Deflowered

Chapter 8

True guilt is guilt at the obligation one owes to oneself to be oneself. False guilt is guilt felt at not being what other people feel one ought to be or assume that one is." - R.D Laing

"Are you scared Amelia?" Mawmaw asked as her worn hands gingerly tied the blush sash around my wedding dress. I met her curious eyes in the mirror and smiled sweetly.

"No. Love doesn't scare me."

"I know sweet girl." Her arms snaked around my waist, and I basked in the warmth of her loving embrace.

"You're happy right? With Adam and I getting married? I want to make you proud." She abruptly turned me around and tears welled in her ocean blue eyes.

"Honey, my heart sometimes can't handle how proud I am of you. When I see the young woman you are, I know my death will leave behind my greatest accomplishment. I love Adam for you." I nodded and fell into her chest as she enveloped me once again in the familiar safety of her arms.

Without warning, the ringing of the church bells pounded ruthlessly in my ears tearing me from my memories. Six years later, here I was sitting in my car outside my church, paralyzed unable to open the door. Living for everyone else, my faith, Adam, and Mawmaw, I don't know if I can recognize any decisions that were completely my own. I've never thought of myself as weak. When my faith is strong, I am as well. When my marriage is happy, I'm content. How do you reconcile your personal happiness and your faith when they no longer travel the same path?

I turned the diamond of my wedding ring around my finger, studying the tangible symbol of our love and commitment. The gem appeared lifeless as I hadn't cleaned it for a while, and the neglect pained me. I was here at my church to confess my sins, to seek guidance, but I couldn't seem to escape the car. My purse then abruptly rang the tune of my phone. I reached in and grabbed for it quickly. A text from Mason lit the screen.

Did you get the check?

Rummaging through my purse again, I pulled out the white envelope with Mason's initials monogrammed in black ink appearing in the left hand corner. My name graced the center, written in relaxed cursive. The rigid letters dressed the envelope in masculinity, which was so Mason. I was too raw this morning so I hadn't yet opened it. I paused, drawing in a deep breath, and my hands trembled slightly as I hastily tore the envelope. It was Mason's check, and my eyes suddenly grew wide at how many zeros appeared before me.

$10,000.

I felt an immediate jolt. As I shoved the check back into the envelope, I noticed the corner of a note peering at me. My fingers pinched the squared edge and pulled it shakily. In Mason's handwriting, it read...

Amelia,

Please don't rip up the check. I know you're thinking about it.

I laughed a little but it was fleeting.

Whatever you decide to do with this money, I'll support you. Save it, donate it, or spend it, I don't care as long as the action makes you happy. Enjoy.

Mason

Tears shed faster than my fingers could catch them. They ran trails down my cheek in a fashion I hoped my guilt would follow. In another life we could have worked but not in this one. It wasn't possible.

I did. Thank you. Your note was incredibly sweet.

Each step I took towards the church felt overwhelming. Shuddering, my breathing labored as I grabbed the church's door handle and pulled. Pastor Stevens sat in a pew three rows from the front when he heard me close the door.

"I wondered if you would ever leave your car." He smiled and spoke tenderly with commanding grace. His words echoed, echoing off the towering church ceiling in a tone that embraced me warmly with nothing but generous compassion. His brown eyes cast a look of sympathy for my pain. I wanted to suspend time for just a moment and wallow in his kindness.