“SAY THREE HAIL MARYS and just remember, they’re little boys. I’m sure they’ll grow out of it. Now say your act of contrition.”
After she recites the words and I absolve her of her sins, I bless Miriam and send her on her way.
“Those twins are going to be the death of her,” I mutter before opening my breviary app to say some prayers before my next penitent comes into the booth.
I don’t have to wait long before the door on the other side of the screen opens, then closes. There’s the shifting of the chair I put in there to accommodate older members of the parish who have difficulty kneeling.
“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been a month since my last confession,” the person on the other side says. The voice is not familiar, and she—it sounds feminine, older perhaps—is talking
