Sanctified silence

Sunday came like a slap I should’ve seen coming.

The church stood quietly at the edge of town—modest but proud, a white clapboard building with tall windows and a steeple that caught the morning light just right. It sat on eight acres of neatly kept land: gravel walkways, trimmed hedges, a few old trees that arched over the entrance like something sacred. It was the kind of place that felt safe. Familiar. Like nothing dirty could ever happen here.

But it had.

And now it smelled like fresh coffee and lemon floor polish instead of sweat and heat and tangled moans. The pews gleamed. The hymnals were stacked neatly in the slots. The altar cloth had been pressed. No one would ever guess how they had taken me here—how I had let them.

I walked in with my head high, even though my stomach twisted.

I wore jeans and a fitted black top, my boots quiet on the tile. I didn’t need to make a statement—I was the statement. My body still ached in places only I could feel. The memory of their hands was stitched into my skin.

And then I saw them.

Caleb, leaning lazily against a pew in a soft charcoal henley, laughing like nothing in the world had cracked. Eli, a white tee under a navy button-down, collar slightly rumpled like he’d only half-committed to the idea of church. They looked relaxed. Familiar. Too familiar.

But they weren’t alone.

Two women—one with golden curls and a gauzy dress, the other in jeans and ballet flats—stood close. One had her fingers in Caleb’s belt loop. The other tucked herself under Eli’s arm like she belonged there.

Girlfriends.

The word landed like a gut punch. Heavy. Final. I had asked. They had dodged. Now I knew why.

I found a seat in the back and didn’t look their way again.

Eli saw me first. His smile faltered, eyes snapping to mine like he hadn’t expected me to show. I let the look hold. Just long enough for him to register the storm behind my calm. Then I turned away.

Caleb didn’t even glance at me. Maybe he didn’t have the spine.

Service was simple, stripped down. A few songs with acoustic guitar, a sermon about grace and transparency. Of course it was. I didn’t hear half of it. I stared at the cross on the wall, remembering how my knees had been pressed to that very floor just hours before.

When the final prayer started, I slipped out.

The gravel crunched under my boots. The sun was bright, too clean for the mess sitting low in my chest. I hadn’t made it to my car before I heard my name.

“Hey—wait.”

Eli’s voice.

I stopped, arms crossed, spine straight.

He jogged to me, face drawn. “I didn’t know you’d come today.”

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

He winced. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, good. What is it like?” I asked, cool and sharp. “Because it felt pretty real when you were deep inside me.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t know how to explain. You didn’t give me a chance.”

“You had all night.”

Before he could answer, Caleb showed up, hands deep in his pockets, looking like a man who knew he was already guilty.

“You could’ve said something,” I told them both. “Either of you. You knew what last night meant; full pleasure for all of us. Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you just took what you wanted and figured I’d keep quiet.”

Caleb spoke finally. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Eli stepped forward. “Let us talk. Just for a minute. You deserve an explanation.”

“No,” I said. “I deserved honesty before you had your hands on me. You had that chance.”

They looked at each other like they were still trying to figure out who would fix this.

I walked away.

The gravel path back to my car felt solid beneath my boots, their silence stretching out behind me. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to.

I already knew everything I needed to know.