Page 130 of Dare to Hold
But I can still feel it—those questions lingering in the air, unspoken but heavy.
And suddenly, it’s too much.
The weight of the last twenty-four hours presses down like a dam finally breaking.
I drop my menu.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
Harper and Olivia both look up, startled.
My throat tightens as heat burns behind my eyes. “I don’t have the answers either, okay? I’m not some spiritual expert. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.”
“Ivy…” Harper reaches for me, but I shake my head.
“No. I need to say this.” The tears fall now, hot and fast, and I don’t even try to stop them. “I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction—by God, by Gray, by all of it. And I want to believe I’m doing the right thing, but I’m scared. I’m so scared.”
Olivia stares, eyes wide. “You...are?”
I nod, breath shaking. “Gray wants so much from me. He says all these beautiful things and talks about forever and faith and baptism and I’m just…” I press the heel of my hand to my chest. “I’m still trying to figure out if I even believe in all this.”
Harper’s voice is gentle. “Of course you do…”
“No,” I cut in, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I mean really believe. Not just showing up at church or volunteering or smiling through Bible studies. I want to know God. I want to feel like I’m not faking it either. But I don’t know how.”
The table is silent.
I feel my shoulders shaking, chest caving inward. Olivia’s confession cracked something open in me—but it wasn’t her fault. It was already splintering.
“I’m trying,” I whisper, barely able to speak. “But what if I’m not enough? Not for Gray. Not for God. Not even for me.”
There’s a long beat of silence, broken only by the soft clink of silverware from a nearby table.
Then Harper slides out of the booth and sits next to me, pulling me into her arms. “You don’t have to be enough,” she murmurs, her voice steady but tender. “That’s the whole point of the gospel. None of us are enough on our own. That’s why Jesus came. God knew we could never fix ourselves or earn our way to Him, so He did what we couldn’t. He sent His Son to take every failure, every not-enough place, and nail it to the cross.
She squeezes me tighter, resting her cheek against my temple. “You don’t have to prove yourself, Ivy. Not to me. Not to Gray. Not even to God. Because in Christ, you already are enough. You’re already loved.”
I nod against her shoulder, but the ache doesn’t go away.
Because I’m not sure I believe it yet.
And I don’t know how to say that without breaking again.
Chapter 32
Ivy
The drive home is quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that soothes—but the kind that stretches. Long. Still. Heavy with everything I didn’t say, and everything I did.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other curled in my lap, fingers still trembling. I feel wrung out—like I left pieces of myself back in that diner booth. Like my faith cracked open in front of the people I love most.
And maybe that’s not a bad thing.
Maybe it needed to crack for something real to take root.
I glance out the window as I turn down the road toward my apartment. The sun’s low in the sky now, golden light casting long shadows across the pavement. The world feels still. Waiting.
