Hera never let me stay in her room overnight. She claimed that an Awakenist must remain calm and undistracted during her practice. That meant, even on the one night we could have sex, I had to tidy the bed for her before leaving alone once it was over.

It took Edmund's presence for me to realize these strict, nearly monastic rules were meant for me alone. They formed a wall of defense against a single enemy.

My heart broke. I could not speak. My limbs grew numb. I felt as if I was losing all capacity to feel anything except the knife twisting in my chest.

Yet Hera showed no sign of panic. She just frowned.

"Why didn't you knock before coming in like a proper, civilized adult?" she thundered. "Get out!"

I pointed at myself, then at Edmund. Was this some twisted joke? My wife had let another man into her "sacred abode" for the night.

Moments ago, he had been drying her hair while she wore only a bath towel for modesty. And I, her actual husband, had to knock to announce my arrival in my own house? How little respect did she have for me? For this marriage?

Disappointment consumed me. That was all I could feel. "Let's get a divorce, Hera."

For more than five years, I had been the accommodating one. She issued cold, rigid demands and limitations, and I made concessions. I had grown used to being gentle and caring toward a harsh, uncaring Saintess.

This was the first time my attitude matched hers.

"A divorce? Just because of this?" Hera looked at me in disbelief, shaking her head. "No. That is not happening."

Her firmness caught me off guard. I had assumed this was what she and Edmund both wanted.

Was she trying to save the marriage? Had she realized she still cared about me?

I knew it sounded foolish, but I couldn't help it. I had been in love with her for over five years. Extending grace to her had become second nature.

Then she said, "I'm still in a Period of Observation. Divorce violates an Awakenist Commandment. I won't commit a sin. Even if you want one, it'll have to wait until this period ends."

She spoke as if this were the most natural thing in the world, like it was obvious.

And once again, I realized I was the only one who still believed in this marriage. The pain in my chest rose to my throat. I wasn't her husband anymore. I wasn't even a man in her eyes.

"Ira, I'm really sorry," Edmund murmured. "I never wanted Bobby and me to be the reason for your divorce. I should go."

He let out a quiet sigh, then lifted Bobby into his arms.

I closed my eyes. This pathetic display was the last thing I needed. He wasn't wrong—this was my house, not his. I was the one who had built a home here. He had broken in and acted like he belonged.

I didn't expect Hera to stop him.

"No. Bobby's things are already unpacked. There's no reason for either of you to leave," she said. "Stay. This is between me and him."

Then she turned to me. Her eyes were cold. "You're the one who should go. Can't you see how young Bobby is? Why are you forcing a child to be separated from his father? Be a man."

So now it was my fault? And "be a man?" Should I clap for her the next time she slept with someone else right in front of me? Would that make me more of a man?

The words burned in my mouth, but I swallowed them. Her stony expression reminded me that nothing I said could reach her anymore.

This marriage had turned into a farce. It was time to leave.

I stepped out of Hera's room in silence and started packing. Only then did I realize how little I actually owned. My life had revolved around her and this house. Everything that was truly mine fit into a single box.

The room was empty of me in less than an hour.

That was it.

I left a letter behind—nothing emotional, just a reminder to show up at the courthouse next Monday to finalize the divorce.

I opened the door and came face-to-face with Hera, who frowned at the sight of my luggage.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Anywhere but here. It's yours now, Hera. It's over."

"Bobby's right outside. Stop trying to ruin everyone's morning. That's selfish," she snapped. "When I said to leave, I meant go back to your room. Not this."

Her gaze landed on the letter I'd left on the table. She grabbed it, read it, then tore it apart in a fury. "Don't make me repeat myself, Sebastian. We are not getting a divorce! Push for it again and you'll face the consequences!"

"What consequences?" I shot back. "Like the ones you'll face for breaking your sacred commandments? I'm curious, Hera. When you were sleeping with him, did it ever cross your mind what Lord Zeno might think of you?"

Her hand struck my face with a sharp crack.

"Shut up!" she screamed. "How dare you insult my god?!"

I stood frozen, stunned. I hadn't expected her to hit me. Our marriage had been distant, even loveless at times, but we'd still managed to treat each other with a shred of respect. She had never hit me before.

It was the final blow—if the camel hadn't already collapsed under the weight.

"Then take this as me breaking under the pressure of your Awakenist vows," I said. "We don't need to turn this into a war. I'd rather not be enemies with someone I once called my wife."

