Visitors 20
Twin Beds and Angel Assignments
January 10, 2026 – When bedrooms need reconfiguring and destinies need contemplating
Saturday morning arrives with the particular quietness that comes from everyone sleeping in after an emotionally exhausting week. Johnathan is the first awake—his internal clock refuses to recognize weekends—and he retreats to his office with his coffee, savoring the rare luxury of uninterrupted silence before the house comes alive.
Johnathan's secret thought: Contract secured. Money coming. Family safe. This is what success feels like—not dramatic or glamorous, just the absence of immediate crisis. I can breathe again. At least until the next financial cliff appears on the horizon.
He's reviewing documentation for the server installation when he hears it—a knock so quiet he almost misses it entirely. The kind of knock that signals someone who's afraid of being a burden, who's practiced the art of making themselves small and unobtrusive.
Johnathan opens the door to find Angel standing there in her pajamas, her hair sleep-tangled, her expression serious. She's clutching her hands together nervously—a tell he's learned means she's about to ask for something important.
Dad, so sorry to bother you, but can I talk to you? Just you?
Johnathan grins, gesturing her into his office with genuine enthusiasm. This is what he's been hoping for—Angel feeling comfortable enough to come to him with problems, to trust him as a father figure.
Any time, sweetheart. What's on your mind?
Angel sits in the chair across from his desk, clearly organizing her thoughts, practicing her speech internally before speaking. She takes a deep breath.
It's Jennifer. There's an issue and I don't want to talk to Mom or Jennifer about it. Can we get two twin beds instead of my full bed? Jennifer—I love her to death and everything—but she's a bed hog. She rolls one way and takes all the covers and leaves me freezing, and then she rolls the other way and is right up against me, like she wants to cuddle or something.
She pauses, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment.
It makes me uncomfortable, because... because you know why. And I didn't want to tell Jennifer that because she wouldn't understand, and I didn't want to tell Mom because I can tell she's already afraid that Jennifer and me—well, you know.
Johnathan's secret thought: She's worried about physical boundaries being crossed. After what she's been through—the trafficking, the survival sex work—of course she needs clear physical space, even with someone she loves and trusts. This isn't about Jennifer doing anything wrong. It's about Angel protecting herself, maintaining control over her own body in ways she couldn't before.
Johnathan nods slowly, his expression serious and understanding. He chooses his words carefully, wanting to validate her concerns without making her feel more self-conscious.
Well, there isn't much money in the bank for the next two weeks, but I think I can figure something out and get you some twin beds. Maybe I can trade something for them. I can tell how important this is to you, and thank you for trusting me with your concerns.
I know this subject is sensitive and I wouldn't want to embarrass you. Intimacy with girlfriends is tricky. There is a special kind of intimacy between women that men don't have, and few understand. There's a fine line between girl friends and lovers, and you can't always tell when you're crossing that line. I'm so proud of you that you understand that at such a young age.
Angel's shoulders visibly relax. She'd been braced for judgment or dismissal, and instead received understanding and validation. A smile spreads across her face—genuine relief.
Thank you, Daddy. Hopefully we can do it soon. I could put Jennifer on the couch, but that would hurt her feelings and I don't want to do that.
Johnathan's secret thought: Daddy. She called me Daddy instead of Dad. That's the first time. Something about this conversation—the vulnerability, the trust, the paternal protection I'm offering—shifted something in her. I'm not just "Dad the adoptive father figure." I'm Daddy. I'm really her father now. God, I love this kid.
Angel heads back to her bedroom, trying to sneak back into bed without waking Jennifer. She moves with practiced stealth—skills learned from years of navigating dangerous spaces where being noticed meant being targeted.
Johnathan sits back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips. The title "Daddy" echoes in his mind, filling him with warmth and determination. He loves his little girl more every day—the miracle of watching her heal, watching her trust, watching her become more fully herself.
He's just settled back into his work when another knock sounds on his door. Angel is back, her expression different now—thoughtful, troubled, working through something philosophical rather than practical.
Dad, I have another question. Don't worry, it doesn't cost money.
Ask away, sweetheart. I'll do my best to get you an answer.
Angel sits again, her expression very serious—the look she gets when wrestling with existential questions that most fourteen-year-olds never have to contemplate.
That doctor—that PhD guy at that church yesterday. He said that I was chosen by the angels. That they saved me from that world I was in because of my capacity to create Love, and the angels are all about Love. I don't like that. Why me? Just me? There are dozens of kids in that world. Millions of kids like that all around the world. Why don't the angels choose all of them? That sucks. I don't think it works that way. It's too unfair.
Angel's secret thought: I can't accept a theology that says I deserved rescue because of some special capacity while other kids stay trapped. Taylor is still struggling. Countless others are still being sold right now. If the angels are real and powerful, why just me? Why not everyone? The unfairness of it makes the whole thing feel like a convenient story for privileged people.
