Chapter 26: Mary's Light
While Sheldon's mother was in the kitchen making coffee, Ethan sat there wondering how on earth he was supposed to explain his recent behavior.
Was he supposed to say: "Hi, Aunt Mary, yeah, I'm not doing great. You see, certain entities from the Void have noticed me. I'll probably fall completely, become their puppet, start whispering to the air, smiling at shadows… and eventually try resurrecting the dead and plunging the world into icy darkness. The only way to stop that is the Holy Light — which, unfortunately, I don't understand. Also, the people who did understand it either went crazy or died."
…Or he could just say he was tired.
That sounded way more normal.
---
Mary came back and handed him a cup of coffee, then sat across from him.
"Thank you, Aunt Mary." Ethan took it, guilt slipping into his voice. "I'm sorry. I haven't been taking good care of Sheldon."
"You're not that little boy anymore," Mary said, shaking her head gently. Her voice was soft, but steady and strong. "Don't you worry about Sheldon. His problems are simpler than you think. The one I'm worried about right now is you."
Her calm Texas drawl carried on. "Leonard told me you haven't really been going to your clinic these past few weeks."
Ethan gave a wry smile and nodded. "Yeah… I've kind of lost my footing lately."
Mary narrowed her eyes slightly, like she could see straight through the mess in his heart.
"When you say 'lost your footing,' do you mean you're wondering whether what you're doing still matters?"
Ethan fell quiet for a moment, then said softly, "Maybe. I just feel like… I'm supposed to be helping people. But lately, it feels like I can't even help myself."
Mary set her cup down gently.
"Child, you've healed so many people. Doesn't that count? If everyone could save themselves, what would doctors be for?"
Ethan stared into his coffee. "Sometimes I think I helped them… but they don't really change."
He paused, his gaze distant. "Like back then… Sheldon's dad. If I'd gone to Houston with you, Uncle George probably wouldn't have died."
After Ethan first discovered he had a priest's abilities — and knowing how things were supposed to go — he'd quietly kept casting healing spells on Sheldon's father from time to time.
He kept at it all the way until Sheldon left for college and the family moved to Houston. Just when Ethan thought George was truly better, that he had finally changed fate—
The news still came.
George died of a sudden heart attack. Only a few months later than he had in the original timeline.
"Oh honey, don't you think like that," Mary said at once. "You were barely more than a boy yourself. There's only so much you could've done. And what God allows… that's never something we fully control. Even if you'd been there, the ending might not have changed."
She looked at Ethan with quiet surprise. She had never realized he'd been carrying guilt about this for so many years.
Mary sighed softly, a trace of memory in her eyes. She patted his arm, her tone gentle, with a thread of humor woven in.
"Sometimes I figure God made Sheldon to add more noise to the world.
"And He made you so that noise wouldn't sound quite so harsh."
Ethan let out a breath. "But if God has already arranged everything, why do we try at all? If the ending's set… does it matter that I save people, that I work, that I struggle?"
Mary didn't answer right away. She picked up a glass and watered the pothos on the table, then spoke slowly.
"I don't know what kind of God you picture. But the One I know? He's not some director pulling puppet strings.
"God doesn't walk the road for us. He just lays the road there.
"He gives us free will to choose.
"His 'plan' isn't force — it's preparation.
"Like land set ready for planting. Whether someone sows or waters? That part's on us."
"Then what about the young ones who die?" Ethan asked quietly.
"A sixteen-year-old girl dies in a car crash — just like that. Is that 'preparation' too?"
Mary didn't rush to argue. Her eyes stayed soft.
"I've seen too many young folks leave this world, Ethan.
"When I was younger, I taught Sunday school. There was a girl who loved to sing. She died at fifteen. I asked God the same thing you're asking now: 'Why?'"
"I cried. I got angry. I didn't even pray for a month."
"Then at her funeral, her parents held my hands and said, 'Thank you for teaching her those hymns. She was smiling and singing right up to the end.'"
Mary pressed her lips together. "That's when I understood—
"The meaning of a life isn't in how long it lasts, but whether it brought light while it was here.
"God doesn't cause the crash. He doesn't send the harm. But He can bring meaning out of brokenness.
"He's not the one pushing us into the pit. He's the one waiting at the bottom to help us back up."
Something in Ethan's eyes shifted.
Mary continued, "You're a doctor. You've saved so many people.
"The ones you couldn't save? That's not failure.
"God never wastes compassion.
"Sometimes we can't save someone else — but that mercy still ends up saving us."
She gently took his hand. Sunlight slanted through the window, falling across their joined hands.
"People sit around waiting for miracles," she said softly, "but the Lord hasn't stopped working a single day.
"Faith isn't sitting still, waiting for light to fall from the sky. It's picking up the cloth yourself — and polishing the lamp."
"Aunt Mary…" Ethan asked quietly. "How do you do it? I mean… all these years. You've never doubted your faith?"
"Oh, I've doubted plenty," she said with a small laugh.
"You think every time I pray I hear God answering back?
"Sometimes I kneel there and feel like I'm just talking to air."
"But I learned something. Faith isn't about God speaking. It's about me still choosing to listen."
"I've lost friends. I've buried family.
"There are times I wonder if God makes mistakes.
"But every time I think that… I look at Sheldon, and I know He doesn't. Though His sense of humor is a little unusual."
Mary smiled, that warm, steady Texas smile.
"Keeping faith is like lighting a candle in the dark.
"You don't know if it'll light the whole room. But you light it anyway—
"Because you're afraid of the dark… and you hope someone else can see that little bit of light."
"Why do bad folks live long? Why do good folks leave early? I don't understand it either," she said softly. "But faith was never about understanding. It's about choosing.
"God's silence doesn't mean He's gone.
"It just means it's our turn to act."
She looked at Ethan, her expression gentle, firm, and bright.
"I'm no saint, child.
"I just decide every day — am I going to keep believing today?
"And so far, my answer's always been yes.
"Not because I'm afraid of losing faith…
"But because as long as I still believe, God hasn't gone far.
"Faith doesn't help me escape the darkness.
"It helps me keep lighting lamps inside it."