Autumn

Quiet Hearts character 8!

Chapter Eight
Macy
I had been in my room for hours. Not doing anything. Not really. Just sitting there, staring at the same spot on my wall while my mind replayed everything from church over and over again. The music. The words. The feeling I hadn’t felt in so long. And him. I didn’t even know why I kept thinking about Levi. Maybe because he was the first person in a long time who didn’t look at me like I was something fragile. Like I might break if someone said the wrong thing. A quiet knock pulled me from my thoughts. “Macy?” Grandma’s voice was soft, like she already knew I needed a second before answering. “Yeah?” The door opened slightly. “I’m making dinner. Do you want to help me?” I looked back at my bed. The easy answer would’ve been no. But Grandma had spent the last year giving me space when I needed it. Maybe tonight I could give her a little bit of me back. “Okay,” I whispered. Her smile was small, but I saw the relief in her eyes. And for some reason, that made my chest ache. I followed her into the kitchen, and for a little while, we didn’t talk about anything important. We just cooked. Grandma handed me vegetables to cut, and I helped set the table like I had a thousand times before. It was such a normal thing, but somehow it felt different. Like maybe I was finally finding my way back to pieces of my old life. “You seem quieter than usual,” Grandma said gently as she stirred something on the stove. I shrugged. “I’m always quiet.” She smiled a little. “Not always.” I looked down, trying not to smile. She knew me too well. When dinner was ready, we sat across from each other at the table. The house was quiet except for the sound of our forks against our plates. For once, the silence didn’t feel heavy. “So,” Grandma said after a few minutes, “I saw you talking to Levi today.” I paused. “Yeah,” I said, trying not to let my thoughts spiral back to how kind he had been. Grandma looked up at me, waiting. I knew she was curious, but she didn’t push. She never did. I wasn’t ready to explain Levi. I didn’t even know how to explain him. How do you tell someone that a person you barely know made you feel normal again? That after a year of people looking at you like you were something fragile, someone finally treated you like you were just Macy? “I think…” I started, looking down at my plate. “I think I might want to give church another try.” Grandma’s expression softened. “I’m so glad, sweetheart.” I smiled a little, even though it felt unfamiliar. “I forgot what it felt like to want to go back.” Grandma reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Then maybe that’s where you’re supposed to be.” I looked down at our hands, and for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel quite as scary.

17 hours ago | [YT] | 2

Autumn

Quiet hearts chapters 6 & 7


Chapter Six
Macy
The walk back to the car was quiet. Not the uncomfortable kind of quiet. The kind where someone is giving you space because they know you need it. Grandma didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t ask why I was crying. She didn’t ask why I left the service. And somehow, that meant more than if she had. I expected her to say something. To gently push. To remind me that I promised her one Sunday and that I couldn’t just run away whenever things got hard. But she didn’t. She just walked beside me. Like she always knew when I needed words and when I needed silence. When we reached the car, she unlocked the doors and waited until I got inside before walking around to the driver’s side. I stared out the window as she started the engine. The church sat behind us, the building I had spent the last hour trying not to look at. For a year, I had avoided places like that. Places where people talked about hope. Places where people talked about God. Places where everyone seemed so sure of something I wasn’t even sure I believed in anymore. But today felt different. Not completely different. I was still angry. I still had questions. I still missed Mom so much it felt like a part of me was missing. But for the first time in a long time, church hadn’t only reminded me of what I lost. It reminded me that maybe there were still people who cared. I looked down at my hands. Mostly, I thought about Levi. I didn’t even know him. Not really. I knew his name. I knew he played guitar. I knew he had medicine he needed to take. And I knew he was the first person in a long time who didn’t look at me like I was something that needed to be fixed. He just sat with me. That was all. But somehow, that was enough. “You’re quiet.” I looked over at Grandma. “Sorry.” She smiled softly. “You don’t have to apologize for being quiet, sweetheart.” I looked back out the window. “I didn’t think I was going to make it through.” She didn’t ask what I meant. She knew. “Church?” I nodded. “Yeah.” A small smile crossed her face. “I know.” I looked at her. “You do?” She nodded. “I knew today would be hard.” I swallowed. “Then why did you make me come?” Her hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “Because sometimes the hardest places to walk into are the places where we need to be the most.” I looked away. Usually, I would have rolled my eyes at something like that. But today, I didn’t. Maybe because it didn’t feel like she was trying to convince me. It felt like she understood. The rest of the drive home was quiet. But it wasn’t the same kind of quiet as before. It didn’t feel empty. When we pulled into the driveway, I noticed something. For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t okay. But I wasn’t completely falling apart either. And maybe that counted for something. As I walked inside, I stopped by the door. The music from church replayed in my head. The piano. The guitar. The voices. Mom would have loved it. The thought hurt. But it didn’t hurt the way it usually did. And that scared me a little. Because if I could remember her without only feeling pain… Maybe that meant I wasn’t losing her. Maybe it meant I was learning how to carry her with me. I walked upstairs to my room and opened my closet. The black dress was still hanging there. The same one. The one I couldn’t move. I stared at it for a long time. Then, for the first time in a year, I didn’t feel angry at it. I just felt sad. And somehow, that felt different. I sat on my bed and looked out the window. I didn’t know if I believed in God. I didn’t know if I was ready to forgive Him. I didn’t know if I was ready to sing again. But I knew one thing. For the first time in a long time… I wondered if maybe I would come back next Sunday.


