The rosary beads felt smooth and familiar between Marissa's fingers as she sat in the darkened bedroom, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..." The familiar rhythm of the prayers usually brought her peace, but tonight her heart felt heavy despite the miracle sleeping in the bed beside her.

John's steady breathing filled the quiet room. He was home—truly home—returned to her by divine intervention after three days of devastating grief. She should be overwhelmed with joy, and part of her was. But his words from the police interview kept echoing in her mind. Danny had shown her the leaked video on his phone earlier that evening, his face pale with worry.

"I was given a time frame—one year and one day—but not told what happens afterward."

One year and one day. The tears came again, as they had been coming all evening, streaming silently down her cheeks as she continued the rosary. "Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..."

She understood what those words implied. This resurrection might be temporary. Her husband had been granted a reprieve, a divine mission, but afterward... afterward he might be taken from her again, this time permanently. The thought was almost unbearable.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

As she began the next Hail Mary, the temperature in the room seemed to shift. The darkness didn't lessen, but somehow became less oppressive, as if filled with a gentle presence. Marissa's voice faltered as she sensed she was no longer alone in her vigil.

A soft luminescence began to emanate from the empty chair across from her. Marissa's breath caught in her throat as the light took form—a woman of indescribable beauty, clothed in robes of luminous blue and white that seemed to contain the very essence of serenity. Her face was youthful yet ancient, radiant with a love so pure it made Marissa's heart ache with recognition.

"Mary," she whispered, the rosary slipping from her trembling fingers.

The Mother of God smiled with infinite tenderness. "Marissa, daughter of my heart, you are blessed among women."

The voice was like music, like the memory of every lullaby ever sung, like peace itself given sound. Marissa fell to her knees beside her chair, overwhelmed by the presence of the woman who had stood at the foot of the cross, who had watched her own Son die and rise again.

"Your faith has not wavered," Mary continued, her voice filling the room without disturbing John's sleep. "Even in the depths of grief, even facing the prospect of future loss, you trust in the will of the Almighty. This pleases Him greatly."

"Blessed Mother," Marissa managed to whisper, "I don't understand what's happening. John speaks of missions and messages, of one year and one day. I'm grateful beyond words that he's been returned to me, but I'm terrified of losing him again."

Mary's expression filled with maternal compassion. “Daughter, your husband has been chosen as a messenger from the Most High. His mission is sacred—to bring warning and hope to the faithful remnant in these dark times. One year and one day has been granted for this purpose."

"And then?" Marissa's voice broke on the words.

"That is in the hands of the Father," Mary replied gently. "But you are not forgotten in this great work. Your sacrifice—the uncertainty, the fear, the temporary nature of this gift—has not gone unnoticed. You will be compensated for your loss."

Mary rose from the chair, her luminous form moving with ethereal grace toward Marissa. "You will be granted a daughter, a child who will care for you in your old age and comfort you in your trials. More than this—she will be the mother of a new nation, a people blessed by God and set apart for His purposes."

Marissa's eyes widened. "A daughter? But I'm... we've tried for years. The doctors said..."

"What is impossible with man is possible with God," Mary said, echoing the words of the Archangel Gabriel from so long ago. "Have I not learned this truth above all others?"

The Mother of God knelt beside Marissa, her presence radiating warmth and love. "Go now to your husband. What will be conceived this night is holy, ordained before the foundation of the world. Trust in the Lord's plan, as I trusted when the angel came to me."

Marissa felt tears streaming down her face—not tears of sorrow now, but of overwhelming awe and gratitude. "I am the handmaid of the Lord," she whispered, echoing Mary's own words from the Annunciation.

Mary smiled and gently touched Marissa's cheek. "Be it done unto you according to His word."

The luminous figure began to fade, becoming translucent, then dissolving into the darkness like morning mist. But her final words lingered in the air: "Fear not, daughter. Great things await."

Marissa remained kneeling for several moments, her heart pounding with a mixture of reverence and anticipation. The Mother of God had appeared to her—to her, an ordinary woman from Dallas—and promised her a child. A daughter who would mother a nation.

Rising on unsteady legs, she approached the bed where John slept. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, she could see the ligature marks still visible on his neck, the physical evidence of his death and resurrection. Her husband, chosen by God for a sacred mission. Her husband, who had only one year and one day to fulfill his calling.

She slipped into bed beside him, her movement causing the mattress to shift slightly. John stirred, his breathing changing as he began to wake.

"Marissa?" His voice was groggy but immediately concerned. "Are you all right? You've been crying."

She turned to face him, reaching out to gently touch his face. "I'm more than all right. John, the Blessed Mother... she appeared to me. She spoke to me."

John's eyes widened, instantly alert. "Mary? The Mother of God?"

"She told me about your mission, about the year and one day. And John..." Marissa's voice filled with wonder, "she told me we're going to have a daughter. Tonight. She will be conceived tonight."

John searched her face in the darkness, seeing the profound change in her expression—the fear replaced by holy anticipation, the sorrow transformed into joy.

"Are you certain it wasn't a dream?" he asked softly.

"As certain as you are that you walked with Christ in paradise," she replied.

John pulled her closer, understanding dawning in his eyes. If his resurrection was real, if his mission was genuine, then this too was part of God's plan.

As they came together in the sacred intimacy of marriage, united not just in love but in divine purpose, a remarkable thing occurred. Above their bed, visible through the darkness, a cross of pure light appeared—not burning with earthly fire, but blazing with heavenly radiance. The cross hovered over them, casting its holy light throughout the room, a sign and seal of what was being accomplished in that moment.

Neither of them spoke of the burning cross, but both saw it, both understood that they were participants in something far greater than themselves. The light grew brighter as their union was blessed by the Almighty, then gradually faded as the sacred moment reached its completion.

In the quiet aftermath, as they held each other in the darkness, Marissa felt a profound sense of peace settle over her. The fear was gone. The uncertainty remained—one year and one day was still finite—but it was now accompanied by hope and purpose.

"What will we name her?" John whispered against her hair.

"I don't know yet," Marissa replied, her hand already moving instinctively to rest on her abdomen. "But I know she's already there. I can feel it."

John's arm tightened around his wife, both of them understanding that their lives had just changed irrevocably once again. They had been chosen, both of them, for roles in a divine drama that was only beginning to unfold.

Outside their window, the first hints of dawn were beginning to touch the horizon. A new day was coming, and with it, the beginning of a new chapter in God's unfolding plan for His people.