The convent had always been a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. But that morning, everything felt different. The air was thick with an unspoken tension as I made my way to the office. Sister Agnes had called me earlier, her voice tight with something I couldn’t quite place. “He wants to see you,” she had said, leaving no room for questions.
The office was sparse, a simple desk and a few chairs, sunlight filtering through the small window. The priest sat behind the desk, my file open in front of him. He looked up as I entered, offering a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Please, sit down,” he gestured to the chair opposite him.
I sat, the envelope Sister Agnes had handed me earlier resting in my lap. My name was printed neatly across the front, the paper crisp and unopened. “We need to talk about your future here,” the priest began, his tone smooth but lacking warmth. He flipped through the pages of my file with practiced ease, each turn a reminder of the evaluations and reports contained within.
“You’ve been with us for some time now,” he continued, eyes scanning the documents. “Your work is greatly appreciated.” His words hung in the air, ambiguous and unsettling. I nodded, unsure of what he wanted from me.
“But perhaps it’s time we discuss other opportunities,” he added, closing the file with a soft thud. My heart raced, but I remained silent, hands clenching around the envelope.
His gaze met mine, steady and unreadable. “You’re doing important work,” he said, his voice a paradox of sincerity and something else I couldn’t quite place. “But change can be good, don’t you think?”
The conversation ended with a handshake, his grip firm and dismissive, leaving me to wonder what power games were being played behind closed doors. As I left the office, Sister Agnes stood in the hallway, her face a mask of professionalism. She avoided my eyes, her silence louder than any words.
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