I tried. But here I am. Sabotaging the one thing in my life that means anything.
I shouldn’t be allowedin here. I’m surprised He didn’t smite me upon entry. I rub my hands together, nervous, waiting for the roof to collapse on top of me. But nothing happens.
I sit in the quiet empty church, my eyes roaming over the intricate stained-glass windows depicting scenes from biblical stories. Sunlight filtering through the windows, casting colorful patterns on the wooden pews. Idols of Mary and Jesus stand stoically in the front of the church, peaceful and divine, while statues of saints line the walls. So devoted and revered.
Unlike me.
Since my family died, I've been strangely drawn to places of worship, not necessarily out of deep religious conviction—like my mother— but more so outof curiosity. Out of a deep-rooted fear that I may end up on the wrong side of purgatory. As I stare at all the statues, my mind wanders. My stupid, broken mind.
Is any of this real? Is there truly a place where souls go after departing this world? And what about those who commit heinous crimes? Are they also granted entry through those coveted pearly gates? Or is there a separate fate awaiting them? A darker, hellish fate?
Lost in my thoughts, I don't notice the priest approaching me until he speaks, and I jerk upright, uncomfortable and unworthy.
"What troubles you, my son?" His voice is calm and comforting. He doesn’t know the kind of man I am. The things I’ve done. The lives I’ve affected.
I turn to face him, offering a faint smile of acknowledgment. "What makes you think something is troubling me?”
He tilts his head, his gaze all-knowing, almost eerie. “Am I wrong in my assessment?”
I swallow hard. Lying to a priest wouldn’t bode well for my already tarnished résumé. “No. You’re not wrong.” My fingertips buzz with anxiety, my voice faltering. “I-I guess I’m just…I’m just thinking.”
He perks a bushy grey brow. “About?”
My mouth feels dry, raw. “Umm…” I want to lie so bad. I want to run away. But I don’t. For them, for Emery and Quin, I fucking try. “About forgiveness and, umm…redemption. I guess…I guess I’m looking for answers.”
He nods in understanding, taking a seat beside meon the pew. "Tell me, son, what answers are youspecificallyseeking?"
I hesitate for a moment, unsure of where to begin, what to say, what to ask. This whole interaction seems strange, unfamiliar. But I try. Again and again and again, I fucking try. "I suppose I'm wondering whether it's possible to truly atone for past mistakes. Whether uh…whether God's forgiveness is unconditional or if there are certain…sinsthat cannot be absolved."
I feel like I can’t breathe. Is that an answer in itself?
The priest listens to me, his gentle eyes encouraging me to continue. He, too, thinks I’m fragile.
With a heavy sigh, I cast my gaze downward, staring at the tips of my shoes. "I've done things in my life that I'm not proud of," I admit quietly. "Things that have caused pain and harm to others.”
He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It's natural to carry the weight of our past mistakes. It’s human. But remember…” My muscles tense under his touch. “God's love and forgiveness is boundless, my son. No matter how grave our sins may seem, there is always a path to redemption."
I shake my head subtly. "But what about justice? Shouldn't there be consequences for our actions, even if we seek forgiveness? What if I don’t think I’m worthy of God’s forgiveness?"
The priest draws in a slow breath. "Justice is an integral part of divine mercy. It is through acknowledging our wrongs, seeking repentance, and making amends that we begin to walk the path of redemption. God's grace is not a hall pass to evade accountability,but rather a guiding light toward transformation." He pauses. “A man who deems himself unworthy of God’s forgiveness is often a man who deserves it the most.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
He pats my shoulder gently. "Evil isn’t aware it’s evil. It carries no moral compass. You’re sitting here, clearly deeply affected by whatever it is that you did wrong. And you know it was wrong. But evil…evil would never question itself. It wouldn’t feel remorse. It wouldn’t ask for a way back into the light.”
“But how?” I ask, hanging my head. “How do I earn His forgiveness?”
“Through prayer.”
I snap my head at him. “I tried that. For years. It didn’t work.”
“Perhaps it did,” the priest muses, standing up. He glances down at me, smiling. “And now, it is up to you toacceptHis forgiveness.”
“Damon?”Emery knocks on the door of the study before poking her head through. “Can I come in?”
I sigh. Is she seriously asking permission? It’s her home. Our home. Every room is as much hers as it is mine. “You don’t need to ask.”
She bites her lip, slipping through the threshold. My gaze dances across her exposed collar bones, her silk teddy plunging down between her breasts. Her faded scar stares at me, whispering words of gratitude as she approaches me.
