Karlman's family home was three hours away, but it felt like three centuries. It was a small, cluttered, aggressively normal house that smelled of his mother's baking and the lemon-oil polish on the family piano. Where Eunice's home was a silent museum, Karlman's was a place of loud, overlapping noise: a sports game on the television, his younger siblings arguing, his mother humming in the kitchen.
And at the center of it, the quiet, unmovable core, was his father.
David Dowman was a man of simple, unshakeable faith. He was a pillar in their small, devout religious community, a place that saw the outside world as a sea of temptation. He was proud of Karlman's intelligence, but terrified of his ambition.
"Karl, you're too thin!" his mother, Sarah, said, pulling him into a hug that smelled of flour. "That city is no good for you. You're working too hard. Are you eating?"
"I'm eating, Ma," he smiled, letting himself be held for a moment.
"The prodigal son returns," his father said, not looking up from the heavy, leather-bound Bible he was studying at the kitchen table. "Are you staying for service tomorrow, or is this just a flying visit?"
"I can't, Dad. I have to be back in the city tonight."
David Dowman sighed and closed his book. The sound was heavy, final. "The city. Always the city. It's pulling you away, son. Your head is full of numbers and profit, but what about your soul?"
"My soul is fine, Dad. I... actually, there's a reason I came. I met someone."
His mother gasped, her hands flying to her chest, her face erupting in a joyous smile. "Oh, Karlman! That's wonderful! Who is she? Is it Rebecca from the fellowship? We always said she was a good, faithful girl."
Karlman felt a familiar coldness settle in his stomach. This was it. "No, Ma. She's not from the fellowship. Her name is Eunice."
The smile on his mother's face didn't fade, but it froze. His father's eyes, the same piercing blue as his own, narrowed.
"Not from the fellowship," David repeated. It wasn't a question. "What does that mean, Karlman? What faith is this woman?"
"She... I think her family is Presbyterian? It's not important to her. She's not..."
"Not important?" David's voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise of the house. The TV seemed to fade. "What do you mean, 'not important'? 'Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.' It's the first, the most important question."
"David, please," Sarah whispered, wringing her hands in her apron.
"No, Sarah. This is the moment. This is the test." He fixed his gaze on Karlman. "This woman. She is an unbeliever."
"She's not an 'unbeliever,' Dad. She's a good person. She's... she's the most incredible person I've ever met. She's brilliant, she's kind..."
"Is she saved?" his father demanded. "Does she know the truth? Does she follow the covenant? Or is she one of them? A worldly woman, who will pull you into her worldly life and her worldly church, and let your soul wither and die?"
Karlman felt his "A-type" personality, the one that commanded boardrooms, rise to the surface. It was a cold, hard anger. "You don't even know her."
"I know her kind," David said, standing up. He was shorter than Karlman, but he seemed to fill the kitchen. "I know the women of the city. They are full of ambition and pride. And this one... she's older than you, isn't she?"
Karlman froze. "How did you know that?"
"Your mother's cousin saw you. In the city. At a cafe. Looking at her, she said, 'like she was an idol.' An older woman. A stranger to the faith. Karlman, this is not love. This is a classic, textbook temptation sent to destroy you. It's a sin."
"A sin? To love someone?"
"It is a sin to turn your back on your God!" his father's voice boomed. "It is a sin to yoke yourself to darkness! Her family, their beliefs... they are a direct clash with our God, with our ways, with everything that matters! This union is forbidden. It is against His will."
"How can you possibly know God's will?" Karlman shot back, his voice dangerously low.
"Because it is written! You are choosing this... this woman... over your faith. Over your family."
"And what a family!" Karlman said, the coldness spreading through his veins. "One that slams a book and calls 'sin' on anything it doesn't understand. I'm not choosing her over you. I'm choosing her and me. She's the first person who's ever made me feel whole. Not the first person to tell me I'm 'lost' or 'in danger.' I'm in love with her. And if that's a sin, then I guess I'm a sinner."
Sarah was openly crying now, her sobs muffled in her apron. "Karlman, please... don't. Don't say that. Your father... he's only trying to protect you."
"He's trying to control me. Just like he's always tried to."
David Dowman looked at his son, his face carved from stone. "Then go. Go to your worldly woman. But know that when you walk out that door, you are walking into the wilderness. You are choosing to be outside His grace. And you are no longer one of us."
Karlman looked at his weeping mother and his unbending father. He felt a profound, bottomless grief, but no doubt. He turned and walked to the door.
"I love you, Ma," he said, his hand on the knob. He didn't look back.
He walked out into the cool afternoon air, got into his car, and drove. He didn't speed. He didn't shake. He just felt a great, terrible, and freeing emptiness. He had been exiled.
He drove for an hour before he pulled over. He took out his phone. His fingers were perfectly steady.
Are you free? he typed to Eunice. I need to see you. Now.