As she pulled open the door, the breath caught in her throat. The baby-blue habit was almost camouflaged against the curtain on the far wall, but the moment she read the perfect posture of the woman kneeling at the pine prie-dieu at the front, her back to the door, Kate knew with utmost certainty who she’d found.

Sister Mary Monica turned. Their eyes locked and Kate forced a smile. Had she ever found herself alone with Sister Mary Monica for more than a few minutes? She hesitated in the doorway. She’s already seen you. You can’t run from a nun, Kate.

Perhaps it was that she was running on exhaustion, or that the empty, windowless chapel was far more spacious than the narrow seating of most churches, but as she slid into the second pew, she didn’t feel the dread she expected to overcome her at the thought of being alone with Sister Mary Monica. After genuflecting in the centre of the short aisle, Sister Mary Monica joined her.

“How are you?” Kate whispered.

“I’m well, Kate. And you?”

“My sister just had her baby—her second. A little girl.”

Sister Mary Monica’s lips twitched into a smile. “Congratulations, Aunt Kate.”

“Thank you.”

“What did they name her?”

“My sister named her Madison.”

Sister Mary Monica didn’t miss the emphasis Kate placed on the fact that her sister was a single mother. Her eyes held Kate’s. “Beautiful,” she said. “That’s beautiful. Madison…York?” she clarified by way of asking if the child had been given her mother’s surname.

Kate nodded. “Madison York.”

“I’ll have to go up to the nursery later,” Sister Mary Monica said. “Take a peek at Miss Madison.”

Kate’s heart swelled with pride.

Sister Mary Monica turned her attention to the altar. “Rebecca was always a good girl. Your parents raised two good girls.”

It took everything in Kate to keep her expression neutral. It was perhaps the nicest thing Sister Mary Monica had ever said about her. Kate wet her lips. “What are you doing here?” She glanced down at her watch. “It’s after seven…”

Sister Mary Monica sighed. “There’s a parishioner from St. Gerard’s upstairs in palliative care. Today is…” She took pause. “Well, today has been a particularly difficult day.” Kate watched as her lips tightened into a thin line. “Father gave Last Rites a few hours ago. I’ll stay with the family for a while.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Kate said. “To stay.”

Sister Mary Monica nodded woodenly.

A wave of sadness gripped Kate—not for the dying patient upstairs, but for Sister Mary Monica. She’d always wondered how deeply the sisters confided in one another, the degree to which they shared their hardships. From what Kate had seen in the past year, while their support system was strong, they tended to carry their burdens alone. As much as it seemed a fulfilling life, it also seemed unbelievably lonely. What would it be like for Sister Mary Monica to lay her head on her pillow tonight knowing the sadness and unspeakable sorrow that the day had bought? At the end of a long day of offering a shoulder to cry on, who offered one to Sister Mary Monica?