Elizabeth's POV.
I arrived home around 6:30 p.m., my body heavy from the long day.
As I pushed the door open, a strange stillness greeted me.
The house was quiet… too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—but the kind that made your heart uneasy, as if something was off. For a brief moment, I stood at the doorway, listening. No movement. No voices. Just silence hanging thick in the air.
I stepped inside and walked toward the room.
Angel was sitting on the bed, her legs crossed neatly beneath her. Her chin rested in her hands, her elbows propped on her knees. A soft smile played on her lips—gentle, distant… like she was somewhere far away.
She didn't notice me.
Not even a little.
I paused, watching her.
"What could she possibly be thinking about?" I wondered quietly.
I cleared my throat, shifting my feet against the cracked tiles, hoping the sound would draw her attention.
Nothing.
She didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even glance in my direction.
A small frown crept onto my face.
I walked further into the room and placed my bag gently on the table beneath the window. The wood creaked slightly under the weight, but still—no reaction from her.
"Angel," I called softly.
Silence.
I tried again, a little louder this time.
"Angel?"
Still nothing.
Now my heart began to race.
I stepped closer and waved my hand in front of her face.
No response.
It was as if I wasn't even there.
A chill ran down my spine.
"Did she see a ghost?" I thought, my chest tightening.
"Or… is she thinking about her father?"
The memory hit me instantly.
Anthony.
Gone too soon.
Angel was only six when heart disease took him away from us. Since then, there had always been a quiet part of her that I could never fully reach.
My thoughts began to spiral.
Questions rushed through my mind, one after another, faster than I could answer them.
Fear settled deep in my chest.
Silently, I bowed my head.
Heavenly Father, I prayed within me, I commit my daughter into Your hands. Please protect her. Keep her away from evil eyes. Amen.
When I lifted my head again, she was still in the same position—lost, unmoving, smiling at something only she could see.
I glanced around the room, then back at her.
I had been standing there for what felt like forever.
She still hadn't noticed me.
A mix of worry and frustration stirred inside me.
Then an idea came to mind.
Slowly, I reached out and tapped her shoulder—firm enough to break through whatever world she was trapped in.
She jumped.
Her body jerked slightly, her eyes widening as she finally looked at me.
"Mama!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with surprise.
Relief washed over me instantly.
She quickly apologized, her words tumbling over each other as she explained she hadn't realized I was there.
"I was just… thinking," she said.
I studied her face for a moment before sitting beside her on the bed.
"What were you thinking about?" I asked gently.
I needed to know.
I needed peace in my heart.
She hesitated for a second… then she told me everything.
Her dream.
Her vision.
Her "Future Liberia."
As she spoke, her eyes lit up in a way I had never seen before. There was something different in her voice—something stronger, deeper.
Something… certain.
By the time she finished, I sat there in silence, completely astonished.
This wasn't just a child's imagination.
This was something more.
Something powerful.
I took a deep breath.
"We need to see Sister Agnes," I said.
---
🕐 An hour later…
We arrived at Sister Agnes's house on Randall Street, near St. Teresa Convent.
The evening air was calm as we were welcomed inside and seated in the living room. Sister Agnes greeted us warmly and offered us a glass of juice.
Angel wasted no time.
She shared everything—her dream, her vision, her desire to become the second female president of Liberia.
I watched quietly as she spoke.
Listened as her voice carried both innocence and determination.
When she finished, the room fell into a soft silence.
Then we prayed.
Together.
For her dream.
For her future.
For the path ahead.
And when we were done…
We returned home—carrying something new with us.
Hope.