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| He Stopped Believing on Easter |
“One more time,” he said, voice steady.
He kept the drills consistent—routine was his armor.
The teenagers complained under their breath but returned to position.
When practice finished, they rushed out in a wave of chatter and slammed lockers. Lincoln lingered behind, methodically collecting each basketball, savoring the emptiness—
The weight of someone’s gaze pulled his attention upward. He straightened, turning.
“Natalie?”
She hovered by the entrance, haloed in afternoon light. Time had softened her edges but left her essence intact.
“Lincoln Burrows”
“Didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Just over a year now,” she said. “I’m at St. Agnes—nursing. And that lanky point guard of yours? That’s my Jaden.”
Lincoln’s ball-calloused hands went still. “Jaden? He’s your kid?”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “All mine.”
“I’ve been coaching him all season.”
“I know. He talks about you.”
Lincoln let that settle between them.
“How’s life treating you, Nattie?”
She exhaled. “Some days better than others.”
“I understand that,” he said, nodding.
The squeak of his sneaker against the polished floor filled the silence.
“Heard about Patricia. I’m sorry.”
Lincoln’s jaw tightened. “Appreciate it.”
“Jaden’s father...” he began.
“We separated years ago,” she said. “Good man—just not for me.”
Lincoln nodded once. “Makes sense.”
The basketball in his hands rotated slowly.
“Maybe we could catch up,” Lincoln said. “Lunch?”
“I’d like that.”
“This week? Thursday?”
“Thursday’s perfect.”
They exchanged numbers—with the promise to meet soon.
___
Marlowe’s Diner stood frozen in time—the vinyl booths still cracked in the same places, the coffee still bitter-strong, the murmur of locals and travelers blending into familiar white noise.
Natalie settled across from him, her hands briefly smoothing the laminated menu. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
After they ordered, conversation flowed like the waitress’s coffee refills—steady at first, then suddenly running dry.
“Having people over tonight,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Oh?”
“Just some church friends. We meet at different houses each week. Share a meal, talk about the bible..our lives.” She hesitated. “Sometimes pray together.” Her fingers tapped the edge of her mug. “Keeps me grounded.”
Lincoln’s eyes drifted to the window.
“Sounds like you’ve found something that works.”
She sighed. “Some days I couldn’t do it. Too exhausted. Too furious with everything. But other mornings I’d find myself on my knees anyway.”
“What for?”
“Because everything else had slipped through my fingers.”
Lincoln watched a truck pass outside the diner window. “That only matters if you believe someone’s actually listening.”
“ You stopped believing?”
The ice shifted in his water glass.
“When Patricia’s car—“ He cleared his throat. “I was sitting in that waiting room.”
Natalie remained perfectly still.
“Funny thing is, I’d been on my knees that very morning.” His voice hardened. “Begging him to save Patricia. So explain to me what exactly all that praying was supposed to accomplish.”
The ceiling fan turned above them, counting the silence.
Natalie’s eyes softened. “Maybe prayer isn’t about fixing the broken parts. Maybe it’s just something to hold onto while you’re hurting.”
Lincoln traced a water ring on the table. “Not enough.”
She whispered. “Sometimes it isn’t.”
“I can’t walk through those church doors,” he said.
“I understand.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.
“But I’m sitting with you now.”
“Yes you are.” She agreed.
Several hours later, they hugged goodbye in the parking lot, promising to see each other soon, but his question about prayer echoed in her mind long after his truck disappeared from view.
___
That night, after the group left, Natalie stood in her quiet kitchen.
Lincoln’s words hadn’t left her.
What all that praying was supposed to accomplish?
She reached for a scrap of paper—not because she had the right words, but because she didn’t.
For Lincoln—
who doesn’t believe anymore, please meet him where he is.
Even if it’s just for a moment.
She folded it carefully and whispered to the silence, “Do something I can’t.”
___
The next morning, she pulled into the church on her way to work.
