With a trembling hand, she scrolled to another entry: "Doubt." The text was brief: See: Thomas, Apostle; Faith, Trial of. But the footnote—footnote 43—was what broke her.

"Make room."

Alba started with "Kenosis." She clicked the internal hyperlink (a marvel for such an old PDF). The entry was short, but devastating. "Emptying," Leon-Dufour wrote, "is not a subtraction of divinity, but a dilation of love. It is the act of making room for the other."

Alba closed the PDF. She didn't close her laptop. Instead, she walked to her window. The sun was setting over the Guadalquivir River, painting the water in shades of amber and violet. She had no translation for the beauty. No Greek or Hebrew root. No crisp definition.

She stared at the screen. Making room.

For forty years, she had filled her life with correct translations, with precise footnotes, with arguments about inerrancy. She had left no room for mystery, for silence, for the raw ache of not knowing.