As an adult, she spends most of her time alone, in her apartment, trying not to relive painful memories. Unbidden, they swarm her mind. The day she remembers often is the day she began to doubt her faith.

She had wrapped up another 12-hour day of seminars, followed by Q&A, followed by intimate workshops with that church's more generous patrons. Her dad had come to pick the two of them, and they would spend a quiet weekend in the woods outside of town.

The drive was quiet, but beautiful. Her mother disagreed with the trip, and felt that Anna was being selfish wanting to spend time away from the parish. Her father argued that Anna should spend some time being a kid.

"Hell, even God said that Sunday was a day of rest, didn't He?", he asked. Her mom rolled her eyes in response.

"Honestly George, I don't like you encouraging this kind of behaviour in our child," she replied. "What next, you'll let her wear those tiny miniskirts and go cavorting around town with the rest of her classmates from school?"

"Jeez, Martha, one weekend away in the cabin does not a sinner make," George replied, exasperated. This wasn't the first time they had this discussion.

"Yeah, Mom, I want to take a break, too", Anna chimed in.

Martha turned to look at her. Her eyes softened. She knew that when she asked for something, her mom acquiesced - because she never really asked for much.

"Fine, but just this weekend. I've made arrangements for you on Monday, and I'd like to be back in the city by then." Anna sighed, but was pleased that they were finally getting a weekend away from everything.

The rest of the drive was quiet, and Anna rolled her window down once they entered the woods, breathing in the clean summer air. The day was warm and cloudless, and she met her father's eyes in the rearview mirror. They seemed happy. The weekend itself was quiet; despite her mother's initial objections, she seemed to lose her inhibitions once they reached the remote cabin. With no cell service and an hour's drive to the nearest town, the three of them spent countless hours playing cards, going on long hikes, and stargazing.

Anna craved nights like these - when she was younger, she would cry every time they had to leave the cabin, and asked that every night be like this one. She remembers her parents exchange looks with each other, and she knows now that it was always a silent battle, with her father ready to pick up and move on, but her mother's ties to the community were seemingly unbreakable, and so, they stayed.

The night before they had to leave, Anna was sitting outside, a few meters away from the cabin, the perfect spot to stare in wonder at the heavens above. Her dad came and sat next to her, a chilled can of soda in each hand.

The two sipped their sodas in silence, admiring the night sky.

"Hey Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what is it? Wait, if it's about your business with the church, I'm not sure if I'll be able to help," he began.

"No, it's not that. It's about...well, it's about you and Mom."

He leaned back, silent.

"Whenever we come out to the cabin like this, it's always a fight. I know how much you love coming here, but it feels like it's always a struggle to, and the only time we come here is when I say I want to, too."

"Well, I wouldn't say it's a fight every time -"

"How come you always do what Mom tells you to do?"

He was startled, and then he laughed. "It's because I love her, Anna."

Anna frowned. "Love doesn't mean blind obedience," she said.

Her dad shook his head. "Funny hearing that from you," he muttered under his breath, but Anna heard him. She had a feeling he said it loud enough for her to.

He cleared his throat, seeming a bit guilty, and took a sip of his soda. "I listen because I love her enough to stay. Sure, I don't want to do what she wants to do, but if everyone wanted to do the same thing all the time, then the world would be a boring place, wouldn't it?"

"I...I guess?" Anna replied.

Her dad sat up, and scooted closer. "Think of it this way," he said. "Your mom takes care of us - she makes sure we're always eating healthy and doing what we're supposed to be doing. She keeps me grounded, and she makes sure you get the best opportunities possible. I know your mom does what she does for the family - it may look like she always 'gets her way' to you, but trust me, every move she makes is for all of us, not just her."

"Doesn't really feel like it sometimes," Anna grumbled.

Her dad laughed, ruffled her hair and rested his arm on her shoulders.

"Trust me," he said. "You'll realize it when you're older."

"Wow, isn't *that* a cliche," she said, rolling her eyes. She didn't shrug his arm off, though.

"Yeah, well, if you're looking for the wordsmith in the family, it isn't me," he said.

