Grace stared at the email for a long time.
Subject: Final Session – Co-Speaker Introduction
Message: “You will be closing the conference with Edwin Ng, a cybersecurity engineer representing Canada. We believe your combined experience in healthcare systems security and enterprise protection will make for a powerful closing talk.”
Her fingers trembled slightly on the trackpad.
Edwin Ng.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
She clicked the attached photo and froze.
It was him.
Older now. More confident. Still gentle in the eyes. He wore a tailored suit and a small smile that made her heart skip in confusion — not because she was still holding on, but because for the first time in years, her past had become real again.
The conference in Vancouver had been on her calendar for months. She’d been flown in as one of the key speakers—recognized for her expertise in healthcare systems and IT risk management. It was, in many ways, the highest moment of her career.
And now, God had written in a surprise that Grace never saw coming.
She sat down slowly on the hotel bed, whispering, “Lord, what are You doing?”
She wasn’t angry. Just… stunned.
She had spent years healing from Edwin.
Years of choosing peace over bitterness.
Years of praying, not for him to return—but for God to be enough if he never did.
And now, they were about to share the same stage.
That night, Grace barely slept.
She had questions she didn’t want to ask.
Emotions she thought had long been buried.
But more than anything, she had peace—not the kind that numbed, but the kind that reminded her she was stronger now.
She remembered the blood compact, the tearful goodbye, the silence. She remembered how hard it had been to let go. But now, it felt… finished. Not forgotten. Just finally laid to rest.
She whispered a prayer:
“Lord, if this is just a moment to bring closure, thank You. But if You’re writing something more… I trust You to lead us both.”
The next morning, the conference venue was alive with movement. Attendees filed in, coffee cups in hand, as LED screens rotated speaker schedules.
Grace checked in at the green room early and reviewed her notes. She kept her composure. She had a job to do. She could do this with grace, literally and spiritually.
Then, at 9:03 AM, the door opened.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Edwin Ng.
Their eyes met.
No words at first—just a shared breath between two people who knew this moment wasn’t random.
He walked toward her slowly, with a quiet reverence—as if approaching a sacred memory made flesh again.
“Grace…”
Her name left his mouth like a whisper.
Like something fragile he was afraid to break.
She smiled—gentle, composed, but sincere.
“Hi, Edwin.”
There was a pause, not of tension, but of awe.
He exhaled and said, “You look amazing.”
She nodded softly. “So do you. I didn’t know you were in cybersecurity now.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be,” he chuckled lightly. “But God’s plans… they’re often not what we imagine.”
They sat together and reviewed the presentation materials. It felt surreal—this partnership of purpose that neither of them had orchestrated. The tension eased as they worked, laughter returning, memories lingering just beneath the surface.
The closing session was a success.
They flowed naturally. Their words complemented each other. The audience was fully engaged. And when the final applause came, it wasn’t just for a great talk—it was for something bigger. A sense of divine orchestration.
As they stepped off stage, the crowd faded into the background.
Later that afternoon, they walked together through a nearby garden outside the venue. The spring breeze played softly through blooming branches. No cameras. No audience. Just two old friends… once lovers… now standing in the mystery of God’s timing.
“I never stopped praying for you,” Edwin said quietly. “Even when I stopped praying for myself.”
Grace looked ahead, thoughtful. “I never stopped believing that if God still had a story for us… He would write it in His time.”
He stopped walking. Turned to her.
“I was scared back then. I thought I had to choose between you and my duty. But maybe I just didn’t believe God could hold both.”
She didn’t reply with judgment. She simply nodded.
“We both had growing to do,” she said. “And waiting… waiting has taught me that some things don’t come back the same way—but they come back better. If they’re meant to.”
A long silence followed, filled with the scent of blossoms and the sound of hope.
Then Edwin asked the question neither of them had dared say for years:
“Do you think… it’s too late for us?”
Grace looked at him, eyes steady, heart full.
“I think it’s no longer up to us. And I’m okay with that. Because it never really was.”
Two lives. Two hearts.
Grown through distance. Held by faith.
And brought together again—not through effort, but through grace.
