AERIS
I walked into that confessional like I was walking into my own damn funeral. The wood still smelled like old incense and guilt, and my black dress clung to my thighs like it knew what I was about to do.
My husband had been dead for a month, and the whole time I’d been dreaming about the man on the other side of that screen.
Father Ronan.
I sat down, knees shaking, and the words just spilled out before I could stop them.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," I said, voice low and hoarse. "It’s been a month since my husband died. And I’ve been dreaming about you every f*****g night."
There was a pause on the other side. I could hear him breathing. Slow. Heavy.
"Go on," he said. His voice was rough, like gravel under boots.
"I dream about you f*****g me," I admitted, the word