Her fury faltered. For a moment, her expression softened. "I'm sorry I hit you, but you know how much my faith means to me. You shouldn't have provoked me!"

I smiled bitterly. "People can say anything they want to look innocent."

She went still, then her rage flared up again. "Why can't you trust me, Sebastian?! I'm an Awakenist. I don't lie. I told you I wasn't cheating, and that's the truth! Why do you always assume the worst and accuse me of things you've imagined?!"

"More like I stopped it just in time for it not to count as cheating," I spat.

Her face twisted. She grabbed my suitcase. "Go wherever you want, but we are not getting a divorce!"

She stormed out.

I stood there, trembling from grief and fury. I could barely breathe.

She thought taking my luggage would stop me. Unfortunately, she was wrong. I could always buy new clothes. I'd rather start over from scratch than stay another minute in that house.

I walked out. I hadn't gone far before my phone rang.

"Captain Holst?"

"Grimwald, bad news. A forest wildfire broke out in the mountains to the west. Three teams have already died on duty, and the situation shows no sign of improving. We're next."

My nerves tightened. Suddenly, my personal matters slipped from my mind. I had to be there for the team immediately.

"I'm ready for duty, sir!"

If the wildfire spiraled out of control, countless innocent lives would be at risk. Compared to that, my personal drama was laughably trivial.

"Not yet, Grimwald. You don't fully understand what we're facing. I want you to spend today with your family," Albert said. "Especially your wife. If I remember correctly, you're married, right?"

I stopped in my tracks. A heavy weight settled over me.

Everyone at the station knew I was married, but Hera had never appeared in person. She always refused to attend social events, even when others brought their families. I was certain my captain and teammates had nearly forgotten she existed.

"I understand, Captain Holst."

The call ended, and I sighed.

I had been Hera's husband for five years. Of course, I could predict her reaction or lack of one. Why would the Saintess care about the dangers I faced? Life was fleeting to the Awakened.

Even after warning her about the risks of my missions, the most she had ever offered was a scripted "take care," delivered without sincerity. I had grown so used to her apathy that I stopped burdening her with my work.

But this time, it could really be the end for me. Even if Hera showed no warmth or concern, I still had a duty to inform her.

When I finally returned home, I discovered a side of her I had never seen before. She was dressed to the nines—stunningly beautiful—and ready to leave in her car.

I approached her from the window. "Hey, I've got something I need to tell you."

She dismissed me. "Tell me after I return. I've got an emergency event to attend."

I frowned but did not back away. People suffering from that wildfire needed help immediately. I had to tell her now.

I wonder what kind of an "emergency event" it could be. Hera only ever went out for two reasons: work or a visit to an Awakenist monastery.

Then I noticed the passenger side. Edmund sat there, breaking Hera's silence. "Mr. Grimwald, I apologize. There's an afternoon tea party at my company today. She's my companion."

He turned to her. "Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should go alone."

"No. He never has anything important. I can't say the same for you," she replied placidly. She then started the engine and drove away.

For a while, I did not move. It was as if my entire body had turned to stone. I certainly felt my heart weighing down on my chest.

Hera had declined so many of my social events for years. Yet when Edmund asked, she accepted immediately and dressed for the occasion.

I could not even ignore the fact that the event wouldn't even start until the afternoon, yet they were leaving early in the morning.

"An Awakenist would not lie, you said. And yet you had to be lying. You treat Edmund like he is your husband. Why else would you agree to be his companion? What, is your attendance somehow benefiting Bobby's wellbeing too?" I muttered bitterly.

There was no reason for me to stay here any longer. This house used to mean something to me, but now, it was just an eyesore. Every step I took to leave here felt like crushing every precious memory I shared with her under my foot.

…

In the evening, Hera suddenly sent me a text.

Hera: [I'm free. We can have dinner. You can tell me about whatever you wanted to say.]

It read as though the Saintess was generously granting me an audience out of pity.

I hesitated but decided to seize the opportunity. After all, we could discuss the divorce. If I were to perish in the fire, I would want to leave the world without any regret or lingering attachment.

I reserved a table at the restaurant where we had our first date. I told her to come alone.

This was our beginning. It should also be our end.

The restaurant's interior remained remarkably unchanged. The same wind chime still hung over the window.

If only we hadn't changed, too.

She never responded. I waited until after nine at night, when the restaurant was about to close.

I should have known. The Saintess felt nothing for me. I did not even feel bitter. Her indifference was as unyielding as the laws of nature.

