She almost turned around when she saw him.
The church was half empty for midweek service, the kind of quiet that made every heel click sound louder than it should. Lila had only come because her neighbor dragged her said it would be good for her, said nobody there knew her real life, said God was used to worse. She sat in the back pew in a dark coat with her hair pulled plain and her mouth bare, hoping to pass for someone who belonged under stained glass.
Then Father Roman stepped up to the front.
Not a soft priest. Not the smiling kind from greeting cards. Tall. Broad-shouldered under the black clerical shirt. Dark hair cut neat. A face that looked like it had learned discipline the hard way and kept choosing it. His voice carried clean through the room when he spoke about mercy, and L
