My life as a nun means having little and wanting no more. Working here in the orphanage, I reach out to other babies left alone, loving the innocents not even a mother loved. But all that changed.

I met Father Paul six months ago and my life’s focus changed.

I cleaned the scrape on little Jimmy’s scraped cheek and saw the black, curly hair framing his angel face, and my thoughts suddenly went to Father Paul. I couldn’t even put the band-aid on straight. My thoughts were of Father Paul.

Sarah’s head snuggled against my arm as she tried to stop crying. I patted her back, but my thoughts were racing in a fantasy where Father Paul held me as I was holding Sarah.

I could not care for the children – as I had for the past 22 months – without conjuring up a picture of Father Paul caring for me as his lover. My life was no longer mine – it was his.

Now I must confess my sins in writing so they can lead me back to my cell in the nunnery. Once alone I can pray, alone with my thoughts and my unborn baby.