Just as I was about to leave, Hera arrived—with Edmund and Bobby.

I frowned. This was meant to be the end of our relationship. I had asked for privacy and no witnesses. She clearly did not care.

"I came straight from work. Edmund and Bobby haven't eaten yet. What's wrong with them tagging along?" she demanded.

Before I could protest, the man and his son took their seats across the table. Hera ignored the empty spot beside me and squeezed in on their side.

"Edmund said he'll cover the bill. He feels sorry for everything that's happened," she stated. "Honestly, Sebastian, you should learn from him. Be a little more generous and big-hearted."

She sounded so nonchalant, as if she hadn't just sunk another knife into my chest. I held my tongue only because this was going to be our last dinner.

I had planned to say goodbye, but Edward and Bobby's presence made it impossible. I wondered if Hera would regret bringing them along if she knew this was truly the end.

Then again, maybe it no longer mattered. She had wasted this chance and showed little remorse. The Saintess had become so distant and cold that I could no longer imagine her warmth.

"Mr. Grimwald, please help yourself to anything you like! Dinner's on me!" Edmund said cheerfully. "Ira has been very kind. I'm also thrilled you've agreed to adopt Bobby. Thank you so much!"

He raised his glass to my direction, but I stared at him without moving.

He froze in embarrassment. That's when Hera said softly, "Don't waste your good spirit on him. He's not as big-hearted or friendly as you are."

She clinked her glass against Edmund's, casually dismissing me in the process. Then she called out sweetly, "Bobby, cheers!"

They toasted and laughed, already deep in conversation about decorating Bobby's room and what colors he liked.

At that moment, I felt like a stranger sharing the same table. A realization struck me, and I asked, "Was it you who wanted to have dinner with me? Or was it him?"

"Of course it was him. He wanted to apologize for your hurt feelings," she replied, annoyed. "I wouldn't have had the time."

If I had any hope that she cared about me, it died at that moment. As it turned out, what was supposed to be our last goodbye was a suggestion on Edmund's part. The Saintess herself would not have cared.

It pained me. But at the same time, it gave me the push to say what I wanted to say.

"My captain called. There's a wildfire in the west, and they need me to help contain it. It's dangerous. I may not make it back," I said. "I think we should get a divorce. That way, you'll be free of me. You can all be together."

A sense of relief overcame me, but it faded quickly. As time passed, fresh waves of pain crashed in. No one had listened. Not a single person met my gaze. They laughed, chatted, and told jokes. They simply did not care.

I raised my voice. "Hera Bishop, did you hear what I said?!"

She sliced a piece of steak and set it on Bobby's plate. "Oh? Yeah. Take care."

I laughed. How the hell had our relationship managed to last this long like this?

Fine. She was disinterested. I had no reason to be here anymore.

Just as I stood to leave, the hanging light above me broke loose, swung down, and smashed into my head. Glass shattered. Blood poured down my face—hot, thick, and sticky. I could feel every eye in the restaurant lock onto me.

"Sebastian!" Hera shot to her feet and rushed toward me.

I had never seen Hera panic before. She looked like she was about to cry for me!

Could she actually still love me?

Then, suddenly, I heard Bobby wail tearfully, "Mooom! Dad is bleeding! I'm scared!"

She turned. Edmund was covering his bleeding shoulder, wincing. Some of the glass shards seemed to have cut through his skin a little.

"I'm taking you to the hospital!" Hera declared instantly.

She immediately forgot me, took his hand, and prepared to leave.

"Wait. We have to bring him along, right? His injury is worse," Edmund murmured.

Bobby, however, bawled. "I don't want him to follow us! He's bleeding everywhere! I'm scared!"

Edmund did not correct his son or insist that I needed help. Instead, he looked at Hera expectantly.

She took only a few seconds to make her choice.

"We can't bring him. Bobby's afraid of blood and might faint seeing Sebastian like this," she declared. "He's gonna be fine. He's a firefighter and knows how to do first aid on himself. Let's go."

She scooped Bobby into her arms, took Edmund by the hand, and left me bleeding in the restaurant where we'd had our first date five years ago.

Blood and tears blurred my vision.

The restaurant owner was the one who took me to the hospital. Fortunately, the cuts turned out to be less serious than the bleeding had made them out to be. All I needed was some first aid and a bandage.

The physical pain was nothing compared to what tore through my chest. I lay on the sick bed, my senses growing numb. I knew she wasn't thinking of me.

I just wished my injury was not severe enough to compromise my ability to help with the wildfire.

