Chapter 55: Between Faith and Fire

MATEO – POV

When I left Lucía asleep, the steady rhythm of her breathing brought a small measure of relief. She hadn’t caught me kissing her; I wouldn’t have known how to explain this desire that torments me. I closed the door carefully, as if the slightest sound might wake her. My footsteps echoed through the empty parish hallways until I reached the room where I had left the catechism class.

The murmur of children was gone. The chairs were neatly arranged, notebooks stacked on the table. Only Doña Socorro remained, standing by the chalkboard, her hands clasped in front of her.

She looked at me silently for a moment before speaking.

“Father, you can’t protect her,” she said firmly, without preamble.

A knot tightened in my stomach. She always had that blunt way of facing the truth.

“It’s well known,” she continued, “that the animal Lucía married is the leader of a neighborhood gang. That’s why no one defends her. Everyone is afraid. You’ve already saved her twice… the third time, it may be you who gets hurt.”

I lowered my head, sighing.

“I know, Socorro, but my vocation won’t allow me to abandon her.”

I lied.

She studied me as if she could read what lay behind my words. Gently, she added:

“I understand, Father. We can send her to a women’s shelter in Tuxtla. If she stays here any longer, her life will be in danger—and so will ours. I’ll make the calls.”

“Thank you… sometimes you’re like my conscience.”

She smiled tenderly.

“It’s not that, Father. It’s the years.”

I walked toward the church atrium. The air smelled of damp earth, and the freshly watered bougainvillea looked more alive than I felt. I stood staring at the overcast sky above San Cristóbal, asking God for answers.

I knew Socorro was right: Lucía had to leave, go far away—so far that neither Damián nor his men could reach her. But how could I send her away when the man still beating inside me desired her more fiercely than my own heart?

I knelt before the cross in the atrium.

“Lord, guide me,” I whispered. “Give me the strength to act as a priest, not as a weak man…”

I decided to save every peso that came into my hands, waiting for the moment God would give me the chance to get her out of there. It was my way of resisting my carnal desires—turning them into sacrifice. The shelter replied that very night. They had no available beds for another week.

The news left me silent. Socorro looked at me with weary eyes.

“There’s no other option,” she said. “She’ll have to stay here until then.”

And so we decided it. Lucía would hide in my room. No one could see her or know she was there until she could leave. I would sleep on the couch in my office.

When I told her, Lucía tried to refuse. She didn’t want me to give up my room.

“No, Father…” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t abuse your kindness any more. You’ve already done too much for me.”

I knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at me.

“This isn’t about kindness, Lucía. It’s about survival. Don’t ask me to let you go now. If that man finds you, he’ll kill you.”

She sobbed and, in a broken voice, said:

“Thank you… thank you for not giving up on me.”

I only nodded, afraid my words might betray me. Deep inside, I hoped I wouldn’t regret this decision—but reality struck so quickly that I barely had time to process it.

The next morning, routine shattered with a crash. Violent pounding thundered against the main doors of the parish. The sound multiplied, like hammer blows trying to bring the walls down.

I rushed into the hallway, my heart racing. Socorro emerged from the sacristy with a rosary in her hands, pale as wax.

“It’s them…” she whispered.

I went to the door, and when I opened it, the cold morning air carried with it the shadow of Damián and three other men. All wore dark jackets, hard expressions, tattoos covering their arms. The silence of the street proved the neighbors recognized them.

“Where is she?” Damián snapped, stepping forward without asking permission.

I raised my hand, blocking the entrance.

“You have nothing to look for here.”

He laughed—a dry, humorless sound.

“Don’t waste my time, priest. I know she’s here.”

The other men spread out, entering with heavy steps. One slammed his palm against the pews, another opened doors, checking every corner. The echo of their boots rang like an omen.

I felt the blood drain from my face. Fear and rage twisted together inside me. Every door they opened threatened to reveal her. I thought of Lucía, hidden, holding her breath behind the door of my room.

“I won’t let you touch her again,” I said firmly, though my legs trembled.

Damián stared at me, his eyes filled with cold hatred.

“You don’t understand, do you, Father? She’s mine. No one takes her from me. And if you interfere again… you’ll pay dearly.”

I pulled out my phone, showing it without hesitation.

“I’ve already called the police.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the men, but Damián didn’t flinch.

“The police?” he scoffed. “Those uniforms don’t scare me.”

Minutes passed that felt like hours. They kept searching without finding her, and that eased me slightly. Socorro stepped closer, and I could see in her eyes that Lucía was still safe.

Behind me, I heard footsteps. Two officers entered hurriedly, alerted by the call.

“Any problem here, Father?” one of them asked.

“No,” Damián replied before I could, smiling cynically. “We were just here to pray.”

The officers looked at him with suspicion.

“It’s best if you leave,” the older one ordered.

Damián raised his hands, feigning innocence. He turned calmly, but as he passed me, he leaned close enough to whisper in my ear:

“This isn’t over. When I find her, there won’t be a priest who can save her.”

The poison of those words lodged in my chest. I stood there, motionless, watching them walk away slowly—like wolves who knew exactly where their prey was hiding.

When the door finally closed, my knees nearly gave out. The silence of the church weighed like a tombstone.

I leaned against the stone wall, struggling to breathe. The echo of their footsteps still rang in my mind, along with the burning fear of losing her… and the fierce desire to never let anyone hurt her again.

I stayed there for a long time, fists clenched, staring at the cross above the high altar. Inside me, something was breaking: the vocation that demanded obedience, and the passion that demanded I fight for her.

I knew I was in danger. I knew keeping her close meant risking everything.

But I also knew there was no turning back.