Chapter Seven
Levi
The parking lot was almost empty by the time I finally walked back inside. The church felt different after everyone had left. Quieter. The kind of quiet that made you notice things you usually missed. I walked back over to the doors to see my mom waiting there with my guitar case in hand. She always waited. “You okay?” she asked the second I got close. I smiled a little. “There it is.” She raised an eyebrow.“What?” “The question you ask me every day.” She tried not to smile. “Because every day I need to know.” I shook my head, but I laughed quietly. “I’m okay, Mom.” This time, I meant it. At least, mostly. She studied me for a moment, like she was trying to figure out if there was something I wasn’t saying. Which, to be fair, there usually was. But this time, I wasn’t hiding anything. I was just thinking. “Did you take your medicine?” she asked. I nodded. “Yep.” “Good.” We walked toward the truck together. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. My mom was good at letting silence happen. She didn’t always fill it just because it was there. “You seemed distracted today,” she finally said. I looked over. “Did I?” She smiled. “Levi.” I laughed softly. “Okay, maybe a little.” She opened the truck door. “Anything happen?” I thought about the question. Technically, nothing big happened.

I played guitar.

I took my medicine.

I went to church.

Normal things. But then I thought about sitting beneath that tree with a girl I barely knew. About the way she looked like she was trying to hold herself together. About how she apologized for crying, like she needed permission to be hurting. “Not really,” I said. My mom gave me a look.The mom look. Again. “You’re a terrible liar.” I smiled. “I’m not lying.” She didn’t argue. She just smiled a little and got into the truck. As we drove home, I looked out the window. I kept thinking about Macy. I didn’t know why. Maybe because I understood what it was like to carry something people couldn’t see. People looked at me and saw a normal kid. They didn’t see the appointments. The medicine. The worry my mom tried not to show. And Macy… She had something too. Something heavier. Something written all over her face even though she never said it. I wondered if she would come back next Sunday. I shook my head slightly. I barely knew her. It was strange how someone could walk into your life for a few minutes and somehow leave you thinking about them after they were gone. When we pulled into the driveway, my mom grabbed her things from the truck. “Hey,” she said. I looked over. “Yeah?” She smiled softly. “I’m proud of you.” I frowned slightly. “For what?” “For a lot of things.” I looked away. “Mom.” She laughed. “I mean it.” I knew what she meant. Not just because I played guitar. Not just because I remembered my medicine. Because I kept going. Even on the days when it was hard. I followed her inside, but my mind was still somewhere else. Under a tree. On a wooden bench. With a girl who didn’t know that someone understood.

