PROLOGUE

Laura Hastings sat in her car, engine off, staring at the imposing stone facade of St. Michael's Church. Her fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel as she debated whether to go in.

You don't need to do this, a voice in her head said. Nobody will ever find out.

Yes, that was true. But she'd know. The weight of her secret had been pressing down on her for months, threatening to crush her under its weight, and she wasn't sure she could stand it anymore.

"You have to do this," she whispered to herself, trying to summon courage. "Don't chicken out now."

A young couple walked past her car, hand in hand, chatting with easy smiles as they followed the sidewalk. Laura envied their lightness, their apparent freedom from the burden she carried.

She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes until the scheduled confession time. It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, Laura opened her car door and stepped out. The cool autumn air caressed her face, carrying the scent of fallen leaves. She smoothed her skirt and started toward the church, each step feeling heavier than the last.

At the base of the stone steps, Laura paused again. Her heart raced. Was she really ready to speak her shame aloud?

You'll just be telling the priest. Your secrets are safe with him—it's not like you murdered anyone.

An elderly woman exited the church, noticing Laura's hesitation. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked.

Laura forced a smile. "Yes, thank you. Just...gathering my thoughts."

The woman nodded sympathetically and continued on her way. Laura watched her go, then turned back to the church. She'd come this far. She had to see it through.

With renewed determination, she climbed the steps and pulled open the heavy wooden door. The familiar scent of incense enveloped her as she entered the hushed interior. The church was entirely empty, not another soul in sight.

Laura dipped her fingers in the holy water, crossing herself out of long-ingrained habit. She made her way down the aisle, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet runner. The confessional loomed before her, its dark wood gleaming in the soft light.

She hesitated once more, her hand on the booth's handle. Before she could change her mind, she opened the door and slipped inside.

The small space felt even more confined than she remembered, the air thick and close. She knelt on the worn cushion, her knees protesting the familiar position.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's been...a long time since my last confession."

There was a moment of silence, then a gentle voice came through the latticed window. "Welcome, my child. How long has it been?"

Laura swallowed hard. "Six months, Father."

"I see," the priest said, his tone free of judgment. "What brings you here today?"

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I've done something terrible. Something I've been carrying for months."

"God is listening, child. Speak freely."

Laura's thoughts raced, memories flooding back. The weight of her guilt pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She began to speak, her words coming out in a rush.

"I betrayed my husband, Father. I...I had an affair."

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken questions. When the priest spoke again, his voice was carefully neutral. "Can you tell me more about what happened?"

Laura hesitated. How much should she reveal? "It was a coworker. We were working late on a project, and things...escalated. It only happened once, but..."

"But the guilt remains," the priest finished for her.

"Yes," Laura whispered. "I can barely look my husband in the eye. He doesn't know, but I feel like I'm lying to him every day."

The priest was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a hint of something in his voice that Laura couldn't quite identify. Curiosity? Concern?

"It takes courage to confess such a sin," he said. "Have you considered telling your husband?"

Laura's hands clenched in her lap. "I've thought about it. But I'm afraid. What if he leaves me? What if I destroy our family over one stupid mistake?"

"These are difficult questions," the priest said softly. "But tell me, why did you choose to confess this now?"

She hadn't expected this question. Laura paused, considering. "I...I can't move forward. The guilt is eating me alive. I thought if I confessed, if I sought forgiveness..."

"You thought you could find peace," the priest finished for her.

"Yes," Laura said, relief flooding through her. He understood.

"And what would you do with this peace, if you found it?"

The question caught her off guard. "I...I'm not sure. Try to be a better wife, I suppose. Make amends, somehow."

There was another pause, longer this time. When the priest spoke again, his tone had changed subtly. "And you believe you deserve this peace? After betraying your husband's trust?"

Laura's breath caught in her throat. The priest's words were harsher than she'd expected.

"Father?" she asked, puzzled.

"Did you think you could simply confess and walk away, Laura? That you could violate your marriage vows without consequences?"

Laura's heart pounded. How did he know her name? She'd never given it during the confession, and she didn't think she'd ever spoken with this priest before.

And why was he being so…so cruel?

"I can help you, Laura," he said, his voice suddenly soft. "I can show you a better way."

"I…I don't understand." Her throat was tight, her mouth dry.

"Follow me, and I will show you. There's something better for you—something you can't even imagine."

