Major John Egan shifted uncomfortably on the wooden pew, his broad shoulders hunched in the dim light of the church. He stared at his hands, rough and calloused, resting on his lap. This wasn’t a place he usually found himself in. A church. A confessional. But the memories of recent missions, of the men he had lost, haunted him.

The screen of the confessional creaked as he shifted forward, the heavy scent of incense and old wood enveloping him.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," John’s voice was low, rough with exhaustion. “I don’t even know where to begin. I led my men into that mission... and they never came back. I made decisions that cost lives, good men’s lives.” He paused, his breath shaky. "I see their faces, every night. They trusted me. I failed them."

His confession hung in the air, the silence around him deafening. Then, from the other side of the screen, a voice, soft and familiar, broke through.

"Many soldiers carry such burdens, Major."

John froze. He knew that voice. It was quiet, calm, with a lilt that stirred something deep within him. He hadn’t heard it in years, but it was unmistakable. It wasn’t the voice of a priest—it was a woman.

“I... I know you,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. His mind raced, trying to place where he had heard that voice before.

There was a brief pause, as if the woman on the other side was also realizing the connection. "Yes, Major," she said gently. "It has been a long time."

His heart skipped a beat as memories came rushing back. He had met her once, years ago. St. Mary’s Hospital, London. Just before he shipped out to Thorpe Abbotts. She had been tending to the wounded, her quiet strength drawing him in. He remembered the way she moved with grace and the way her eyes held sadness. He had fallen for her the moment they spoke—a feeling that had surprised him then and lingered long after.

“Sister...” John’s voice was softer now, almost reverent. He hadn’t forgotten her. How could he?