1 day ago | [YT] | 2

Autumn

Quiet Hearts chapter 5 (1-4 already posted)


Chapter Five
Levi
The last notes of the song faded as my fingers rested against the strings of my guitar. For a moment, the room stayed quiet. Then the congregation started clapping as the worship team stepped away from the microphones. I smiled a little as I followed the others off the stage. Playing guitar during worship had always been one of my favorite things. There was something about being surrounded by people singing together that made everything feel lighter. The pastor walked onto the stage as we made our way off, greeting everyone as the service continued. Usually, I would head back to my family and sit with them for the rest of service. But today, I needed to take my medicine. It wasn’t anything scary. Nothing was wrong. I just knew I couldn’t forget it. I glanced toward my family’s row and caught my mom’s eye. She immediately noticed I wasn’t coming back. I gave her a small smile and mouthed, “I’m okay.” She gave me the look. The mom look. The one that said she believed me, but she was still going to ask me about it later. I slipped out the side door and walked across the parking lot toward my truck. The morning air was cool, and the sounds of the church faded behind me. I unlocked my truck, grabbed my medicine from the center console, and took my water bottle from the cup holder. After taking it, I leaned against the side of my truck for a moment. That was when I saw her. The girl from earlier. She was sitting on the wooden bench beneath the oak tree, staring down at the ground like she was trying to disappear. I didn’t know her, but I could tell she wasn’t just sitting outside to enjoy the morning. She wiped at her face quickly when she thought no one was watching. I looked away. Not because I didn’t care. Because I understood. People always wanted to know what was wrong. They wanted a reason, an explanation, something they could say to make it better. But sometimes there wasn’t a sentence that fixed things. Sometimes you just needed someone to sit beside you. So I walked over to the bench and sat down on the other end, leaving space between us. She looked up, surprised. For a second, neither of us said anything. The sounds of the church carried through the walls behind us. The faint sound of voices. The movement of people inside. She looked back down at her hands. “I’m sorry.” I glanced over. “For what?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Her voice was quiet. “I guess for being out here.” I shook my head. “You don’t have to apologize.” She looked at me for a moment, like she wasn’t expecting that. Then she looked away. A few seconds passed. “I’m fine.” The words were almost a whisper. I looked down because I knew those words. “I say that a lot too.” Her eyes moved back to me. “You do?” I nodded. “Yeah.” She studied me for a second. “You don’t seem like someone who isn’t fine.” A small smile crossed my face. “Neither do you.” She looked away. But she didn’t argue. And somehow, that told me enough. “Why are you out here?” she asked. I lifted my water bottle slightly. “I had to get my medicine.” Her expression changed. “Are you okay?” I smiled a little. “Yeah. I’m okay.” She gave me a look. Not a judgmental one. A worried one. “You sure?” I laughed quietly. “You sound like my mom.” A small laugh escaped her. It was quiet, but it was real. For the first time, she didn’t look like she was trying so hard to hold everything together. “What’s your name?” I asked. She hesitated before answering. “Macy.” I nodded. “Levi.” She repeated it softly, like she was making sure she remembered. “Nice to meet you.” “Yeah,” I said. “You too.” The silence came back. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt different. Like neither of us had to pretend for a minute. After a while, she looked toward the church doors. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go back in.” I followed her gaze. “You don’t have to rush.” She looked at me. “You’re not going to tell me I should?” I shook my head. “No.” “Why?” I thought about it for a second. “Because sometimes people need time.” She was quiet. Then she looked down. “My mom loved music.” I didn’t say anything. I just listened. She didn’t tell me everything. She didn’t have to. But I could tell by the way her voice changed that whoever her mom was, she had been important. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. She nodded. “Thanks.” The church doors opened behind us as the congregation poured out, and an older woman stepped outside. Her eyes immediately found Macy, and her worried expression softened. I recognized her then. Ms. Beth. Everyone knew Ms. Beth. She was the kind of person who knew everyone’s name, remembered birthdays, asked about families, and somehow always knew when someone needed encouragement. Macy stood from the bench. “I should go.” I nodded. “Yeah.” She took a few steps, then stopped. “Thanks for sitting with me.” I smiled. “Of course.” She walked toward the parking lot with Ms. Beth. I came outside because I needed my medicine. She came outside because she needed somewhere to breathe. Neither of us planned on meeting anyone. But maybe some moments happened for a reason.

