I’m so dang tired. It’s almost 2am. My dad’s breathing machine sounds like a freight train in the next room and I just… I can’t sleep. Got church in the morning. Again. Another Sunday. Another sermon I gotta help lead, another communion I gotta hand out. Everyone smiles, shakes my hand. “Deacon Mark, so good to see you.” “Such a blessing, Deacon.” Blessin’. Yeah, right. If they only knew. If they only knew what I really think when Pastor Dave starts talking about eternal salvation and the fiery pits of hell. I just nod, smile, and think, *bullshit.* It started slow, a few years back. Little doubts. Like when my boy, Caleb, was sick, real sick, at 7 years old. We prayed. Oh, we prayed. Every single night. My wife, bless her heart, she was on her knees, tears streaming. I told Caleb, “God’s listening, son. He’s gonna make you better.” And then he got worse. Ended up in the hospital for three weeks. Almost lost him. Doctor said it was pure luck, some new antibiotic. Not God. Just a pill. And I remember looking at the ceiling in that hospital room, thinking, *what a crock.* I mean, all those prayers? For nothing. Just a kid suffering. And it just... spiraled from there. I started reading things, late at night, on my phone, after everyone was asleep. Science stuff. History stuff. All the things you’re NOT supposed to read if you’re a good Christian man. And every single thing I read just chipped away at it. Like breaking off little pieces of a dried-up mud pie. No big bang revelation, just… poof. Gone. My faith. Just like that. And now I’m standing up there, in front of everyone, every Sunday, acting like I believe every word. My wife, she’d die. My mom, she’d have a stroke. My dad, well, he’s already half gone, but it’d probably finish him off. This family, the whole town, we’ve been here for five generations. My great-great-grandpa helped build that church. I can’t just… blow it all up. So I keep going. I nod. I smile. I pass the plate. I help organize the potlucks. I even lead the youth group on Wednesdays. Teaching those kids about Jesus, about God’s love. My throat gets tight sometimes, saying those words. It feels like a lie, a big fat lie, coming out of my mouth. And then I think about my wife, how happy she is being part of it all. How she lights up talking about the church bazaar. My daughter, she’s home from college next week, she loves coming to service with us. If I told them… I don’t even know what would happen. It would break them. It would break everything. I can't. Not now. Not ever, probably. My dad needs me. My mom depends on me for everything. My wife, she counts on me. I’m the rock. The Deacon. The good Christian man. And inside… I’m just empty. Just bone tired. I put on the suit, I put on the smile. And I fake it. Every single damn Sunday. And no one knows. Not a soul. It’s killing me. But what else am I gonna do? There’s no way out. Just… another Sunday. Another sermon. Another lie.