I swallow hard.
My mouth feels dry, my tongue heavy. I want to stop here. I want what I’ve said to be enough.
But forgiveness is not given for half-truths.
"There’s more," I say quietly.
Popa Vasile doesn’t stir, but I feel his attention grow.
"It was after," my voice struggles to steady. "Radu came to me, outside the tavern."
"You were alone with him."
"Yes, Father."
I pause, unsure of how to say it. "He… comforted me. I was upset. My mother had—" I stop myself. That part doesn’t belong here. "He reassured me."
"And then?" Popa Vasile asks.
His gaze lifts fully to me now. I feel it on my face even without looking up.
"Then… he kissed me."
The silence that follows is heavier than before.
"Where?" comes the question, voice barely raised.
My fingers curl into my sleeves. "On my mouth."
"How long?" he presses.
"I don’t know," I whisper. "A moment."
"Did you return it?"
Heat rushes to my face. "Yes."
A pause.
"And his hands," Popa Vasile says, gently, as though guiding me through a lesson. "Where were they, child?"
I hesitate. Something in the question snags, pulling tight beneath my skin.
"Here," I answer, gesturing vaguely to my waist.
"Show me."
I flinch before I can stop myself.
"With words," he clarifies. "Be precise. Precision matters in matters of sin."
I force myself to continue. "Under my bodice. And… he lifted my skirts."
The act feels worse once spoken aloud. My heartbeat thrums painfully in my ears.
"And how did that make you feel?"
I blink, uncertain. "Bad," I answer quickly. "Ashamed."
