This Confession Has Meant Nothing Novels & Stories

my voice stuck inside my throat as I turn around the countertop, grabbing the edges harder. "If she trusts you, then— then what? Isn't it good?" "No," I hung my head. The pain and frustration which I was holding inside me explodes. It aches. Harder! Deeper! "She was pregnant!" The broken words escaped my mouth as the confession comes out from the culprit. I'm no one but a culprit to her. I fucking know that. I believe that. But I don't have the courage to confess that. "What?" Kane blurts out and pauses.

"Let them know that I have burnt for sex toys and you bought another to pleasure yourself.. is this not the work of the devil? She screamed as she tried holding back her tears but how can I tell her that father Kentucky is the devil in disguise, the one who keeps ruining my sleep with wet dreams just by his existence in Saint Raphael church. " You're coming with me and that's final, get the hell out of that thing and get dressed, since you ain't ready to wait to get married you can tell the father about all you've done today in the confession room" I stopped from standing up. " What do you mean to the confession room? Mum, I can't do that!" I screamed.. How can I confess to father that I hav

Or perhaps it was simply understanding. I let that hang in the air. The soft hum of the city filled the silence again, a constant reminder of the relentless, unyielding world outside. The contract sat forgotten on the table behind me, a symbol of the deals I brokered, the power I wielded. But in that moment, the glittering skyline, the carefully crafted agreement, all seemed insignificant. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Not yet. James's confession had cracked the carefully constructed façade of my life, revealing the hollowness beneath.

"You think I do not know why you were at the bar that night we met? You think I have not watched you carry that crack around like it is your fault when it is actually his?" I flinched. He was not supposed to say it out loud. "That does not make this right," I whispered. "It does not make us right." He took one step closer, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of his soap and the night air on his skin. "Tell me you do not feel it," he said. "Look at me and tell me this is nothing." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. That was the moment everything tilted. The moment I understood I was not going to walk away clean. My silence said more than any confession could have.

“At least…” My grip tightened around the glass. “I don’t want to.” Camille didn’t respond immediately. The night stretched around us. Quiet. Peaceful. Too peaceful for the mess in my head. Finally I laughed softly. “You know what’s embarrassing?” “What?” I stared out at the water. “My walls are breaking.” The confession felt ridiculous. Humiliating. I rubbed a hand over my face. Camille looked down at her glass. “Do you believe him?” She asked, “His apologies.”

hopelessly. How does it feel to not be heard? "I have nothing to confess." I keep my face straight, tonelessly. And in a heartbeat, the hearing room roars. "Amber, what are you do--" "Shhh," The High Priest raises his index to the air, signaling Youssef to keep his word to himself, and he does. "Let the girl speak," The High Priest looks at me with curious eyes. Waiting. "I have nothing to confess, Father."

“You’re just choosing to believe something that isn’t true.” “I’m choosing what’s in front of me,” he replied. And that was it. That was the moment I understood that this wasn’t a conversation, this wasn’t something I could fix. He had already decided. I lowered my gaze slightly, my fingers tightening around the edge of the paper. My chest felt heavy. Tight. Like something inside me was slowly collapsing. “I didn’t betray you,” I said quietly. But it sounded empty. Even to me. Adrian didn’t respond.

, but he won’t say a word to me.” She said truthfully; but she’d intentionally refused to tell her mother how David had been drowning himself in alcohol and coming home drunk. “Something is definitely wrong with your husband; maybe I should try speaking to him.” Roslyn certainly wouldn’t mind her mother taking to David, but she wouldn’t want him angry with her either. “No,” she protested, “there will be no need for that, at least not yet.” She went on; her mother nodded her head in understanding, “I feel like God is angry with me.” Roslyn muttered; surprising her mother. “Why—do ya say that, my deah?” Mrs. Williams asked, wondering why Roslyn have such terrible thoughts in her mind. “Well, I

When he is gone, I sit back down and open another ledger—the one that contains my own confessions, which I've written in secret for decades. I dip my pen and begin a new entry. "Tonight I told theson the truth. May God forgive me for what comes next." The bell tolls once above me, low and mournful. It always tolls for someone.

Her confession today was different; not the usual petty transgressions of thought, but something deeper, more unsettling. "I… I have been having… impure thoughts, Father," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "Thoughts that shame me. Thoughts of… flesh. Of touch. Of wanting…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing a deep scarlet visible even in the dim light. Father Michael clenched his fists, the cheap fabric of his cassock rough against his skin.