Let they who has never kept a secret up their sleeve cast the first stone; everyone did, everyone sinned in the comfort of their own mind, and just like them, you dealt with your own ghosts. You had no idea what your first sin was, you wouldn't have known what the last one was, the cycle repeated itself and the sins accumulated like dust in your lungs. Oh, the good old Catholic guilt, a companion to the solitude of being the only nun in a parish where the closest living being to you was the black cat that, from time to time, you hid in your room.

Just as Monsignor Wicks challenged new converts to remain after practically humiliating them without directly mentioning their names, he did this to you for months. He had a fascination with mentioning that you hadn't yet taken your perpetual vows, which, to him, was a strong indication that you were just a little girl playing at being religious, that you'd soon give up and return to your life of sin. In fact, you knew he was eagerly waiting for this to happen... A concrete reason for him to call you names even worse than just “harlot whore”.

May God forgive you for your hatred, but that man made you realize that you preferred to remain silent in some situations because if you said something, you'd probably say things that would get you kicked out of there.

The miracle happened in the morning when Father Jud stepped in and became the Monsignor's target, no longer you; he was more concerned with losing his position to a young priest than with hunting a nun around. That old man hated you, he definitely does, but he hated even more the feeling that some brat thought he could pull a fast one behind his back in his own church.

For your own peace, instead of reminding Wicks of your existence, you remained completely quiet, so silent that Martha herself forgot there was another woman in that place — and only remembered when she saw you walking through the garden, alone, as always. Getting lost among the trees was synonymous with peace for you, a calmness where Monsignor's shouts couldn't reach. However, you hardly spoke, let alone complained aloud; your presence there was part of God's plan, and you trusted in that.

As usual, you remained seated in the exact same pew after Mass had ended. Everyone else was outside, interacting, but not you; your hands were tightly wrapped around your rosary, and your eyes were closed, focusing only on praying for those who had asked for your help. They might not have frequented the parish — because the reputation that that man gave to Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude wasn't the most pleasant — but they always turned to you when you were there for them. You were doing the job you were sent to do, taking care of your community.

Jud greatly admired that detail about you, he noticed, ever since he curiously began observing you as he saw how you avoided conversations. He pieced together what everyone had said about you and thus understood, superficially, who you were. A young — almost — nun, who had come from far away and hadn't yet taken your perpetual vows, and that you seemed to hate everyone... Which also led them to believe that one day you'd simply leave after deciding that being a nun wasn't for you. They doubted you could handle the pressure, though Jud wondered if they really thought that about you or if they only thought it because Monsignor Wicks did.

While he was watching you, he didn't imagine that you'd sense his presence and ask: “Would you mind hearing my confession, Father?” Without hesitation, Jud accepted; perhaps it was the only meager opportunity he would've to try to understand a little about the woman he saw every day, and of whom he knew little more than the name.

“Bless me, Father, for I've sinned.” Your voice was low, slow, soft as a feather — he was curious to hear you. “My last confession was two weeks ago.” You couldn't see the expression on his face, but you had a feeling he wouldn't judge you for whatever your confession was. Then, silently, he murmured: “Go on, Sister,” with a sign of understanding.