The Silent Prayer

Morning Worries, Quiet Strength

Maya didn’t realise she had fallen asleep until the soft grey of early morning touched her eyelids. Her neck ached from the rigid position she had slept in, and one of her feet was still dangling off the edge of Eli’s bed. Her hand, numb and stiff, rested on his duvet where she had kept it through the night.

For a long moment, she didn’t move.

She simply watched him.

Eli lay curled on his side, breathing softly, his eyelashes resting against cheeks still damp from the tears of the night before. In sleep, he looked peaceful—too peaceful for a child who had spent half the night gripped by terror.

Maya let out a long exhale she didn’t know she had been holding.

Another night survived.

But at what cost?

She eased herself off the bed, careful not to disturb him, and stepped quietly into the hallway. The flat was still asleep, but something about the silence felt heavier this morning, as though it remembered Eli’s cries and held them in the walls.

In the kitchen, she switched on the kettle. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the bread, sliding two slices into the toaster. Her body felt strange—light, shaky, exhausted—but her mind was sharp in all the wrong ways.

Images from last night flickered through her memory.

The scream.

Eli’s shaking.

The way he whispered, “Don’t take me.”

The way his eyes darted behind her shoulder, as if something stood there.

A cold thread of dread crept through her.

She blinked hard and forced herself to focus on simple tasks—milk into a cup, lunchbox on the counter, uniform laid out on the chair. Mechanical motions she could do even on nights like this.

“Mum…?”

She turned. Eli stood in the doorway, his blanket wrapped around him like a small cloak. His eyes were heavy, and he rubbed them with the back of his fist.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she said gently.

His feet padded softly across the kitchen tiles until he was standing right beside her. He leaned lightly against her hip. She rested a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles.

“You okay?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

He shrugged. “I’m tired.”

“I know.” She brushed some hair from his forehead. “Did you dream again?”

He hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

“What happened this time?”

“The same hallway,” he whispered. “Really long. Dark. And… I heard it again.”

Her heart tightened. “The voice?”

He nodded again, his small shoulders rising and falling.

“It called my name. Only once. But I didn’t like it.”

Maya knelt in front of him, lifting his chin gently with her hand.

“You’re safe,” she said firmly. “You’re home. You’re with me. Nothing can hurt you here.”

His lip trembled. “Will it come back?”

She swallowed.

She hated not having answers.

She hated how helpless this made her feel.

“It might,” she said softly. “But if it does, I’ll be right here again. You won’t face it alone.”

Eli stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her neck. She held him tightly, closing her eyes for a moment.

Then she helped him get dressed, even though his movements were slow and heavy. When she buttoned the last button, he whispered:

“Thank you for staying.”

“Always,” she murmured.

The walk to school was quiet. Eli held her hand the whole way, squeezing it every few steps as though checking she was still there. Other children ran past them laughing, backpacks bouncing, energy spilling into the pavement. Eli flinched at the noise and stepped closer.

At the gate, Maya crouched to his level.

“You can do this,” she said gently.

He nodded, but the uncertainty in his eyes echoed through her.

His teacher greeted them from the entrance. “Morning, Maya! Morning, Eli!”

Eli gave a small wave but didn’t smile. The teacher’s expression softened with concern.

As he walked inside, Maya noticed that he moved slowly, like a child carrying something invisible but heavy.

After he disappeared, she exhaled shakily.

The world expected her to move on with her day.

But she felt like she was walking through water.

On the bus home, her head felt foggy. She tried to keep her eyes open but drifted in and out of short, uneasy blinks. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of Eli’s fear—and something inside her twisted.

Responding to emails felt impossible.

Thinking about work felt impossible.

The only thing she could feel was fear mixed with responsibility, pressed tight against her chest.

Back at the flat, she made herself tea but didn’t drink it. She sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the wall.

The silence was thick.

She kept replaying Eli’s words.

“I didn’t want to walk, but my feet made me go.”

“The voice said my name.”

She pressed her palm against her forehead, trying to steady herself.

Just before lunch, her phone buzzed.

A message from school:

“Hi Maya, Eli seemed very quiet this morning. Just checking in. Everything okay at home?”

Maya closed her eyes.

She typed back slowly:

“He’s been having trouble sleeping. Working on it.”

It felt like a half-truth.

Maybe even a lie.

She didn’t know what was wrong.

She only knew it wasn’t something simple.

When Eli came home later, he dropped his bag quietly and sat on the sofa without taking out his toys. Maya watched him from the kitchen doorway.

He looked drained.

Small.

Folded into himself.

“How was school?” she asked.

“It was okay,” he said quietly, picking at the corner of a cushion.

But he wouldn’t look at her.

Later, as she tucked him into bed, he held her hand tightly.

“Mum,” he whispered, “if I hear it again… can you come fast?”

She swallowed hard.

“I’ll come before you even call,” she promised, brushing a gentle kiss onto his forehead.

He closed his eyes, trusting her without question.

But long after he was asleep, Maya stood in the doorway, watching him. Listening.

The flat seemed too still.

Too quiet.

As if holding its breath.

Something had begun.

Something she didn’t understand yet.

And deep inside her spirit—somewhere she rarely touched—Maya felt a truth rise:

This wasn’t just nightmares anymore.

This was the beginning of something deeper.

She closed her eyes, whispered a broken prayer, and let the long night settle around her.

That night, after Eli finally drifted off, Maya sat on the sofa with her knees pulled to her chest, the dim hallway light casting long shadows across the room. She didn’t turn on the TV. She didn’t scroll her phone. She didn’t move much at all.

Her body was tired, but her mind stayed awake with questions that had no place to land.

How long had this really been happening?

Why was it getting worse?

And why did it feel so familiar?

She rubbed her forehead, fighting the ache building behind her eyes. She didn’t want to remember her childhood—not that part of it. Not the nights she used to knock on her mother’s door with trembling fingers, convinced someone was calling her name from outside.

Her mother had always taken her seriously.

Always prayed.

Always spoke in a firm, steady voice, Maya never quite understood.

Back then, Maya told herself those days were behind her. England was different. Life was supposed to be normal now.

But watching her son suffer the way she once did… something old and buried began to stir.

A quiet thought rose inside her:

This is not random.

This is not just bad dreams.

This is something returning.

She swallowed hard, pressing a hand against her chest.

“God,” she whispered into the empty room, “give me wisdom. Please.”

The flat stayed silent.

But something inside her shifted—not fear this time, but a small, trembling resolve.

Whatever this was, she wasn’t letting it take Eli.

Not again.

Not in this family.

Not under her watch.