"Stacy, goddamn it, open up." Miguel pounds his fist against the door of the spare guest room I have chosen as a hiding place. His voice is laced with desperation. "Please, baby, I'm so sorry."

Curled up on the bed with the covers over my head, I ignore him. Sooner or later, he'll have to give up.

"Stacy, please. Let's talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about!" My yelled words are interrupted by hiccups. "Go away."

"Baby, please."

When I don't respond, the pounding finally stops. With a sigh, I snuggle under the blanket. It's damp in places from my tears. After everything that has happened, I don't deserve this.

A loud bang, mixed with the whine of splintering wood, interrupts my pity-party. I peek from underneath the covers and frown. The whole doorframe is busted, the door hanging off one hinge. Miguel stands in the center like a rock in a raging sea, looking rather smug for a lying cheater.

If I hadn't been raised in a Christian household, I would've used the F-word. "Miguel, what are you doing? Get out!"

"Not before we've talked." He pushes his lip out, his eyes filled with stubbornness. In that moment, he's more like my little brother when he wants a toy than a grown man with a violent streak.

"Fine." I sit up in the bed, hugging my knees. "What do you want to talk about?" My gaze is focused on a bird outside the window. I can't stand looking at him.

"I'm so sorry, Stacy. It was just sex. I only love you."

"Just sex?" My brows quirk with a chuckle, though I feel like crying again. "What an original excuse."

"I know it's hard for a woman to grasp, but that's how men are. We have needs." When I don't respond to his ridiculous statement, he lowers himself on the bed. "Stacy, please, look at me."

I play with the hem of the blanket, determined on the silent treatment.

He sighs. "I wanted to give you your space. After the other night, I didn't think you wanted sex again before the wedding."

I almost choke on his words; when I find his eyes, my lip quivers. "Are you telling me that you can't even wait for a couple of months without having sex with someone else?"

His cheeks flush. At first, I fear he's angry, but when he chews awkwardly on his lip, I realize he's embarrassed.

"I guess I've never had a woman who cared about stuff like that. Juana and I weren't exclusive."

It's my turn to sigh. "Miguel, cheating is something I can't tolerate. My father had an affair that resulted in him having a child with another woman. There's no way I'll marry you and always fear that there's another girl."

"I understand and I swear I'll change. Just give me another chance to prove it."

"There is more."

"More?" He gazes at me with an arched brow. Obviously, he's waiting for me to elaborate.

"Tomás told me about the setup."

Silence follows my words. His shoulders slump; he looks tired. "I can't win, can I?"

I study him for a sign of remorse. "Honestly, I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you see? I love you so damn much, ever since I saw you run through the rain, but it was Felipe all the way for you. I knew he would hurt you eventually, and I didn't want that for you. It would've broken my heart. So I decided to show you what kind of person he really was."

"By pretending that your buddy was going to rape me?" My stare is challenging. "How does this prove to me that Felipe was a bad person?"

"He would have given you to Tomás." He nods as if he's trying to convince me that his assertion is true. "Did you know that they shared their women?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes." He nods his head like a bobblehead toy. "They shared Shauna even on their wedding night. You can ask Tomás, I'm sure he won't deny it. Sex wasn't sacred to Felipe. I had to protect you."

His eyes are wide. Panic is reflected in them, but also sincerity, and knowing Tomás, his story will likely check out. I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting an oncoming headache. Were there any decent men in Malaguay?

I fall back onto my side and hide my face in the crooks of my elbows. The sadness is overwhelming. This whole incident has not only opened up old wounds, but the longing to be with my family again has skyrocketed.

Miguel strokes my back. "Are you still mad?"

The question opens a floodgate of emotions, tears burning hot on my skin.

"I miss my family so much." I sob, the pressure on my chest becoming unbearable.

"Oh Stacy, come here." He cradles me into his arms, rocking me gently back and forth.

As I weep against his chest, he strokes my back, muttering "cariño" and "te quiero." It's soothing.

"I tell you what." He shifts his weight so I have to look at him. "Why don't we go and visit your family for our honeymoon? I would really like to meet them and we could even have a reception."

