"Thank you for being there, Simon, even when I pushed you away. Even in the darkest hours, I heard your words."

His hand rose to his lips as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a sob.

"You speak as though this were a farewell."

I did not answer him, because I knew the truth would hurt him too deeply. In my mind, it was one. I was preparing to die. I knew I could not live through hell again. Once you had known it, survived it, escaped it, it was impossible to accept returning there. I had no choice—but I promised myself… I promised that at the first sign, I would end my life. It would hurt Simon, Caiaphas, Saul perhaps, Enoch, and… Elie—but I chose myself. None of them knew what it was like.

Instead, I offered him what I hoped was a comforting smile as I took a bite of my tart. The fig and almond blossom brushed my tongue and my palate, and I closed my eyes briefly, charmed by that light, aromatic flavor. If this was to be one of my last meals, then I was happy. And in the hours that followed, Simon and I talked. Our conversations were light, a little sinful when we gossiped about Patriarch Seriel and Enoch, but our laughter was pure and kind.

A few hours during which I felt at home—happy and fulfilled; in my place, with an equal.

I loved Simon. Deeply. Even when our opinions diverged. I was the fruit of his womb.

Then, when night fell, after the meal, Patriarch Seriel bid us farewell. He had matters to attend to before tomorrow, he said. Enoch, though every inch a bearer in his posture, betrayed his eagerness all the same. One would have had to be blind not to see how much he longed for tomorrow—to take flight toward new horizons, toward a new household that would be his. Seeing him so happy, so admiring of the Patriarch, who showed no emotion beyond serenity, I realized that at the very least… I would bear witness to his daily life—his sorrows or his joys.

That was the only positive thing I could find in all of this.

As for the Patriarch and the look he gave me—me, the victim of his amber gaze—I remained frozen for long seconds, my heart lodged in my throat. Enoch was young, innocent, driven by passion, and I knew he lacked observation. He would miss everything in his Patriarch’s behavior. Innocent—he truly was. And it was up to me to protect him, for as long as I could, for as long as I was able. So it was not a look softened by a bearer’s sensitivity that I returned to the one who was tearing us from our home, but rather a gaze worthy of Saul: cold, fearless, and brave—brave, at least, as much as I could be.

When the Patriarch finally left, when the door closed and erased his long silhouette of white and gold, everyone returned to their daily lives. Everyone except Enoch.
He lingered with me for a while, telling me everything he was eager to discover—how impatient he was to take the road with me, to finally help me turn the page. He bounced in place, his hands clasped in mine, his muffled cries of pure joy surely echoing through the other rooms of the house.

I saw myself in him, in that candid haste, eight years earlier.

The sight quickly became unbearable, and in turn, I claimed I needed rest before “the big day.”

I left him to his joy and went upstairs, intending to reach my room. I also wanted to find Caiaphas and sleep with his small body in my arms one last time—but as I was about to go to his room, the flickering light of the candelabrum in Saul and Simon’s bedroom caught my eye. Then the sound made me stop. I looked on, intrigued by the murmurs.

"You did everything you could, Saul."

Simon was sitting on their bed, his long white hair cascading toward Saul’s face. Simon’s hands were caressing Saul’s dark strands with infinite tenderness, while Saul rested his head on Simon’s thighs. My breath caught—rare were the moments when I had been allowed to witness so much… love between the two of them. Saul’s eyes were closed, but I could see his lips drawn tight with emotion, enough to make my own heart ache in response.

"Do we really have to choose between our children? Must one be unhappy so the other can be happy?"

One way or another, Saul was talking about Enoch and me.

"Maybe he will find his place under Patriarch Seriel’s tutelage, just as Enoch will flourish there. Give him a chance," Simon reassured.

"You didn’t hear him. You didn’t hear him beg. If you had seen the way he knelt, the way he prayed and pleaded. What should I do? What kind of seeder would I be if I let our child sink into such despair?"

Simon’s hands brushed aside Saul’s dark strands and lifted his face. Saul opened his dark pearls of eyes, and the two of them looked at each other for long seconds without a word.

"I know," Simon whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I know he’s suffering, and how hard it must have been for you to remain unmoved. But… we are just as powerless as he is."

"If he commits the irreparable again—"

"We will have done our best."

I stepped back a few paces, my stomach twisting. My stigmas suddenly burned, just as fiercely as my heart. Gravity became too heavy to bear, and the weight of the world crashed down on my already exhausted shoulders. I fell to my knees and brought my hands to my face. I tried, vainly, to dry my tears and silence that small voice whispering, “He loves you. Saul loves you." Because realizing it only now was even more painful.

I saw our silent duels in my mind, all those times I had challenged him, all those times he had said nothing to the Society, allowing me to escape punishment. I saw his heavy silences during my misfortunes—silences that had never been indifference, but wordless compassion for my suffering.
I understood then that the harshness he had shown had been for me—for me to cling to something, to someone solid, while everything was collapsing around me. I saw him as he was, a seeder, and at last, after all these years, I understood Simon.

Perhaps he had never settled for the bare minimum. Perhaps intimacy had blinded me to all those moments they had shared together beyond pain and unspoken suffering. And I remembered myself, younger, before all that hell and that devil—how deeply I had once dreamed of being equal to Simon’s beauty and perfection. I had always known it; I had always seen the love between those two, but horrors and grief had made me forget. In the midst of suffering, love was still possible.

So I remained on my knees in that corridor, my heart heavy, overflowing with sorrow and love, because in that brief moment of clarity, I remembered everything that truly mattered.

Even if tomorrow… tomorrow I would come to forget everything—tonight, I remembered.

And it felt good.

Simon. Saul. Thank you.

Thank you for everything.