LOGIN(Elena's POV)Marco never called me in the middle of a workday unless it involved one of two things: business or family. When my phone lit up with his name just after lunch, I answered on the third ring."You're impossible to reach," he said without greeting."I've been...busyy.""So have I." I smiled despite myself, because Marco had always spoken as though the world operated on his schedule. "What do you want?""I need a favor.""There it is.""I knew you'd say that." His laugh came easily, the same way it always had,comfortable, familiar, the sound of a friendship that had survived childhood, adolescence, and every awkward expectation our families continued to place upon us. "What kind of favor?""My father is hosting a dinner on Friday."Immediately I groaned. "No.""You don't even know what I'm asking.""I know enough.""It's not one of those dinners.""They're all one of those dinners."He sighed dramatically. "I swear this one isn't." I leaned back in my chair. "Marco—""My fat
(Matteo's POV)Something told me Elena was hiding something; I had learned the smallest changes in her over the past months: the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear when she was anxious, how she smiled without showing her teeth when she was pretending everything was fine, how silence became her refuge whenever the truth frightened her. For nearly a week she had been quieter than usual, present, kind, affectionate, but somewhere else entirely. Every conversation felt like she was carrying a thought she couldn't put into words, and every time I asked, she answered the same way. "I'm just tired." I wanted to believe her. Instead I found myself praying more than sleeping. Saturday evening arrived with another parish fundraiser. The church courtyard buzzed with laughter, children chasing one another between folding tables while elderly couples debated whose homemade biscotti deserved first prize. I stood near the entrance greeting parishioners, smiling, blessing children,
(Elena's POV)I didn't notice at first. There were too many other things demanding my attention my mother's questions, Sister Lucia's watchful eyes, the impossible effort of pretending Matteo and I were strangers whenever the parish was full. Life had become a careful performance, one lie balanced against another, one smile covering a hundred fears. So when I woke up with a dull ache low in my abdomen on Monday morning, I dismissed it. Stress. It had to be. The past few weeks had been enough to make anyone's body rebel. I swallowed two painkillers, skipped breakfast, and buried myself in work at my father's office. Numbers were easier than emotions. Contracts didn't ask impossible questions. Spreadsheets didn't look at me the way Matteo did, and they certainly didn't make me question my soul.***It wasn't until one evening that I reached for the small calendar tucked inside my handbag; I like crossing out each day with a blue pen. It made time feel organized. I uncapped the pen and s
(Matteo's POV)Three days after our conversation about Sister Lucia, Elena called me, not late at night, not in secret, but in broad daylight, which immediately told me something was wrong."We need rules." No greeting, no introduction, straight to the point. I closed my office door, already exhausted, already knowing where this conversation was heading."Rules.""Yes."I rubbed a hand across my face. "Elena—""No." Her voice remained firm. "If we're going to survive this, we need boundaries." Survive!! not stop, not end, not walk away. Survive. The distinction wasn't lost on either of us."What kind of boundaries?" I asked quietly. Silence, and then: "No more meeting alone during the week." Reasonable. "No more sleeping together." Painful. "No texting constantly." Nearly impossible. "And no finding excuses to see each other every day." That one hurt most, because she wasn't wrong. Lately we had become part of each other's routines, morning messages, afternoon conversations, evening
(Matteo's POV)Sister Lucia cornered me on a Wednesday, not literally, because she was far too subtle for that, which was precisely what made her.I was halfway across the courtyard when her voice stopped me."Father Matteo." Immediately, something in my stomach tightened because Sister Lucia never called people over casually. Every interaction felt intentional. I turned. "Yes, Sister?"She smiled, politely, warmly, completely harmless, which somehow made me trust her even less. "Would you walk with me?" A request, not an order, but not optional either.Five minutes later, we were moving slowly through the parish garden while rose bushes swayed gently in the Roman breeze. For a while, she spoke about ordinary things: the youth program, parish donations, a broken air conditioner in one of the classrooms. Small talk, the kind intelligent people use before arriving at the real conversation. And eventually, she arrived."You seem troubled lately."There it was. I almost laughed, because
(Matteo's POV)Elena was sitting alone in the last pew near the back of the church, long after evening Mass had ended. The church was nearly empty, candles flickering softly near the sanctuary, the cleaning volunteers already gone, and still she sat there, motionless and thinking, which was never a good sign. I approached slowly, not because I was afraid of her, but because lately every difficult conversation seemed to arrive quietly, without warning and without preparation."You've been sitting here for twenty minutes." My voice echoed softly through the empty church. Elena looked up, and a faint smile appeared that didn't reach her eyes."There you are." The words sounded almost absentminded, like she had been expecting me eventually. Something tightened inside my chest. "What happened?" I sat beside her, careful, far enough apart to satisfy appearances, close enough to hear her breathe. She looked toward the altar instead of answering."My mother confronted me today."Immediately
Matteo's POV)I woke before sunrise. For a few seconds I didn't move, didn't open my eyes, didn't think, and in those few seconds, there was peace. Real peace, the kind I hadn't felt in months.Then memory returned. Warmth beside me, the faint scent of Elena's perfume still caught in the sheets, th
Elena's POV)I should have told him to leave. That thought kept repeating quietly in the back of my mind as Matteo stood impossibly close to me beneath the dim light near the side gate of my family's estate not because I wanted him gone, but because I understood exactly what letting him stay meant
Matteo’s POVI stayed in the church long after she left, her return seem to give me mixed feelings, I'm happy and worried at the same time because I'm not ready to admit what I had already lost control of.Inside the church went cold with silence after the fading of her footsteps.But it wasn’t the
Lately, I've been avoiding confession sessions, Catholicism is not my best bet right now...I feel trapped, everything feels thorny, I can't receive communion if I don't go for confession;It's not like I don't wish to go, but I know exactly what would happen if I stepped inside that wooden box aga







