I hadn’t known what to expect at service, and it’d been all right, some parts even nice. With both Elizabeth and Raquel helping me, I’d made it through. My two friends alternated directing me, whispering when it was time to stand or time to sit. I tried to hide what had happened between Jacob and me—my correction—but apparently each time I sat down, the truth was evident. The strange thing, the part I struggled to understand, was that neither of my friends thought it was wrong. Elizabeth even told me she was proud of me for being honest. I thought maybe Raquel would respond differently; after all, she was my friend and my nurse. She’d seen my injuries from the accident and should understand that I didn’t need more. Instead she squeezed my hand, told me she understood, and reminded me that when I prayed, I should thank God for a husband who loved me enough to correct me. Though it didn’t make sense, I followed her advice. Another part of the evening that left me uneasy came after service.
