Marissa Foster stirred awake with a sense of peace. For the first time since John's death—and resurrection—she had slept deeply, without the restless tossing and turning that had plagued her nights. The morning sunlight filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting gentle patterns across the hardwood floor, and she felt genuinely rested.

She reached across the bed, expecting to find John's warm form beside her, but her hand met only cool sheets. That was unusual—John had always been a late sleeper, and she typically rose first to start their morning routine. But the indent in his pillow and the faint warmth still lingering in the mattress told her he hadn't been gone long.

Sliding her feet into slippers and wrapping her terry cloth robe around herself, Marissa padded down the hallway toward John's study. That's where she would find him, she was certain—sitting in his leather chair with a cup of coffee, either reading or lost in thought as he had been so often since his return.

But the study was empty, the chair unoccupied, though she could smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne in the air. How strange.

The sound of clattering pans and the rich aroma of bacon frying drew her toward the kitchen. She found John standing at the stove, wearing the apron she'd given him years ago that read "World's Best Dad," methodically flipping strips of bacon while a pan of scrambled eggs bubbled beside it. The counter was covered with ingredients—flour for pancakes, fresh berries, even the good maple syrup they usually saved for special occasions.

"John?" she said, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this?"

He turned toward her with a smile that seemed both familiar and somehow different—more purposeful than she'd seen since his return. "Good morning, beautiful. I called a family meeting. Everyone should be here in about twenty minutes."

Marissa felt a flutter of concern mixed with curiosity. "A family meeting? On a Thursday morning? The kids have school, and Anthony and Elijah have work..."

"I called them early. They're all coming." John returned to his cooking, adding fresh pancake batter to the griddle with practiced ease. "Danny's bringing juice, and I asked Violet to pick up that whipped cream the grandkids love for the pancakes."

"John Foster, what is this about?" Marissa moved closer, studying his profile as he worked. There was something different about him this morning—an energy, a sense of mission that hadn't been there the day before.

He glanced at her with that mischievous look she'd fallen in love with thirty-two years ago. "You'll have to wait and find out with everyone else."

Marissa stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "Fine, keep your secrets. But this better be good if you're making me wait."

John laughed—a sound that filled her heart with joy. "It will be, I promise."

True to his word, twenty minutes later the house filled with the controlled chaos of the extended Foster family arriving all at once. Anthony and Violet came through the front door with eight-year-old Jonny and six-year-old Albert in tow, both boys immediately running toward the kitchen, drawn by the smell of bacon. Elijah arrived moments later with Ming, who was showing beautifully at six months pregnant, and their daughters—four-year-old Lily and two-year-old Emma. Danny brought up the rear, carrying two large containers of orange juice and looking puzzled but intrigued.

"Grandpa John!" Jonny and Albert chorused, while Lily toddled toward him with arms outstretched and Emma clung shyly to Ming's leg before warming up enough to join the hugs.

"Morning, everyone," John said, his face lighting up at the sight of his family gathered together. He scooped up little Emma, who giggled and patted his cheek with her small hand.

The large dining room table, which typically only saw this much food during holidays, groaned under the weight of the feast John had prepared. Platters of bacon and sausage, fluffy scrambled eggs, a stack of golden pancakes, fresh fruit, and yes, the whipped cream that made the grandchildren's eyes widen with delight.

"Dad, what's the occasion?" Anthony asked, helping Albert into his booster seat while Elijah secured Lily in her high chair and Ming cut Emma's pancakes into tiny pieces.

"Let's eat first, then we'll talk," John replied, taking his place at the head of the table.

The family joined hands as John offered a blessing that was longer and more heartfelt than his usual brief prayers. Little Emma babbled "Amen" loudly when he finished, making everyone chuckle before the children eagerly reached for the pancakes.

Conversation during breakfast was light—the older boys chattering about school, Ming discussing baby preparations while keeping Emma from painting herself entirely with syrup, Violet mentioning her volunteer work at the church. Lily carefully arranged her bacon into patterns on her plate, while Emma managed to get more whipped cream on her face than in her mouth. But Marissa could sense the undercurrent of curiosity from the adults. John had never called an impromptu family gathering like this, especially not on a weekday morning.

