[https://i.imgur.com/G2WaPrH.png]

[https://i.imgur.com/peSup82.jpg]

One slice of time unravelled twenty years of marriage. The photo preserved the 50th second of the 23rd minute of the 20th hour of the 21st day of the 3rd month of the 2018th year, which is to say it was taken 1 day before Asha called Saheel to ask if they could invite Sean round, and 4 days before they let him and his wife into their house for an evening of drinks.

The photo displayed their kitchen countertop, upon which a dinner plate rode another, slick with bechamel sauce as it supported two sets of soiled cutlery. The stereo's LED screen read Smooth FM in icy blue, its antennae bolt upright. Rings of wine and rum dotted the surface from glasses picked up and put down again, and where the glasses had come to rest they still cradled a few drops of dark red liquid.

In the reflection of the overhead cabinet stood Dove's naked husband and Saheel's naked wife. Distorted and bulging as the photo was, this much was clear: the pair were grinning, their eyes out of focus, and their bits were hanging loose to gravity in relaxed postures. Sean held his phone; Asha a bottle of rum. His shirt and her dress were slung over the sofa behind them. Their faces were flushed with light exertion.

So there Saheel was, sitting on that sofa 4 days later, the light from the photo on Sean's phone battering him, while the rest of the house lay dark. He could just about catch the glare of starlight on the others' eyes and teeth. His body went numb, like he'd slipped into a frozen lake, and for a minute he simply kept zooming in and out of the picture as his internal monologue slipped away from him.

"I'm serious about getting you guys a taxi," said Asha. "Let me call you one. It's easy to get lost in town. It looks different when it's dark."

"Look," said Dove, putting on her jacket. "Thank you, but there's no need. I'm sure we can remember the way back just fine."

"I still haven't finished my coffee," said Sean. "You can put on your jacket and shoes all you like, honey, but—"

"Have you forgotten you've got an early morning service tomorrow?" said Dove. "What are you going to preach, exactly, other than your hangover?"

"Right," said Asha. "We're keeping you. Saheel, give him his phone back so he can go."

"What am I going to preach?" said Sean. "That's easy. Forgiveness."

"Then forgive me for being tired out, honey," said Dove. "Forgive me for wanting more than four hours of sleep. Forgive me for not being nineteen anymore."

He sipped his coffee, like he'd been doing for the past ten minutes, long after Asha had collected up everyone's cups to put in the dishwasher.

He said, "Sure. Forgiven."

"Saheel?" said Asha.

But Saheel barely heard her. He messaged the photo to himself, and then went delving into the metadata of the phone, options hidden behind options in location services, to find the list of frequent locations. His house was only registered twice: Wednesday and Today.

"Saheel?" Asha nuzzled him with her cheek, looking at what he was looking at. "Those aren't parrot photos! What are you doing?"

He jumped at the static, and it gave him enough energy to get up and walk over to the bathroom and drop the phone in the toilet and flush it round the bend.

"Sit down," he growled.

In the lounge, he turned on the reading light and swivelled it round to illuminate Sean, who was sprawling out on the sofa and raised a hand to shield his eyes.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"What are you doing?" Asha tugged at his arm.

"I said sit down," he said. She didn't, staring at his face with an affected, childlike uncomprehension, and without even thinking about it he shoved her; she fell back, tripping over the coffee table, landing splayed out on the sofa next to Sean.

Dove yelped, gripping the rum bottle as a makeshift weapon, and she backed away, making for the landline on the wall.

"Saheel," cried Asha, "What's this about? How... how could you?"

"I know what you two did on Wednesday," he said.

Asha twisted her face into a bewildered outrage, and all kinds of retorts rose up on her lips, but then she turned her head to see Sean smiling and holding his hands up like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar, and her anger evaporated. Instead, she folded her arms and leaned back on the sofa.

She said, "Okay."

"Okay?" said Saheel.

She nodded and reiterated, "Okay."

