Page 111 of Relentless

She let a calloused laugh burst free.

“Look at me now,” she declared, taking another long drink from her mug. “Divorced, friendless, and my daughters despise me.”

Harper kicked her boot against the porch.

“Totally worth it.”

She leaned back and folded her arms tightly to her chest.

“Dad was right,” Harper admitted, the words stinging as she said them. “I could never beyou.”

“Harper, he wasnotright,” Maeve fired back. “And what he did to you—”

“You made it, Maeve,” Harper interjected, cutting her sister’s words short. She wasn’t ready yet, and maybe never would be. “That’s all that matters.”

“They made you feel like you weren’t enough,” Maeve went on, gingerly unbandaging the old wounds and exposing them to the light. “I saw what they were doing to you, and I never spoke up.”

“I was a screw up, Maeve,” Harper admitted. She considered the terrible disaster she had made of her life. The thought of how she and Shep had messed things up so severely made her disgusted with herself. “You were made for ministry.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Maeve confided. “I was cracking under the pressure, and the whole time I didn’t realize,” her voice shook uncharacteristically as she crossed her arms tightly to her chest. “That I was working for what I never had to earn.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“I was lost, Harp,” Maeve whispered.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Harper scoffed, shaking her head. “You were perfect.”

“We were given a list, and taught to check boxes,” Maeve reminded. “And I did everything that I was supposed to do, until —”

She took another deep breath before she continued.

“I was sitting there alone on the side of the highway, hopeless and afraid.”

“And what?” Harper rushed out.

“And — I was all out of boxes,” Maeve answered, scuffing her boot across the icy porch. “I had nothing to offer, and I believed it whentheysaid I deserved it the least.”

For a glimpse, it was as though Maeve was reliving the painful memory of standing before the harsh judgment of those incapable of showing an ounce of mercy.

“Go on,” Harper said, noticing Maeve’s eyes were glossing over with tears.

“The Lordmet me there, Harp,” she said. “And he accepted me as I was, every broken piece.”

Running her fingers across her brow, Harper’s mind spun with every page of theology she had ever read, all she had written in her best-selling books about God’s love, and every women’s conference she had headlined on the topic of grace.

Deep down, she had always believed that the smooth words were designed to make her audience feel good about themselves. Although convinced nothing could sway her from the view that he was an unforgiving tyrant, ready to punish her for lack of loyalty to his demands —

The authenticity of Maeve’s relationship with the Lord was chiseling away at Harper’s cynicism.

She felt her volume rising with frustration.

“But Dad always said —”

“He was wrong, Harper,” Maeve firmly stated, calmly taking her hand. “He was a weak man, and he was wrong.”

Hearing the words out loud brought Harper a healing breath.

Her father had taken up space in her thoughts for so long. She had fought against her harsh memories butstill found his venom embedded in her self-worth. No one had dared to refute his legacy, and yet —

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