GLORIA

The sermon had already begun, Michael’s voice rising and falling in rhythms from the pulpit. I sat stiffly, my hands clenched in my lap, my body still humming from what I had done that morning in the shower. The shame hadn’t left. Neither had the ache. Every word from my husband’s mouth made me want to scream.

I couldn’t take it.

With a quiet sigh, I slipped out of the row and walked toward the back, pretending to need fresh air. My heels clicked softly against the tiled floor ...