Helene stands on the weathered church steps at dusk, pulse racing under Neil's palm at the small of her back. Years of quiet service have taught her to fear the congregation's eyes, yet the handyman's stern voice demands she fix her gaze on the open doorway while he lifts her skirt.

The restored railing takes her weight as his hand rises. The tool shed door waits nearby, left ajar, and any sound from the path below could expose them both. She trembles between terror and the need to obey, knowing one order will decide how far he takes her before the first strike lands.