The Confession Room

“In the name of the father… and of the son… and of the holy spirit. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true sorrow. How long has it been since your last confession?”

“It’s been… like… a decade…? I—I can’t even remember.”

“At least you have decided to turn back to God. What would you like to ask forgiveness for?”

“To start, uhm, I’ve been eating quite a lot. I don’t know if it’s gluttony but like… eh… it’s just my coping mechanism. It’s been doing more harm than good anyway, so I want to stop.”

“Coping mechanisms may comfort for a moment, but they rarely heal the wound. Have you considered turning to prayer or fasting to address this struggle?”

“Uhm… no, not really. But that’s what I’m here for: to start my path to changing that.”

“This is an excellent start. Gluttony often masks a deeper hunger—one not for food, but for peace. Reflect on what you’re truly seeking to satisfy.”

“Okay, sure. Thanks, Father.”

“My pleasure, my child. And what else?”

“Well, I think I’ve been having, what’s it called, some sort of… sloth… like, I can’t function properly and perform my duties… because I’ve been too overwhelmed with guilt.”

“Sloth can come from despair, a loss of hope… yet God never abandons us. Even now, He is calling you to rise again.”

“Amen. Lately, it’s just been so hard, because it’s sort of like a process, you know? I feel ashamed and depressed, so I can’t perform my duties, which makes me more guilty, and yeah, it just repeats itself.”

“Shame is a heavy chain. Only through confession and penance can you begin to break it. What is this guilt that burdens you?”

“Uh… haha… you see, it’s kind of, uhm… difficult to… talk about.”

“Confession is not just about words but about healing. Only truth can set you free—what truth are you afraid to share?

“It’s in my past, actually. In fact, I’ve become a completely new person since then. Yet the shame still clings onto me. It’s even worse recently because I’ve been reminded of it, so the memories are resurfacing. I know God will forgive me and stuff, but I just want to somehow, you know, prove I’m worthy of forgiveness, if I'm making sense.”

“Your fear is understandable, but remember: God’s mercy is infinite. It is not something that you earn but rather something that you receive when you come to God with a contrite heart. Speak freely, for whatever you have done, trust that sharing it here is the first step towards your freedom.”

“Thank you, Father. That’s really comforting. Just give me a moment to collect my thoughts so I’d be ready to share.”

“The heart speaks the truth when it’s ready. Take your time, my child. I am here to listen.”

“Okay, so… I’m 20 now, and when I was in my teenage years, there was this girl in my class whom I really liked. She was just amazing, Father. She was beautiful, intelligent, kind, and loved, loved by everyone, me especially. I wanted to give her the world.”

“You are not alone in feeling strongly for someone, for many have walked that path. It seemed like this girl meant a great deal to you. But what led you to seek forgiveness in this situation?”

“Then, she eventually felt the same way for me, and we got together.”

“That is beautiful. A relationship built on mutual affection is a gift, a gift that can bring a couple closer to God. But what happened after that, my son? What caused the guilt you now carry?”

“After a while, we… well… we were young… and reckless. We didn’t fully understand the weight of our actions. I… I didn’t think it would matter. But, Father, after a few months, I found out… she got pregnant.”

“... I—I see. Such news can overwhelm anyone. But how did you respond to this?”

“Uhm… the obvious choice was to abort the baby, you know. I know now that it’s a sin, but it was my first thought at that time since I wasn’t ready to be a father, nor was she to be a mother. They didn’t let us, though, because, well, it’s a sin. So she ended up deciding to keep the baby.”

“That must have been a terrifying moment for both of you. However, it is true that life is sacred, and you made the right choice to protect that life. How did you support her after she made that decision?”

“Well, the thing is, Father… I didn’t.”

“You… didn’t?”

“Father, don’t get me wrong. I loved that girl. But they… my parents… they all said that it would destroy my future, that she’d ruin my life if I stayed. You see, other than this, my life was going perfectly! Honor student, school varsity, child prodigy. I had a whole future set in stone for me! It’s not even the future I want… This was never in my plan… I didn’t want to leave her, but I had to!

“... My son… have you not once thought to think that perhaps the girl had a future of her own?”

“Of course, I thought about her! I knew it wasn’t fair. But… but I was just a kid, Father. I didn’t know what to do. My parents said it was for the best, that she’d figure things out on her own. They said she’d be fine!”

“And what did her parents think of it? Have you failed to consider that as well?”

“I… I didn’t get to know.”

“Pardon?”

“I guess I… left… without knowing.”

“You left without knowing? Without speaking to her family… or even to her?”

“I… I couldn’t face them. I knew they’d hate me for it, for leaving her to deal with everything. But I thought… maybe they’d understand eventually. I had no choice!”

“No choice? You had every choice. You chose your comfort, your future, over hers, over the child’s. You walked away, and you didn’t even look back. And now, you ask for forgiveness?”

“I do! I regret it every day, Father. It haunts me. I see her face every time I close my eyes. I hear her voice pleading with me. I know I failed her, but I didn’t know it would all turn out like this.”

“Turn out like what?”

“Like… like…”

“Like?”

“I heard that… she’s… gone.”

“... Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“She… she passed away, Father. She didn’t make it. I don’t know the details… but someone told me.”

