For the first time since Rachel’s death, holding someone did not feel like betrayal. It felt like permission to live again.
For the first time since her accident, Ann did not wonder whether Mark could feel the scar against his cheek.
She only knew she did not want him to release her.
When they finally stepped apart, they remained close.
Mark looked into her eyes.
Ann waited.
He seemed ready to say something, but the words did not come.
“Thank you for today,” he said instead.
“Thank you for coming to the bench that first day.”
Mark gently moved a strand of hair away from her face. His fingers brushed the edge of her scar.
Ann did not pull away.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” he said.
“I know.”
That evening, Mark sat alone with his Bible open on his lap. He tried to read, but his mind kept returning to Ann’s eyes and the way she had held him at the park.
He bowed his head.
“Lord, I think I’m falling in love with her.”
Across town, Ann stood before the same mirror where she had once studied every line of her scar.
This time, she was smiling.
She touched the place where Mark’s fingers had brushed her cheek.
Then she closed her eyes.
“Lord, I think I’m falling in love with him.”
Neither was ready to say it to the other.
But both had finally admitted it to God.
To be continued…
Part Four coming soon.