2 days ago | [YT] | 3

Autumn

Chapter 4 of Quiet Hearts (1-3 already posted)


Chapter Four
Macy
The moment the sanctuary doors closed behind me, I finally took a full breath. The music was quieter out here, muffled by the walls, but I could still hear it. Every note felt like it was following me. I wrapped my arms around myself and walked down the sidewalk until I reached a wooden bench tucked beneath a large oak tree. The morning sun was warm against my skin, but I felt cold anyway. I sat down and stared at the church building. People were inside lifting their hands, singing about hope and peace and God’s goodness. I couldn’t understand how. Didn’t they know what it felt like to lose someone? Didn’t they know what it was like to pray and pray and still hear the words, “We’re sorry, there’s nothing more we can do”? A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. Then another. Soon I wasn’t even trying anymore. I buried my face in my hands as the memories came flooding back. Mom singing in the kitchen while she made breakfast. Mom turning the radio up in the car and making me sing with her even when I insisted I sounded terrible. Mom dancing around the living room with a wooden spoon instead of a microphone until we were both laughing too hard to stand. She had always been singing. Everywhere. All the time. She used to tell me that every song was a gift from God, that music had a way of reaching people when words couldn’t. I believed her. Until the hospital. Until the machines replaced the music. Until the only sound in the room was the steady beeping that reminded me we were running out of time. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Why?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Why her?” The question had lived in my heart for a year, and I still didn’t have an answer. Everyone kept telling me God had a plan. I hated that sentence. If this was His plan, I didn’t want any part of it. I looked up at the bright blue sky, waiting for something—anything. A feeling. A sign. An answer. Nothing came. Just silence. “I don’t even know if You’re real,” I admitted quietly. “But if You are… why didn’t You save her?” My voice cracked on the last word. I was talking to someone I wasn’t even sure existed. I felt bad that Grandma was alone inside after I promised her one Sunday, but the thought of walking back into a room that constantly reminded me of Mom only made me want to cry harder. Though Grandma was probably worried. Instead, I leaned back against the bench and wiped at my face with the sleeve of my sweater. “One Sunday,” I muttered to myself. “That’s all she asked.” I couldn’t even survive one Sunday.

2 days ago | [YT] | 2

Autumn

My new book I’ve been writing called Quiet Hearts! It’ll mostly be written in pretty short chapters! If you’ve seen any of my recent posts about a book it’s this lol. Macy is a teenage girl who lost her mom a year ago and struggles with her faith and other things since her passing. Levi is a teenage boy with a heart condition no one really knows he’s a guitarist for the churches worship band. The book goes back and forth between both there perspectives! Heres the first three chapters!!


Chapter One
Macy
The black dress still hung in the back of my closet. I hadn’t worn it in months, but I couldn’t bring myself to move it. My Grandmother said it was just a dress. She didn’t understand that it wasn’t. It was the dress. The one I’d worn to Mom’s funeral. The last thing I’d ever wanted to wear. A year. Three hundred sixty-five days. People kept saying it would get easier with time. They lied. Some mornings I woke up and forgot for half a second. Then I’d hear the silence in the house where Mom’s singing used to be, and it all came rushing back. Knock. Knock. “Macy?” Grandma’s voice came softly through my bedroom door. “Are you awake?” “I am now.” The door cracked open just enough for her silver curls to peek through. “Get dressed, sweetheart.”I frowned. “For what?“We’re going to church.” I stared at her unsure of how to respond. “No, we’re not.” “Yes, we are.” I pulled my blanket tighter around me. “I don’t want to.” Grandma stepped inside, her expression gentle but firm. “I know baby.” “I don’t even believe in God.” “You don’t have to believe to walk through the doors.” I looked away. “If God was real…” My voice caught before I could finish. Grandma didn’t argue. She never did when I brought up Mom. I think a part of her felt like if she argued she’d argue her daughter and that would bring her to tears. Instead, she sat on the edge of my bed. “I’ve given you a year, baby.” A lump formed in my throat. “I know losing your mom changed everything.” It did. I hadn’t sung in a year. I hadn’t listened to music in months. The notebooks filled with lyrics I’d once written were still buried in boxes I refused to open after moving in. The girl who loved to sing died the day Mom did. “I just think…” Grandma said quietly, “…being around people again might help.” I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That nothing helped. Not school. Not therapy. Not time. Certainly not church. But something in her eyes stopped me. She wasn’t trying to fix me. She was just trying not to lose me too. “One Sunday,” she said. “That’s all I’m asking.” I let out a long sigh. “Fine.” A tiny smile spread across her face. “Thank you.” “I’m not staying if someone makes me introduce myself.” Grandma laughed. “I’ll do my best.” I had a feeling that promise wasn’t one she could keep.