“And you only learned of this recently?”

“Yes…”

“How recently?”

“About… two weeks ago… Wait, why?”

“... You didn’t stay in her life, didn’t support her, didn’t even bother to know what became of her until then?”

“I…I didn’t know where to… to start. I thought… I thought she’d move on, that she’d be okay without me. I didn’t expect…”

“Did you ever consider the burden she was carrying? Did you ever think about the life you abandoned—not just hers, but the child’s? Or did you simply assume they would both disappear from your conscience as easily as you walked away?”

“Father, please… I didn’t mean for this to happen! I… I thought it was the right thing at the time. I didn’t know she—”

“You didn’t know? Or you didn’t care enough to know? You chose ignorance over responsibility, and now you sit here seeking solace for the consequences of your cowardice?”

“I—I loved her, Father. I never wanted this.”

“... Tell me her name.”

“Wh—what? Why?”

“It is because… because names hold mercy in the eyes of God. By speaking her name, you honor her memory and open the door for God’s mercy to touch your heart. It shows that you are prepared to bear the weight of your guilt. Without it, your confession remains incomplete.”

“Huh? Really? Doesn’t God already know her name though?”

“Yes, God knows her name, her pain, her story. But confession is as much for the sinner as it is for the soul that was wronged. By saying her name, you acknowledge her humanity. You face the reality of what was lost—not just to her, but to you… and to the world.”

“I… I didn’t think of it that way. Her name was… Emily."

“... Emily… Emily…”

“Yeah. Emily.”

“...”

“Fa—father?”

“You say you loved her, and yet you left her to face the world alone, to face both your and her mistake alone.”

“I know! And I’m sorry! I really am!” 

“Do you know how many weeks she spent in the hospital, how she lay there, exhausted and alone, clinging to hope that you might show up? Do you know how she had to drop out of high school because she couldn’t keep up with her classes and carry a child at the same time?”

“Wait, wait. Hospital? High school? H—How did you know? How did— Did you—”

“Do you know how much my daughter suffered because of your ignorance and selfishness?!” 

“I… I didn’t… I didn’t know, Father.”

“Of course, you didn’t know. You weren’t there! You didn’t sit beside her hospital bed, praying that she’d recover. You didn’t hear her crying herself to sleep because she thought she’d failed everyone in her life. You didn’t bury her in the ground, questioning why God couldn’t save her.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. This is all my fault.”

“She carried your child, your child, and you left her… to die!”

“I didn’t mean for her to die!”

“And your daughter, dear sweet Eleanor… she died along with her. Do you know how that feels? Or do you not care about her either?”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God… oh, my God!”

“Stop saying His name in vain! You’ve done enough already!” 

“Oh, Father, I’m so sorry… I was scared, okay? I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t think that it would… that it would come to this."

“You didn’t think? You didn’t think when she sat in the cold, waiting for you to show up at appointments? You didn’t think when she wrote letter after letter to you, hoping for any response? You didn’t think when she told her friends how much she still loved you, even after everything?”

“I didn’t know!”

“You knew enough to run. You knew enough to abandon her. You knew that it was a huge responsibility, a grave mistake, and you didn’t have the guts to face it.”

“I’m sorry—”

“God wouldn’t want that, you know. God would have wanted you to realize your sin, to own up to it, and most of all, to make amends. But here you are, only here once it’s far too late, when you were given all those hours to ponder, all those chances to return!”

“But what about my parents? They forced me to leave!”

“Boy, they didn’t force you to abandon your conscience. If you wanted to, you would!” 

“Isn’t it also a sin not to honor one’s parents though?”

“Don’t try to twist this on me with words of God. You know He didn’t mean it like that.”

“... I’m sorry. I really am. If I could turn back time—”

“But you can’t. No amount of sorry is going to bring Emily and Eleanor back! That’s a fact! Do you think that this is some childish fantasy where all your wishes come true? No, boy. What’s done is done. And you—you’re here now, standing in front of me, asking for absolution you do not deserve.”

“What? I don’t? I don’t… deserve it? I just… I just want to be forgiven.”

“Forgiven? Forgiven by who? By God? Tell me, where was God when my Emily was dying, huh? Where was His mercy when Eleanor took her last breath, too young to even cry for her absent father? Tell me, boy, where is God’s justice in all this?”

“Fa—Father… you’re a priest. How can you say that? Don’t you believe in Him?”

“Believe? Oh, I believe, all right. I believe in pain. I believe in punishment. I believe in justice. God’s justice is often mysterious, and sometimes, it manifests in ways we cannot fully comprehend.”

“Father, what are you doing—?”

“Do you know what the Bible says about blood, my son? ‘Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed.’ It’s poetic, really. Divine, even. An eye for an eye… a life for a life."

“Fa—father, please… I’m here to confess! I want to make things right!”

“The path to redemption is often long and arduous, boy. And sometimes, the price is steep.”

“Father, wait! You stand here today, wearing a cross around your neck. Two wrongs don’t make a right. I sinned, Father, but it does not mean you have to as well. Please. I want you to think before you do this.”

“Dare not speak to me about thinking before acting, boy.”

“Father! I thought God always forgives!”

“God may forgive you, but I won’t.”