His wife had smiled at him near every second they'd been married, so to see her looking at him for the first time in twenty years with such a detached expression filled him with dread. She looked at him like he was a stranger.

Dove joined Saheel behind the light, and he knew that her deflated manner of her body language mirrored his, for behind her eyes he could see her reality crumbling — she gripped the rum bottle ever tighter, knuckles whitening, and glared at the adulterous pair.

"You said you were leading housegroup."

Saheel said, "Sandbank doesn't have a housegroup."

"So you were here with her instead?"

Sean shrugged, downing his coffee, and he slammed it on the table with a decisive thunk. He didn't even look at his wife — he was staring Saheel down.

"That's right. Sorry," he said.

"Sorry?" shouted Dove. "You think sorry's gonna cut it? How... how could you?"

"Sorry," he said.

"At least tell me she seduced you. She got you drunk on double strength rum. Slipped a drug in your water, or something. Anything other than that you planned this."

"Sorry," he said. He sat with his legs and arms open, as if he believed the word sorry was an impenetrable barrier.

"Why, Asha?" said Saheel. "Twenty years..."

"I was lonely," she said. "You love your PhD more than you love me. The moment you called me, I would have kicked him out. But you didn't call me, so I didn't kick him out."

"Are you trying to say this was my fault?"

"No. I'm sorry, Saheel. Please forgive me."

"Forgive us, Saheel," said Sean, grinning. "A good vicar has to learn to forgive those who do him wrong."

"Sean said you'd forgive us," said Asha. "Just one moment of weakness wouldn't hurt, if we repented afterwards. We'd still go to heaven."

"Would you listen to yourselves?" cried Dove. "You're asking for forgiveness, but you don't sound sorry in the slightest! Why would I ever forgive you? Stop fucking smiling to yourself! Our marriage is over, Sean! Do you understand that?"

"I'm sorry," said Sean.

"What good is it to be married to a vicar, anyway?" said Asha. "I'm a vicar's wife. I sit in the house and I clean it and I cook for him and I take messages for him while he goes off and follows his dreams."

"Then say that before you cheat!" shouted Saheel. "I would’ve renounced my faith for you! If you were so unhappy, why didn't you just leave?"

"Because I love you."

Saheel couldn't take it anymore. He shoved the lamp over, and the bulb smashed, scattering shards of glass all over the carpet. They were bathed in darkness. Asha cried out. He grabbed the bottle of rum off Dove and stepped toward the sofa.

Sean stood up, squaring out his chest. He leaned in to Saheel, and he whispered, "I'm a test sent from God to you, mate. I'm testing your forgiveness. You forgave me for Dove, and you get passing marks on that one, mate. Now it's time for you to decide. Are you one of God's children, one of Jesus's followers, or are you a sham? Are you preaching something other than the gospel?"

Saheel had been plagued with indecision all his life, and now he felt a familiar tugging in the back of his mind. Financial Auditing vs Theology — theology had been the will of god. Barden vs Sandbank — Sandbank had been the will of god. Dove vs Asha — Asha had been the will of god. The will of god vs the will of Saheel — the will of god was the will of god.

Forgiveness vs revenge — forgiveness was, above all, the will of god. But Saheel wanted something else.

"I hereby renounce my faith," said Saheel, and he took off his priest robe, and he tore away the crucifix on the chain around his neck until he stood before Sean in his underwear, and slugged the Barden Vicar straight in the face.

Sean tumbled down, landing heavily on the coffee table with a blow to the head. A crack rang out through the house, and blood pooled onto the carpet among the glass. He twitched exactly once before going dead still.

It might have ended there in the original timeline, but Saheel wasn’t finished. He took out his Fallen Water Pistol, glowing with limelight, and he shot Sean's head clean off.

"You killed him," cried Dove. "You just shot my fucking husband!"

"Not yet, I haven't," said Saheel, casually executing Asha as he called for the lift. "But don't worry, sister. When I'm done with him, there won't be a single atom of his soul left to forgive.