Chapter Two
Levi
“Levi?”I looked up from my breakfast. My mom stood at the counter as she watched her coffee be made, her arms crossed. I already knew what she was going to ask by her tone. “What?” I asked. “How are you feeling?” I sighed. “Mom.” “What?” “You ask me that every morning.”
“Because every morning I need to know and if I don’t ask you won’t tell me.” I rolled my eyes, but I smiled a little. “I’m fine.” She didn’t smile back.
Not because she didn’t believe me.Because she knew me. “You know you don’t have to say that every time.” I looked down at my plate.
“I know.” But I also knew that “I’m fine” was easier than explaining every little thing. Because how do you explain that you woke up and immediately checked if your heart felt normal? How do you explain that sometimes you forget you’re different until your body reminds you? My heart condition wasn’t something people could see. I looked normal. I went to school. I played guitar. I joked around with my friends. But there was always a small part of me counting. Counting my heartbeat. Counting my symptoms. Counting the days until my next appointment.
My mom walked over and kissed the top of my head. “You taking your medicine?” “Yes.” “Your appointment is next month.” “I know.” She smiled a little. “You always remember.” “Because you remind me every day.” That got a laugh out of her and for a second, everything felt normal. That was the thing about my life. Most of the time, it was. My heart condition had taken a lot from me, but I refused to let it take everything. I wasn’t going to spend every day wondering what could happen. I had a life. I had friends who made me laugh until my stomach hurt. I had a family who loved me more than I deserved. I had music. And I had my faith. Some people thought having a heart condition would make me angry at God. Sometimes, I’m not going to lie, I am. I’m not going to pretend I never wondered why this happened to me. Why I had to be careful when everyone else my age got to live without thinking twice. But I also knew God was still there. Even on the days when my heart felt like a reminder that I wasn’t invincible. My mom grabbed her keys from the counter. “Ready for church?” I looked over at my guitar case sitting by the door. “Yeah.” She gave me that look again. The one that said she was still worried. “Mom,” I said, grabbing my jacket, “I’m okay.” This time, she smiled. “I know, honey.” And I believed she did. Even if a small part of her would always worry. Because that’s what moms did.

Chapter Three
Macy
The church parking lot was fuller than I expected. Cars filled almost every row, and people walked toward the building carrying coffee cups and Bibles, laughing like they actually wanted to be here. Grandma pulled into an empty spot near the back and turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved. “You ready?” she asked softly. “No.” She smiled, but it wasn’t the kind that meant she thought I was joking. “I didn’t think so.” I stared out the window. The church looked bigger than I remembered. It had been over a year since I’d stepped inside one. The last time Mom had squeezed my hand before we walked through the doors. She’d smiled at everyone we passed like she’d known them forever, and somehow by the end of the morning, she usually had. I swallowed hard. “One Sunday,” Grandma reminded me. I nodded once. “One Sunday.” We climbed out of the car, and the warm morning air wrapped around us as we walked toward the entrance. Every step felt heavier than the last. People stood outside talking in little groups. Kids chased each other across the sidewalk while their parents called after them. Someone held the front door open, greeting everyone with a smile. “Good morning!” he said as we walked in. Grandma smiled back. “Morning.” I managed a small nod before looking at the floor. The lobby buzzed with conversation. It smelled like coffee and cinnamon rolls, and somewhere down the hallway I could hear children laughing. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going. I didn’t. Grandma rested a hand on my shoulder and gently guided me toward the sanctuary. “It’s okay,” she whispered. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself. The room was already filling up. Soft conversations echoed through the rows as people found their seats. Colored lights glowed across the stage, where musicians adjusted microphones and tuned instruments. Grandma led us to a row a few seats from the middle. I sat down and folded my hands tightly in my lap. “You okay?” Grandma asked. I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine.” She studied me for a second but didn’t push. The lights dimmed. Conversations faded until the room grew quiet. A man stepped onto the stage and welcomed everyone before inviting the congregation to stand for worship. Chairs scraped against the floor as people rose around me. Grandma stood and looked back at me. “You don’t have to sing,” she whispered. I nodded and slowly stood beside her. The first notes of the song filled the room. A piano. Then a guitar. Then voices. Hundreds of voices. I froze. For just a second, I wasn’t standing in church anymore. I was ten years old, standing beside my mom in our kitchen while she stirred pancake batter. Music played through the little speaker on the counter, and she was singing loudly—completely off-key on purpose— until I laughed so hard I almost dropped the bowl I was holding. “Come on,” she’d said, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Sing with me.” “I don’t know the words.” “So make them up.” I’d rolled my eyes, but by the end of the song we were both laughing too hard to finish it. The memory hit me like a wave. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. I stared at the stage, but the faces blurred together through the tears filling my eyes. Not here. Please not here. I lowered my head, hoping no one would notice. They kept singing. I couldn’t. I turned before Grandma could stop me and slipped out of the row as quietly as I could. I just needed air.