Johnathan smiles—the gentle expression of someone who's also wrestled with these questions and found answers that work for him, even if they're not perfect.
It seems you're having a little survivor guilt there, honey. No, I don't think it works that way either. If you think about it, the angels didn't choose to take you out of that world. You made that choice yourself. You were already on your way, and all they did was guide you to Liora.
You see, you didn't ever completely assimilate into that world. So when the time was right, you got out—all on your own. A lot of the other kids do assimilate into that world and it just becomes their world, maybe for their whole life. If the angels dragged them out of that world against their will, they would go right back to it. Angels, I think, don't intervene that way. You have to do the work, and then they just help out a little, give a little guidance. Otherwise it would violate your free will.
Johnathan's secret thought: That's the theological framework that makes sense to me—cooperation between human agency and divine guidance. Not predestination or arbitrary selection, but responding to people who are already reaching toward something better. Angels as amplifiers, not dictators. But I'm not sure if that's actually true or just what I need to believe to make peace with an unjust universe.
Angel smiles, the tension in her shoulders easing again. This explanation fits better with her understanding of her own experience—she did choose to leave, did resist assimilation even when it would have been easier to surrender to that life.
I knew you would have an answer. I love you more every day.
She gives Johnathan a hug—quick and fierce, the kind of embrace that communicates gratitude and affection without lingering too long in vulnerability. She prepares to leave, but Johnathan holds up a hand.
Don't leave yet, sweetie. There's more that you need to get prepared for.
Angel turns around, her expression shifting to playful suspicion.
More? Don't say something dumb and ruin it all.
Johnathan laughs—the warm, genuine laugh of someone who appreciates his daughter's sharp wit.
I promise not to be dumb. Here's what Linda taught us. We were amazed that we both got a house that we didn't really qualify for, and that they were right next to each other. I never told Liora this, but the first instant I saw her, I knew she would be the perfect woman for me. It was love at first sight.
Liora and Linda and I all think the angels had something to do with that. They didn't make us fall in love, but I think they had a pretty good idea that we would. Linda told us, though, to get prepared. She said that angels don't just try to make people happy. She said that angel Love is a two-way street. They do something wonderful for you, but they expect you to do something wonderful for them.
That's where your capacity for Love comes in. It wasn't but a few hours after Linda told us that when you showed up on our doorstep. The angels knew that we had the capacity for Love that would be necessary to love you and take care of you. Now you have to consider what the angels might have in store for you.
It won't happen right now—I think they'll let you grow up first. But later on, when you're older, maybe thirty or forty or fifty, who knows, they'll have a really big job for you to do. Anyway, I have to get back to work. A computer guy from the county is coming over today to talk about installing the new server.
Angel's secret thought: A job from the angels. A destiny. That's both thrilling and terrifying. What if I'm not ready? What if I fail? What if the job is something I don't want to do? But also—the idea that my life has purpose beyond survival, that I might be able to help others the way I was helped... that's actually beautiful. Scary, but beautiful.
Angel contemplates this revelation, her expression cycling through surprise, doubt, acceptance, and finally determination. When she speaks, her voice carries quiet strength.
I'm not afraid. I'll be ready. But I think I already got one job to do for the angels. Her name is Jennifer.
She gives Johnathan another hug and heads back to her room. As she climbs into bed next to the still-sleeping Jennifer, she thinks about divine assignments and friendship and the work of helping someone navigate faith without losing critical thinking.
Angel's secret thought: Okay, angels. You're going to have to help me with Jennifer. This girl is going to be a lot of work. She's diving headfirst into belief without questioning anything. I need to help her find balance—faith with wisdom, hope with realism. If this is my angel assignment, I'm going to need some serious guidance.
Downstairs, Liora emerges from the bedroom and starts making breakfast. The smell of bacon eventually wakes the girls. Mia appears, rubbing her eyes, dragging her favorite stuffed animal. Linda arrives to pick her up—Saturday morning cookie-making lessons with Lynette, a tradition that brings joy to everyone involved.
Oh my, Linda. You slice the dough and put them in the oven. How hard is that?
That's just step one. When they're older, I'm teaching them how to make cookies from scratch. Real baking education.
Johnathan has set up the kitchen table with documentation for the server installation—diagrams, specifications, contracts. He's ready when the county IT specialist arrives. Angel opens the door to find a young man in his early twenties, attractive and professional-looking, carrying a briefcase and laptop bag.
Oh hi. You must be looking for my dad. He's in the kitchen.
As the young man walks toward the kitchen, Jennifer is coming down the stairs. She stops suddenly—literally stops mid-step—her eyes wide, her mouth open. She stares at the young man with an expression of instant, overwhelming infatuation.
