Raisa sat quietly in her small rented room, staring at the last message from her father. It left her heart tangled in emotions.
A month ago, her father had suddenly called. His voice was heavy, almost hesitant.
“Rai, can I borrow some money? I need it to rent a wedding tent for your sister’s wedding.”
Raisa paused. The “sister” he meant was Naya — her half-sister, born from her father’s affair. That old wound was still there, though Raisa tried to bury it.
“Dad, if there isn’t enough money, why do you have to rent a big tent? Can’t the wedding be held simply at the Office of Religious Affairs? It wouldn’t even cost two million.”
“But the groom’s family is bringing many guests. How could they sit without proper tents? Besides… Naya is my only daughter.”
Those words hit Raisa like a stone in her chest. She wanted to scream: “Then what am I, Dad? Don’t I count as your daughter too?”
But she kept it inside.
“I can’t lend you money right now, Dad. But I’ll give some cash as a wedding gift, God willing.”
Her father eventually agreed, though Raisa could still sense the disappointment in his tone.
Now, Raisa was left in deep thought. At first, she planned to give two million as a form of respect, even though her relationship with her father had always been fragile. But the more she thought about it, the more bitter she felt. Why should I sacrifice so much when sometimes my existence doesn’t even seem to matter?
She began to reconsider: maybe five hundred thousand would be enough. It was still money, still a gift, still a prayer wrapped in sincerity. Yet, deep inside, she feared people might see her as stingy, or worse, uncaring.
But in the end, Raisa realized: what truly mattered wasn’t the number written on the envelope, but the heart and sincerity behind it. Money could vanish, but genuine prayers and good intentions would always reach their destination.
Image by Manfred Antranias Zimmer from Pixabay
