She Can’t Lie Under the Cathedral’s Dome
Back in school, Robert was hardly a model student, but he aced his exams. Teachers praised his grades but scolded his behaviour. Handsome and popular, girls flocked to him—and he took full advantage, cycling through them without a second thought.
Emily had been in his class since Year One. By Year Seven, she realised she was heavier than the other girls, enduring cruel taunts like “Fatso.” Though she grew used to the teasing, it stung more as she got older—especially when her friends started whispering about boys at break, giggling over who’d pulled whose hair or flirted with whom. No one did any of that with her. Just the same old nickname. At home, she’d cry into her pillow.
“Mum, why am I so fat? Why am I the only one?” she’d sob.
“Sweetheart, don’t fret,” her mother would soothe, though she knew the truth—Emily *was* bigger. “You’ll grow out of it. You’re still young.”
Robert, now dating the gorgeous but haughty Katherine, led the worst of the teasing. Maybe he was showing off. They’d mock Emily mercilessly while she bit her lip, tears rolling down her round cheeks.
Years passed. School ended. Robert went to university for architecture, Katherine to college, and Emily to polytechnic. They never saw each other again—until one evening, years later.
Robert strolled back from the lake at the park’s edge, tipsy and laughing with mates after celebrating a work bonus. Then he spotted her—a woman alone by the water, tossing bread to ducks. When she glanced up, he was lost in her blue eyes. Charming as ever, he peeled away from his friends.
“Robert. And you are?” He flashed a grin. “Fancy a walk? Or shall we skip straight to marriage? Here’s my card.”
She hesitated, frowning, but took it before turning away. He jogged after her.
“Wait—sorry if I came on strong. Had a few too many. Call me? I’d love to make it up to you.”
The next day, his phone lit up: *Emily.* He grinned, replying at once, inviting her to dinner. That evening, he waited nervously with flowers—until she appeared, smiling. The date was perfect.
Over months, Robert discovered Emily’s kindness, her love of books, her knitting, her tennis matches. By twenty-eight, he’d had flings, even a two-year live-in relationship that fizzled. But Emily was different. She seemed younger, fresher—though they were the same age.
Only one thing unsettled him: her faith. She attended church twice a month. He never asked why.
“Maybe she’s private,” he mused. “Closed social media, shy about photos together. But she’ll open up in time.”
Six months in, he suggested moving in.
“I’m sorry, Robert,” she said gently. “I’m a believer—not fanatical, but I won’t live with a man unless we’re married.”
Rather than protest, he admired her principles. Life carried on until a work trip gave him an idea.
“Let’s drive to Bath,” he said. “Four hours, tops.”
They chatted the whole way. Over coffee, he blurted, “Marry me, Emily. I’ll buy you a ring right now.”
She tensed. “I’ve told you—faith matters to me. You’ve never even been to church. If you’re serious, you’d confess, repent, *then* ask my father. That’s how it should be.”
“But you haven’t introduced me to your parents!” he argued—until he spotted the cathedral spire. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Inside, he marched to the vicar. “I’ll confess. Then we’ll talk about marrying.”
The vicar sighed. “Marriage requires preparation. But I’ll hear your confession.”
Robert listed mild regrets—nothing about school. Minutes later, absolved, he proposed again.
Emily turned and walked out.
“Emily, why?” he called after her.
She faced him. “I can’t lie under the cathedral’s dome.” His confusion deepened. “You *really* don’t remember? I’m Emily Saunders. Your old classmate.”
His stomach dropped. Memories flooded back—the taunts, her tears. Worse, he recalled her father cornering him at fourteen: *”Harm my girl again, and you’ll answer to me.”*
She spoke softly. “I lost forty kilos. Found faith. Forgave everyone—except you.”
His voice cracked. “Emily, please—”
“You *broke* me. And tonight, I realised I still haven’t forgiven you.” She turned away. “God might. But I don’t know if I can.”
He sat on the cathedral steps until the vicar found him. Over tea, Robert confessed properly this time—the cruelty, the shame.
Later, under the stars, he prayed for the first time in earnest. *”God, help her forgive me.”*
At home, he tried calling. No answer.
Hope—and faith—were all he had left.
