Leaving Without A Backward Glance
The heavy wooden doors of the church swung shut behind us, muting the chaos inside. We walked briskly across the gravel lot, the crisp air cooling my flushed skin.
Francis reached the passenger side first and pulled the handle, waiting for me to slide onto the leather seat.
I settled in and buckled my seatbelt immediately, staring straight ahead through the windshield. We didn’t glance back at the building or the man standing on the steps.