Even from the bed, I can see the diocese seal on the envelope, red wax catching the faint light, and it’s haunting him.
50
MARCUS
Unable to put off my decision any longer, the envelope sits on my desk like a loaded gun, Father Castellano’s careful handwriting spelling out my future in neat, precise letters.
My hands shake as I pick up my phone, the weight of this decision pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe.
I dial before I can lose my nerve.
“Father Castellano.” His voice is warm, expectant. He thinks he knows what I’m going to say.
“Father, it’s Brother Marcus Reyes.” I force my voice to remain steady despite the tremor running through my body. “I’m calling about the ordination offer.”
“Ah, Marcus. I’ve been waiting to hear from you.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Have you made your decision?”
I close my eyes, seeing Charlie’s face.
The way her hazel eyes shift between green and gold when she’s worried.
The protective way her hand rests on her stomach, already loving the baby growing there.
The fierce determination in her expression when she defended us to the Bishop.
The way she looks at me like I’m worth keeping despite all my failures.
“I’m grateful for the opportunity,” I say, my accent thickening with emotion. “More grateful than I can express. But I have to decline.”
The silence that follows feels eternal.
“I see.” Father Castellano’s voice is carefully neutral. “May I ask why?”
“My calling lies elsewhere.” The words come easier now, like a confession I’ve been holding back for months. “I thought redemption meant returning to the priesthood, proving I could be the man I failed to be three years ago. But I was wrong.” I grip the phone tighter. “Redemption isn’t about ceremonies or titles. It’s about choosing love, even when love is complicated and requires sacrifice.”
“There’s someone, isn’t there?” His voice softens. “A woman.”
“Yes.” I don’t elaborate. Don’t explain about Charlie or the baby or the unconventional family we’ve built. He doesn’t need those details. “I’ll continue as deacon for now, but I’m considering leaving formal ministry entirely.”
Father Castellano is quiet for a long moment. “I’m disappointed, Marcus. But I understand.” He pauses. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I already have.”
After the call ends, I sit in the sudden silence, feeling the weight I’ve been carrying for months finally lift.
The letter from the diocese goes into my desk drawer, a path not taken, a future I’m choosing to release.
My hands are steady now, my breathing calm.
For the first time since Father Castellano made his offer, I feel certain.
I find Charlie in the garden behind St. Michael’s, her body silhouetted against the afternoon sun.
Five months pregnant now, her belly round and full beneath the simple maternity dress that clings to curves that have become even more pronounced with pregnancy.
Her auburn hair catches the light as she bends to examine the roses Mrs. Patterson planted last spring, and I’m struck by how beautiful she is.
Not just physically, though the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips make my body respond immediately. But the strength in her, the way she’s chosen to love us despite every reason she shouldn’t.
