For forty-five years I’d believed she turned away from me because my pastoral calling was too small for her world.

Now the autumn air felt clean and calm, cleared of every lingering shadow and every lie.

A red cardinal landed on the low branch of the sugar maple beside the driveway, chirped twice, and flew off toward the orchard.

I closed my fingers around the silver frame and felt the smooth metal warming against my skin.

No bitterness was left in the quiet churchyard, only the sound of wind moving through the tall pines behind the rectory.

I ate the last bite of toast and brushed a couple of small crumbs off my trousers.