Chapter 13

Sunday arrived with a different kind of energy.

Not game-day energy. Not media-frenzy buzz.

It was quiet. Sacred. Gentle.

Brandon stood in the hallway of his church building, wearing a crisp white shirt and tie, his scriptures tucked under his arm. He wasn't there as the 49ers' quarterback today. He was there as a disciple of Christ. A son of God. A man in need of peace.

And as he looked down the hallway and saw Genevieve walking toward him in a soft blue dress, her smile brighter than sunlight, his heart felt like it could finally exhale.

"Hey, Baby," she said, reaching up to fix the fold in his collar.

"You're my calm," he whispered. "Always."

They sat together near the front of the chapel, hands folded, hearts open. The sacrament hymn began, and the Spirit washed over them both like a warm wave.

"I Stand All Amazed at the love Jesus offers me…"

After the meeting, they stepped outside into the sunlight, standing beneath the big oak tree near the parking lot.

"Fast and testimony meeting next week," Genevieve said softly. "You ever thought about bearing yours?"

Brandon looked down, thoughtful. "I've been nervous. Not about what to say… but if people would believe it."

"Then you're doing it for the wrong audience," she whispered, brushing her fingers along his arm. "Say it for Him. That's who matters."

He nodded slowly. "Maybe next Sunday."

Genevieve smiled. "I'll be right there beside you."

Later that day, Brandon got a surprise call from someone he hadn't spoken to in years—his estranged father.

They hadn't spoken since Brandon's rookie year. Football, family drama, and unresolved wounds had kept them apart.

But now…

"Son," the voice on the line cracked, "I saw the game. I saw your interview. I saw… faith."

Brandon's throat tightened. "Dad?"

"I want to talk. Not about stats. About you. I miss my boy."

Brandon blinked back tears. "I'm still your boy."

That night, as he sat on the couch with Genevieve beside him, he shared the conversation.

"He wants to meet. Talk. Heal."

Genevieve leaned her head on his shoulder. "That's the power of living your testimony out loud. People feel it. And they come back to the light."

Brandon nodded. "I'm scared."

"It's okay to be scared," she whispered. "But you're not doing it alone. You have God. And you have me."

He turned toward her, kissed her hand gently, and whispered, "That's more than I ever dreamed of having."

The next evening, they met Brandon's father at a little diner just outside the city. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't easy. But for the first time in years, there was talking. There were tears. There was grace.

Genevieve excused herself halfway through to let father and son reconnect, but before she left, Brandon grabbed her hand under the table.

"Don't go far," he whispered.

"I never do," she smiled.

Afterward, as they walked under the stars, Brandon held her close and said, "You were right. God is healing things I didn't even pray for."

Genevieve looked up at him, eyes shining. "That's how He works. Quiet miracles. Hidden mercy. Step by step."

Brandon wrapped his arms around her tighter.

"I'm so glad I found you."

Genevieve rested her head on his chest. "You didn't find me, Baby… we were led to each other."

And just like that, the hardest chapter in Brandon's heart started turning into something beautiful.

Because when love is built on faith, healing isn't just possible—it's promised.