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Natalie crept into the church building, through the pews of the sanctuary and to the vestry where the administrator had instructed her the pastor would be preparing the banners for Sunday morning. The sun shone through the windows that lined one side of the sanctuary, it shone upon her golden brown hair that she wore down, strands over her face. Was she doing the right thing? Would he believe her? His predecessor had not believed her mother – a grown woman. But Natalie was tired of covering for her father. She was tired of explaining away her black eyes with stories about bumping into door knobs. Natalie was going to tell the truth. That her father, a deacon in the church and respected accountant in the community was prone to physically assaulting his wife and kids. It might break up her parents’ marriage, but what excuse was there for being violent toward one’s family? Natalie paused at the door and knocked. The pastor opened it, “Natalie,” he said, “so good to see you. I only just came from having coffee with your father. But what are you here to see me about? Should you not be in school?”
Natalie took a deep breath, “Pastor,” she said. As she did she flicked her hair back so he could see the bruise that blackened her eye.
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