5
Amelia
Guilt is heavier than sin.
It sits in my chest, dense and dark, every time I see my father’s eyes linger too long on my face. I feel it when I kneel at the altar, when I touch the hymnal, when I hear my mother’s gentle voice and think of everything I’ve let Nathan Carter do to me. When I wake up in the morning, the ache between my thighs is a physical reminder of every secret I can’t let go.
After choir camp, I tried to be good.
I tried to pray the memory of him out of my skin. I tried to eat with my family, laugh at my mother’s jokes, listen when my father talked about grace and second chances. But none of it worked. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Nathan—the way he pinned me against the tree, the look in his eyes when he called me his, the sound of his voice wrecked with