My heart jumps with excitement. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." He smiles. "Anything to make you happy. Let's go to dinner and discuss arrangements, but I want to make one more stop first."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

~~~~

Turns out, the stop is the church in the town center. It's rather big when compared to the one of our parish, though from what I've seen in pictures, it's average for Roman Catholic standards. My mother said the Catholics have to keep up an image as the oldest Christian institution in the world, sinking money into nonsense instead of helping people. Personally, I never understood the purpose of being divided into so many different groups. We pray to the same God and follow the principles of the Bible, so this should be enough to stand as one.

Just as the day I lit the candle for Felipe, the filtered light streaming through the colored mosaic glass is boosted by a sea of flickering flames. When Miguel dips his hand into a small bowl of water for the sign of the cross, I follow his example. As I trail him down the center aisle, the beautiful paintings on the wall catch my eye. The pictures depict the various stages of Jesus's suffering as he is led to the cross. The colors are vibrant with thin layers of gold outlining the halo around the Savior's head.

In front of the altar, Miguel briefly kneels for another sign of the cross before approaching the priest who's gathering up prayer sheets along the aisles. As is customary in Roman Catholicism, he's dressed in a black robe with clerical collar. Another one of those things I don't get. At home, Pastor Colin always wears regular clothes with a suit and tie for service on Sundays. Just because he isn't forced into some type of a uniform doesn't make him any less humble.

When Miguel and the priest start a mumbled conversation, I lower myself onto one of the long benches. Tilting my head all the way back, I look at the vaulted ceiling. What a tall structure. A sense of insignificance falls over me. This church was probably built a couple of centuries ago and has weathered storms and wars alike. How many believers has it given comfort? How many babies were baptized in the small basin in the wall, just to return in a casket when their time was up? Weddings, holy communions—if these walls could talk, they'd have a lot to tell.

Miguel joins me on the bench. "We're in luck. Mass just ended and Father Lucas will be able to hear our confessions."

I quirk my brows. "Confession?"

"Yes. Don't you do confessions in your church?"

"We do, but they're probably different from yours." My gaze lingers on the little booth against the wall. I read that's where Catholics do their confessions. The way it's constructed, I'm not even sure I can look the priest in the eyes.

"Well, you don't need to use the confession booth if you don't want to. Father Lucas can take you to his chamber in the back."

"No, that's fine." It'll be a new experience.

"Good. This is really important to me, Stacy. Having our sins forgiven will guarantee us a fresh start." He squeezes my hand. "It's what we need."

I take a deep breath. He is right. My sins have been adding up, pressing down on me and holding me back. Only if I renew my faith in God will he offer me protection and solace.

"Okay, let's do this. Does Father Lucas speak English?"

"He does." He squeezes my hand again. "Let me go first. I've got more to confess than you."

I close my eyes, focusing on the task ahead. At some point, anxiousness gets the better of me and I twitch in my seat. What's taking Miguel so long? Trying to keep my nerves in check, I get up and take a closer look at the pictures on the wall. They are truly beautiful.

"All right, I'm done." Miguel's face is more relaxed than usual; he actual looks relieved.

I turn toward the booth. "So I just walk in there?"

"Yes. Father Lucas is waiting for you. I still have to do my prayers and will wait here until you're done."

"Okay." All of a sudden, my heart races. Though I've spoken to Pastor Colin a few dozen times about my sins, the thought of confiding in a total stranger is unsettling.

Don't be silly, Stacy. Father Lucas is a man of God. He won't judge, no matter what you say.

And afterward, I will feel better. The times I've confessed always lifted a huge burden off my shoulders. As I approach the confession booth, Miguel gives me an encouraging smile. The door swings back silently. I stare at the small space, having second thoughts. Only my need to be forgiven for my sins in the eyes of God drives me forward.

Squeezing into the small space, I close the door. No seat, just a small board to kneel on. As I lower myself down, I come eye to eye with Father Lucas. His face is visible through little holes in the dividing wall between us.

"Forgive me for I have sinned."

"So speak and be forgiven."

Not really sure where to start, I take him through the events of the last months. My disrespect for my parents when I left without saying goodbye, abandoning my siblings when they needed me, those awful thoughts of the flesh when I encountered Miguel in the shower. Lying is another biggy. A few tears spring loose as I consider telling him about the man in the warehouse, but my tongue is paralyzed. This one will be just between me and God.

"I know these have been very challenging times for you." The priest's accent is so thick that I have to focus on his words to understand him. "God is all forgiving, but you need to remember that you will also have to forgive as part of your penance."

"I will, Father, I promise."

"After Miguel's confession, I know that forgiveness might be a struggle, but you have to open your heart. God sent his son down to Earth to show that there is hope for all of us. If you hold on to hate, you will only receive hate. If you give love, you will be loved. And only those who are prepared to forgive unconditionally will receive the holy sacrament of forgiveness."

"I understand, Father."

"So are you ready for penance to receive the gift of God's forgiveness?"

I nod. Miguel is right, we need to make this our fresh start. God can only bless our relationship if I let go of those awful memories. Even though Miguel was totally in the wrong and has no excuse for the violence he inflicted, we are all sinners. If he truly wants to change, he deserves another chance.

He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her.

That's what Jesus said. A lesson that I've always followed.

Father Lucas mumbles words that sound like Latin, and with every sign of the cross, my breathing becomes easier. All the hate, sorrow, and guilt are being sucked out of me. When I'm released from the confession booth, my soul is light, my heart full of love. True forgiveness will guide Miguel and I back to the light.

I reach for Miguel's hand. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, but there is one more thing." Getting down on one knee, he wraps both my hands in his. His smile is sweet. "In the presence of God as our witness, do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

Now this is a true proposal. It feels right. "I do, Miguel. I love you."

"And I'm truly sorry for everything. I swear I'll be a better man, someone you can be proud of."

"Let's just forget about the past. I've forgiven you." The words hurt as much as they are liberating. It'll still take time to truly get over the pain he has caused, but I have to try and push forward. It's what I've been taught all my life. Forgiveness might be hard, but it's the only way to the Lord.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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