When the last plate was cleared and the children had been excused to play in the family room—Jonny and Albert leading the way while Lily toddled after them and Emma was content to play with her toy blocks nearby—the adults remained seated around the table. John's expression grew serious.

"I need to tell you all something that happened last night," he began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made everyone lean forward slightly.

Marissa felt her stomach tighten. "John, what is it?"

"I was visited by an angel of the Lord. The archangel Raphael."

The silence that followed was profound. Anthony and Elijah exchanged glances, while Danny's coffee cup froze halfway to his lips. Ming's hand instinctively moved to her pregnant belly, and Violet's eyes widened.

"An angel," Anthony said slowly, his lawyer's mind clearly processing this information. "Like, an actual angel. With wings and everything?"

"With wings and everything," John confirmed. "He told me that I'm to be anointed today as a prophet of God. There's an Orthodox church nearby, and I'm to go there to receive this anointing from their priest."

"Orthodox?" Violet asked, confusion evident in her voice. "But John, we're Catholic. Why not Father Giuseppe at St. Pius?"

John shook his head. "Raphael was clear. God doesn't care about denominational differences—only about faithfulness to His commandments. The Orthodox priest is the one who's been chosen for this."

From the family room came the sound of Lily's delighted squeals as Jonny tickled her, and Emma's happy babbling as she stacked blocks. The normalcy of those sounds contrasted sharply with the extraordinary nature of their conversation.

Marissa reached across the table and took her husband's hand. It was warm and solid, reassuringly real despite the otherworldly nature of what he was describing. "When are you going?"

"This morning. Soon, actually."

"We'll come with you," Anthony said immediately, his protective instincts kicking in.

"No," John replied firmly. "I need to go alone."

"Dad, that's not safe," Elijah protested. "After everything that happened yesterday with the media disappearing, we don't know who might be watching."

"The angel told me I have divine protection," John said. "And this... this feels like something I need to do by myself. It's hard to explain, but I know it's right."

Marissa studied her husband's face. She had learned to read his expressions over three decades of marriage, and what she saw now was absolute certainty mixed with a kind of peaceful resolve she'd never seen before.

"You're really going to become a prophet," she said quietly. It wasn't a question.

"It appears so." John squeezed her hand. "I know how this sounds. I know how impossible all of this is. But I died, Marissa. I was dead, and God brought me back for a purpose. This is part of that purpose."

A crash from the family room interrupted them as Emma knocked over her tower of blocks, followed by her delighted laughter. The sound made them all smile despite the gravity of their conversation.

"What does this mean for us?" Ming asked, her voice soft with concern. "For the family?"

"It means we trust in God's plan," John replied. "And we support each other through whatever comes next."

Anthony leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "A prophet. My father is going to be a prophet of God."

"Our father," Danny corrected quietly. "And if God chose him for this, then there must be a reason."

John stood up from the table. "I should get ready. The angel said I should go this morning, and I don't want to keep God waiting."

As he left the room, Marissa remained seated, surrounded by her children and daughters-in-law, all of them processing what they'd just heard. Her husband—the man who had fixed machinery and built precision components, who had taught their sons to throw a baseball and patiently helped little Lily learn to use a spoon—was about to be anointed as a prophet of the Almighty.

She thought about the peaceful sleep she'd had the night before, the first truly restful sleep since John's return. Perhaps, she realized, she had been given that gift of rest to prepare her for whatever was about to unfold.

When John reappeared twenty minutes later, dressed in his best suit, Marissa rose to meet him at the door. From the family room, she could hear Emma calling "Bye-bye, Grandpa!" even though she probably didn't understand where he was going.

"Come back to us," she whispered, straightening his tie.

"I will," he promised, kissing her forehead. "This is just the beginning."

As she watched him drive away, Marissa Foster understood that their lives had just changed forever once again.