Jennifer's secret thought: Oh my God. He's perfect. Look at him. That's what a grown man looks like. That's what my future husband looks like. I need to look presentable. I need makeup. I need different clothes. I need to not be wearing pajamas with cartoon characters on them. Emergency. This is an emergency.
Jennifer bolts—actually runs back up the stairs to Angel's room with the kind of panicked energy usually reserved for natural disasters. Angel, completely bewildered, follows her.
Angel stares in disbelief as Jennifer frantically strips out of her pajamas and into daytime clothes, stumbling as she tries to get her jeans on while simultaneously searching for her shoes. Jennifer rushes to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Jennifer! What in the world are you doing? Is that makeup? You don't wear makeup.
Didn't you see him? That cute guy in the kitchen?
Angel shakes her head, torn between amusement and exasperation.
Oh my God, Jennifer! You see some guy from across the room and in one second you're in love? He's just some guy visiting Dad, talking about computer stuff. He's not interested in dating you, silly. Anyway, he's way too old for you and probably has a girlfriend or a wife.
Well, it doesn't hurt to be prepared, you know, just in case.
Angel gives Jennifer a stern look—the expression of someone who's seen too much of the world to find teenage romantic fantasies charming.
So are you going to run down there and ask him out?
So, are you going to leave me for some guy? I expected this in ten years, not now. You're way too young.
Jennifer gives Angel an equally stern look, her romantic determination solidifying into defensive logic.
I'm going to be sixteen next month. My mom is thirty-two. Do the math. She wasn't too young, and neither am I. She already had a boyfriend when she was our age.
Jennifer! Get real. Ask your mom about that and I bet she regrets it. Anyway, if you go down there, just smile. Don't say a word or he'll know you're still a kid. And for God's sake, don't giggle if he says something funny.
Angel's secret thought: This is hilarious and also concerning. Jennifer has zero experience with men, zero understanding of how predatory some guys can be. She's about to embarrass herself spectacularly, and I can't decide if I should let it happen as a learning experience or protect her from it. Probably let it happen. Better to learn about romantic rejection in a safe environment than out in the real world.
Jennifer finishes combing the tangles out of her hair, applies a light pink lipstick with more care than necessary, and grins at Angel with determined optimism. She heads downstairs ready for what will most likely be a crushing disappointment.
Johnathan and the county IT specialist are deep in discussion about server specifications—processor speeds, GPU configurations, RAM requirements. The kind of technical conversation that sounds like a foreign language to anyone not fluent in computer hardware.
Angel and Jennifer enter the kitchen. Angel is still in her pajamas, her hair a bedhead mess—completely comfortable being herself. Jennifer is dressed in a carefully chosen outfit, her hair meticulously combed, lipstick perfect. The contrast is striking.
We'll be quiet, Dad. We're just going to cook a little breakfast.
The girls start assembling breakfast ingredients—bacon in the air fryer, eggs being scrambled. Jennifer can't resist. She looks at the young man and uses what she imagines is her grown-up voice.
Would you like something? Some coffee, or some breakfast? We have plenty.
The IT specialist looks up from his laptop briefly, offering a polite but dismissive smile.
No, I'm fine, sweetie. Thanks anyway.
Jennifer's secret thought: Sweetie. He called me sweetie. He thinks I'm a little kid. Not a potential girlfriend, not even a young woman—a child. The dismissiveness in that word destroys every romantic fantasy I built in the last fifteen minutes. Don't cry. Don't cry and make a complete fool of yourself. Just retreat with dignity.
Jennifer's heart drops visibly. Her carefully constructed mature facade crumbles. Angel touches her shoulder gently, whispering with affectionate mockery.
It's okay, 'sweetie.' You tried. That's what counts.
The girls take their breakfast to Angel's bedroom, Jennifer too embarrassed to stay downstairs. They eat in silence for a few minutes before Jennifer finally speaks.
Welcome to reality. Most romantic fantasies end in embarrassment, not marriage. Consider this a valuable learning experience.
I hate learning experiences.
Everyone does. That's why they're educational.
Downstairs, Liora appears with her briefcase and laptop bag, ready to head next door to work with Mildred on their hotel proposal.
I'll be at Mildred's, Johnathan. We have a ton of work to get done, and apparently, so do you. Jennifer looked upset. Are the girls fighting?
Johnathan, completely oblivious to the romantic drama that just unfolded, shrugs.
I have no idea. She looked fine to me.
Liora kisses him goodbye and heads next door, leaving Johnathan to his technical discussions. He and the IT specialist work through the server configuration details, determining specifications, discussing security protocols, planning the installation timeline.
The project is coming together beautifully. The co-location facility in town has appropriate security, which means Johnathan won't have to travel to the state capital for maintenance. Staying close to Liora and the girls remains his top priority—family before career advancement.
