This Confession Has Meant Nothing Mga Nobela at Kwento

He just kept on climbing; his silence was more deafening than any insult. And I knew when I made this confession, the confession wasn’t for him. It was the truth that I had denied myself. I had no intentions to actually say those words out loud. Perhaps it was the casual insults I got from Caspian. Perhaps it was just the truth sneaking through my defenses at last.

I stared at him, something in my chest cracking open at the confession. You never told me that. I never told anyone that, he said. It felt too pathetic to admit out loud. Five years, and I still couldn’t fully let go, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise. That’s not pathetic, I said. That’s the same thing I was doing, just from the other direction. Both of us, quietly holding on, too afraid to actually reach for each other. We’re both idiots, he said, something almost fond in his voice despite the confession’s weight.

"The problem was never you wanting more. It was me believing I had nothing left to give. The monster wasn't in you, Leo. It was in me. It was my own voice, telling me every single day that I wasn't enough." I had nothing left. The confession had scraped me clean. I sat there in his professional sanctuary, hollowed out and shaking, waiting. Waiting for his anger, his cold logic, his final, quiet dismissal. I had brought the storm into his calm space, and now he would have to throw me out.

The confession screen is the only reason I feel safe enough to spill the secret that’s been eating at me. It made Father Callahan’s figure on the other side just a mere shadow. “...and then we did it, father.” I choked out, squeezing my eyes shut. “We…we had sex. I know it’s a mortal sin, Father. And I feel so dirty.” Clenching my fist tight, I waited for scriptures to be hurled at me and the threat of hellfire.

It won't change the fact that we both had sex. *Either way we are both sinners and he was going to confess to me.* “CONFESS TO ME, FATHER!” I screamed out loudly.

I was waiting for another argument or for a speech on changing my mind. "I was selfish and I'm still selfish but I know that you need a break. You're pregnant for Devon and you're married to that fucking maniac. My feelings should be the least of your problems. So you can just forget I ever confessed." He smiled making me almost melt under him. I was skeptical but his words held a little bit of weight. But I can't forget that confession, it's ingrained to my brain and it makes me feel pathetic deserving that kind of love.

And then, like a fragile whisper, the admission came forth from his lips. "Yes," he confessed, the word carrying a weight that resonated through the space between us. The admission was stark, devoid of any attempt to downplay or mask the truth. The air seemed to shift as the word hung in the air, a revelation that altered the dynamics of the room and the landscape of my thoughts.

The fight was etched on his face—a battle of years' worth of silence against the terror of having to utter the truth that had been ripped away from him in the storm. "I lost everything once on a boat," he began, his voice so low that Jonah had to strain to hear it over the dying wind. "My mother. My sister. Any glimmer of a soul." He took a harsh, agonized breath. "I couldn't… I would not… lose you the same way." The confession was simpler than the one on the deck weeks earlier, but it was even more heartbreaking. It wasn't about then. It was about now. It was about him.

“Yeah, you're right. Nothing has changed. Absolutely nothing..” I get out of the car, breathing heavily. My chest is aching and I feel panic rising up inside of me. I guess this is it. There is nothing more to say that has not already been said and more. Or so I thought until he leans over to tell me, “Oh, and don't tell anyone about this. It was a lapse of judgment on my part and there is no need to broadcast the mistake. I would really rather people not know about what happened.”

"I want you both to know that I stayed there until morning and I understood immediately what I had done and I have not been free of that morning for ten years." The study was very quiet. "That is not an excuse," she said. "I know that. I am not offering it as one." "Then what are you offering it as," Kaden said. His voice was even. "As the truth," she said. "The part I could not say in the confession because it was not about facts. It was about what I have been carrying." She paused. "Transfer me to him now." I transferred the call. Kaden and I sat in the study.