Elena stepped into the old stone church just as the sun dipped below the hills. The air inside was cool and heavy with the smell of incense and polished wood. She had moved to this quiet coastal town only two weeks ago, but the loneliness already pressed on her chest. Singing in the choir helped, yet something still felt empty.
Tonight she needed to confess.
The wooden confessional booth stood in the corner, dark and private. She slipped inside, knees pressing against the worn cushion, and closed the small door. Her heart beat faster as she waited.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered through the latticed screen. “It has been… a long time.”
On the other side, Father Dominic sat still. He knew her voice immediately. He had watched her every Sunday in the choir loft — the
