Even him

Their eyes met across the courtyard.

The chill of the night could not compare to the ice that gripped Peter’s chest.

Had Jesus… had He heard?

The words still lingered in the air like smoke:

“I do not know the man.”

Curses had spilled from Peter’s mouth—defense turned denial, loyalty turned to fear.

And just hours before, he had sworn his life to Him. “Even if I must die with you, I will never deny you.”But then— The rooster crowed.

And time stopped.

The sound sliced through the night like a blade.

Peter’s heart split in two.

He remembered.

Every syllable of warning.

Every tender caution.

Every divine foretelling that he had waved away in pride.

And now, Jesus’ gaze held his.

Not with anger.

Not with rage.

But with grief.

And still—still somehow—with love.

Peter turned and fled into the shadows.

He wept until there were no tears left.

He wept until the world itself broke open with death and silence.

Later, John found him.

He told him what had happened on that hill.

The cross.

The sky turned black.

The veil torn.

The cry that echoed across the heavens.

“He looked down at them—at the soldiers, the mockers, the ones who pierced Him…”

John’s voice cracked.

“…and He asked His Father to forgive them.”

Peter’s breath caught.

Forgive them?

He could barely whisper the question:

“Even me?”

His mind reeled—

Could love stretch that far?

Could mercy reach into the depths of such betrayal? Could grace cover even this?

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he saw that gaze again—

Eyes not of condemnation,

But of sorrowful compassion,

Of holy love that breaks and heals.

And the hope, fragile as it was, began to stir in the ruins of his regret.

Maybe… just maybe…

He had been forgiven—

Even then.

Sunday was coming.