I used to know exactly what I would do with my life, and why.
I planned to devote myself to God.
I was in the middle of my novice training a little over a year ago,
when someone blew up my parents' car.
They were the kindest people in the world,
and their deaths shook the foundation of my faith.
Now I'm lost, knocking around in a half-furnished new
house with no family left but a sister who hates me.
No one has ever found the people responsible for my parents' murder,
and the police don't seem interested in trying to find them, either.
The only bright spot in my life is the man who lives next door with his baby daughter.
I look at him and remember that I'm a woman, not just a failed novice.
He gives me one smile, and I feel some of the glacier of grief inside of me melt away.
I can only imagine what a kiss from him would do.