Inside, it was quiet. Still.
The prayer box sat at the front—unchanged, waiting.
Natalie stepped forward. “Please,” she whispered.
She slipped the note inside and closed the lid gently.
Then turned and walked out.
___
The final buzzer cut through the air, and the gymnasium exploded with the roar of victory.
They had won.
Jaden grinned as teammates surrounded him.
“Coach! That last three-pointer—did you catch it?”
“I saw it,” Lincoln said. “You kept your head.”
Jaden beamed.
From the bleachers, Natalie observed them, then made her way down to the court.
“They really respond to you,” she said.
Lincoln shrugged, bouncing a stray basketball against the polished floor. “Just doing my job.”
She hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Easter Sunday, Jaden has a church solo.”
Lincoln’s hands stilled on the ball. “Jaden sings?”
She nodded. “First time in front of the congregation.”
He spun the ball between his palms. “Never mentioned it.”
“Practiced in his room for weeks,” she said softly. “Pretends it’s no big deal.”
Lincoln’s jaw worked silently.
“I’m not asking you to believe again,” Natalie said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just to be there. Show support.”
Lincoln exhaled slowly. “Church isn’t exactly where I belong these days.”
“Jaden does look up to you.”
Lincoln’s gaze drifted back toward Jaden—high-fiving teammates, his face bright with victory.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Natalie’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s all I ask.”
___
When Sunday arrived, Lincoln sat in his idling car, hands gripping the wheel too tight. The church loomed before him, white-walled and waiting with its doors spread wide like an invitation he wasn’t sure he should accept.
“Can’t do this,” he whispered.
His mind flashed back—
screeching tires.
Then silence.
Through the open doors, he watched families greeting each other, children tugging at their parents’ hands.
Somewhere inside, Jaden would be fidgeting with his collar, pretending his stomach wasn’t in knots.
“I’m just here for the kid,” Lincoln whispered to himself.
Yet something deeper contradicted him— a truth he couldn’t quite dismiss.
___
A few minutes later, Lincoln found a seat in the back, positioning himself where he could hear everything but slip away unnoticed if needed. The congregation’s voices swelled around him, but his lips remained still, his body rigid against the wooden pew. Then the music director’s voice cut through the sanctuary.
“Our next soloist is Jaden Brown.”
Lincoln’s attention snapped to the front. There stood Jaden, looking suddenly younger in his button-up shirt, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. When the piano introduction began, Jaden’s first notes wavered slightly before finding their strength, his voice gradually filling the space with surprising clarity.
Lincoln felt it before he understood it. Something shifting. Deep.
Jaden sang like he meant it. Not perfect—just honest.
Then Lincoln was elsewhere—
Last Easter, Patricia sat beside him in the pew, sunlight shining through stained glass onto her hair.
Patricia in the passenger seat… humming…
He swallowed hard.
Jaden’s voice grew stronger. And something in Lincoln—tight for years—loosened.
Just a little.
Not healed. But no longer closed.
The last note faded. Applause filled the room and Jaden returned to his seat.
Lincoln didn’t clap. He couldn’t.
Something in his chest broke open.
_
Jaden appeared at Lincoln’s side. “Coach… you came?”
Lincoln nodded, his voice quieter than usual. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”
Jaden smiled and moved off, still glowing from the moment.
Natalie approached silently, she glanced toward the prayer box—then back at him.
Lincoln exhaled slowly.
His hands—tight for so long—finally eased at his sides.
Lincoln drew a deep breath. “I can’t explain what happened.”
“No one’s asking you to,” she murmured.
Lincoln’s fingers uncurled at his sides. “It’s just—I’ve been carrying this weight for so long. It just… feels lighter.”
“One day at a time,” she said softly.
Lincoln nodded once, then glanced toward the exit doors.
For a moment, he studied them—then turned back toward the sanctuary.
And for the first time in years…he didn’t feel like leaving.
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