My boyfriend is a Catholic priest. His name is Jeffery, and he’s the parish priest. We started dating a year ago after he told me he had a heart condition that was threatening his life. We had been friends. We talked often. I spent time with him after church, and because he always made me laugh, I always wanted to be around him.

That day, he spoke to me with such calmness in his demeanor. He said he was afraid that his heart condition was going to kill him. I knew he was receiving excellent medical care as a priest, but I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for him.

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One day, during a conversation, he told me he had been a virgin when he became a priest and jokingly said his biggest regret would be that one day his heart might fail before he had experienced the warmth of a woman.

I saw where the conversation was heading, and I followed along like a lamb. He asked if I could do him a favor by becoming his girlfriend—the only woman in the world whose warmth he might ever experience. I agreed, and that day we kissed.

We texted all night. He said his heart was beating in a way it had never beaten before and that it was because of love. I would sneak into his room at night, or he would disguise himself and come to mine. Everyone in the church knew we were friends, so sometimes it was easy for me to visit him during the day as well.

He said, “You don’t know what you’re doing for my heart. You deserve a special place in heaven. One day, when we meet there, I’ll make sure you get a place close to God.”

There was also another priest living in the same mission house, though they stayed in separate flats a few meters apart. His name is Jonathan. He was very young and athletic. Whenever he saw me, he would ask me to visit him, but I hardly ever did because I was shy around him.

One day after morning Mass, he held my hand and asked me to follow him. When we got to his flat, he asked why I had been avoiding him.

“Do you hate me that much?” he asked.

I responded, “No, Father. What reason do I have to hate you?”

He asked why I had never visited him after he had invited me several times. I told him I thought he was joking. That day, he told me he liked me very much and asked me not to avoid him anymore.

That same day, he texted me. He said he was feeling cold and wished I were there to keep him warm. That night, I was chatting with both priests at the same time. While one was talking about his heart, the other was talking about the cold weather.

Jonathan knew how to make his move. Before I knew it, we were already a thing. I must confess, I got involved with him out of pity. I don’t know why, but whenever I looked at them, I felt they had been deprived of one of the greatest things in the world—companionship—simply because they had chosen to serve God.

He insisted that our relationship remain a closely guarded secret. He also knew about my friendship with Jeff and asked me not to do anything that would make him suspect us. We didn’t spend time together in the open. We spoke on the phone, and I sneaked around to see him. He wouldn’t come to me the way Jeff disguised himself and came to my place. He wanted to stay in control. I could spend the night with him, and while I was leaving at dawn, he would be getting ready to celebrate Mass.

It got to a point where I began to feel the weight of the two relationships. The demands on me became too much, and dating in secret sometimes made me feel like a seed planted in rich soil that would never grow to see the light. So I decided to let both relationships go, change my parish, and make a fresh start. Besides, I’m growing too.

I told Jeff first. This man of the altar spent the whole night on the phone with me, asking what he had done wrong.

“Do you want me to die? Just tell me honestly, and I will understand.”

He fell sick and told me I shouldn’t ask what had killed him if I heard he was dead. He said his heart was failing again and, indeed, he didn’t celebrate Mass for several days. I had to visit him, make myself available to him, and even promise not to leave before he started feeling better again.

Jonathan simply said it wasn’t possible for me to leave because he had built his world around me. When I stopped seeing him, for the first time in our relationship, he sneaked into my house at night and, after everything, he cried and begged me never to do that to him again.

Currently, I’m managing both of them and also helping Jeff manage his heart condition. I don’t go to church as often as I used to, but I see these two guys more often than those who attend church every day. I know the weight of my sins, and I’m working on myself. It’s also because I don’t have any other relationship going on in my life.

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I’m relocating out of town. Neither of them knows my plan. It will be sudden and swift, just like pulling a plaster off a wound. When one day they don’t find me, maybe they’ll look for my replacement, or the one with the heart condition will succumb to it and go in peace. The one who calls me his world will have the chance to build another one, so I too can begin again—seeking forgiveness for my sins and taking my rightful place with God.

—Anthoinette

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