While preparing for my niece’s christening, I met a man different from anyone I had ever known. He was kind, thoughtful, and impossible not to like. But he had made a choice long before we met, one that stood between us. I never imagined how it would all end—or how much it would change me.
I stood in front of Sarah’s house, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. That day, we were finalizing the details for Ellie’s christening, something Sarah had been stressing about for weeks.
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I rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. I rang it again. Still nothing. Frowning, I tried the handle—it turned easily. The door was unlocked.
Stepping inside, I was immediately hit by a wall of noise. Ellie’s wails filled the house, high-pitched and relentless.
Sarah was darting back and forth, juggling bottles and stuffed animals with the frantic energy of someone running on two hours of sleep. Mark stood nearby, hands hovering uselessly as he attempted to soothe Ellie.
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Silently, I slipped into the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and poured myself some coffee.
A moment later, Sarah rushed into the kitchen, her hair a mess, her face flushed. Her eyes widened.
“Oh, God! You scared me!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “How long have you been standing there?”
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“A while,” I said, taking another sip of coffee.
She frowned. “You could have helped, you know.”
I leaned against the counter. “I’m here for moral support.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
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Just then, the doorbell rang. Sarah straightened, her whole demeanor changing. “Oh, that must be him!” she said, hurrying toward the door.
At least she heard this doorbell.
Curious, I followed her. As I stepped into the hallway, I saw a man standing at the entrance. A very attractive man. Very attractive.
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Sarah smirked. “Claire, are you done with your coffee?”
“Something like that,” I said, my eyes still on him.
Sarah gestured toward him. “Then I’d like to introduce you. Claire, this is Father Nathan. He’ll be christening Ellie.”
I blinked. “Father?” I looked him up and down. No collar. No robe. “Where’s your—” I made a circle around my neck.
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“I’m allowed to wear regular clothes,” he said, amused.
I crossed my arms. “You don’t look like a priest.”
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, still smiling.
“You should,” I said.
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Sarah clapped her hands together. “Alright, let’s go over the details.”
We all moved into the living room. I sat at the far end, keeping my distance from the baby. She made me nervous.
All babies did. Sarah and Mark discussed the ceremony, asking Nathan about traditions and schedules. I tuned most of it out.
“So, what do you do?” Nathan asked, turning to me.
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“Oh, I own an art supply store,” I said.
“You’re an artist?”
“No, but I sell materials for artists. Without me, they’d be nothing,” I said.
He laughed. A real, warm laugh.
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For the first time all day, I felt seen. The meeting went on, but Nathan and I kept talking. Jokes, small talk, teasing. It felt easy. Familiar.
When we were both in the entryway, getting ready to leave, he asked, “Why aren’t you the godmother?”
“Babies scare me. And kids.”
“Oh, I understand. Me too.”
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“But you’re—”
“These will be my first christenings. I just hope I don’t forget that babies can’t swim,” he said.
I laughed. “That’s an honest answer.”
“Lying is a sin. And He sees everything,” Nathan said, pointing to the ceiling. He hesitated, then added, “I’d love to see you at church sometime.”
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I swallowed. “Oh, I wouldn’t call myself particularly religious.”
“Well, if you ever feel like it, I’ll be there,” he said.
And I don’t know why, but I listened to him.
That Sunday, I found myself sitting in a wooden pew, surrounded by families, older couples, and a few scattered individuals like me.
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The church smelled of candle wax and old books. I folded my hands in my lap, unsure what to do.
Nathan spoke with ease, his voice warm, his words thoughtful. He told stories, made people laugh, yet never lost the meaning behind his sermon. People seemed to like him—and oh, how I understood why.
Nathan was impossible not to like.
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After the service, I walked toward him.
“So, you actually came,” Nathan said, smiling.
I nodded. “Yeah. It was… different. In a good way.”
“Glad to hear that. I try not to make people fall asleep.” He grinned.
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“Well, you kept me awake,” I said.
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” he asked.
“I’d love some,” I said, and he led me to his… office? I wasn’t sure what they were called.
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That day, we talked for hours. The conversation flowed so easily—about faith, the church, people, and life in general.
Nathan listened without judgment, spoke with honesty, and made me think in ways I hadn’t before.
I felt more comfortable with him than I had with anyone in a long time. That should have been a good thing, but it wasn’t.
