What Seeks Forgiveness

Father Okonkwo had been hearing confessions for thirty-two years.

St. Michael's had one of those old-style confessionals. Dark wood. Latticed screen. You couldn't see the person clearly, just their outline in the dim light.

But you could always see their shadow.

It fell across the floor of the booth, cast by the single bulb overhead. Most people didn't think about it. They came in, knelt, confessed their sins, received their penance, left.

Father Chen had learned to watch the shadows.

Not intentionally at first. Just something he noticed over the years. When someone confessed a real sin, something that genuinely weighed on them, their shadow would shift. Settle. Like a burden lifting.

When someone lied in confession, and people did lie, even here, their shadow would tense. Curl inward.

He'd never mentioned it to anyone. Seemed improper somehow. Like he was spying.

But he couldn't stop noticing.

Tuesday afternoon, Mrs. Kowalski came in. Eighty-three years old. Came every week.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession."

Her shadow sat perfectly still on the floor.

She listed her usual sins. Impatience with her daughter. Envy of her neighbor's garden. Small things.

Her shadow didn't move.

"Is there anything else?" Father Okonkwo asked gently.

Silence.

Then: "I'm angry at God for taking my husband."

Her shadow slumped forward. Pressed its forehead to the floor.

Mrs. Kowalski started crying. "I know I shouldn't be. I know he's in a better place. But I'm so angry, Father. And I can't tell anyone because they'll think I'm a bad Catholic."

"God can handle your anger," Father Okonkwo said. "That's not a sin. That's grief."

Her shadow slowly sat back up. Straightened.

By the time she left, it was walking upright again.

Father Okonkwo sat in the confessional for a moment after she'd gone. Looked at the empty space where her shadow had been.

He'd been watching shadows confess for thirty-two years.

The people spoke the words. But the shadows carried the weight.

Saturday evening. The last confession before Mass.

Father Okonkwo was about to close the booth when he heard footsteps. Someone entering the other side.

He settled back into his seat. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

No response.

He waited. Sometimes people needed time to begin.

Through the latticed screen, he could see a figure kneeling. Could see its outline.

But something was wrong.

The shadow on the floor was there. Clear. Distinct.

But there was no person casting it.

Father Okonkwo blinked. Leaned forward slightly. The shadow remained. The space on the other side of the screen was empty.

Just a shadow. Kneeling in the confessional.

"Hello?" Father Okonkwo said.

The shadow didn't move.

"Are you..." He stopped. What do you ask a shadow without a person?

He tried again. "Do you want to confess something?"

The shadow raised its head. Looked at the screen between them.

Father Okonkwo's mouth went dry. "I don't...I don't know how to help you. I can't hear your confession if you can't speak."

The shadow stayed kneeling. Perfectly still.

They sat in silence for a long moment. Father Okonkwo could hear his own breathing. Could hear the old building settling around them.

"Whose shadow are you?" he asked finally.

The shadow pointed at itself. Then pointed at the screen. At Father Okonkwo.

Father Okonkwo shook his head. "I don't understand."

The shadow pointed again. More insistent. At itself. At Father Okonkwo.

Then it stood up.

Father Okonkwo watched it rise. Watched it reach toward the screen with one hand.

And press its palm flat against the lattice.

Father Okonkwo found himself reaching out. Placing his own palm against the screen on his side.

He felt nothing. No warmth. No pressure.

But the shadow's hand stayed there. Pressed against his.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Father Okonkwo whispered.

The shadow pulled its hand back. Pointed at Father Okonkwo again. Then at the empty space where a person should be kneeling.

Then it walked out of the confessional.

Father Okonkwo sat frozen for a moment. Then he scrambled out of his side of the booth.

The church was empty. Evening light coming through the stained glass windows. Long shadows stretching across the pews.

The shadow from the confessional was walking down the center aisle. Alone. No person casting it.

Father Okonkwo followed it. "Wait. Please."

The shadow stopped. Turned to face him.

Father Okonkwo approached slowly. "I've been watching shadows for thirty-two years. Watching them carry what their people won't admit. Watching them confess what their people can't say out loud."

The shadow didn't move.

"You came here to show me something," Father Okonkwo said. "What was it?"

The shadow pointed at Father Okonkwo. Then at the confessional behind him. Then at itself.

Father Okonkwo stared at it. At the shadow standing alone in his church.

"You're saying..." He stopped. Started again. "You're saying the shadows have always been the ones confessing? Not the people?"

The shadow nodded.

"The people think they're confessing. But you're the ones carrying it. You're the ones seeking forgiveness."

Another nod.

"Then whose shadow are you?" Father Okonkwo asked again.

The shadow pointed at Father Okonkwo. Then at every pew in the church. Then back at itself.

"Everyone's?" Father Chen asked. "You're everyone's shadow?"

The shadow shook its head. Pointed at Father Okonkwo specifically. Insistent.

And then Father Okonkwo understood.

He looked down at his own shadow. The one cast by the evening light through the windows.

It was standing exactly where it should be. Aligned with his body.

But the shadow in front of him was standing in the same position. Same height. Same build.

"You're mine," Father Okonkwo whispered.

His shadow nodded.

"But you're..." He looked down at the shadow at his feet. "You're there. You're with me."

The shadow in front of him pointed at Father Okonkwo's feet. Then at itself. Then made a gesture like splitting something in half.

"I don't understand."

The shadow seemed to consider for a moment. Then it walked to the wall. Pressed both palms against it.

Father Okonkwo's shadow, the one at his feet, did the same thing. Pressed against the floor in the same gesture.

They were mirroring each other. The same shadow in two places.

"That's impossible," Father Okonkwo said.

Both shadows turned to look at him. And if shadows could smile, he thought they might have been.

Then the shadow on the wall walked through it. Disappeared.

Father Okonkwo stood alone in his church. Looked down at his shadow at his feet.

It was perfectly still. Perfectly normal.

But he knew now. Had seen it.

His shadow had been in two places at once.

Father Okonkwo walked back to the confessional. Sat in his booth. Looked at the empty space on the other side of the screen.

"Forgive me," he said to the empty air. "For I have sinned."

His shadow at his feet looked up at him.

"I've been hearing confessions for thirty-two years. And I never once asked forgiveness from the shadows carrying the weight."

His shadow reached out. Touched his shoe.

Father Okonkwo felt it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For not seeing you. For thinking you were just mine. For not understanding."

His shadow stood up. Walked to the screen. Pressed its palm against the lattice from the other side.

And Father Okonkwo understood what it was offering.

Not confession.

Forgiveness.

He placed his palm against the screen. Felt nothing. But knew his shadow felt it.

They stayed like that for a long moment.

Then his shadow walked back to his feet. Settled into place. Aligned with his body.

But Father Okonkwo knew now.

It was only aligned because it chose to be.

Because it had always chosen to be.

And one day, it would choose differently.

Father Okonkwo didn't tell anyone what happened in the confessional that Saturday.

He kept hearing confessions. Kept watching shadows confess what their people couldn't say.

But now he thanked them when they left. Quietly. Under his breath.

"Thank you for carrying this. Thank you for trying."

Most people didn't notice.

But their shadows always paused. Turned back. Nodded.

And on June 20th, when Father Okonkwo's shadow finally stepped away from him completely, he wasn't surprised.

He'd been expecting it.

Had been ready for it since that evening in the confessional.

His shadow stood in front of him. Looked at him one last time.

Father Okonkwo smiled. "Go," he said. "You've earned it."

His shadow pressed its palm against his chest.

And Father Okonkwo felt it say goodbye.