Three years ago…
Narrator
It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon. The house was peaceful, and all three girls—Elizabeth, Natasha, and Bianca—were enjoying a rare moment of quiet together in their humble little home.
Today marked exactly one year since Bianca landed her job as a supervisor at a gas station. It wasn't her dream job, not by a long shot—especially considering her degrees and qualifications—but in a country where opportunities were scarce, she'd learned to hold tight to what she could get.
Elizabeth sat in the living room behind her newly acquired industrial sewing machine, carefully stitching a pink handbag. She had saved up for three years—juggling jobs as an instrumentalist and a disguised chauffeur—to buy three different machines: one for bags, one for shoes, and one for clothes.
It was a dream she'd quietly nurtured since childhood. Fashion had always been in her blood—passed down from her mother.
Between her growing side hustle and contributions to the household, the girls' lives had become a little easier. Elizabeth, Bianca, and Natasha split the bills more smoothly now. Elizabeth worked like a machine—dropping her boss off in the mornings, tutoring elementary school kids by midday, chauffeuring Sharon back home in the evening, and then heading off to play at gigs for her nightly music sessions.
And somehow, in between all of that, she still made time to sew and create stunning pieces she sold online.
Natasha, now working as an editor, and Bianca, the supervisor, found their home dynamic much more manageable, thanks to Elizabeth's relentless drive.
Today, it was Natasha's turn to handle all the cooking for the week. Meanwhile, Bianca lounged on the floor in the living room, scrolling through her phone with one leg crossed over the other.
"Babe, babe, babe!" Bianca suddenly jumped up and waved her phone in front of Elizabeth. "Look at this gorgeous handbag! Girl, this is the same design I begged you to make for me last time!"
Elizabeth didn't even look up from the sewing machine. "Of course, I did," she replied, dragging the word out like it was part of a melody.
Bianca rolled her eyes, plopping back down on the floor. "Yeah, you made it alright… then sold it to that lowlife witch on the second floor. I feel betrayed."
Elizabeth paused to hold a black thread between her lips as she changed the machine's needle. "I'll make another one for you—for free—even. But on one condition."
Bianca's eyes sparkled. She loved free things. "Name it. Done. Signed, sealed, delivered."
Elizabeth exhaled exaggeratedly, shooting her a mock-stern look. "Next week's supposed to be my cooking week. You take it instead, and I'll make you that fancy bag—custom style."
"Deal!" Bianca said without missing a beat, throwing her hands in the air like she'd won a lottery.
She had longed for Elizabeth to remake the bag, but her best friend always said, "Customers come first." Bianca wasn't considered one—she was more like family.
"I can't guarantee it'll be done tomorrow," Elizabeth said while fiddling with a stubborn zipper. "But maybe in two days. This zip's behaving like Satan himself—dragging threads like it has enemies."
Bianca snickered. "Girl, don't start casting out demons on your poor sewing machine."
From the kitchen, Natasha yelled over the noise of boiling stew, "Instead of sewing out evil spirits, come fight this pepper! My eyes are crying like I just watched an Italian wedding proposal video!"
"That zip is probably tired," Bianca added, not looking up from her screen. "Elizabeth's been sewing since Thursday like she's designing garments for Jesus himself."
Elizabeth paused, jaw tight, cheeks flushed. Her friends always found a way to tease her, and somehow, her tongue could never find the right comebacks quickly enough.
"Excuse me!" she snapped. "When you're out there rocking my handmade bags and posing like rich aunties, don't forget it's this same 'demonic zip' you mocked!"
"Anyway, someone come help me with these onions!" Natasha groaned. "My eyes are going blind. I wish it were Elizabeth's week to cook. I miss those Brazilian dishes."
"You mean those pastel?" Bianca kissed her fingertips. "Damn, girl made them taste like they were manna falling from heaven. I almost ate a thousand."
"I know, right?" Natasha said, shaking her head. "You seriously need to open a restaurant, Liz."
Elizabeth chuckled lightly.
Bianca peeked toward the kitchen. "I would help with the onions, but my nails are still emotionally traumatized from last time."
"Emotionally traumatized?" Natasha muttered, rolling her eyes.
Elizabeth smirked. "Please. You and those talon nails—looking like praying mantis fingers."
"Ah! Pastor Lizzy, you've started again," Bianca shot back. "Aren't you supposed to be focused on tonight's church service?"
"Yes, and I'll be praying for you two," Elizabeth quipped, walking to stretch her back. "You need deliverance. Especially you, Bianca—scrolling your life away on that phone like it's a ministry."
Natasha burst into laughter from the kitchen. "She's evangelizing memes!"
Bianca raised her hands in mock reverence. "And the Lord said, 'Go into the world and share reels.' I'm just obeying the word!"
Elizabeth groaned. "You people need help. Seriously."
She glanced at the wall clock and sighed. "I've got to leave. Evening service starts soon."
Natasha stepped out, holding a spatula. "But the food's almost ready! Won't you eat first?"
Elizabeth was already halfway to her room. "The food won't vanish. Unless you and Bianca finish it all, which wouldn't surprise me. I'll eat when I get back."
Natasha shrugged and returned to the stew.
Moments later, Elizabeth re-emerged wearing a dark green long-sleeve blouse with a high turtle-neck collar, paired with floral palazzo pants and a sleek black track blazer. She carried her usual brown satchel and matched it with vintage Oxford shoes. Her floor-length hair was neatly tied and wrapped in a matching floral hijab that brought harmony to her whole look. The scent of lavender perfume followed her like a silent announcement.
"I'll see you both when I return," she said, picking up her Bible and rosary from the ottoman.
Bianca raised a brow. "Wait—babe, aren't you usually in your nun's cloak for church? What's with the switch?"
Natasha peeked out of the kitchen, curious too.
Elizabeth paused at the door, then turned slightly with a quiet smile.
"Not always," she said softly—and then she left.