The two drank their soda in silence for a few more moments, relaxing in each other's presence. The night air was warm, the breeze was low, and the skies were clear. Both of them were lost in thought for a few moments, each one completely absorbed in the moment.

After a while, her dad stood up. "Come on, Oaky, it's bed-time. Let's head inside before your mom comes out," he said, taking her empty soda can from her hands. She stood up, dusted the bottom of her jeans, and followed her dad into the cabin.

The next morning was bright, another warm summer day. They left soon after sunrise, which meant that Anna was asleep in the back seat while her parents spoke quietly about her itinerary for the week, and how Martha was getting along writing Anna's speeches.

Anna is startled awake when the truck T-bones their little hatchback, totalling the driver's side. Anna's limp body flies off the side and into the door of the car, which knocks her unconscious.

A few hours later, she finds herself on a gurney in an ambulance, with a male paramedic explaining to her that she was in an accident, and to not move too quickly - she sustained major injuries.

"What about my parents?" she cried.

"They're in the other ambulance," he replied. "Your mom is okay, she's with your dad."

"How is my dad?" she asked.

The paramedic hesitates. "He was heavily injured, but we think he'll make it. Don't worry, we're going to the best hospital in the area. Trust me, we'll take care of him."

She turned to face the ceiling, her neck and back on fire as the pain slowly started to flare up. She thought about her parents, and then the pain took over, and she could think of nothing else.

18 hours later and she was asleep in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery.

During her stay at the hospital, her mother was the sole family member who visited her. She never met other members of the family, and they never seemed interested in reaching out to her, either. Her parents were tight-lipped on Anna's grandparents, and she never broached the topic too far.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Her friends from the church came often, bringing food, books, and simple games to play; the other members of the parish sent home-baked goods to her door, her little hospital room overflowing with gifts from the community. Her mom took pride in this, her face beaming from the outpour of affection. "Isn't it lovely to see how many people care for you?" she'd ask. "Aren't they all so kind?"

Oddly, her father never came to visit, in those two weeks. Her mother said it was because he was still recovering; it was only after badgering a nurse for 7 nights straight that she admitted her father was in a coma, and they were unsure when he would wake up.

The next few days were utter chaos; internally, she was screaming, desperate to leave the hospital room and find her father and shake him awake, hold his hand, kiss his cheek, do something. Externally, she remained quiet, and docile, thanking her mother and the other members of the church for their affection, asking carefully worded questions about her father and backing away when her mother would get too annoyed.

After she was discharged, her mother drove her home. When asked where her father was, she simply replied, "He isn't better yer, darling, he still needs to stay. Don't worry dear, I'll still be visiting him everyday, I'm sure he'll be well enough to come home soon."

The weeks passed by in a blur; Anna could no longer find anything out about her father, and there was no way for her to reach the hospital without her mother finding out. Martha would visit John for an hour or two every evening, and encouraged Anna to bake cookies, cakes, and pies for him, or to make a card, or crochet clothing. Anna knew this was a ploy, to get her to stop asking questions and turn her mind to something else. "You know how much he loves your baking, dear," she said. "Don't you want him to come home to a house full of your love for him?"

Before she could make a clear plan of stealing away at night to see him, Martha brought him home. Unannounced. One could ask if she stole him from the hospital, but that would be impolite.

"Sweetie, I have a surprise for you!" Martha yelled. "Come downstairs, quick!"

Anna raced downstairs, and stopped on the top-most step.

It was Dad. He was finally home. She was about to rush into his arms...but she stopped.

He looked different, somehow. His face looked uncertain - he was smiling, yes, but that wasn't how he smiled at her. His smile was...off.

He knelt down, as though she was a toddler. "It's Anna, right?"

...What?

"Well, sweetie, your dad suffered from a really bad head injury," Martha said, smiling at him. "Now, the doctors did their best, but he lost all his memories in the crash. Transient global amnesia, they called it. That's right - they kept referring to it as TGA," she said, with a slight giggle. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, they said that they weren't sure when his memories would come back, if they ever would. But, he's healthy and he's alive, and it's up to us to remind him of who he is, right, darling?" she said, looking at Anna expectantly.

