Chapter 57: The Void Love Leaves Behind

MATEO – POV

I woke to the distant sound of rain striking the windows. The scent of melted wax still lingered in the room, and the chill of dawn seeped through the stone walls. I reached out, searching for the warmth of her body beside mine, but found only rumpled sheets.

I opened my eyes abruptly.

“Lucía?” I whispered, my voice still heavy with sleep and desperation.

I sat up at once. The bed was empty. The place where she had slept was cold. There was no trace of her.

I dressed in haste and wandered through the parish like a madman. I checked the office, the sacristy, the storeroom, even the garden. Nothing. The silence answered me only with the sound of my own ragged breathing.

On my desk, I found a folded piece of paper. I opened it with trembling hands. The ink was smeared in places, as if tears had blurred the words.

“Father Mateo,

Thank you for the best night of my life. But I cannot drag you into my misfortune. You deserve God’s peace, not the torment I carry with me. Please do not look for me. I am leaving the city. Take care of yourself, and do not remember me with pain. I love you, and you will always live in my memories.

—Lucía”

The paper slipped from my fingers. I clutched my head, feeling the world collapse around me.

“My God!” I cried, dropping to my knees.

I covered my face with my hands, trembling. I prayed, repeated the Lord’s Prayer in a broken voice, begging for forgiveness. But every word blended with images of her—her lips, her skin, the way she whispered my name in breathless murmurs.

I felt sinful, unworthy, lost. I had given everything for a single moment of desire, and although my body still burned at the memory of her, my soul sank beneath the weight of guilt.

“Forgive me, Lord,” I murmured again and again. “I have failed… perhaps I should leave everything behind… I do not deserve to remain your servant.”

I went to find Doña Socorro. She was in the rectory kitchen, preparing the morning coffee. When she saw me, she knew something had happened.

“Where is she?” she asked gently.

I shook my head, unable to hold back the tears.

“She’s gone… she left a note. She says not to look for her.”

I sat down across from her, defeated.

“We sinned, Socorro. I broke my vows… and now I don’t know if I can keep wearing this cassock. Perhaps I should resign.”

The old woman was silent for a moment. Then, with the calm that defined her, she replied:

“From the first day I saw that girl, I knew what was happening. The way you looked at her… it was different.”

I lowered my head, ashamed.

“I can’t deny it.”

She took my hands in hers.

“Father, we are human. We all make mistakes. God knows our hearts. If she left, believe me, it was for the best. Don’t carry this weight as if it were the end. This neighborhood needs you. The children, the sick, the poor… if you leave the priesthood, it will be a loss we cannot bear.”

I listened, trying to cling to her words.

“And what do I do with what I feel?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Because even if I deny it, I miss her… I desire her… and every night I remember her.”

She looked at me with tenderness.

“Turn that pain into service. Confess it to God every morning and place it in His hands. Do not look for that woman… because if she chose to leave, it is because she understood that it had to be so.”

Her words were balm and punishment at the same time.

The days passed slowly. I immersed myself in pastoral work. I taught catechism to the children, visited the sick, distributed food to the needy. On the outside, everyone saw a devoted priest—steady, constant, always willing.

But inside… inside, a fire burned that would not go out.

The nights were the worst torment. The room still held her scent, a sweet mixture that stole my sleep. I sat before the cross, trying to pray, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw her.

And then the memories came, like both a lash and a comfort.

Flashback

Her skin beneath my hands, warm and trembling. Her lips searching for mine with desperation, as if her life depended on that kiss.

The creak of the bed beneath our bodies, the rain pounding against the glass, the fire of her voice calling my name.

“Mateo…”

That whisper was both a hymn and a condemnation. No one had ever spoken my name with so much love and so much desire at the same time.

The way she looked at me afterward—with tears and peace in her honey-colored eyes—was etched into me forever. In her arms, I discovered that paradise was not only a heavenly promise, but also a stolen instant on earth.

End of flashback

A month passed. A month of silence and prayer. A month of remembering her in every corner, of searching for her in the shadows, though I knew she was gone.

I threw myself into my parish with greater force than ever, but at night, when the storm returned and the wind battered the windows, Lucía’s memory returned to me.

The scent of her skin, the weight of her body in my arms, her broken voice telling me she loved me. And then I understood that I could continue being a priest, continue helping everyone, continue repressing my desires… but nothing would erase the truth: a part of me had stayed with her forever.

I knelt before the high altar, in the silence of the night, and whispered:

“Lord… if this love is my cross, help me carry it.”

And so, with a torn heart, I continued on my path, while the shadow of Lucía kept burning in my memory like a candle that never goes out.