Sitting through a sermon, it was my first since I was a young child. For the longest time, I refused to set foot in a church. The belief was, I could worship elsewhere, and it did not matter where. Kneeling I prayed, hoping that what I was doing was the right thing.

How many times does the wrath play over and over inside my mind like a broken Led Zeppelin record? I wonder why and what I could have done to change things. Then I realize.

Nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome. I must soldier on and work through the tough shit. I have taken baby steps towards acceptance.

I think I have found faith.

Grasping the rosary beads in the palm of my hand, a tear came streaming from my eye. I was letting go. Letting go of the pain those bastards caused me. It tore at me, eating me alive until I came clean to Clay and Jax. Seeing my boys fight was breaking my heart. I thought maybe if I revealed what my conscience wanted me to tell them, it would settle them and bring them together as stepfather and stepson. The words escaped from my mouth about what had occurred, and I looked for Clay's reaction.

He did not like seeing me hurt. The only time he ever saw me like this; vulnerable and weak was when John and I lost Tommy to the family flaw. Same flaw I had overcome. Also the same one Abel, my grandson and little warrior fought and is healing.

Placing his hands on my cheeks, he bent in closer to me, pressing his nose against mine. I fell apart, tears streaming down my face.

My healing has just begun.