We didn’t say much on the way to the church. I was still feeling very peaceful and serene and looking forward to hearing Maggie’s story when she said, “The Church of Saint Francis is just around the corner.” Maggie reached down and held my hand as we walked in silence toward the doors of the sanctuary. “This is such a beautiful place, Jim,” Maggie said as I pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the church.

It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, then I instantly understood why Maggie wanted to come here. The church was totally quiet and there wasn’t a soul there. It was just us, standing alone in the morning light that was streaming through the stained glass windows lining every wall. The light was a soft pale rose and yellow color and, as Maggie and I made eye contact, Maggie smiled and said, “See why I wanted to come here?”

I nodded yes and gave her a kiss, and then to my surprise Maggie turned towards the altar at the front of the church and made the sign of the cross. I’ve never seen her do that. She isn’t Catholic—neither Maggie nor I had attended church since we were kids. We sat down in a pew and Maggie asked, “Are you ready to hear my story?”