That night, I drifted between painful wakefulness and torturous dreams. Through it all, my phone stayed silent. No texts. No calls. Maybe only Edmund and Bobby mattered to her now.

…

When my phone finally rang, it was a call from Albert. "Grimwald! Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir! I'm ready for duty."

My head was no longer hurting as much. I got out of bed and flexed my muscles a little. They were fine.

I did not think I needed to inform Hera of anything anymore. The Saintess had no time for a mortal of my status.

"Alright. No need to rush to the station, Grimwald. The situation is dire. Our superiors are making sure that our equipment is complete and sufficient before deploying the Beta Team," Albert explained. "They told me we'll be heading out in the afternoon. I'll update you once they confirm a more specific time."

I was stunned. I had to wait another half a day? Where was I supposed to go in the meantime?

Home? No. This might be my last time on Earth. That was all the more reason to avoid putting myself in a dehumanizing situation.

Suddenly, Hera called.

"Sebastian, please refrain from coming home for the moment. Bobby said he doesn't like seeing you. Every time you're around, his father either gets upset or has some kind of accident. He's just a child; it's natural for him to think this way. You need to give him more space and time to adjust," she said coldly.

"I reserved a hotel room for you and instructed the majordomo to bring your suitcase over. While you're at the hotel, Edmund will stay home to help Bobby settle in." She paused. "Don't worry, Edmund will sleep in your room. Nothing will happen between us."

Nothing had changed. She never called to discuss anything—only to inform.

"That is all. I still have a meeting to attend."

I listened to the disconnect tone once the call ended. She'd grown bolder, hadn't she?

Since I found out about them, she no longer cared to hide. She adopted the child without asking for my opinion. Now, she had found an excuse for Edmund to stay in the house while kicking me out.

The only thing missing was an admission of their relationship. But why would she grant me that honesty? To the Saintess, I was just a mortal.

"Fine. I guess I wasted five years of my life on her."

With a mission this dangerous, I could very well be at the end of my life. Whatever time I had left would be too precious to be wasted on this drama.

It was time to move on.

…

After being discharged, I headed to the hotel. The majordomo had sent my suitcase along with Hera's laptop. He had probably mistaken it for mine, since I had gifted it to her for our anniversary.

I had accidentally chosen a color she disliked—black—but she did not seem to mind and had been using it ever since. This laptop was her entire workstation.

At first, I did not even want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Then I remembered the photos we might have stored there, memories of better days before she became obsessed with the Awakenist creed. I wanted those memories gone. If our relationship was over, the pictures should be gone as well.

I turned on the laptop. Before I could start going through her files, her Discord window popped up.

Edmund's photo stung my eyes. She'd pinned him to the top of her chat list and nicknamed him "Ed." Just two letters, but they carried a staggering sense of closeness. I could choke on it.

What about our chat? I used to message her a dozen times a day. Where was our conversation?

I scrolled down, my heart aching. Edmund was the only one pinned at the top. Below him were groups within her company, conversations with other executives, and her clients. Then came Awakenist groups, and even a chat with the monastery abbot.

I kept scrolling until I reached the very bottom, where my original Discord handle appeared. She hadn't bothered to give me a nickname. Worse, I was the only one muted.

No wonder her replies were always so scarce. I could send her a dozen texts and get only one- or two-word answers.

That affectionate, two-word nickname contrasted sharply with the cold ,curt replies she sent after I poured out my worry and care. The ironic sentimental difference was tearing me apart.

A chill sank deep into my bones. It was suffocating. I couldn't bear to read any further.

Then, suddenly, a notification appeared.

It was from "Ed." He had sent a dozen pictures of Hera attending Bobby's school events. The first showed all three wearing matching shirts, holding hands, their faces lit with wide grins.

The second showed Hera and Edmund walking side by side as they led Bobby to poke a balloon.

The third showed Edmund sharing a cookie with her. They were eating it at the same time, their lips nearly touching.

The pictures just kept getting more and more intimate. I had never seen the stoic and aloof Saintess show such an array of emotions.

"An Awakenist must always remain composed," she used to tell me.

Yet, she looked overjoyed in every photo.

And even more damningly was the timestamp at the bottom of the photos. These pictures were taken ten minutes ago.

So that was why she hadn't wanted me to come home. She was worried I would see all of this. And to think she'd told me she had a meeting today.

"You said an Awakenist never lies. But lying is all you've done throughout our marriage," I muttered.