Invalid Confession
686 Words
The two pink lines glared up at me like a cruel joke.
Positive.
I blinked. Shook the stick. Checked again. Still positive.
Nathan’s voice echoed in my head. I don’t see a future with you.
Well, congratulations, Nathan Reyes. You just fathered one.
Tears burned, but I refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything. Fighting might.
I shoved the test deep into my bag like it was a bomb and pressed a trembling hand over my stomach.
“It’s just you and me now,” I whispered.
For the first time in days, the emptiness inside me shifted. Someone—tiny, fragile, unseen—needed me. And I refused to let them down.
My steps carried me without thinking until I stood before a church.
Confession. All Welcome.
Fine. If God was listening, He could deal with my mess.
The booth smelled of polish and incense. The little panel slid open.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” I hesitated. “…ten years ago.”
A pause. Then a cough. “Ah… that’s quite a while.”
“I’ve been busy,” I said flatly. “Life happens. And now… I’m pregnant.”
Silence. Then: “Ah… congratulations?”
I froze. “…That’s not what I expected from a priest.”
“Congratulations on the miracle of life?” His tone wavered.
“Miracle? More like disaster.”
“Sometimes disasters are blessings in disguise,” he said quickly.
“Like floods?”
“Exactly. Though hopefully with fewer insurance claims this time.”
I snorted despite myself. “Wow. Father, you’re… oddly specific.”
“Multigrain granola bar,” he muttered, a wrapper crinkling. “Sorry, fasting makes me weird.”
My brows shot up. “Are you… eating in there?”
“Technically, yes. Spiritually? No.”
I narrowed my eyes. Something was off. “You’re not a real priest, are you?”
A long silence. Then a low voice: “Depends on the textbook.”
My chest tightened. Whoever he was, his voice carried something dangerous… and familiar.
Still, the words tumbled out. My anger. My fear. Nathan’s betrayal. My temptation to hide the pregnancy.
He let out a low whistle. “That man’s an i***t. Dump him. In a very… holy sense.”
“Not very priestly advice.”
“Neither is starving. Trust me.”
I laughed, raw and real. The heaviness in my chest eased for the first time in weeks.
“Sometimes the messiest situations grow the strongest people,” he said softly. “Especially mothers. You might surprise yourself.”
I exhaled slowly. “Maybe.”
When I finally stepped out of the booth, my coat wrapped tight, my chin high, I felt lighter. Weakness in the dark was allowed. Out here? No one would ever see me break again.
But as I pushed open the heavy doors, I collided with someone entering.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Black blazer. Sunglasses hiding sharp eyes I could feel even through the glass.
He held the door for me, his presence pressing down like gravity.
I didn’t look back. But part of me wanted to.
Alex’s POV
Alex Narvaez strolled out of the confessional, tossing a granola wrapper into the trash. His dark eyes narrowed as he spotted the real priest rushing over.
“Mr. Narvaez… were you just…?”
“In the booth? Yeah. Great acoustics.” He smirked. “Free therapy, too.”
The priest’s face blanched.
Alex’s driver pulled up in a McLaren, the valet nearly bowing. But Alex wasn’t thinking about cars.
He was thinking about her.
Her voice. Her laugh. The fire in her confession.
Years ago, he’d humiliated her in college. Made her storm out of a classroom red-faced and broken.
And now, fate had shoved her secret into his hands.
“I know her truth,” he muttered as he slid into the car. “A secret she doesn’t even know I know. And I can’t forget it… even if I should.”
The engine roared. But his mind stayed in the confessional… replaying every word she said.
- Writer