Anna just stared at this stranger who had her father's face. She walked up to him and said, "Yes, my name's Anna. You used to call me Oaky, after Annie Oakley," she said. "We learned about Annie Oakley in school, except I pronounced her name wrong, and you've called me that ever since," she continued, tears rolling down her cheeks. she couldn't believe she was sharing this with her dad-who-wasn't-her-dad. This felt *weird*. He should know who she is.

"Hey, it's okay," John said. "I remember now - Oaky, that's right. My little Oaky," he continued. She shook her head. He was saying it *wrong*. She took a deep breath. Things will be fine. She knows this. God is looking out for her. He always does, and this is just another step in her journey. Soon, her father will get his memories back and this will be another story to share at dinner-time.

Things did not get better over the coming months. Not only did her dad not recover his memories, he was *nothing* like how he used to be. He lost it all, his sense of humour, his love of music, his carefree nature, his willingness to push back to let Anna breathe, all of it. Martha took over every single aspect of Anna's life, and Anna watched everything she loved slip by her, with her dad standing by, with a stupid, vapid smile on his face, watching it happen.

She tried, every single day. She tried playing their favourite games, movies, and music; she took him to museums and parks to remind him of the things they loved to do, and she talked about their hikes in the forest and the nights spent in the cabin. When she mentioned the cabin, Martha heard her and said, "We are not going to that cabin anymore. It's a death trap, and I won't hear otherwise."

Anna found out later that Martha was true to her word; she had sold the cabin and donated the profits to the church. John did nothing, and simply watched it happen.

Anna tried to include him, but with less vigour. After all, almost every waking moment was spent either helping the Church, studying up on the Bible, or working on speeches with her mother, when she was booked by every church, chapel, and school in the country. What litlte time she had left was catching up on her schoolwork; though she was formally 'homeschooled' by her mother, little education actually happened unless she tried to teach herself.

She spent weeks travelling from one venue to the other, meeting other blessed vassals and losing track of them just as quickly. Faces blurred into each other, and she knew she had lost her father completely when she saw him standing outside the school doors waiting for her, and only saw a stranger.

She remembers the day she stopped praying - well, praying sincerely, at least.

It was when she was praying for her father to return, to come back to her, when a thought bubbled to the surface: "let's be honest, it probably won't happen." Her eyes flew open and welled up with tears, the sudden guilt at the thought that God may not help her. It was selfish, but hadn't she done her part to serve Him? Didn't she give her entire life, and her body, for His will? She felt ugly and shameful at the thought, and spent hours in prayer that night as if to make up for it.

Foolishly, she thought it would end there, but everywhere she turned, she saw signs of His absence; at the large groups of the homeless people that would gather during every speech she gave as she handed out food after, at the trauma her friends went through since they were 'blessed', at all the horror and injustice in the world, and mostly, at her mother's seeming indifference that her husband, the man she loved, had effectively died.

By the time she turned 18, Anna barely spoke to her father, and for what it's worth, John stopped trying for a relationship, too. Post-accident, he seemed far more unwilling to put in effort, which meant that if she ever rebuffed his attempt at affection, he simply stopped trying. What started as a bad day at school would often end with her father ignoring her for days on end, because "you looked like you wanted to be left alone, anyway." By the time she left the house, she understood how her father felt.

Her mother, however, was far more unwilling to let Anna leave, and insisted that she delay going to college for at least a year, to fulfill her obligations.

After spending nights studying, Anna was successfully able to obtain a high school diploma on her own. That coupled with her history as a 'blessed' meant that most universities were eager to accept her into their hallowed halls.

Anna didn't reveal the fact that she had secured a full scholarship for theological studies at a university about 10 hours away, and that she had already packed a bag full of essentials and was ready to leave.

It took multiple fights for her mother to relent to delaying her programme by a semester, instead of a year. It took Anna's high school friend, Jamie, offering to drive them both up to university that her mother realised she had nothing left to play, and resorted to begging.

Knowing that her mother was begging her to stay because she had no purpose other than Anna further deepened her doubt, and she left without looking back.