Upstairs, Angel and Jennifer finish their breakfast and halfheartedly work on homework while listening to music. As Jennifer's hormone rush subsides and her sudden need to find a husband fades, they decide to go shopping—not to buy much, just to look at stuff and hang out. It's what teenagers do on Saturdays.
Angel is anxious as they walk through the stores. She moves cautiously, ready to dash behind a clothing rack if she spots someone from her past—someone who might recognize her, who might drag her back into that world through memory or actual contact.
Angel's secret thought: Every time I'm in public, there's this low-level fear that someone will recognize me. Not as "Angel Taylor, adopted daughter," but as "that girl from the trap house." The past is always lurking, waiting to contaminate the present. I hate living with this constant vigilance, but I can't turn it off. Survival instincts don't have an off switch.
They browse through stores aimlessly, trying on clothes they can't afford, taking selfies in dressing rooms, critiquing fashion choices with the particular cruelty and honesty of teenage girls. By late afternoon, they return home to find an unexpected scene.
Johnathan and Linda are rearranging Angel's and Mia's bedrooms. The full-size bed has been moved into Mia's room. Mia's twin bed is now in Angel's room, joined by another twin bed—Linda has donated a spare mattress, and Johnathan managed to find an affordable frame within his limited budget.
Now you girls have your own beds so you don't have to be crowded into that one bed. More space, more comfort.
Jennifer gives Angel a confused look—clearly wondering why this change happened without consultation. Angel grins.
I asked him to do that so now we have our own space and don't have to fight over the covers. See how well I take care of you? You don't need no stinky boyfriend.
Jennifer laughs, the earlier embarrassment about the IT specialist fading into irrelevance. She hugs Angel with genuine gratitude.
You're the best. Way better than some random guy who calls me sweetie.
Liora, who's been watching this exchange, gives Angel a questioning look—clearly catching the boyfriend reference and wondering what she missed. Angel just shrugs and smiles, offering no explanation.
Liora's secret thought: Something happened today involving Jennifer and a boyfriend or potential boyfriend. Angel handled it somehow. I should probably ask for details, but also—Angel is managing her relationships, protecting her friend, maintaining boundaries. Maybe I don't need to micromanage every interaction. Maybe I can trust her to navigate this.
Dinnertime is a peaceful episode of domestic bliss. Liora makes spaghetti with meat sauce—simple, reliable, crowd-pleasing. Everyone gathers around the table. Mia chatters about cookie-making with Linda and Lynette. Johnathan discusses server specifications with anyone who'll listen. Angel and Jennifer trade jokes and subtle references to the morning's romantic disaster.
Each person at the table is content and fulfilled by today's happenings. Problems solved: bedroom arrangements addressed, work progressing, relationships maintained. Small victories that accumulate into something resembling stability.
Nighttime transports them to pleasant dreams, immune for at least one day from any anxiety. Mia dreams of cookies and school friends. Liora dreams of renovated hotels and successful business ventures. Johnathan dreams of servers and code and financial security.
Jennifer, in her new twin bed on one side of Angel's room, dreams of actual age-appropriate romantic interests instead of dismissive IT specialists. She's learned a valuable lesson about the difference between fantasy and reality, though she'll need several more such lessons before the knowledge truly sinks in.
Angel, in her own twin bed with her own covers that Jennifer can't steal, feels a profound sense of relief. Physical boundaries established. Personal space protected. The ability to sleep without unwanted physical contact—something most people take for granted but which feels like a luxury to someone with her history.
As she drifts toward sleep, she thinks about Johnathan's words. About angel assignments and future missions and the work she's already doing with Jennifer. The responsibility feels enormous, but also right somehow. Purpose beyond survival. Meaning beyond mere existence.
Angel's secret thought: If helping Jennifer navigate faith and skepticism is my angel assignment for now, I can do that. If there's some bigger mission waiting for me in thirty years, I'll deal with that when it comes. For now, I have a family who loves me, a best friend who came back despite knowing my worst secrets, and my own bed with my own covers. That's not nothing. That's actually everything.
Several little angels smile at each other—invisible, peripheral, hovering at the edges of perception. They're satisfied with their work of creating Love, arranging circumstances, protecting vulnerable souls. But they're also painfully aware of troubles ahead. Nothing stays peaceful forever. Growth requires challenge.
For now, though, peace reigns in the Taylor household. Saturday, January 10, 2026, releases its grip. Tomorrow brings church services and family meals and the ongoing work of building relationships. But tonight there is rest.
Forever and for real—the promise that sustains them through every challenge, every revelation, every moment when the past threatens to overwhelm the present. Forever and for real, this family endures.
The angels keep watch. The house sleeps. And Love continues its quiet work of healing broken things and making them whole.
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