Clara’s POV
I stepped into the church. I was usually compelled to attend. But not anymore.
The church smelled like old wood, incense, and the faint sweat of people who had come to wash their sins away before brunch and sinners pretending to be holy.
Sunday 9:15 a.m. Mass was over. The choir had filed out, the altar boys had vanished into the sacristy, and the pews were emptying fast, some old ladies with rosaries, young families dragging crying toddlers, a few hungover college kids pretending they had been paying attention.
I stayed back.
I always stayed.
Father Dominic was in the confessional today. The reason why I stayed and brought myself to church without mom scolding me.
He is thirty-eight and has dark slick hair I have imagined running my hands through. Quiet voice. Hands th
