There was no choir that evening

The evening was cold, one of those December nights when the air feels sharpened, almost metallic. David eased the car into the church parking lot, headlights sweeping across a cluster of choir members gathered outside. Their huddled shapes, shivering in the freezing dark, immediately unsettled him. Choir practice never started outdoors.

He glanced at Lyanne beside him. She stared at the group as though she’d been expecting something to go wrong.

Since her return from Central America, she carried a je ne sais quoi, that hadn’t existed before. Her once bright demeanor now flickered only occasionally. She gave him little to work with, no explanations, no details, just vague responses when he asked how she was doing. He didn’t push, didn’t dare.

As he turned off the engine, his thoughts drifted back to the conversation that had changed everything, the night she told him she needed to volunteer in the earthquake zones. Back then, their relationship had come apart from the seams, threads pulling loose with each argument and silence.

“I feel like I’m drowning, David,” she had said, her voice stripped of its usual charm. He had felt it too.

He hadn’t wanted her gone for a year, least of all to a place wracked with violence and headlines that made his stomach tighten, but when she promised she’d return to him, no matter what shape their relationship took, he caved. Better to risk losing her temporarily than lose her entirely. He told himself that it was love, though one part of him suspected it was fear.

Her return had brought relief, yes, but also mystery. She didn’t rejoin the solidarity movement she once championed with passion. Instead, she chose the choir. A practicing atheist singing hymns with elderly parishioners, it made no sense. But he let it be. He was just glad to have her home.

A sudden knock on the window snapped him back to the present. Lyanne opened the door before he could react.

“Someone collapsed,” she said breathlessly. “One of the altos. Just before we arrived.”

That night, fate had placed Anna, David’s daughter, there with them. She was visiting for reading week, though she had begun visiting more often during Lyanne’s absence, watching him with a concern he didn’t always want to acknowledge. She and Lyanne maintained a polite truce, though Anna often confided in her private irritation: “Lyanne takes advantage of Dad,” which she shared with some friends.

But Anna’s training was undeniable. Years of working as a CPR instructor with the Y had made her steady under pressure. When she heard the word ‘collapsed,’ she was out of the car before David even opened his door.

Inside the church, her voice cut through the murmurs.

“I’m trained in CPR. Please step back.”

David watched her transform, confident, decisive, terrifyingly focused. He felt both pride and dread.

“Dad, Lyanne” she called, “help me get her onto the floor. She can’t stay slumped on the bench.” She glanced around. “Has anyone called 911?”

“Yes,” someone answered from the back. “They said five minutes, maybe ten minutes ago.”

Anna knelt beside the unconscious woman and began chest compressions, her movements methodical. “Lyanne, check for a pulse.”

But Lyanne stood frozen, her eyes locked on the woman’s still face. Something inside her had shut down completely.

“Lyanne!” Anna barked. “I need you—please!” No response. Then Anna’s restraint cracked.

“For God’s sake—you’re a fucking nurse. Help me!”

The sharpness of the words shattered whatever held Lyanne immobile. She dropped to her knees, her hands professionally searched for a pulse.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice cracking. “There’s no pulse.”

Paramedics burst into the church moments later. They worked with frantic skill for fifteen minutes, sweat beading on their temples despite the winter chill. David watched their movements, desperate for a sign, any sign, that life might return.

But finally, one of them exhaled, defeated. “That’s it. Call it bro.”

Silence fell a heavy, breathless quiet.

A police officer had arrived few minutes earlier, notebook in hand. After brief questions, he asked the three of them to come to the station for formal statements.

Lyanne was pale but suddenly composed, as if some internal switch had clicked back into place.

“No,” she said calmly. “Not tonight. We’ll come tomorrow. Anna just tried to save a woman’s life, she’s shaken, and we all need rest.”

The officer hesitated, thrown off by her steadiness. Then he nodded.

“Alright. Tomorrow.” As they walked past him, he leaned toward David and muttered, “That’s a hell of a woman you’ve got there.”

Outside, Lyanne pulled Anna into a fierce embrace. “You were incredible,” she whispered. “You really were, you are my hero.”

Anna didn’t speak, still trembling, but she didn’t pull away.

Lyanne turned to David, her voice softening in a way he hadn’t heard in months.

“Let’s go home. We all need warmth tonight.”

And so, they stepped into the frigid December night, three people bound by shock, love, grief, and the unspoken truths each carried silently in their hearts.