The gentleness of his tone made her want to believe him, to believe that he genuinely cared and wanted what was best for her. But then she thought of how he'd spoken to her a few moments earlier—the condescension in his voice, the condemnation.

Something about this priest was wrong. He wanted something from her…and she sensed it would be very dangerous to give it to him.

She stood abruptly, her knees shaking. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come."

Laura's trembling fingers fumbled with the door handle, twisting it frantically. The wood creaked, but the door remained stubbornly shut. Panic clawed at her throat as she spun around, searching for another way out.

"Going somewhere?" The priest's voice had lost all pretense of warmth. It was cold, hard, like a knife's edge.

"Please," Laura whispered, her back pressed against the confessional wall. "I need to leave."

"Leave?" The priest chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "You think you can just cast me aside like that, Laura? When I'm showing you a better way?"

Her eyes darted to the latticed window separating them. Through the intricate pattern, she caught a glimpse of movement. The rustle of robes. The glint of something metallic.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, her voice quavering. "I never told you."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by Laura's ragged breathing. Then, slowly, deliberately, the small door in the lattice slid open.

Laura's heart hammered against her ribs as she peered into the darkness of the priest's side. At first, she saw nothing. Then, a face emerged from the shadows, hidden beneath a deep cowl.

"I know many things, Laura," the figure said. "I know about your betrayal. Your lies. Your weakness ."

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, you can't... This isn't right. You're not a real priest, are you?"

Another chuckle, this one sending chills down her spine. "I'm as real as the guilt you carry. As real as the vows you broke."

How could he know? Who was this man?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in a lock. The door to the priest's side of the confessional swung open.

She pressed herself further into the corner, her breathing shallow and quick. Fight or flight instincts warred within her as the robed figure stepped into view.

In his hand, he gripped a heavy brass candlestick.

"What are you doing?" Laura asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone about this."

The priest took a step closer, his face still hidden in shadow. "No, you won't. You're good at keeping secrets, aren't you?"

Laura's eyes darted around the small space, desperately searching for an escape. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

"I made a mistake," she said. "I'm sorry. I'll make it right, I promise."

"Promises." The priest spat the word like a curse. "What value do your promises have now, Laura? I gave you a chance to redeem yourself, to choose rightly, but you turned me down. You've left me with no choice."

What was he talking about? What chance had he given her?

He took another step forward, raising the candlestick. Laura could see her terrified reflection in its polished surface.

"No, please," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

The priest paused, the candlestick hovering in the air between them. For a moment, hope fluttered in Laura's chest. Maybe he would reconsider. Maybe this nightmare would end.

But then he spoke, his voice low and filled with a terrible purpose. "It's time I showed you the error of your ways, Laura. Time you understood the true weight of your sins."

Laura's eyes widened in horror as the candlestick began its downward arc. Time seemed to slow. She could see every detail: the play of light on the brass, the tensing of the priest's arm, the inevitable path toward her unprotected head.

Something in her snapped. With a surge of adrenaline, she lunged forward, her shoulder connecting with the priest's midsection. The unexpected move caught him off balance, and he stumbled backward, the candlestick clattering to the floor.

Emboldened, Laura scrambled past him, her fingers clawing at the door. It was still locked, so she slammed her body against it repeatedly. The wood creaked and groaned under the assault.

Behind her, the priest groaned, his angry breaths filling the small space. "You can't escape your sins, Laura," he said.

Laura's eyes darted around, searching for a weapon. She spotted the fallen candlestick and dove for it.

The priest lunged at the same moment. Their hands grappled for the brass object, a frantic tug-of-war in the confined space of the confessional.

Laura's fingers closed around the cool metal. With a yell of defiance, she swung it upward, aiming for the priest's cowled head.

But the priest was quicker. He jerked back, narrowly avoiding the blow. In the same motion, his hand shot out, grabbing Laura's wrist and twisting it painfully.

She cried out, the candlestick slipping from her grasp. The priest's other hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her screams.

"Enough," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "It's time to face judgment."

Laura's eyes blazed with fury and fear as she struggled against his grip. She wouldn't give up. She couldn't. But as the priest's hand tightened around her throat, darkness began to creep in at the edges of her vision.

Her last conscious thought was a silent plea for help, for salvation, for one more chance to make things right.

Then the priest's free hand found the candlestick and raised it. It froze overhead for one long, terrible moment.

And then came crashing down.