The Nun's Confession: 5. A Reckoning of Faith

The morning after the garden, Emilia woke to silence.

Not peace.

But the heavy, suffocating kind of silence that hangs before a storm.

She lay in her narrow cell, limbs still aching with pleasure, her skin marked by Lucien’s mouth and hands. But it wasn’t shame that made her tremble now—it was the sharp, gnawing edge of fear. Something had changed. The air in the convent no longer felt neutral. It pulsed with suspicion.

She rose slowly, fingers tightening around her rosary. She hadn’t dared ask for forgiveness.

Not after what she’d offered freely the night before.

At the morning meal, no one met her eyes.

Sister Agnes avoided the seat beside her. Sister Miriam whispered into her sleeve, glancing at her with narrowed eyes. Even the Mother Superior, normally stern but fair, watched Emilia with a sharpened gaze—silent, observant.

Something had been seen. Something had been heard.

She was sure of it now.

After breakfast, Emilia