Chapter 13: Terrible News

Bach, listening intently to Franklin's struggle with his guardian angel, offered a thoughtful response, trying to guide Franklin through his spiritual and existential crisis. "Oh... are you referring to the being you talk to?"

Franklin, surprised and slightly hopeful, responded, "Wait, do you see him too? Is it like a priest special privilege to be able to witness other's guardian angels?"

Bach shook his head gently, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Guardian you say? I'm not too familiar but I know enough to say your relationship to yours is unusual."

"I mean that guy up there gets it. I think I'm in the same boat," Franklin said, pointing upward, referencing the stained glass depiction of Jacob's struggle.

"Jacob? That's not an angel. He wrestled with God," Bach corrected gently, hoping to clarify the misunderstanding.

"Whoa, that's badass. Did he win?" Franklin asked, intrigued by the story, his interest piqued by the dramatic nature of the biblical tale.

"In a way... Once he realized it was God, he clung to Him until daybreak, begging to be blessed," Bach explained, his voice reflecting the profound nature of the struggle.

"That doesn't sound like a victory... You got any advice on defeating one? I'm trying to get rid of mine," Franklin confessed, his frustration with his own guardian angel evident.

"God placed that angel over you to protect you," Bach suggested, trying to offer a perspective that perhaps Franklin hadn't considered.

"Yeah buddy, I saved your life," the guardian angel chimed in, materializing abruptly next to Franklin, confirming Bach's statement and startling Franklin in the process.

Franklin jumped, unnerved by the angel's sudden appearance. "Yeah... well this angel is clinging onto me, and I'm losing this battle, father. Goh was supposed to lead me to the doctor; him and his daughter were supposed to be crippled," he blurted out, his voice a mixture of frustration and defeat.

Franklin's frustration boiled over as he confronted the realities of his situation, feeling cornered and misled by his own guardian angel. "Everything fell apart. I'm back to square one and this annoying angel is still here, reminding me I can't leave without finishing our bargain," he vented, his voice tinged with resentment.

The guardian angel, trying to lighten the mood, responded with an attempt at encouragement, "Awwww don't make such a fuss, look at all the cool people you've met. Don't give up on them yet, I still believe in you." He patted Franklin on the shoulder, a gesture meant to reassure, but it only irritated Franklin further.

"I swear... You can't be an angel, you've only resembled a demon this entire time," Franklin retorted sharply. His disillusionment with the angel's methods and suggestions was palpable. "You want me to part out pieces of me to those in need? That's the most absurd thing... no angel would come up with something like that."

"I didn't come up with that. You did. You want this just as much as I do, Franklin," the angel replied calmly, reflecting the deeper desires and conflicts within Franklin that he was perhaps not ready to acknowledge.

In his anger, Franklin clenched his fist, his frustration reaching a boiling point. "Father, please tell me how to harm an angel, there's got to be something in that thick holy book of yours that's of value..." he exclaimed, hoping for some divine loophole or intervention.

However, his plea was met with silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of snoring. Turning towards Bach's direction, Franklin opened the window to check on him, only to be greeted by the smell of smoke spilling into the space. He quickly shut it, leaning in to confirm the priest's snores. Shaking his head in disappointment, he muttered, "Just when I start to open up, he doesn't want to listen."

As he turned back to face the angel, expecting another round of unwelcome advice or commentary, he instead found Sumi standing before him. He flinched, startled by her sudden appearance in place of the angel. Her presence was unexpected yet grounding, bringing a different energy into the room—one that perhaps signaled a shift in the nature of his guidance or the possibility of finding a different kind of support than he had been wrestling with.

Franklin's hand trembled as he took the photo from Sumi, his fingers brushing against hers momentarily. He gazed at the image of his wife, her smile captured in a moment forever paused in time, her beauty still resonating through the faded photograph. When Sumi mentioned the resemblance to her mother, a pang of nostalgia and regret struck Franklin.

Turning the photo over to read the inscription he'd never noticed—or perhaps had forgotten—his heart clenched in anticipation. At Sumi's apology, he responded, not with the irritation that had tinged much of his interactions, but with a soft, pleading voice, "Read it to me. Please..."

Sumi, acknowledging the intimacy of the moment and the trust being placed in her, stepped closer. She took a deep breath and began to read the delicate script penned in French, her voice gentle, "To my dearest husband, How much longer will you be away? I'm getting lonely, but that won't be for much longer... I am with child. By the time this letter reaches you, both your daughter and I will be waiting for your return. Don't die in this forsaken war. Love, Colette."

The words, so full of hope and longing, seemed to hang in the air between them, a bridge across time and memory. Sumi covered her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked up at Franklin, expecting perhaps tears, anger, or grief. But Franklin was motionless, his expression unreadable as he processed the revelation of his child, a daughter he had never met. A broken hiccup, the only audible sign of his emotional turmoil, broke the heavy silence.

His eyes, once sharp with anger and suspicion, were now lost, hollow. His posture, usually tense and ready for confrontation, slumped as if the weight of his past choices and the reality of what he had missed pressed down upon him. The war, which had taken so much from him, now revealed its cruelest theft—not just the time with his wife but the existence of a daughter he had never known.