Grandma took in a young guy who had nowhere to crash. But in the middle of the night, she caught him sneaking toward her bed and FROZE when she saw what he started doing…

The candles burned softly in the dim light of the church hall. Near the icon of Saint Agnes, a Roman martyr, an elderly woman in a black scarf stood quietly. She prayed silently, occasionally crossing herself.

The large wax candle in her hand burned steadily. The flame flickered only slightly when the old woman crossed herself again. She could have stood there longer, but she heard a familiar voice echoing from the church entrance.

The priest had arrived and was speaking with someone at the door. The second voice was too faint to hear, and the words were indistinguishable. But the woman had no intention of eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation.

She was simply glad for the chance to speak with the priest or at least ask for his blessing. She had finished her prayer and was now just standing by the icon of her patron saint. She gazed at the candle’s flame, waiting for the priest to finish his conversation and become free.

But the voice continued to echo through the church’s vaulted ceiling, neither drawing closer nor fading away. The woman considered praying again, but her thoughts were now focused on waiting to speak with the priest. So she didn’t resume her prayer, as her mind was occupied elsewhere.

The candle burned slowly in her hand. The woman waited a long time and finally couldn’t hold out any longer. She crossed herself once more, placed her candle in the holder before the icon, and decided to head toward the exit.

There, she would see the priest and at least ask for his blessing. A conversation could wait until tomorrow if he was too busy today. The woman walked quietly toward the exit.

The voices fell silent, replaced by the sound of footsteps and soft hymns. The priest was walking toward her. He seemed preoccupied, even saddened.

She felt embarrassed, wondering if he was too distracted to bother with her. Should she disturb him now? But the priest had already noticed his regular parishioner and approached her. “Good evening, Margaret Anne! You’ve come to pray again today.

How are you feeling? Still the same, or are you doing better?” His warm words melted her efforts to remain composed and reserved. Barely suppressed sobs rose in her throat, and tears streamed from her weary eyes. She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth and shrank inward, trying to stifle her crying.

The priest gently placed his arm around her shoulder. “Stay strong, dear, stay strong. There’s nothing we can do now. We all lose our dearest loved ones someday.

Go ahead and cry, let it out. I’ll pray for you. I pray for you and your family every day and every night. Time will pass, and it will get easier…

Don’t doubt it, the Lord won’t abandon us. Sit here on the pew, sit down. Would you like me to stay with you? Shall we pray together?” The woman could only nod.

Her sobs left her unable to speak. She sat on the pew and listened as the priest prayed beside her, asking God to comfort her for her husband and son, who had died. Two weeks earlier, they had perished in a car accident….