“… and please, Lord, forgive me for what I did to Michael. Amen.”
Sister Ruth crossed herself, opened her eyes and looked around her cell taking in the whitewashed walls, plump duvet and pillow on the single bed and reflected, not for the first time, how this was not the stone-walled, rough-blanketed life she’d expected when she signed up for this life more than two decades before.
A muted cough from the direction of doorway brought the nun out of her reverie and she rose from her knees, still as smoothly as ever and squashing a hint of pride as she turned to meet the twinkle in a pair of blue eyes.
“Sister Hagrid.” Warm with a touch of prim.
“Still feeling it with Michael, Sister?” Smile tinged with a tease.
Sister Ruth felt colour rise into her cheeks. On one pothole on her road to Christ, but by far the biggest.
“I give his care over to God; it’s the most I can do, Sister. After what I did to him …” She trailed off. They all knew the story in this close and closed community. Everyone sympathised. They all told her the same thing: forgive yourself and move on. But she just couldn’t seem to shift the guilt. So she prayed.