I knelt in the dim confessional booth, the wooden kneeler pressing into my knees through the coarse fabric of my habit. The air was thick with the scent of old incense and polished pews, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the storm raging inside me. My hands clasped together, fingers twisting the rosary beads until they dug into my palms. I was Sister Maureen, barely twenty-two, having taken my vows just a year ago with a heart full of devotion. But lately, my thoughts had strayed, sinful and insistent, circling around the new parish priest like a f*******n temptation.
Father Elias had arrived only two months ago, his presence rippling through the convent like a quiet thunder. Tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp green eyes that seemed to pierce right through the veil of piety, h
