Enza wiped down the last of the tables in her restaurant as the sun began to set. The quiet hum of conversation had long faded, replaced by the stillness of evening. The neighborhood felt different these days—quieter, darker. The world was changing, and not for the better, but inside her restaurant, there was still warmth, still a flicker of normalcy. That was something Enza held onto tightly.

She had gotten used to the group from New Hope Village Church meeting after hours. They slipped in quietly, just as they had promised, and Enza made sure to leave them in peace. They helped with cleaning, stayed respectful, and kept their prayers and singing soft, just as they'd agreed. It wasn't a formal arrangement, but it was one that worked, and for that, Enza was grateful. It gave her a chance to stay connected, to know what was coming, to listen in on their hopes and fears without fully committing herself to their worldview.

One night, after the group had finished their prayers and most had gone home, one of the younger men lingered behind. He was in his twenties, with neatly combed hair and a sincere expression. Enza recognized him from the group—he had spoken before about his strong faith, his commitment to spreading the message of salvation.

"Nonna Enza," he said, hesitating by the door. "Do you have a minute?"

Enza, tired but polite, nodded. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

He shuffled awkwardly, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. "I've been meaning to talk to you. You've been so kind, letting us use this space, and I wanted to thank you personally for that. But..." He trailed off, clearly nervous about what he wanted to say next.

"But?" Enza prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"I've noticed," he said, lowering his voice, "that you don't join us in prayer. I know you're not one of us, but I feel like I should talk to you about your faith. About Jesus. It's important, you know, especially now, with everything going on in the world."

Enza sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She had seen this coming eventually. The Christians from New Hope were earnest in their beliefs, and it was only a matter of time before someone tried to bring her into the fold.

"I appreciate your concern," she said gently. "But my faith is… older than yours."

The young man frowned slightly, clearly puzzled. "What do you mean? Were you raised Catholic?"

Enza chuckled softly. "I was baptized Catholic, sì. Like most people where I'm from. But my real beliefs… they go back much further than any established religion. My mother taught me, and her mother taught her. We call it Stregheria. It's an old tradition, tied to the land, to the small goddesses whose names are older than words. I pray to them still. I'll pray to Jesus if you like—he seems like a good man—but not to him alone."

The young man's face tightened in confusion, then discomfort. He had clearly never heard of such a thing. "But, Nonna Enza," he said carefully, "Jesus is the only way to salvation. If you don't accept him as your savior, you'll… well, you'll end up in Hell. Especially now, during the Tribulation."

Enza folded her arms, a faint frown crossing her face. She didn't want to be rude, but this conversation was heading down a familiar road. "Hell," she repeated softly, her voice contemplative. "I'm an old woman, figlio mio. There isn't much time left for me whether the world ends or not. But I'm not afraid. I can't start worshipping a god that's only a little less evil than this Antichrist you all keep talking about."

The young man blinked, scandalized. "Jesus isn't evil," he said quickly, his voice rising in defense. "He's the only way to eternal life. He's the only one who can save you!"

Enza sighed again, this time more deeply. She wasn't interested in a theological debate. But she could tell this boy had never lived through anything like what she had seen. He didn't understand why she felt the way she did.

"Let me tell you a story," she said, her voice softening as she leaned against the counter. "It was during the war, back in Italy. The fascists—Mussolini's men—came to our door one night, knocking and shouting. They were looking for two Jewish men who were trying to escape to Switzerland. These men were hiding in our coal room, buried under sacks of coal, and my mother knew it."

The young man listened, his eyes wide, clearly not expecting this turn in the conversation.

Enza continued, her voice steady but full of memory. "My mother—bless her soul—invited the fascists in. She welcomed them like they were old friends, gave them an aperitif, and gossiped with them for hours. She pretended to support the regime, all the while smiling and serving them small crumbs of the chocolate we had hoarded, just to keep them happy. She wasted their time, made them laugh, and after a long while, they left."

Enza looked the young man in the eyes. "They never found the two Jewish men hiding in the coal room. They had all the time to leave quietly. My mother saved their lives, all while pretending to be on the side of the enemy. She wasn't doing it for God, for the Church, or for some promise of Heaven. She did it because it was the right thing to do."

The young man stood in stunned silence, trying to process the weight of the story. He opened his mouth to speak, but Enza held up a hand to stop him.

"You see," she continued, her voice gentle but firm, "I don't believe in your Heaven or Hell. I believe in doing what's right in this world, for the people we can help. Maybe there's something after this, maybe there isn't. But I'll go to my grave knowing I lived as well as I could, that I helped those who needed it. And if there's a god out there who judges me for that, well… then I'm not interested in worshipping him."

The young man swallowed hard, clearly taken aback by Enza's conviction. "I… I didn't know," he stammered. "I just… I wanted to help. I didn't mean to offend you."

Enza smiled kindly. "I know you didn't. And I'm grateful for what you and your friends are doing here. You're good people, trying to help in your own way. But we come from different paths. I'll respect yours, and I hope you'll respect mine."

The young man nodded, still looking a little shaken but clearly understanding that this wasn't a conversation he could win. "Thank you for the safe space, Nonna Enza. I'm sorry if I pushed too hard."

Enza waved him off with a chuckle. "Don't worry about it. You're young. It's good that you care so much. Just remember—there are many ways to live a good life, and not all of them lead to the same place."

As he left the restaurant, Enza stood by the door, watching the last traces of daylight fade from the sky. She felt a strange sense of peace wash over her. She had lived through enough, seen enough of the world to know that no one path was right for everyone. All she could do now was keep doing what she'd always done—help where she could, protect those who needed it, and live the way her mother had taught her.