Friday came too quickly.
The town felt quieter that day, like it knew something was about to break.
I walked to the church at dusk, the sky painted in bruised shades of purple and gray. The bell tower loomed above, solemn and watchful, its shadow stretching long across the cobblestone path.
Maplewood's church had always been my place of refuge. But that evening, it felt like a confession booth with no priest, only judgment waiting in silence.
I slipped inside.
The air was thick with incense and dust. Candles burned near the altar, their flames flickering as though whispering secrets to one another. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a warning.
I made my way down the side aisle toward the east window — the one that caught the last light before the sun sank behind the hills.
The third pew.
That's where the letter had said.
My hand trembled as I reached beneath the seat, sliding a folded note into the narrow space between the wood and the hymnbook shelf.
"I received your letter. Who are you? What do you want?"
I'd written the words last night by candlelight, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would wake Rebecca.
I started to turn toward the exit.
That's when I heard it — a soft voice behind me.
"You're earlier than I expected, Mr. Hayes."
I froze.
A woman stepped from the shadows between the pews, her heels silent on the wooden floor. She wore a long black coat and a veil that concealed most of her face, though the faint outline of a smile curved beneath it.
Something about her presence felt… wrong. Not evil, exactly. Just too calm. Like someone who already knew how the story would end.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice tighter than I intended.
She tilted her head slightly. "Someone who can save you from yourself."
My pulse quickened. "You wrote the letter."
"I did," she said smoothly. "And I imagine it unsettled you. That's good. It means you still have a conscience."
I took a step forward. "What do you want from us?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she moved to one of the pews and sat, folding her hands in her lap as if she were preparing for prayer.
"I represent certain people," she said finally, "who help young couples in… complicated situations. You and Miss Rebecca, for instance."
My stomach twisted. "You mean the baby."
Her smile deepened beneath the veil. "Yes. The child you can't keep. You see, there are families who long for what you're trying to hide. Families who will pay—handsomely—to adopt a child quietly, without questions, without paperwork."
Her words slid through the air like poison wrapped in silk.
I felt sick. "You're talking about selling a life."
"I'm talking about saving yours," she replied calmly. "You can't undo what's been done, Mr. Hayes. But you can make it… useful. Profitable, even. Enough to start anew somewhere far from here."
I clenched my fists. "You make it sound like a transaction."
"Everything in this world is a transaction," she said, rising to her feet. "Sin only stings when you believe it should."
She turned toward the altar, tracing her fingers along the edge of the polished wood. "You think your God hasn't seen worse, Daniel? He has. But what He offers is forgiveness after the fall, not before."
Her voice softened to a whisper. "You've already fallen. Let me make sure you don't drown."
I wanted to shout at her, to call her a liar, but her words dug too deep.
Because she was right about one thing — I had already fallen.
When I finally found my voice, it came out hoarse. "What do you want me to do?"
"Meet me at the old mill by the river," she said. "Sunday night. Alone. Bring no one. There, we'll discuss how to make your problem disappear."
And before I could respond, she turned and walked toward the door.
The candlelight caught her veil one last time, revealing eyes that were calm, cold, and hauntingly familiar.
Then she was gone.
I stood alone in the pews, my heart pounding like the church bell itself.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to pray.
But when I tried, no words came out.
Only silence.
And in that silence, I realized something terrifying—
The devil doesn't always come with horns and fire.
Sometimes, he wears perfume and speaks softly in God's house.