The following morning, I sought out Sister Agnes, determined to find answers. I found her in the garden, tending to the flowers with a quiet diligence. She looked up as I approached, her expression unreadable.
“I need to talk to you,” I said, my voice firm despite the uncertainty I felt.
She nodded, setting down her tools and wiping her hands on her apron. “Of course,” she replied, her tone calm and composed.
I handed her the letter, watching as she read the words with a carefully neutral expression. When she finished, she looked up, her eyes meeting mine with a steady gaze.
“I wish I could tell you more,” she said, her voice tinged with regret. “But these decisions…they come from higher up.”
“But why me?” I asked, frustration creeping into my voice. “What have I done to deserve this?”
Sister Agnes sighed, folding the letter and handing it back to me. “Sometimes, it’s not about what you’ve done,” she said gently. “It’s about what others want to do.”
Her words left me with more questions than answers, but I sensed she had told me all she could. As I left the garden, I felt a growing determination to uncover the truth.
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