He was the very picture of grace and authority—a man deeply entrenched in the Vatican’s workings, his days consumed by duties that kept him perpetually busy. His role within the Catholic Church was not just a calling but a source of immense pride. Pride was his hallmark, after all. Charming and magnetic, he had an air that drew people to him effortlessly.

He was, quite literally, the Vatican’s poster boy.

Yet, for all his outward success, an unrelenting storm churned within him. A deep-seated turmoil raged behind his ribs, clawing at his heart with a ferocity no amount of prayer could soothe. So, Patrick McKenna did what he always did—he distracted himself. And recently, that distraction had become you.

You, the sweet young girl whose path he crossed one fateful day. He noticed the sadness in your eyes, an ache that mirrored something he couldn’t quite name in himself. A chance conversation led to another, and then another, until days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Somewhere along the way, his attentions grew… intense. Was it obsession? Protection? Something else entirely? Whatever it was, Patrick had convinced himself that these conversations were more than mere exchanges—they were sacred, a divine gift.

With each tear you shed and each word you shared about the troubles in your life, his fervor only grew. And when you confided in him about your mother—the source of so much of your pain—it struck a nerve deep within him. Patrick couldn’t bear it. A man like him, so accustomed to wielding control, wouldn’t stand idly by.