The early afternoon sun shone into the room, filling it quickly with warmth. Outside it was getting hot, almost too hot to open a window, but she did anyway. Daniella rested her soft face between the wooden frame of the window and the outside edge of the house, deeply breathing the warm air in and out of her lungs. The mercury was approaching the 90-degree mark that day, hot enough to have difficulty breathing, but inside was the more suffocating of the two.

Michael had told her of the news about his restaurant earlier that morning before leaving the house, and something about "making some serious changes around here" as well. He was right about that, she had thought to herself after he walked out. Namely, she needed to pick up her life and make a new one somewhere else, a life far different and far away from her current one. Perhaps she could move to Florida or California; wherever she went it would not matter. Anywhere would be fine with her. Hell, maybe even New Orleans.

Ah, New Orleans-just the thought of that magical town brought a smile to her face. That, and all the memories she and a certain handsome stranger had made on one glorious night. It was hard to believe that she had met Sean almost two months ago, yet the outline of his sweet face was still fresh in her mind, not to mention the way his hands had felt as he'd explored every inch of her body.

These thoughts left a bittersweet taste in Daniella's mouth and as reliving these types of memories often did, she sat on the window ledge, laughing and crying at the same time.

She felt foolish, crying over a man she had known in person not even twelve hours, but what a wonderful twelve hours they had been. As crazy as it sounded, she felt a love for him, one that made no sense and perfect sense all at the same time. It was definitely a feeling she'd never had with Michael. She regretted not being there by his side, where she should be, instead of here behind a locked door in a Cincinnati suburb. Alas, Daniella was simply a mere mortal, and since the infamous apple bite in the Garden of Eden, mortals were predestined to make mistakes. This, of course, was a BIG mistake.

Who knows why she had left the way she had? Maybe she'd been scared or in shock. More than likely it had been a little of both. Certainly meeting Sean hadn't been on her "to do" list while in New Orleans, nor had falling head-over-heels for him. All she had wanted to do was get some well-needed rest, party a little bit, and stuff her belly with some great-tasting food that was horribly bad for her waistline. What's done is done, though, she realized, and there ain't no going back, no matter how much pining you can do for him.

The day had started out like all the rest for Daniella, but when the afternoon came, it brought with it a desire to do some
soul-searching. Not the typical "my life has no direction, I need to think" sort of stuff, but the kind one can only find in the peaceful sanctuary of a church.

After an exhausting tug-of-war with Max (who was in charge of keeping an eye on her for the day), she was finally granted permission to go to the church-as long as the driver did not let her out of his sight. So, off to the church they went.

Daniella regretted sleeping in those countless Sundays in the past, neither having the desire nor energy to get up and drag her tired body to Mass. It had been many months since Daniella had in fact attended Mass, and except for major holidays such as Easter and Christmas, she had rarely seen the inside of a church for the better part of two years. This fact was one she was not proud of, and her guilt only escalated in the presence of her deeply religious mother, whom Daniella, at a young age, had learned that lying to was not an easy thing to get away with. Even in her twenties, Daniella knew better that "you can shuck some people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't shuck your mama!" Growing up, Daniella's mother, a devout Catholic, had taken her to church at Immaculata in Mt. Adams every Sunday, on weekday mornings when school hadn't been in session, and especially on Good Friday, where she and the rest of the faithful would trod up the three hundred and fifty-six steps that led up to the church, kneeling on every step to pray a rosary for their sins.

The driver stopped the car and let Daniella out directly in front of the church, then watched her carefully as she entered through the large wooden doors.

Inside, Daniella was alone-exactly how she liked it. In her opinion, whenever she decided to go to pray, she expected peace and quiet. Otherwise, her ability to concentrate was lost. She walked softly up the aisle, looking at the Stations of the Cross as she went. They were large and mostly made of painted wood with beautiful carvings throughout them, and although there were no words, each one told a story all its own. The smell of burning incense lingered heavily in the air, giving Daniella a calming and nostalgic feeling. There were times where certain memories (some better than others) were triggered by tastes or smells or things even seen, and acted as catalysts for generating the reproduction of images a long time forgotten. In the case of Daniella, the powerful, sweet scent of frankincense and myrrh stirred up memories of her kneeling in candlelit cathedrals, dressed up in her Sunday baby-blue taffeta dress with matching shoes, her Raggedy Ann doll in tow.

Daniella knelt down in a middle pew and began to pray. She initially winced at the hardness of the wooden kneeler as it pressed against her delicate knees. Even though it had been a long time since she had knelt to pray, inside the church that day it felt natural and peaceful and nostalgic.

That afternoon, Daniella prayed harder and more passionately than she had in a very long time-longer than she would for the rest of her life.

In all her erratic, emotional roller coaster ride of a life, Daniella had never felt a greater sense of peace than she felt that day. Her troubles were still there, or at least they were waiting for her on the other side of the church's heavy wooden doors, but at least for now she felt safe. In a way, she had felt like this when she had been around Sean.

Daniella prayed for answers and for hope. She asked God to give her a sign, a sign that showed what she was doing wasn't all in vain. More than anything, she prayed that Sean forgave her, and through this huge mess he could somehow be happy. Deep down inside, she wished God would somehow deliver her from this madness, that He would bring her and Sean together again, and this time for good, and that she could be strong enough to free herself from Michael. Deep down inside she asked for all these things, but for some reason never spoke them aloud. Little did Daniella know that fate or God or the cosmos or however one might choose to describe it, was already listening and hearing her silent pleas, her unexpressed pain, and was already making one of her prayers come true.