Gabriel Levi never believed in God.
That was the first thing he told people when they asked, though no one really asked anymore.
Once, he used to sit beside his grandmother in the front pew of a small church, hands folded, eyes half-open as sunlight spilled through stained glass. Back then, he still believed.
But that was back then...
Before the accident.
Before the silence and dread that came from it.
When Gabriel was ten, his parents died in an accident. The doctors said it was instant. Quick. Painless.
But they said a lot of things.
Half of them went in one ear and out the other.
What Gabriel did remember was the hospital hallway.
And how the industrial lights hit overhead.
And the way his grandmother's hand trembled in his.
The way no one would look him in the eye.
And one sentence, whispered like it was supposed to help:
"They're with God now."
That was the moment something inside him snapped.
"If God is real, and all knowing and all powerful… He watched it happen... AND HE COULD HAVE STOPPED IT BUT HE DIDN'T! HE LET THEM DIE!"
"He let Mommy, and Daddy, and even Bubby… he let them all die."
Gabriel stopped praying after that.
Stopped believing.
And eventually, he stopped going to church.
But grandma didn't.
Years passed, and the house grew quieter.
However, she still woke early every Sunday, dressed in the same soft colors, her hands careful and slow as she buttoned her coat. Sometimes she would pause outside his door, considering knocking.
But she never did.
The day she found out he was an atheist, she didn't yell.
She didn't cry.
She just looked at him.
But her eyes… her eyes made him feel heavy.
It wasn't anger.
That would've been easier.
After that, they spoke less.
Not because they hated each other. No, it wasn't that simple.
One Sunday morning, Gabriel stood in the doorway as she prepared to leave for church.
Her movements were slower now. Careful. As if she was reassuring herself.
"Do you need help?" he asked, hesitantly.
She shook her head gently. "I'm alright."
They stood silent for a moment, looking at one another.
Then, quieter—
"You're always welcome to come with me."
Just as he went to say "no."
The usual and quick response.
But for whatever reason… he didn't.
Next thing he knew, he was getting dressed, followed by a long, silent car ride.
When they finally arrived, the church hadn't changed.
Same wooden pews. Same light filtering through colored glass. Same quiet murmur of voices before the sermon began.
Gabriel sat beside her, stiff and out of place.
He immediately regretted his decision and had zoned out until he heard something that cut through the air.
The pastor spoke calmly, his voice steady.
"Many people fear what awaits them after death," he said. "But heaven is not a place of sorrow! It is a place of peace."
Gabriel stared ahead, eyes dead but intently listening.
"A place where pain is gone," the pastor continued. "Where suffering no longer exists."
A pause.
"And where all things that burden the soul are lifted, forgotten… even the memory of those who turned away from God."
Gabriel's eyes widened.
"…What?" he muttered under his breath.
He felt a complex anger in his hands.
The rest of the sermon blurred together.
He couldn't focus.
Couldn't breathe right.
Afterward, outside the church, his grandmother smiled faintly.
"It was a good sermon," she said.
Gabriel looked at her.
"Do you really believe that!?" he asked.
He sounded annoyed and frustrated.
She couldn't see his eyes.
She tilted her head. "Believe what?"
Gabriel immediately followed up.
"That… people just forget?" His voice was tighter than he meant it to be. "Like I-... like they… never existed?"
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, gently
"In heaven, there is no pain."
But that wasn't an answer.
Though he knew he wouldn't like to hear the real answer.
Not long after that, grandma got sick.
It started off small.
Lethargy, weakness. The kind of things people brush off.
But it didn't stop there.
And eventually, grandma couldn't go to church anymore.
So Gabriel took care of her.
At first, it was just little things.
He made meals, got groceries. Set up a video call for church on Sundays.
But as time passed, grandma's health became worse.
He had to help her with her hygiene.
And he would sit beside her when she couldn't sleep at night.
Sometimes, she would look at him, really look at him, like she was trying to memorize something.
One night, as he adjusted the blanket over her shoulders, she spoke.
"I pray for you," she said softly.
He paused.
A lump forming in the back of his throat.
"I know, Grandma."
Another silence.
Then..
"I hope," she continued, "that one day… you'll find your way back."
Gabriel looked down at nothing.
"…And if I don't?"
She answered right away, holding his hand.
"Then I'd still love you."
He swallowed hard.
Forcing a smile.
After she fell asleep, he whispered,
"Why would God let you suffer like this, Grandma…"
As the days passed, the slow, inevitable fading of her strength became apparent.
And grandma needed more time and attention.
Though he didn't mind.
Not because he believed.
Not because he expected anything in return.
But because she was his grandmother.
The memory of that sermon always came up in his mind… even if she forgot him.
He wanted her to remember that she was loved.
Always loved.
One morning, he gently shook grandma.
But she didn't wake.
And in that moment,
the house felt empty.
After the funeral, Gabriel sat in the same chair he always sat in, right beside her bed.
Hands resting in his lap.
Eyes unfocused.
Then he wept.
Not because she was gone, but
because the first thought that crossed his mind was that she was smiling, in a place he couldn't go.
The days passed quickly afterward.
He inherited her house and most of her belongings because he was the final survivor in his bloodline.
But…
the house felt emptier than it ever had before.
And he was lonely.
However, somewhere far from Earth, and further from Gabriel… she entered a place she had belonged at.
And as she moved, she spoke. her voice carrying joy, reverence, and love.
"There was someone," she said, "who cared for me… so patiently, so gently."
Someone asked beside her, "Who was it?"
She tilted her head, smiling. "I don't remember… but they were kind. So very kind."
Her family gathered nearby, listening, remembering… in fragments, in feelings, not names.
"They stayed with me until the end," she continued. "Their hands were steady, their presence comforting… I will never forget the love they gave."
And they nodded, sensing a deep, quiet devotion.
A story without a name.
A memory without a face.
Yet it filled every heart present with warmth.
But Gabriel felt empty. Devoid of any emotion or purpose, he contemplated life every day.
The electricity bill went unpaid, then turned off.
The gas bill went unpaid, then turned off.
The water bill went unpaid, then turned off.
A few neighbors who were concerned called for a wellness check.
And when they entered, they found him lying on the ground.
A forgotten angel..