On the surface, Edwin was thriving.
Months had passed since he arrived in Canada, and life had found its rhythm. He had now settled into his role at the cybersecurity firm—no longer the rookie, now respected, reliable, and trusted. He had proven himself with hard work, long hours, and quiet excellence. His aunt Josephine was also doing better, her health steady with his constant care and support.
From the outside looking in, Edwin was a success story.
But on the inside, something subtle began to shift.
There were moments—small, quiet moments—when the loneliness crept in with deceptive sweetness. The freedom of being in a new country, the absence of anyone to answer to, and the slow fading of familiar voices from back home began to whisper a new kind of temptation: “You don’t have to carry the weight anymore.”
It started harmlessly. A few new friends at work invited him out more often—bars, clubs, weekend trips. At first, he declined. But over time, he gave in, telling himself, “Just this once. I deserve to relax.”
The first time he walked into a downtown lounge, the lights dim and music pulsing low, he felt completely out of place—yet strangely alive. No one knew his story here. No one knew about the blood compact, or Grace, or the boy who used to stock VHS tapes in a movie rental store while studying at night.
He could be anyone.
But that was the danger.
With each passing week, Edwin grew more distant from the boy he once was. His prayers became shorter, rushed. His Bible remained unopened some days. He still went to church—but more out of habit than hunger. The weight of his success began to feed a new voice: “You made it. You did this. You’re not that broken kid anymore.”
Yet late at night, after the noise faded and the city lights blinked outside his apartment window, he still thought of Grace.
She appeared in dreams, in verses, in the echo of his conscience. One night, after a late work event that ended with drinks and laughter, Edwin came home and stared at himself in the mirror. His tie was loose, his eyes tired, and his heart… strangely hollow.
He pulled out the drawer of his nightstand and found the letter he had once written to her—the one he never sent. Then, tucked between its folded edges, the note from their blood compact. Still preserved. Still sacred.
Suddenly, his chest tightened.
Tears filled his eyes as he whispered, “God… this isn’t who I want to become.”
The next morning, Edwin didn’t go to work. He took a walk through a quiet neighborhood park, snow melting around the edges, the sun peeking through gray skies. He sat on a bench and pulled out his phone.
He didn’t call Grace.
He called his spiritual mentor back in the Philippines—Brother Leo, a leader from the Marian group where his faith had first come alive.
“Brother Leo,” Edwin said quietly, “I need help. I’m doing everything right… but I’m starting to feel wrong.”
The older man’s voice was warm, steady. “You’ve gained the world, Edwin. But don’t lose your soul in the process. You were made for more than just a job title. You were set apart for purpose.”
That call changed something in him.
In the weeks that followed, Edwin began to recalibrate.
He fasted. He returned to deep, uninterrupted prayer. He signed up for a discipleship group in his local church. And most of all, he brought his heart back to the One who gave it purpose in the first place.
One evening during prayer, God brought Grace to his mind again—not as a memory to mourn, but as a soul to bless. He didn’t know what she was doing, where she was, or whether she still thought of him. But he prayed for her with freedom. Not with longing—but with love that no longer asked for anything in return.
“God, bless her. Heal her heart if it’s broken. Strengthen her if she’s waiting. And if our paths are meant to meet again… I leave that in Your hands.”
Later that week, while preparing a presentation for an international cybersecurity summit in Vancouver, Edwin received an unexpected message from the event coordinator:
“We’ve paired you with another speaker for the closing discussion — a specialist from the U.S. in healthcare systems security. Her name is Grace Evangelista.”
His heart stopped.
The world spun.
Could it be…?
