"Good morning, Father."
Jacinto rose slowly, already bracing for another ghost to crawl out of the past. And sure enough...there stood Parez.
Of course. First Cecilio... now him.
What next? Rosa walking in with a halo and a confession? God forbid,,,,he still had a grudge the size of a cathedral.
"What do you want?" Jacinto asked, voice cold as the marble floor. "Did Cecilio send you?"
"No. I came on my own," Parez replied. "Is that a crime now?"
"This is holy ground," Jacinto snapped. "If you have nothing important to say, then leave."
"I do have something important to talk about... Jacinto," Parez said, surprisingly calm.
Jacinto watched him for a moment, then sighed.
"Walk with me."
***
Parez followed him back into the confessional, sitting in the dim booth while Jacinto waited on the other side of the lattice...silent, patient, distant.
Inside Parez's chest, guilt ricocheted like a trapped bird.
I regret not protecting him. I regret everything.
If he had stopped Jacinto from leaving... if he had looked for him... maybe he wouldn't feel this crushing shame. But what could he have even done? What did he ever have to offer? He had always felt like a pathetic shadow beside men who carried real storms.
A long breath. Then:
"I have something to confess," Parez started.
"Go ahead," Jacinto replied, voice steady and unreadable.
"The day Cecilio was arrested... I was the one who called the cops."
Silence. Heavy. Waiting.
"I didn't think they'd actually take him," Parez continued.
"I thought... maybe it would scare Rosa into quitting the drug business. But when Cecilio was dragged away, I didn't feel remorse. Not even a flicker."
His voice dropped, thick with shame.
"I've always liked Rosa. I knew it was impossible, yet I still hoped. When Cecilio got arrested, that tiny hope twisted into something dark. I told her lies...made her think he'd never forgive her, never want to see her again. I tried to poison what they had because... because I wanted a chance."
He swallowed hard.
"I did everything wrong... and I still didn't get her. This must be my punishment. No...something worse is what I deserve. And I'm sorry, Jacinto. I turned a blind eye to your kindness. I helped ruin everything. If there's anyone you should hate... let it be me, brother."
The word brother cracked between them like old wood splitting.
Jacinto's voice came back cold, hollow, almost priestlike.
"It is not me who should forgive you. It is my Father in heaven."
Parez stared at the lattice,,,at the silhouette on the other side,,,and grieved the man Jacinto used to be.
The one who used to spit truth like fire.
The one who laughed at hypocrisy, who preached his own kind of scripture:
"The church hides truths behind holy garments."
"Love can be a curse if wielded by the wrong hands."
"If God loves you, He wants you happy...not chained to fear."
He remembered Jacinto saying those words with a conviction that lit whole rooms.
But that was before he let the church rewrite him.
"If God loves you... He'd want you to be happy, Jacinto," Parez whispered, voice trembling.
"I am happy," Jacinto replied automatically...too quickly to be real.
Parez's jaw tightened.
"You're hiding behind God like He's a shield... not a home."
Jacinto snapped.
"You do not understand repentance!"
"If this is your new definition of repentance," Parez shot back, "then I refuse it. I'd rather burn in hell than bleed the way you're bleeding."
A long silence followed.
Then Jacinto breathed in, calm restored, mask back in place.
"I assume we are done here."
Parez didn't move. Instead, he slid a folded paper through the wooden lattice.
"Rosa asked me to give this to you," he said quietly.
"She's been very sick. She wanted to come herself, but the guilt wouldn't let her. I trust you'll forgive her."
Jacinto said nothing.
Parez hesitated, then added:
"You should tell them the truth... If she still feels guilty, ease her burden. Why stay silent?"
Parez looked down, a sad smile touching his lips.
"Because I'm not a good man, Jacinto. I can't go through this emotional storm again. Cecilio forgave me...that's enough. I won't risk losing that. I'm tired. I'm done. And... I don't deserve to be in any of your lives."
He stood, hands shaking slightly.
"Goodbye, Jacinto. I hope you find your way."
And then he left...the door closing behind him like a soft, holy farewell.
Jacinto slowly opened the letter he had been gripping unto
Afraid of what he'll see:
Jacinto...
I'm writing because silence has become a poison and I fear it will kill me before sickness ever does. I have carried my guilt like a cross, pretending it made me strong. It didn't. It only made me cruel.
I failed Cecilio. I failed you.
I thought I was doing what I had to do to survive... but the truth is I was running.
Running from shame. Running from the mirror. Running from every version of myself that might have been better.
I don't want forgiveness. I don't deserve it.
I only want you to know that I am sorry...truly, painfully, desperately sorry,if I could go back,,if I could hold my younger self by the shoulders,,,I would pull her away from everything that ruined us.
If this is the last thing you ever hear from me, then let it be this:
You were always better than the world you tried to save.
---Rosa
Jacinto fold the letter and stuck it into his pocket
Jacinto folded the letter with careful fingers, as if the paper might bruise, then slipped it into his pocket...close enough to feel, far enough to pretend it didn't shake him.
"I might sound delusional, but we could be happy," Cecilio had told him once, voice soft like he was afraid hope might shatter on the floor.
"If God loves you, He would want you to be happy," Parez had reminded, dragging an old ghost of truth back into the open.
"You were always better than the world you tried to save," Rosa had written, her handwriting trembling with regret.
The words began circling him, one after another, like bells ringing in a church long abandoned. They pressed into the cracks of him-gentle, insistent, almost painful.
Happy.
Loved.
Better than the world that broke him.
Jacinto exhaled, a breath he'd been holding for years.
"Maybe..." he whispered, the slightest waver in his voice. "Just maybe...
I could live again."