"Thank your mother for us," she says, and she starts pulling the box's contents out and organizing them.
"Yes, ma'am. I will." I answer respectfully and turn to leave, before her voice stops me.
"When's the last time you've been to confession, Paul?"
"I..." I turn back to her. She's looking at me over her glasses, the same way she looks at a child in her classroom when they won't admit to mischief. It's that distinct mom look that will have you crumbling in two seconds flat. I frown when I realizethat I can't even remember when I last confessed. Probably before I even left for college. "I'm not sure."
She nods, taking a deep breath, and gestures upstairs.
"Father Martin is in," she turns back to her organizing. "Go on upstairs. I'll let him know you're here."
I wince and stumble over an excuse, "Mrs. McDonall, I don't know if—"
"Five minutes," she says sternly now, leaving no room for argument. "I think it would help you, Paul."
I exhale, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "Alright, what the hel—heck," I correct myself under her sharp glare, feeling like a chastised ten-year-old again. The corners of her mouth twitch upward in an amused grin. And as I climb the creaking stairs to the church, I find myself smiling too. It feels good to have that flicker of levity in this pit I've dug for myself.
I open the thick door and enter the empty church, my footsteps muffled on the carpet as I walk to the confessional.What the hell, I've got nothing to lose.The booth is narrow and dim, and I shift on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position.
Moments later, I hear the door on the other side open, the rustle of fabric, the faint creak as Father Martin kneels.
"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen".
Like muscle memory, I make the sign of the cross. Silence stretches, and I realize he's waiting for me to start, so I clear my throat and search my brain for the correct words.
"Uh... Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been..." I blow out a slow breath, trying to remember, but come up empty. "Years... since my last confession."
"Go ahead," his voice gently urges me.
As a kid, I remember sitting in this booth when my mom would drag me to church and to confession each month. I'd feel so awkward, someone on the other side listening to me confesseverything, every petty lie and thing I did wrong in the last month. Sometimes I would make stuff up, Father would tell me I was forgiven, and I would leave feeling nothing—just happy that I didn't have to do that for another month.
Now, as an adult, I still feel that same discomfort, but the sins that I've committed feel like they could crush me. It's not just silly mischief—I truly hurt so many people with my actions.
I open my mouth, and I just let it out.
"I cheated on my fiancée," I might as well start off with my heaviest sin. "I... there's no excuse I can say to justify it. I chose to cheat on Sophie. She found a lump in her breast, and I just... I knew it was cancer. I didn't even wait for it to be confirmed. I just felt the entire world spinning out of control, and I panicked. So I slept with my coworker, who stroked my ego and made me feel like a man. Like I was still in control of my life."
Only our breathing fills the small space—his calm, mine ragged—and I take a few moments to compose myself.
The last six months flash in front of my eyes like a horror movie.
The very beginning is good—me, Sophie, and our life together, but there's Elise's shadow in the background.
I think of our shared meals at work, our inside jokes, her teasing smiles, and how one day—without me fully realizing it—my eyes were lingering. Abstract at first—Elise in bed, Elise's lips against mine, Elise's body, but I told myself it was harmless because I loved Sophie. I was going to marry her, and attraction to someone else didn't mean anything.
I could never betray Sophie.
Then the lump, the day of the biopsy, when I lied to Sophie and went to Haunts with Elise. I lied because I knew Sophie would feel weird about it, me going out for drinks with a woman,especially after the day she had, so I said I was going with my friends.
I unloaded it all on Elise when I should have stayed with Sophie and told her how I felt. I should have stayed home and held my fiancée all night, comforting her instead of seeking my own comfort. I wanted to escape. I wanted control again. I wanted easy, light, and fun.
When I crossed that physical line atHaunts—because let's face it, I had already crossed the emotional line long before—it was for pleasure that felt good in the moment, but was ultimately fleeting and useless. I felt entitled. I felt like the universe was taking and taking from me: my Sophie, her health, and—shamefully, I need to admit—her breasts.
That thoughtburnsme whenever I think of it.
The most shameful realization of all is that everything came so easily to me. I never had to work for anything in my life, truly. So when I was about to face an actual battle, I was scared to lose.
I'm terrified of failing, and I failed anyway.
