Page 3 of For I Have Sinned

“If you will follow us, we will start the tour,” the older nun says sweetly.

We follow them, my parents walking side by side, while I trail behind. When we turn right down another hall, this one made of stone, it makes me think the lobby and the hall full of offices we just walked through were added on. A few feet down, we are met with massive, dark wooden doors that stand wide open, allowing us to view the room inside.

When I walk in, I am in awe of what I see.

There are rows of stone pillars along the outer sides of the pews. They stretch up towards the high ceiling and arch at the top, connecting to the pillars on the opposite side of the room. The walls, much like the hall we were just in, are made of a dark gray stone. Being in this room makes it feel like we are standing in an old castle, not a church.

On each side of the chapel are two windows made entirely out of beautiful stained glass. The glass in each window creates the image of an angel, with reds and blues surrounding the white glass that makes up the angel’s body, and the yellow, smaller pieces that create her hair. Every angel is different on each window, and the sun shining through adds a pretty color to the dark space.

At the front stands an altar, covered in a white cloth with a stainless steel wine glass sitting on top, and a large golden cross hanging on the wall behind the altar, and two more stained glass windows on either side of it.

This place is nothing like the church my parents attend. This one looks straight out of a movie. I just can’t decide if that movie is a happy one or a horror.

Turning around to look at the entirety of the room from the front, I spot a large wooden box on the back wall, right by where we entered. There are two doors on it, and I know from past experiences that it is a confessional booth.

As I inspect it from afar, voices from the hall catch my attention. Two women in white dresses pass by the door. Both glance in, offering a soft smile before walking away.

My parents are quietly talking with a nun. Instead of standing with them, I remain by the side of the other nun. “When is the service starting?”

“Oh, there is no service today, my dear.” The older nun responds with a smile.

“So we aren’t here to listen to the pastor preach?”

My mother’s lips form a tight line. “Here, Celine, they prefer to be called priests.”

“Sorry,” I apologize softly, afraid that I had insulted the nuns.

“That is okay,” The younger nun assures me. “You will learn.”

No, I won’t because I’m not coming back here. I can’t say that, of course, but I smile and nod in response.

“Now, if we go back out into the hall, we can show you the rest of the convent.”

I allow my parents to walk forward, and I follow a few steps behind them, accompanied by the nun that was speaking to my parents. “What is a convent?”

“It is usually a place where we nuns live, work, and pray, but we do things a little differently in this convent,” she begins to explain. “Here, we treat it as a place for women who are confused about their faith or who would like to have a closer relationship with God. They come here to learn what it means to have that faith and to serve. Given that they are here for a while, we have bedrooms for them to stay in.”

“They willingly come here?” The question slips out before I can register what I said. Thankfully, my mother was too far away to have heard me.

The nun remains quiet for a moment before she lets out a soft hum. “Majority of the time, yes.” What the hell was that supposed to mean? “My fellow sisters teach classes, and we have our priest, Father Keaton, who leads our sermons. He is very kind and… oh, there he is!”

We are now back in the hall outside of the chapel, and an older man is approaching us with another man who seems to be around my age.

“Sister Alice, how are you today?” Father Keaton asks.

The man who stands before us has dark hair and eyes to match. Even though they are a darker shade than I have ever seen before, there is still a kindness to them. He appears to be my parents’ age, maybe a little bit younger. The smile that he gives Sister Alice is warm and inviting, which eases my nerves a little.

“Very well,” she replies. “We are giving a tour to the Monroe family.” She gestures to me and then to my parents.

Father Keaton says his hellos to them and then turns back to me, extending a hand with the same smile that Sister Alice received. “It is very nice to meet you⁠—”

“Celine.” I introduce myself.

“Celine,” he repeats my name before releasing my hand. “This is Father Alexander Cohen.”

“Hello.” My head dips in greeting.

“Hello, Celine. It is nice to meet you.” His voice is smooth, just as his appearance.