I thought the worst part would be losing everything.
I was wrong.
The real test wasn't exposure. It wasn't the meeting. It wasn't the silence that followed.
The real test was the waiting.
Days passed with no answers. No calls. No updates. Administrative leave felt like limbo—too guilty to relax, too faithful to panic. Every morning I woke up expecting clarity, and every night I went to bed without it.
That's when temptation came back.
Not loud.
Not desperate.
Calculated.
My phone rang late one night.
Unknown number.
I stared at it until it stopped, then rang again.
I answered.
"I didn't think you'd pick up," she said.
Her voice was softer now. Familiar. Dangerous.
"You shouldn't be calling me," I replied.
"I know," she said. "But I needed to hear your voice."
Silence filled the space between us. Not empty silence—loaded silence.
"They're blaming me," she continued. "He knows something's wrong. Not everything… but enough."
My chest tightened.
"I told them it was my fault," she said. "That you didn't do anything."
That was the hook.
Old me would've rushed in. Tried to save her. Tried to fix what I helped break. But I'd learned something—sometimes rescue is just another form of bondage.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "But I can't be part of this anymore."
"You're really going to walk away?" she asked. "After everything?"
"Yes."
Her breath caught. "You think God is proud of you right now?"
That question hit harder than anything else.
I closed my eyes.
"I think God is teaching me," I said. "And I'm done learning this lesson the hard way."
She didn't respond right away.
Then—one last attempt.
"You don't know what you're giving up."
I did.
Peace.
Freedom.
My life.
"I know exactly what I'm giving up," I said. "And I'm okay with it."
The line went dead.
I sat there for a long time afterward, phone in my hand, heart racing—not from desire, but from release. That was the moment I knew the hold was broken.
The next morning, I woke up lighter.
Still uncertain.
Still unemployed.
Still exposed.
But clean.
Later that day, my friend stopped by.
"You passed," he said, like he already knew.
"Passed what?"
"The test that comes after obedience," he replied. "Most people fail there."
I nodded.
Faith doesn't remove temptation.
It gives you power over it.
I didn't know what restoration would look like. I didn't know how long it would take. I didn't know if I'd ever get back what I lost.
But I knew something else.
God had my attention now.
And this time—I wasn't letting go.