pass through a door that could change everything. She pressed the doorbell, and fifteen seconds later, there he was.
At this hour, Father Dominic D’Angelo looked less like a priest than a guy who’d been lounging around watching television. His face morphed to mask of concern. “Gail,” he said. “Are you all right?”
The tears came before she was ready for them, flowing freely and embarrassing her. “No,” she choked. “I’m not okay at all. Have you got a minute?”
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