Page 81 of Omega's Faith

Dad looks torn between pride and horror. Mom has her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"I'll pray for you, Jonah," Pastor David says finally. "Clearly, you need it."

He leaves without another word.

"Jonah—" Dad starts.

“Dad, I love you but I need some space. It’s too much. Everything is just too much.” I'm out the door before either of them can respond.

The photographers notice me immediately. They surge forward like a tide:

"Jonah! Any comment on the nightclub photos?"

"Were you drunk?"

"Is it true you've already filed for divorce?"

I keep walking, head down, trying to push through. But then one voice cuts through the rest:

"What about Alex and Saskia? Care to comment on their reconciliation?"

I freeze. "What?"

The photographer, a young woman with a smile that belongs on a shark, grins when I stop. "The photos from the wellness retreat. They're all over the internet. Saskia Scarmetto leaving his cabin at dawn, both of them looking very... comfortable."

The world tilts sideways. I can't breathe.

"Here, look." She holds up her phone, swiping to a photo that makes my knees weak.

It's Alex, standing in a doorway I don't recognize, shirtless, hair messed like he's just woken up. And there's Saskia, in a silk robe, standing close enough that they could be—they look like—

"No comment," I manage, the words scraping my throat raw.

"But surely you must feel—"

"No. Comment."

I turn and walk back to the house, their questions following me like arrows:

"Did you know about the affair?"

"Is that why you really left?"

"Will you fight for alimony?"

I make it inside, close the door, lean against it. Mom and Dad are still in the living room, both looking at me with matching expressions of concern.

"I'm going to bed," I say, and somehow my voice doesn't break.

"It's three in the afternoon," Mom points out gently.

"I know."

I climb the stairs feeling ancient. In my room, I pull out my phone one more time.

Still nothing from Alex. But now I understand why.

The thought makes me want to throw the phone against the wall. Instead, I set it carefully on the nightstand and curl up under my grandmother's quilt, trying not to think about Alex with her.