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He was a priest. And it killed me to know that he was a priest—that I could never have a real relationship with him.
Still, I kept coming back. Almost every day, we found something new to talk about.
One day, we sat on a park bench, the sun warm against my skin. Talking to Nathan felt easy, natural.
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“You can’t get married. What would you do if you liked someone?” I asked, glancing at him.
He smirked. “I’d invite her to my services, talk to her, agree to christen her niece, and hope she leaves me alone.”
I smiled, feeling my cheeks heat up. “And if you fell in love with someone?”
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Nathan’s smile faded. He let out a slow breath. “The path I chose requires me to devote my life and love to God.”
I swallowed hard. “I could never do that.”
Nathan turned toward me. “That’s why talking to you is good for me. You challenge me. You make me question things.”
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His eyes met mine. My heart pounded. And then, without thinking, I kissed him.
For a moment, he kissed me back. Warm. Certain. Then, suddenly, he pulled away, his face pale.
“No, this is wrong,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” He stood up and walked away.
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I sat frozen, watching him disappear, feeling like I had just lost something I never really had.
The next day, my phone rang early. Sarah’s voice came through, shaky and rushed.
“Claire, he backed out! Nathan won’t do the christening. It’s tomorrow! What am I supposed to do?”
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I gripped the phone tighter. “What? Why?”
“He didn’t say. Just told Mark he couldn’t do it.”
I closed my eyes. I knew why. This was because of me. I tried to calm Sarah, but she was too upset.
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After hanging up, I went to the church. Nathan wasn’t there. No one knew where he was.
That evening, a knock at my door startled me. I opened it and froze. Nathan stood there, his expression unreadable.
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“Your sister gave me your address,” he said. His voice was quiet, but his eyes held something heavy.
I stepped aside. “Come in.”
He walked in, standing awkwardly in the middle of my living room. I crossed my arms. “Sarah is panicking. You need to do the christening.”
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Nathan sighed. “I already agreed. My conscience wouldn’t let me refuse.”
Relief flooded through me. “Good. Then why are you here?”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking more unsure than I’d seen him. “I gave up a lot to have the life I have. Years of training, sacrifice, purpose. Then you showed up.” His eyes met mine. “And now, I doubt everything.”
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I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I pray, I work, I read, and it’s still you. It should be Him. My mind should be clear. It’s not.”
I stared at him, unable to speak. My throat tightened, my chest ached.
“Screw it,” Nathan muttered. Then, before I could react, he grabbed me and kissed me.
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I kissed him back without hesitation.
He stayed the night…If you know what I mean.
By morning, I stared at the ceiling, my heart pounding. I felt warm beside him, but my mind spun.
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“I can’t believe you actually did this,” I said, barely above a whisper.
Nathan sat up, rubbing his face. “Neither can I.”
We both knew what this meant.
It was the day of the christening. Nathan dressed quickly, avoiding my eyes.
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He muttered something about needing to be at the church early. Then he was gone.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the empty space where he had been. My heart felt heavy, but I pushed the feeling down.
I got ready, put on a simple dress, and drove to the church.
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The ceremony went perfectly. Nathan spoke with warmth and confidence, his voice steady, his smile easy. No one would have guessed he was struggling.
Afterward, Sarah and Mark hosted a celebration. Laughter filled the house, food covered the table, and everyone seemed happy.
Nathan and I left at the same time. We didn’t plan it, but suddenly, we were standing outside together, alone.
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The air between us was thick with unspoken words. I knew this was it. The moment I had been dreading.
“You did well today,” I said. My voice was even, but I felt unsteady.
“Thanks.” Nathan wouldn’t look at me.
I exhaled slowly. “It’s not going to be me, is it?” My voice wavered. “It’s going to be Him.”
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He finally met my eyes. “…Yeah.”
I let out a small, sad laugh. My vision blurred. “The funniest part of all this? I love you.”
Nathan pulled me into a tight hug, his arms lingering before he let go.
“This won’t last forever,” he murmured.
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I forced a smile. “So… see you Sunday at mass?”
Nathan chuckled, though his eyes were sad. “Yeah. But seriously? You’re banned from my services for life.”
He turned, hesitated, then looked back.
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“I love you too.”
Then he walked away.
And that was the last time I ever saw him.
