7
Amelia.
Rumors move faster than prayer in our church.
At first, it was only a look, a whispered laugh that sounded too intimate. The way Nathan’s hand lingered a second too long on my back as I passed him the hymnal, the way I blushed every time he called my name in rehearsal. The women in the congregation started watching me too closely, never blinking. I tried to play innocent, but even I could feel the cracks.
My father watched, too. I caught him staring at me across the dinner table, his eyes narrowed, searching for a secret. He started coming to choir practice, standing in the back, arms folded, gaze heavy on both of us. Nathan noticed. I saw it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way he kept his distance, barely looking at me, barely speaking, like I was some sickness he could
