A priest once told me the greatest tragedy isn’t that a man has sinned, but that he refuses to face his sins. He once knew a man who had an affair with a married woman. She got pregnant. The child was his, but her husband never knew. So another man raised his son, loved him, and called him his own. He watched from a distance, unable to say a word. The man said nothing for three years, not to the husband, not to the boy, not to God. He believed he had already betrayed Him. When he came to confess, the priest gave him a Psalm: “A broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” Then he told him the hard part. Confession doesn’t undo anything. The truth may tear a family apart; silence lets another man live a lie; and there’s a child who never asked for any of this. “I can’t promise it turns out well,” he said. “But whatever you choose, you carry it.” Then he turned to me, “Acun, every boat has holes. Water finds its way in. You can sit there blaming the boat, or pretend you don’t see the water because you’re ashamed. The water still rises. Or you get a bucket, bail it out, and repair what you can. Some holes are harder to fix. Some leave a mark. God never promised a perfect boat, but you never need one.”