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I Was Late to My Grandmom’s Funeral—When I Finally Got to Her Grave, There Was a Small Package with My Name on It
When Teresa’s grandmother passes away, she races across continents, desperate to say goodbye… but she arrives too late. Wracked with guilt, she visits the grave, only to discover a mysterious package left just for her. As Teresa navigates grief and love, she learns that some bonds transcend time, offering solace in the most unexpected ways.
When my uncle called that morning, I knew something was wrong before he said a word. His voice had this sharp, clipped edge, but I could still hear the strain in it.
A man talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
“Grandma’s gone, Teresa,” he said. “She passed last night.”
For a moment, the world went silent. It was as if my mind refused to process the words.
“The funeral’s tomorrow,” he added. “If you’re not here, we’ll have to bury her without you.”
“What? Tomorrow?” My voice cracked. “I can’t… there’s no way I can get there that fast!”
A shocked woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Then don’t bother,” he said curtly. “She’s gone, Teresa. We won’t wait for you… we can’t.”
I stood frozen, phone in hand, the sharp beep of the call ending pulling me out of my stupor. My uncle Craig, ever the practical and unyielding one, had spoken as if my grandmother’s passing was just another event on a packed calendar.
But she wasn’t just my grandmother. She was my everything.
A smiling old woman | Source: Midjourney
She’d raised me after my mom passed, back when I was too young to understand what death meant. Grandma became my world. She stepped into the role of mom, confidante, and teacher with ease.
Life with her was a steady rhythm of love and laughter, her warmth filling the void my mother’s death left behind.
The thought of not being there for her, of not saying goodbye, tore at me.
An upset woman looking out of a window | Source: Midjourney
I booked the first flight out, throwing clothes into a suitcase without even checking if they matched. I wasn’t even sure if I had suitable funeral clothing, either. Every second felt like a betrayal.
I couldn’t bear the thought of her being lowered into the ground while I was thousands of miles away, stuck in some airport terminal.
The plane ride was unbearable. I was unable to eat, my food tray just sitting there, the food getting cold and congealing. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t watch any of the movies or listen to music.
A tray of airplane food | Source: Midjourney
I was numb.
Memories of my grandmother flooded my mind. Her stories, her hugs, her quiet wisdom… I kept telling myself I’d make it in time, but when I finally landed and called my uncle, the funeral was already over.
“We couldn’t wait, Teresa. Don’t act shocked. I told you this already,” he said flatly.
A woman standing in an airport | Source: Midjourney
By the time I arrived at her house, it was empty, stripped of the life it once held. My cousins had cleared out, leaving behind traces of their rushed goodbyes. There was a half-empty water bottle on the counter, a crumpled tissue on the sofa, someone’s forgotten lipstick on the floor.
I stood in the doorway, letting the silence engulf me.
Grandma’s favorite chair was still by the window, the blanket she’d always kept on her lap folded neatly over the back. On the side table, an unfinished knitted sock lay abandoned, the lavender yarn still threaded through the needles.
A ball of yarn and knitting needles | Source: Midjourney
I reached out, brushing my fingers against the soft fabric, and the tears came in a flood.
She had been working on this. Just days ago, she’d sat here, humming softly as she knitted, probably thinking about some old family recipes.
I sank into the chair, clutching the sock like it was a lifeline. Memories of her voice, her laughter, her love, rushed over me. The ache in my chest was unbearable, but I didn’t want it to stop.
This pain was all I had left of her.
An upset woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
When the sunlight began streaming through the window, I wiped my face and stood. There was one thing I still had to do.
I stopped at a florist and bought a bouquet of daisies, her favorite. The drive to the cemetery was a blur, my mind racing with all the things I wished I’d said, the moments I wished I could relive.
The grave was easy to find.
A bucket of daisies at a florist | Source: Midjourney
The fresh mound of dirt stood out starkly against the older, weathered headstones. My breath hitched as I approached, the reality of it hitting me all over again.
This was it. Her final resting place.
But something caught my eye. At the base of the grave, nestled in the dirt, was a small package. My name, Teresa, was scrawled on the paper in her unmistakable handwriting.
A package in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I picked it up, my heart pounding.
The package felt almost warm, as if her love had left a mark on it. I tore at the wrapping, revealing a folded note inside.
