Under Mr Nolan's bed

The walk to my house was short, but I checked all the windows in the back to make sure I didn't see anyone before sliding my screen and window open. My room was untouched-clothes still all over the floor, my books strewn on my desk. I shoved those into my backpack and then grabbed a bag out of the closet, quietly emptying my drawers into it.

Kneeling to get my jeans out of the bottom drawer, I heard my mother's voice drifting through the heating grate. My room was right on the other side of the kitchen, and I realized she must have company.

"You can't do this," she said. "You don't understand!"

It was a man's voice responding to her, too soft for me to hear.

"I know you care about her," my mother went on. "But you are making a huge mistake. You have no idea!"

I froze, my heart leaping in my chest. Who was she talking to?

"Rob, you have stop this!" my mother screamed-screamed! "You can't be with Leah, you just can't!"

Oh my god. I stared at the heating grate as if I could see them, and this time I heard his voice, raised enough for me to make out his words.

"Patty, I love her," he said, his tone firm.

"It's impossible!" my mother screamed. I winced, wanting to cover my ears, but I didn't. "It's illegal!"

"It's not impossible," he replied. "And it's not illegal. She's an adult, and this is what she wants."

"Rob, no!" My mother's voice, pleading. Was she crying? "Please, don't do this, you can't do this…"

"Give me a good reason why?" he demanded and my heart swelled, hearing the determination in his voice. He really did love me!

"Because," my mother choked. "Oh god… because she's your daughter, Rob. She's your daughter…"

The only sound I heard was the sobbing coming through the heating grate and the scream in my own head, like a siren going off. I remembered the pictures under the bed, the look in his eyes when he saw me wearing his dead wife's dress, when he told me, "You look like your mother," and knew it was true. I just knew it.

A sudden calm came over me and I stood, dropping my bag and opening my bedroom door. They didn't see me pass the kitchen or go out the front.

I didn't realize I was crying until I reached the front doors of the church. It was Sunday and early mass had let out. There was a line in front of the confessional and I went to the front of it. The woman standing there waiting took one look at my face and took a step back, waving me on.

The confessional was dark but I closed my eyes anyway, wiping at the tears running down my face, but it was no us- they kept coming.

"Yes, my child?" The Father's voice urged me to speak and I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What could I say?

I took a shaky breath, bowing my head, and whispered, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…"