HOC EST ENIM CORPUS MEUM

"This is my body, which will be given up for you."

Chimdi's hands were folded in her lap, fingers laced tight enough to hurt. She'd been holding herself together since she walked into Saint Theresa's parish that morning, through the sign of the cross, through the readings, through the homily she didn't hear a word of.

She just had to sit still and make it through this Mass without crying.

"Do this in memory of me."

Her throat hurt. She thought about Sundays. How Muna used to reach for her hand during the sign of peace, squeezing it twice as their little code for I love you. How they'd sit in the same pew every week, her hand on his thigh, sharing a hymn book even though they both knew the words by heart.

How he used to look at her like she was the answer to a prayer he didn't know he'd been saying.

The Priest lifted the chalice. "This is the chalice of my blood..."

Muna had painted her mornings with light. Literally. He'd pull back the curtains before she was fully awake, letting the sun flood across the bed in golden stripes. He'd lay on her chest and scatter it with kisses, his lips covering every surface within reach.

He made her laugh effortlessly. He held her when she cried about work, about her mother, about nothing at all. He knew her like he had a perpetually open tab in his head, saving facts about her as soon as they came out of her mouth.

They were complements. Two halves of the same whole. Everyone said it. Even strangers could see the way they moved around each other like they were choreographed, the way they finished each other's sentences without thinking, the way their eyes always found each other in every room.

She'd given herself to him completely. Her body, her time, her future. She'd rearranged her life to fit his. And he'd done the same. Or so she thought.

"...the blood of the new and eternal covenant..."

Her eyes stung and she shook her head as her vision began to blur. She must not cry. She took a breath and looked straight ahead at the huge crucifix at the altar.

He hadn't even said it to her face.

It started small. Texts that took longer to come back. Calls that got shorter, newer excuses that made less sense each time. Weekends where he was suddenly too tired, too busy, too something.

She tried not to be needy, but she was only a woman in love. She'd texted him late at night, her hands shaking as she typed: Are we okay? Are YOU okay?
She watched as the typing bubble appeared and disappeared several times before stopping.

The reply came two days later.

'Chi, I don't know how to do this without hurting you and I hate that I'm about to. I know I've put you through so much this past month, and I'm sorry for not coming clean earlier. I met someone. I didn't mean for it to happen but it did and I can't lie to you anymore. I love you, I really do, but I can't keep pretending everything's fine when it's not. I'm sorry I'm telling you like this. I couldn't find the words in person. I hope you forgive me. Please.'

She'd stared at her phone until the screen went dark. Read it again when she unlocked it. And again. And again. Waiting for him to come back and say something different.

He never did.

"...which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins."

She had given everything. And he had poured her out like she was nothing.

"Do this in memory of me."

The consecration bells rang. Incense filled her nostrils, and for a moment—just a split second, she smelled something else beneath it. His perfume. Woody and sweet, like pineapple and something else she couldn’t name. The smell that used to cling to her clothes after he held her, that lingered on her pillow when he stayed over, that made her feel safe in crowds because she could always find him by scent alone.

A tear fell, then another. She blinked hard, but they kept coming, warm and relentless, blurring the crucifix until it was just a smudge of silver and wood. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, hoping no one noticed.

But they kept falling.

She stayed that way until Mass ended, just quietly staring ahead. People filed past her, some glancing back with concern, others pretending not to see her. An older woman touched her shoulder and told her that it would be well and she nodded.

She didn't move until the church was empty. Until even the altar servers had disappeared into the sacristy and Father was in the comfort of the parish house.

Then, slowly, she stood, smoothed her dress, genuflected, and walked out into the blinding midday sun.