2 days ago | [YT] | 3

Autumn

Quiet hearts chapter 3 (chapters 1 and 2 in prior posts)



Chapter Three
Macy
The church parking lot was fuller than I expected. Cars filled almost every row, and people walked toward the building carrying coffee cups and Bibles, laughing like they actually wanted to be here. Grandma pulled into an empty spot near the back and turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved. “You ready?” she asked softly. “No.” She smiled, but it wasn’t the kind that meant she thought I was joking. “I didn’t think so.” I stared out the window. The church looked bigger than I remembered. It had been over a year since I’d stepped inside one. The last time Mom had squeezed my hand before we walked through the doors. She’d smiled at everyone we passed like she’d known them forever, and somehow by the end of the morning, she usually had. I swallowed hard. “One Sunday,” Grandma reminded me. I nodded once. “One Sunday.” We climbed out of the car, and the warm morning air wrapped around us as we walked toward the entrance. Every step felt heavier than the last. People stood outside talking in little groups. Kids chased each other across the sidewalk while their parents called after them. Someone held the front door open, greeting everyone with a smile. “Good morning!” he said as we walked in. Grandma smiled back. “Morning.” I managed a small nod before looking at the floor. The lobby buzzed with conversation. It smelled like coffee and cinnamon rolls, and somewhere down the hallway I could hear children laughing. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going. I didn’t. Grandma rested a hand on my shoulder and gently guided me toward the sanctuary. “It’s okay,” she whispered. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself. The room was already filling up. Soft conversations echoed through the rows as people found their seats. Colored lights glowed across the stage, where musicians adjusted microphones and tuned instruments. Grandma led us to a row a few seats from the middle. I sat down and folded my hands tightly in my lap. “You okay?” Grandma asked. I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine.” She studied me for a second but didn’t push. The lights dimmed. Conversations faded until the room grew quiet. A man stepped onto the stage and welcomed everyone before inviting the congregation to stand for worship. Chairs scraped against the floor as people rose around me. Grandma stood and looked back at me. “You don’t have to sing,” she whispered. I nodded and slowly stood beside her. The first notes of the song filled the room. A piano. Then a guitar. Then voices. Hundreds of voices. I froze. For just a second, I wasn’t standing in church anymore. I was ten years old, standing beside my mom in our kitchen while she stirred pancake batter. Music played through the little speaker on the counter, and she was singing loudly—completely off-key on purpose— until I laughed so hard I almost dropped the bowl I was holding. “Come on,” she’d said, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Sing with me.” “I don’t know the words.” “So make them up.” I’d rolled my eyes, but by the end of the song we were both laughing too hard to finish it. The memory hit me like a wave. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. I stared at the stage, but the faces blurred together through the tears filling my eyes. Not here. Please not here. I lowered my head, hoping no one would notice. They kept singing. I couldn’t. I turned before Grandma could stop me and slipped out of the row as quietly as I could. I just needed air.

