Page 76 of Sacred Hearts

As I enter my office, my secure phone buzzes again. Marco’s message reads:Whatever happens, remember why we started this. Not just us. The reforms. The truth. They can take our positions, but they can’t take our purpose.

I smile despite everything. Even now, he thinks beyond himself, beyond us.

IV

Truth Revealed

19

The World Reacts

Marco

I feel as though I’m standing in the eye of a hurricane.

Within hours of the photos leaking, our relationship—mine and Matteo’s—has consumed every headline, talk show, and social media platform across the globe. The Vatican press office, usually so quick with measured statements, has fallen utterly silent. Meanwhile, screens everywhere display those unmistakable images of us in each other’s arms.

From my window, I can see St. Peter’s Square filling with people—some protesting, others supporting, many simply witnessing history unfold before them. A young woman holds a sign reading “Love Is Love” with a rainbow-coloured papal cross. Across from her, traditionalists clutch rosaries, their lips moving in fervent prayer for divine intervention. For me? Against me? I cannot tell from here.

I wince as Cardinal Lombardi appears on the television screen, his face flushed with indignation as he declares, “This is the end of the Church as we know it. The Holy Father has betrayed over two thousand years of tradition.”

I change the channel only to find a CNN panel debating the theological implications of my personal life.

“The early Church had no prohibition against homosexuality as we understand it today,” argues a progressive theologian. “These teachings evolved over centuries of human interpretation.”

“Nonsense!” counters her conservative counterpart. “Scripture is clear on this matter.”

Reports continue to flood in. I hear about debates in London pubs, emergency television episodes in America, diplomatic discussions in the White House. The world is talking about us—about me—in ways I never imagined possible.

“A Pope in love. That’s the real revolution,” someone reportedly said in a Dublin pub. The phrase echoes in my mind. Is that what this is? A revolution? Or simply the truth finally breaking free?

I turn off the television. My phone buzzes constantly with notifications. The hashtags are trending globally: #PopeInLove, #VaticanGate, #ResignPius. I see memes spreading—doctored images of Matteo and me as famous romantic couples from history and film. Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.

Sister Lucia enters after a gentle knock, her face a mixture of concern and something else—could it be hope?

“Your Holiness, I’ve been monitoring reactions across Catholic communities worldwide,” she says.

“Tell me,” I reply, steeling myself.

“The Philippines remains strongly supportive of you. Poland and Ireland are divided. Brazil is seeing massive demonstrations both for and against.”

Cardinal Sullivan joins us, his expression grim. “And Italy?” he asks.

“Complicated,” Sister Lucia responds. “The right calls for Valentini’s resignation, but younger Italians are rallying behind both leaders.”

I think of all the hidden souls watching this unfold—the priests, the faithful, those who have felt excluded by the Church’s teachings. Somewhere in Berlin, in Manila, in São Paulo, are there people whofeel seen for the first time? I pray there are.

* * *

As evening falls, I kneel in my private chapel. I think of Father Domenico, probably lighting candles and praying for us right now. “Give me strength, Lord,” I whisper. “The storm has only begun.”

On my desk lies a copy of The New York Times with an editorial titled “Love and Leadership: Can the World Accept Both?” The final lines catch my eye: “Perhaps the true test of our progress as a global society is not whether these men will be forced to choose between love and duty, but whether we are finally ready to accept that one need not preclude the other.”

I trace my fingers over Matteo’s face in the photograph beside the article. For the first time since the news broke, I feel something beyond anxiety and dread—a flicker of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, our love might open doors rather than close them.

The world is watching. And I am ready to face whatever comes next.

* * *

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