~ Father Martins ~

Seeing a handful of women lingering in the pews after Sunday Mass puts me on edge.

It’s the same people who looked at me with open suspicion on my first day here.

Unable to keep up appearances any longer, I had to excuse myself.

The indoor lavatory is filthy, so I head toward the outdoor toilets, only to find a man in jeans and a wrinkled button-down standing over a girl on the cobblestones, gripping her wrists as she hides her face in distress.

It’s Calista, the flower girl.

Only two people had welcomed me with a smile that morning: the catechist and her.

I still...