2 days ago | [YT] | 5

Autumn

Quiet hearts chapter 2(Chapter 1 already posted)


Chapter Two
Levi
“Levi?”I looked up from my breakfast. My mom stood at the counter as she watched her coffee be made, her arms crossed. I already knew what she was going to ask by her tone. “What?” I asked. “How are you feeling?” I sighed. “Mom.” “What?” “You ask me that every morning.”“Because every morning I need to know and if I don’t ask you won’t tell me.” I rolled my eyes, but I smiled a little. “I’m fine.” She didn’t smile back.
Not because she didn’t believe me.Because she knew me. “You know you don’t have to say that every time.” I looked down at my plate. “I know.” But I also knew that “I’m fine” was easier than explaining every little thing. Because how do you explain that you woke up and immediately checked if your heart felt normal? How do you explain that sometimes you forget you’re different until your body reminds you? My heart condition wasn’t something people could see. I looked normal. I went to school. I played guitar. I joked around with my friends. But there was always a small part of me counting. Counting my heartbeat. Counting my symptoms. Counting the days until my next appointment. My mom walked over and kissed the top of my head. “You taking your medicine?” “Yes.” “Your appointment is next month.” “I know.” She smiled a little. “You always remember.” “Because you remind me every day.” That got a laugh out of her and for a second, everything felt normal. That was the thing about my life. Most of the time, it was. My heart condition had taken a lot from me, but I refused to let it take everything. I wasn’t going to spend every day wondering what could happen. I had a life. I had friends who made me laugh until my stomach hurt. I had a family who loved me more than I deserved. I had music. And I had my faith. Some people thought having a heart condition would make me angry at God. Sometimes, I’m not going to lie, I am. I’m not going to pretend I never wondered why this happened to me. Why I had to be careful when everyone else my age got to live without thinking twice. But I also knew God was still there. Even on the days when my heart felt like a reminder that I wasn’t invincible. My mom grabbed her keys from the counter. “Ready for church?” I looked over at my guitar case sitting by the door. “Yeah.” She gave me that look again. The one that said she was still worried. “Mom,” I said, grabbing my jacket, “I’m okay.” This time, she smiled. “I know, honey.” And I believed she did. Even if a small part of her would always worry. Because that’s what moms did.

2 days ago | [YT] | 4

Autumn

My new book I’ve been writing called Quiet Hearts! It’ll mostly be written in pretty short chapters! If you’ve seen any of my recent posts about a book it’s this lol. Macy is a teenage girl who lost her mom a year ago and struggles with her faith and other things since her passing. Levi is a teenage boy with a heart condition no one really knows he’s a guitarist for the churches worship band. The book
goes back and forth between both there perspectives! Heres the first chapter!!


Chapter One
Macy
The black dress still hung in the back of my closet. I hadn’t worn it in months, but I couldn’t bring myself to move it. My Grandmother said it was just a dress. She didn’t understand that it wasn’t. It was the dress. The one I’d worn to Mom’s funeral. The last thing I’d ever wanted to wear. A year. Three hundred sixty-five days. People kept saying it would get easier with time. They lied. Some mornings I woke up and forgot for half a second. Then I’d hear the silence in the house where Mom’s singing used to be, and it all came rushing back. Knock. Knock. “Macy?” Grandma’s voice came softly through my bedroom door. “Are you awake?” “I am now.” The door cracked open just enough for her silver curls to peek through. “Get dressed, sweetheart.”I frowned. “For what?“We’re going to church.” I stared at her unsure of how to respond. “No, we’re not.” “Yes, we are.” I pulled my blanket tighter around me. “I don’t want to.” Grandma stepped inside, her expression gentle but firm. “I know baby.” “I don’t even believe in God.” “You don’t have to believe to walk through the doors.” I looked away. “If God was real…” My voice caught before I could finish. Grandma didn’t argue. She never did when I brought up Mom. I think a part of her felt like if she argued she’d argue her daughter and that would bring her to tears. Instead, she sat on the edge of my bed. “I’ve given you a year, baby.” A lump formed in my throat. “I know losing your mom changed everything.” It did. I hadn’t sung in a year. I hadn’t listened to music in months. The notebooks filled with lyrics I’d once written were still buried in boxes I refused to open after moving in. The girl who loved to sing died the day Mom did. “I just think…” Grandma said quietly, “…being around people again might help.” I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That nothing helped. Not school. Not therapy. Not time. Certainly not church. But something in her eyes stopped me. She wasn’t trying to fix me. She was just trying not to lose me too. “One Sunday,” she said. “That’s all I’m asking.” I let out a long sigh. “Fine.” A tiny smile spread across her face. “Thank you.” “I’m not staying if someone makes me introduce myself.” Grandma laughed. “I’ll do my best.” I had a feeling that promise wasn’t one she could keep.

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Autumn

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Autumn

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