Goodbye, Saintess.

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.