It’s late, like really late. My phone screen feels too bright even on dim. I shouldn’t be typing this, it feels… wrong. But I can't keep it inside anymore. I mean, I’m a deacon. A DEACON. In the church my granddad helped build. My dad was a deacon too, before he went to ‘Nam. My whole family, for generations, we’re the pillars, you know? The ones who show up, who help with the potlucks, who lead the prayers. Everyone in this town, they see me and they see the church. It’s all tied together. They see my kids, they see my wife, and they see that whole… package. But here’s the thing. And this is gonna sound messed up. I don’t believe any of it anymore. Not a single word. It started slow, just little doubts, after... well, after things overseas. You see things, you do things, and it just… changes you. Everything feels different afterwards. Civilians, they don’t get it. They talk about God’s plan and I just nod, but inside I’m screaming. Like, if God had a plan, why did so many good men die for nothing? Why did I survive when better men didn't? I mean, I don't even — whatever. It’s all just… stories now. Pretty stories, sure, but not real. Not for me. So every Sunday, I stand up there. I read from the Bible. I give the sermon. I look out at all those familiar faces, the ones who’ve known me since I was knee-high. And I smile. I shake hands. I say "God bless you." And it’s all a performance. A really good one, I guess, because nobody suspects a thing. My wife, she’s so proud. My kids look up to me. And I can’t tell them. I can’t. Because if I did, it would just… shatter everything. Our reputation, our place in this town, it would all just crumble. And I don’t know what would be left. I feel like such a fraud. The biggest fraud in this whole damn county. And I just keep doing it. Week after week. Because what else am I supposed to do? Blow up my whole life? For what? To be honest? Honesty feels like a luxury I can’t afford right now. The shame… it’s crushing.