Saints Don't Moan

•Penelope•

“I said no glue near your mouth, Noah.”

I pulled the bottle gently from his hands before he could make a second attempt. The boys at Saint Jude’s Orphanage had a creative streak, which was a polite way of saying they spent most mornings testing how close they could get to trouble before someone stepped in.

Noah pouted. “It smells good.”

“I promise it doesn’t taste the same.”

His friend giggled behind him, chewing on the edge of a crayon with the confidence of someone who had gotten away with it before. I let that one slide. Pick your battles.

The classroom was warm, a little stuffy despite the cracked window above the bookshelf. Dust clung to the sunlight like it was afraid of falling.

My sleeves were rolled up just enough to keep the cuffs from soaking in juice stains.

Most of the younger children had already abandoned their coloring in favor of building towers with hymn books and the odd, uneven wooden blocks Sister Mary had insisted weren’t a choking hazard.

One of the girls tugged my skirt lightly. “Sister Penny, can I use the gold glitter?”

“You know the rule. If you use glitter, you clean it up.”

“I will. Promise.”

“That’s what you said last time but the hallway sparkled for three days.”

She gave me a sheepish grin and scampered off toward the supply cart. I made a mental note to supervise the cleanup this time. The Mother Superior already suspected I was too soft with them.

And she wasn’t wrong. I liked them this way—loud, messy, honest. It was easier than the silence in the chapel or the tight-lipped niceties in the convent halls.

Here, no one cared if I didn’t have the right answer to why God let parents die or why some people never got adopted. They didn’t want answers.

They wanted someone who wanted to listen,stability and freedom

And I could do that.

“Do nuns ever get married?” one of the boys asked out of nowhere, breaking my train of thought.

I turned to see Eli watching me curiously, his fingers still curled around the red marker he’d been using to draw a fire-breathing angel. His tone was innocent, but the question made my spine stiffen.

“No. We devote ourselves to God.”

“But what if you fall in love?”

There it was. Children had a way of cutting through everything with a knife made of sugar and blunt curiosity.

I gave him the kind of smile that nuns are taught—warm, neutral, evasive. “Then we pray a little harder.”

He squinted at me. “That sounds boring.”

“Sometimes boring is good.”

He snorted and went back to drawing flames. Across the room, Sister Agnes poked her head in, gave me a look that said I was ten minutes behind schedule, and vanished just as fast. I clapped my hands to signal cleanup. Groans echoed, but the kids knew the drill.

As I moved between desks, collecting stray markers and separating glue lids from their bottles, I felt the weight of that question still sitting in my chest.

What if you fall in love?

I didn’t let myself answer, I wasn't a nun yet, and I could easily back out from this path whenever I choose to.

"What are you doing here, Penelope?" Matilda sneered at me, the distaste of my presence evident on her face.

"Mother Superior asked me to handle the donation sorting, auction items and sponsorship." I walked off without waiting for a reply.

I might have a really sad past but that doesn't give them the right to treat me so poorly.

As I began the sorting of the donation in the reception of the orphanage, I could hear distant chatter and laughter from outside.

Some women walked in to see the children and donate some items, their eyes wandered to a piece of painting selected for the auction party after the main donation.

A crowd formed over a sleek black car, few sisters and a lot of women. I didn't think people turned up this much for the donations.

A tall, silver-haired man made his way through the crowd and towards my table. His beautiful hazel eyes and manly features made me dumb struck. Now I get why the women flock around him.

"Forgive me, Lord." I whispered a prayer to myself.

His eyes were glued on me as he spoke with Mother Superior, laughing like they've known each other for years.

"Penelope dear, please come here." Mother waved toward me.

I quietly walked towards her, my heart beating faster than it'd ever beat before.

"Penelope, Meet Miguel he is a dedicated donator to our parish and this Orphanage." Mother smiled.

"Thank you, Mr. Miguel." Why hadn't I seen him prior to today?

"Miguel traveled a month before you started your discernment, and from what he tells me he traveled to Turkey." I have never seen Mother be so happy in a long time.

"You love traveling right?" Before I could respond she added, "you should talk to Dr. Miguel. I'll place the medications he brought in the right order."

Wait! I can't be alone with him. I wanted to scream so loudly.

My body tense as my name escaped from his lips, it sounded like a desperate whisper. "Penelope."

"Dr. Miguel." I answered cheerfully.

"Mother mentioned that you love traveling." I couldn't tell if it was a question or statement.

"Yes, I do but I've never really traveled."

He gestured for me to continue. "Why's that?"

"I never got to, I was involved in a car accident and after my recovery I found solace in the Lord." I smiled

He didn’t look away when I smiled. If anything, his gaze sharpened like he was trying to decide what kind of woman hides behind my attire.

My skin prickled under the weight of it.

“You don’t strike me as someone who stays in one place,” he said, voice smooth and low like a secret passed in confession.

I blinked, unsure if it was a compliment, a dig, or something else entirely. “There’s peace in staying in one place.”

“There’s also stagnation,” he murmured.

I swallowed. “I prefer peace.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at me like he didn’t believe me.

Before I could retreat, one of the sisters called for Mother Superior from down the hall. She gave Miguel a quick pat on the shoulder and excused herself, leaving me alone with him.

Great.

He turned his attention back to me fully now, and it was suddenly very hard to remember how breathing worked.

“Do you enjoy the work here?” he asked, stepping just a little too close—close enough for me to smell something expensive on his coat. Cedarwood. Amber. Temptation.

“I do,” I said, shifting my weight. “The children are honest. It's refreshing.”

“And the sisters?”

I hesitated. “They’re kind in their own way.”

A slow smile curved at the corner of his mouth. “But not to you?”

I flinched. Just slightly. But he caught it.

“They have their reasons,” I said carefully.

He stepped around the table slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they’re just intimidated.”

My laugh was dry. “By me?”

“You carry yourself like someone who doesn’t want to be here.” He paused. “Or someone who’s trying very hard to convince herself she does.”

That stung. Mostly because it wasn’t entirely untrue.

“I don’t think you know me well enough to make that kind of judgment, Dr. Miguel.”

He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Not yet.”

The silence between us thickened, broken only by the sound of children’s voices echoing through the hallway. I reached for the clipboard, desperate to pretend I had a reason to end the conversation.

“Well,” I said, avoiding his eyes, “thank you again for the donations. I’ll make sure everything is sorted.”

“Of course.” He stepped back, just enough for me to breathe again. “I look forward to seeing how you put it all to use.”

There was a flicker of something approval, maybe, or challenge as he turned to leave.

“And Penelope?”

I glanced up.

“That thing you said earlier about finding solace in the Lord?”

“Yes?”

He smirked. “Sometimes the things we run to are the very things we’re running from.”

Then he walked away, leaving me staring after him with my pulse pounding and my thoughts absolutely impure.

I pressed a hand over my heart like that could quiet it.

Forgive me, Lord, I thought to myself. I might have just met my hardest temptation.