Bishop Carmine sits behind the borrowed desk, his steel-gray hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the window.
His deep-set eyes miss nothing as they track my entrance, cataloging every detail of my appearance, my posture, the way my hands won’t stop twisting together.
“Please, sit.” His voice is measured, almost kind, which somehow makes it worse.
I lower myself into the chair across from him, hyperaware of how my simple cotton dress rides up slightly, how exposed I feel under his scrutiny.
Sister Margaret takes her position by the door, notebook open, pen poised to record everything.
The Bishop folds his hands on the desk, his ruby ring catching the light. “Miss Davis, I appreciate you?—”
“I have feelings for them.” The words burst out before he can finish, before I can lose my nerve. “For Father Cross, Deacon Reyes, and Brother Moreau. Inappropriate feelings. Feelings I shouldn’t have.”
The Bishop’s eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
My throat tightens, but I force myself to continue. “The attachment is entirely one-sided. They’ve been nothing but professional and honorable. Every inappropriate thought, every moment of temptation, belongs to me alone.” I meet his eyes, willing him to believe me. “They’re good men. The best men I’ve ever known. And I’m the problem.”
Sister Margaret’s pen scratches across paper, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet office.
“I see.” The Bishop leans back slightly, his expression unreadable. “And what do you propose we do about this…problem?”
“I’ll leave.” My voice cracks on the words, but I push through. “Voluntarily. I’ll remove myself as a source of distraction. I’ll finish working off my debt somewhere else, or I’ll just…I’ll just go. Whatever you think is best.”
The silence that follows feels eternal. I watch the Bishop’s face, trying to read something, anything, in his expression. He studies me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl, like he’s seeing straight through to every secret I’m keeping.
“That’s quite a sacrifice,” he says finally, his voice softer than before. “To offer to leave the only place you’ve felt safe, the only people who’ve shown you kindness.”
My eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. “It’s not a sacrifice if it protects them.”
The Bishop leans forward, his elbows on the desk, his hands steepled beneath his chin. “Miss Davis, let me ask you something, and I want complete honesty.” His steel-gray eyes hold mine. “Do you love them?”
The question hits like a physical blow. My throat closes completely, and for a moment I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except feel the truth of it burning through my chest.
“Yes.” The word comes out barely above a whisper. “All of them. Which is exactly why I have to go.”
Sister Margaret’s pen stills. I hear her sharp intake of breath, but I don’t look away from the Bishop. His expression shifts, something that might be understanding flickering across his face before he buries it.
“I see.” He makes a note in his folder, his movements deliberate. “And you believe leaving will solve this situation?”
“I believe it’s the only way to protect them from the consequences of my feelings.” My hands twist in my lap. “They’ve done nothing wrong. They’ve been kind to someone who didn’t deserve kindness. They’ve shown mercy to someone who stole from their church. And I’ve repaid that by…by becoming a distraction. A problem. A scandal waiting to happen.”
The Bishop is quiet for a long moment, his gaze never leaving my face. Then he closes his folder and stands. “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Davis. It’s rare to encounter such…selflessness.” He moves to the window, his back to me. “I’ll need time to consider everything you’ve told me. Wait for my decision.”
I stand on shaking legs, mumbling something about understanding, and flee the office. Sister Margaret’s knowing look follows me down the hallway, but I don’t stop until I’m outside, gulping air that tastes like freedom and loss in equal measure.
The afternoon passes in a blur.
I try to stay busy, organizing more donated clothes in the parish hall, but my mind won’t stop spinning.
What have I done?
Did I just sacrifice everything to save them?
Or did I just make everything worse?
I’m folding sweaters when raised voices echo from Adrian’s office. My stomach drops as I recognize Diane’s smoker’s rasp, that voice that’s haunted my nightmares since childhood. What is my mom doing here?
I move closer to the hallway, my heart pounding.
