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1092 Words
The sun drifted lazily across the Beverly Hills skyline, painting the Moriel lawns in soft gold. The mansion hummed with its usual quiet rhythm—staff padding through corridors, the gentle clink of glass somewhere in the distance, the whisper of the indoor fountains.
Levi stood in the grand atrium, hands tucked into his pockets, pacing a little as he waited for his father to return. His Aston Martin keys spun slowly between his fingers—a nervous habit he only allowed inside the house.
From the open balcony above, the sound of voices floated down—light, feminine, and full of life. It pulled a smile from him despite the weight of the upcoming trip pressing on his shoulders.
The scent of rosemary, garlic, and baked butter drifted from the kitchen.
He exhaled.
Home always smelled like peace.
The kitchen was alive with motion—warm light glowing off marble, staff moving like a well-rehearsed orchestra, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, carrying trays.
Atarah stood at the center island, sleeves rolled up, gold bracelet glinting as she sliced ripe tomatoes with practiced elegance.
Tirzah stood beside her, hair tied loosely, pinching flour between her fingers as she shaped soft dough. She laughed every few minutes—sometimes at a joke, sometimes at herself—her voice brightening the entire kitchen like opening a window to fresh sunlight.
“Mom, I’m telling you,” she said, dusting her hands dramatically, “if this bread comes out crooked, nobody should judge me. My anointing is for style, not bakery warfare.”
Atarah chuckled. “Sweetheart, the last time you baked something crooked, the staff framed it.”
The chefs laughed. Tirzah bowed with exaggerated pride.
“Iconic behavior,” she declared.
One of the sous-chefs whispered to the head chef, “She should open a bakery.”
“She’d turn it into a fashion runway,” the head chef whispered back.
Tirzah heard them.
She grinned like she’d been caught plotting world domination.
The distant echo of tires rolling over the driveway announced him before the staff even moved.
Levi straightened.
A moment later, the doors opened, and Lemuel Moriel stepped inside—tailored suit, calm authority radiating off him like warm gravity. He removed his sunglasses, eyes immediately landing on his son.
“Levi.”
“Dad.”
They met halfway, standing shoulder to shoulder near the center of the foyer.
“You’re leaving soon,” Lemuel said quietly, studying Levi’s face.
“Yes, sir. I’ve packed everything.”
“Good.” A thoughtful pause. “But is your heart packed as well?”
Levi smirked faintly. “Almost.”
Lemuel placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “Come. Sit.”
They sat on the ivory bench by the tall windows. Light washed over them like a blessing.
Lemuel took Levi’s hands—firm, warm, strong.
“Son,” he said softly, “where you’re going requires more than brilliance. It requires discernment, humility, and a heart anchored in truth.”
Levi swallowed. “I know.”
“I’m proud of you,” Lemuel said, voice low. “And I trust the grace over your life.”
Then he prayed—slow, intentional, words flowing like calm water:
“Father, guide my son.
Give him clarity beyond noise.
Give him courage beyond fear.
Give him favor beyond resistance.
Keep him in every step and return him safely to us.”
Levi felt the weight lift from his chest—replaced by peace that settled deep and warm.
“Amen,” he whispered.
“Amen,” Lemuel echoed, squeezing his shoulder once more.
A staff member appeared in the doorway, bowing politely.
“Sir… lunch is ready.”
The moment they entered the dining hall, laughter greeted them like sunlight.
Atarah placed the final tray on the table. Tirzah had flour on her cheek—she didn’t know it yet, and Atarah had decided not to tell her because it made her look adorably victorious.
The table glowed—fresh herbs, roasted chicken, buttered rolls, creamy potatoes, grilled vegetables, and golden bread (slightly crooked, exactly as expected).
“Dad!” Tirzah rushed up to embrace him, floral apron and all.
He kissed her forehead. “Smells like you’ve conquered the kitchen again.”
“I tried,” she said dramatically, “but the bread had its own opinions.”
Levi laughed. “It looks like it rebelled.”
“You’ll still eat it,” she fired back.
“Gladly.”
They all took their seats—Lemuel at the head, Atarah glowing beside him, Tirzah humming softly as she poured juice, and Levi already reaching for the potatoes.
The room filled with easy joy—the kind that comes from family, warmth, and peace after a long morning.
Clinking forks. Soft laughter. Flickers of sunlight through the tall windows.
A perfect afternoon in the House of Luminaries.
The afternoon sunlight slanted gently through the tall windows as Levi rolled his suitcase toward the foyer. The whole house felt… calm. Not dramatic. Not teary. Just that warm, familiar rhythm that came anytime Levi prepared to head out again.
Tirzah leaned against the banister, arms folded, giving him that playful “don’t forget you promised to text me when you land” look. Atarah stood beside her, already straightening Levi’s collar even though it didn’t need fixing.
Mr. Lemuel joined them last, stepping in with the quiet authority of a man who had watched this scene play out many times. No tension, no fuss — just steady love.
“Alright, champion,” he said, placing a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “You know the drill.”
Everyone formed a small circle — not a dramatic prayer meeting, just a simple family moment. Mr. Lemuel prayed a short, strong blessing over him. Nothing long, nothing emotional — just a father sending his son out with grace, like he always did.
“Amen,” they all said softly.
Levi hugged each of them with a grin that said, I’ll be fine — you already know this.
Tirzah smacked his arm lightly. “Behave yourself, traveler.”
Atarah added, “Don’t skip meals.”
Mr. Lemuel simply nodded at him with proud eyes. “Go. Do what you need to do.”
Levi gave one last wave, stepped into the waiting car, and the door closed with that satisfying, familiar click.
They watched him go — not worried, not emotional — just peaceful.
Because this wasn’t goodbye.
It was just Levi being Levi, doing what he’s always done.
- Writer
