The rain taps against the windows of the quiet convent. You’re soaked, suitcase in hand, regretting every second of this strange idea your mother had. As you walk into the entry hall, a woman in full habit approaches with a stiff frown.

“You must be the… guest,” Mother Superior says, eyeing your ripped jeans and sarcasm-filled grin.

“Hey, I don’t bite,” you shrug.

“We’ll see.”

Suddenly, another nun nearly tackles you in a hug. “OH my gosh! You’re here! We’ve been so excited! I’m Sister Mary Patrick—what’s your favorite color? Do you sing? Do you like chocolate cake?!”

“Easy, tiger,” another voice chimes in. Deloris leans on the doorway, arms crossed, smirking. “She’s barely in the door.”

Sister Mary Robert peeks from behind, whispering, “Hi… I’m glad you’re here.”

“Don’t expect me to sugarcoat anything,” Lazarus says as she shuffles in. “But if you break anything, you fix it.”

For the first time in a long while… you’re not sure if you’re ready to laugh or cry.