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“I think we should discuss it now,” I interrupt, my fingers visibly shaking as I reach for the projector remote. The tremor isn’t from fear—it’s from something else, but I’m not sure what. “While we’re all here together. While we’re all thinking about sin and forgiveness and truth.”

I can see Mercy half-rising from her seat, her mouth forming words I can’t hear from this distance.

I can’t look at her.

I pull my eyes away.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about penance lately. About who deserves punishment and who deserves forgiveness. About the difference between what we say and what we do.”

I insert the flash drive into the laptop with a click, loud enough to carry through the silent church. The screen flickers to life, connecting to the projector mounted on the ceiling.

“Some of you may have heard rumors,” I say, addressing the congregation directly now. “Whispers about me. About Mercy Clarke. What is she hiding? Why is she lowering herself tomylevel? Wouldn’t you like to know the truth? Isn’t that what thiscommunity is built on? Truth andlight? Isn’t Mercy Clarke a good, pure woman? Why is she with a sinner like me?”

Before anyone can respond, I press the button on the remote. The projector hums to life.

The video begins to play.

Mercy appears on screen, her face tear-streaked but earnest. She sits on the kitchen floor, hands clasped in her lap—a posture remarkably similar to the way she prays.

Except in the video, she prays only to me, because I am her God.

“Please, Draco,” she says, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please?”

My own voice responds from off-camera.

“Please what?”

“Please, Draco,” she says. “Please touch me?”

“I already touched you. Try again.”

On screen, she shakes her head violently.

“Please have sex with me?”

The congregation watches in stunned silence. Some of them gasp.

And then, as if the silence itself has become too heavy, it shatters.

“NO!”

Mercy is on her feet, her entire body trembling. I turn to look at her, and she points up at the screen, tears pouring down her face.

I can’t look at her.

It hurts.

Why is it so damn painful?

“That’s not—” She struggles to find words, her breath coming in harsh gasps. “That’s not how it happened!”

A dull hum ripples through the congregation.

Uncertainty.

Doubt.

They don’t believe her.