The wind cut through Edwin’s jacket as he stepped outside Toronto Pearson International Airport. The cold air struck his lungs like a reminder—you’re not home anymore. Everything around him felt foreign: the silence, the order, the endless gray sky stretching over snow-dusted sidewalks. Canada was clean, distant, and still. A world far from the warmth and chaos of the life he had left behind.
But the heaviest part wasn’t the winter.
It was the weight in his chest.
The absence of Grace.
The quiet ache of a promise broken—not out of selfishness, but of sacrifice.
Edwin had left not because he stopped loving her, but because he had made a vow long before their love ever bloomed. A vow to help his Aunt Josephine, who had supported him for years from afar. She was aging now, without children of her own, and had asked him to come live with her—to be her support, her family. In return, she would sponsor him, open the doors to permanent residency, and help him build a future in this first-world country.
He couldn’t say no. Not to her. Not when she had done so much.
He had said goodbye to Grace not with anger, but with prayer. And on the plane ride across oceans, he had whispered through his tears,
“Lord, please hold her heart, even if I cannot.”
Aunt Josephine was waiting outside in a navy winter coat, holding a hand-written welcome sign like she was picking up a celebrity. Her hug was warm, though her bones were frail. “You’re here,” she said, voice trembling with emotion. “You finally made it.”
Edwin smiled, though the expression felt heavy. “Yes, Auntie. I’m here.”
Her modest townhouse became his new home. He quickly adjusted to daily life: cooking, grocery runs, shoveling snow from the front porch, helping her with medications, and making sure she never felt alone. Josephine was kind and thoughtful, but her health was clearly declining. Edwin wasn’t just a guest—he was her caregiver, her companion, and now her anchor.
In the evenings, after she fell asleep, Edwin would sit by the window, looking out at the snow-covered street, his hands warm around a cup of tea and his heart still holding the cold of missing Grace.
By day, Edwin applied for jobs, studied for certifications, and attended interviews. His background in telecom and software gave him a competitive edge, but the pace was different here. The culture was colder—not just in weather, but in connection.
Still, God made a way.
Within weeks, he joined a small cybersecurity firm as a junior engineer. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start—a seed of purpose in foreign soil. He worked diligently, quietly climbing through learning curves, adapting with humility. Every paycheck reminded him why he was here—not for comfort, but for calling.
He also joined a local Filipino church with a small but vibrant community. Though shy at first, Edwin slowly found his place—volunteering on the media team, sharing devotions during Bible study, and mentoring young men who reminded him of his younger self.
Yet even with purpose filling his days, nights remained lonely.
Grace was everywhere and nowhere—her voice echoing in his memory, her name buried in his unspoken prayers. He hadn’t contacted her since he left. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t trust himself to say goodbye again.
He still carried the blood compact—their sacred promise—as a folded note in his wallet, like a piece of unfinished history.
One evening, snowflakes danced outside the living room window as Edwin sat with his Bible open. He wasn’t reading it. He was staring through it—thinking of Grace. Wondering what she was doing. If she still thought of him. If she regretted their goodbye.
He pulled out his journal and wrote, not as an entry, but as a letter:
Dear Grace,
The world is quieter here. The cold seems to stretch not just across the streets, but into the heart.
I think of you often—more than I probably should.
You need to know… I didn’t choose Canada over you. I chose the people who depended on me. I chose a promise I made before I knew what it would cost me.
But please know this: I still carry you.
Not as a burden, but as a blessing I had to release.
I don’t know what God is doing, but I trust Him more than I trust myself.
And if this love is meant to live again… I believe He will bring it back in His time.
Until then…
You remain my quiet prayer.
—Edwin
He folded the letter and slipped it into his Bible, between the pages of Jeremiah 29:11:
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord,
“plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.”
Edwin closed the Book and whispered a final prayer for the night:
“Lord, You can take anything from me, but please don’t take away hope.”