My dear Teresa, it began.
I know your uncle probably won’t let us see each other one last time. I don’t know where I went wrong with him… but he’s always been jealous of the bond we share. I need you to know this: Teresa, you are my love, my joy, and the light in the darkest of days.
I asked Rina to leave this package on my grave after I’m gone. This is so you’ll never be late again.
A woman reading a note in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
I gasped.
Grandma had planned this? Had she known exactly how things would unfold?
And it made sense to me. Craig probably thought that Grandma was going to leave a whole lot of money to me, her house even. Not that I wanted any of it…
“Oh, Gran,” I muttered.
An old woman writing a letter | Source: Midjourney
Tears blurred my vision as I opened the smaller package inside. A gold wristwatch glinted in the sunlight, its face encircled by tiny diamonds. I turned it over, and there, engraved on the back, were the words:
Grandma and Teresa. Always and Forever.
I dropped to my knees, clutching the watch to my chest. The ache in my heart swelled to unbearable proportions. She had thought of me, even in her final days, leaving behind this symbol of her love for me.
A woman holding a watch in a box | Source: Midjourney
As I sat there, the pieces of her note lingered in my mind.
My uncle. His jealousy.
It all made sense now, the way he’d rushed the funeral, his brusque phone calls, the coldness in his voice. He’d never hidden his resentment, but to think that he’d taken it this far… refusing to wait even a few hours.
Still, as much as his actions stung, I couldn’t let them overshadow what I held in my hands. The watch wasn’t just an heirloom, it was a promise.
A man standing on a porch | Source: Midjourney
It was the promise of a connection to my grandmother that time could never erase.
The cemetery was quiet as I stood by her grave, sharing memories, apologizing for being late, and thanking her for everything she’d given me.
When I finally stood to leave, I slipped the watch onto my wrist. It felt like a piece of her was with me, tangible and eternal.
A woman standing in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
The house was still empty when I returned, but it didn’t feel quite as suffocating anymore. I stood in the living room, looking at the remnants of her life, her unfinished sock, the framed photo of the two of us by the mantel.
Moments later, the door opened.
“Teresa,” he said. “What are you doing here? Why bother to come when everything is over?”
“How can you ask me such a question?” I gasped.
A grandmother’s living room | Source: Midjourney
“She was old, Teresa,” he said. “What did you expect? That the old woman would live forever?”
“When did you get so cruel, Uncle Craig?” I asked.
“When did you get so self-righteous?” he spat.
Before I knew it, two men from a moving company walked into the house.
Two men standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“I’m taking the furniture. And those expensive plates and vases. I’m going to sell them.”
“Gran will never forgive you for this,” I said simply, sitting down on the couch.
“Gran is long gone, Teresa. It’s time to move on. And don’t try to contest the will,” he said. “Gran would have given everything to me. I can’t wait to give Rose her watch. My mother would absolutely want her first-born granddaughter to have it.”
A cupboard with expensive crockery | Source: Midjourney
I pulled my sleeve down, hoping that Craig wouldn’t see the watch. I wasn’t going to hand it over. No way. But at the same time, I didn’t want to entertain Craig. He could take everything else.
A few months had passed since I left my grandmother’s house for the last time. Life had resumed its usual rhythm, or at least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.
The watch stayed on my wrist, its weight a constant reminder of her. Some days, I caught myself holding it, brushing my thumb over the inscription as if I could summon her voice.
A watch on a person’s wrist | Source: Midjourney
One evening, I made myself a cup of tea, Gran’s favorite chamomile blend, and curled up on the sofa with a blanket. The unfinished sock from her house now sat on my coffee table, neatly placed in a small knitting basket.
I picked up the knitting needles, my fingers still clumsy and awkward with the motions. She’d tried to teach me once, years ago, but I’d been too impatient to sit still.
A cup of tea on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
“One day you’ll see,” she’d said with a knowing smile. “That knitting is like life. You just keep going, one stitch at a time.”
One stitch at a time.
A lavender sock and knitting needles | Source: Midjourney
Judy and her family get into the habit of saving money in a “family stash jar,” which is used for emergencies or family outings. But soon, she starts noticing that someone in the family has sticky fingers, helping themselves to the money. Judy has to figure out who it is and what is the reason for such dishonesty.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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