Our Lady’ s Home

Story Scene: โ€œOh Freedom, Where Do I Begin?โ€

In a quiet cafรฉ in Vancouver, the rain taps softly against the windows.
Nelly Furtado stares down at her tea like sheโ€™s searching for an answer inside the steam.

โ€œSometimes,โ€ she says, โ€œI feel like every step of my life is being examined by doctors and experts. Charts, diagnoses, interviewsโ€ฆ it never ends.โ€

Across from her sits Joe Jukic, flipping through a small Bible.

Nelly sighs and half-laughs. โ€œYou know that line from my song Party? I keep hearing it in my head lately.โ€

She looks up and quotes her own lyric:

โ€œOh freedomโ€ฆ where do I begin?โ€

Joe nods slowly and turns the page toward her.

โ€œMaybe here,โ€ he says, pointing.

He reads aloud from Psalm 91:

โ€œWhoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.โ€

Joe closes the book gently.

โ€œThatโ€™s security,โ€ he says. โ€œNot committees. Not psychiatric interrogations. Just faith and a quiet life. If someone needs to confess something, they go to a priestโ€”not a panel.โ€

Nelly leans back, thinking.

Joe continues, half-smiling.

โ€œAnd if you want greener pasturesโ€ฆ weโ€™ve got friends. Even warriors.โ€

He gestures jokingly like a bodyguard arriving.

โ€œMarko Perkoviฤ‡ Thompson will protect us.โ€

Nelly laughs at the absurd image.

Joe shrugs.

โ€œIโ€™m serious about one thing though. People act like weโ€™re trapped. But weโ€™re not.โ€

He points out the window toward the gray Vancouver skyline.

โ€œWeโ€™re not living behind the Berlin Wall.โ€

He spreads his hands.

โ€œWe can pack a bag, get on a plane, and go somewhere peaceful if we want. Nobodyโ€™s stopping us.โ€

Nelly looks out at the rain again.

โ€œFreedom,โ€ she murmurs.

Then she smiles faintly.

โ€œMaybe thatโ€™s where the party actually starts.โ€ ๐ŸŽถ

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Gothika: Not Alone

Joe leaned against the stone wall of the old churchyard, looking at Nelly with a steady gaze. The sea breeze from the Adriatic carried the smell of salt and pine.

โ€œYou wrote in Spirit Indestructible like you wanted to wrestle the whole world at once,โ€ he said. โ€œBut if youโ€™re really reaching for Psalm 23, for green pastures where the soul can restโ€ฆโ€ He paused, letting the words hang.

Her eyes softened, curious. โ€œWhat are you saying, Joe?โ€

โ€œIโ€™m sayingโ€”lay down those battles that were never yours to fight. Step out of range of the sociopathic psychiatrists and their clipboards, their labels, their cages. Come with me to Dalmatia. Out here, the shepherdโ€™s still real, the water still clear. The spirit doesnโ€™t just endureโ€”it sings.โ€

He smiled, half-teasing, half-deadly serious. โ€œCome with me if you want to live.โ€

Nelly laughed, but a shiver ran through her. The old lineโ€”part warning, part promiseโ€”sounded different here, under the Croatian sun, where survival and song were one and the same.

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