My wife has been peering out our window at something for hours.

A man I didn’t know knocked on the door. I opened it to find him cradling his pregnant stomach with one hand and his dead wife in the other. <br><br>“Please,” he said, “is your God here?”<br><br>“Why would He be here?” I asked. <br><br>“When will He be back?”<br><br>“Sir, He’s what we call a God of the heavens. I’m just a man.”<br><br>The man looked at me with blank eyes, then shifted the dead body of his wife to his shoulder. “I just can’t leave her out here for too long anymore.”<br><br>“I understand,” I said. Naomi wasn’t so pleased about it, but we invited him in. <br><br>The man was two months along. He had asked us to call him Arin, which might be a traditional name in his land, but it was an insult in mine. It was a name we gave to anyone who insisted the world wasn’t what we said it was. In this case, though, it was his name, so we had no choice but to use it. <br><br>I didn’t ask questions, but his dead wife’s body was extremely decomposed. She may have died days or even weeks ago, as her flesh was falling off her bones in hunks. <br><br>Now Arin seemed to move as if he’d had a revelation. “I remember,” he said. “I can feel him fighting my bile. It’s going to be soon.”<br><br>Naomi was in tears as Arin went with his dead wife to the bathroom. I’m sure she had never thought that being a priestess would involve so many unexpected births, dead wives, and bloody bathrooms. <br><br>I went in to check on them. Arin was about to give birth to our God. She was in the tub, listening as he tried to calm it down. <br><br>“Don’t do this,” he whispered to his belly. “I’ll find you another way out.”<br><br>He noticed my presence. “You can hear? Does it sound like He’s getting impatient?”<br><br>“Gods can sometimes be impatient,” I said. “But He’s a good God.”<br><br>The sounds of wailing and scratching from Arin’s stomach grew louder. <br><br>“Do you think He remembers?” Arin asked, clutching his stomach. <br><br>“Remembers what?”<br><br>He took a deep breath and panted as his stomach continued to writhe. “Do you think He remembers the last time He was pregnant? Was He a joy? Was He easy to give birth to?”<br><br>“I’m sure He’ll be fine,” I said. “Now stop straining.”<br><br>Arin shook his head, tears falling from his eyes. “I can’t hold it much longer. I’m so sorry. You two are so nice.”<br><br>Just then, a hand burst from Arin’s stomach. It was mangled and bloody with bones missing. “It was a good life,” he whispered before his screaming drowned everything out. <br><br>I turned to go get Naomi, but she was already behind me. “He’s killing the baby,” she said.<br><br>“Not on purpose,” I replied. “This is the price of Godhood.”<br><br>But Naomi had already run off, grabbing the butcher knife from the kitchen and rushing back into the bathroom with it. <br><br>“Naomi,” I said, “no.”<br><br>But she was determined. With the knife, she carefully dissected Arin’s dead wife, pulling her open and carefully placing the hand inside. <br><br>“I can’t sew,” Naomi told me. “But I can do this.”<br><br>I helped her cut Arin’s dead wife open and place her around the half-born God. Naomi was crying, but still determined to close Arin’s wound and carefully sew his dead wife around the half-born God. <br><br>Arin passed out a little while later, but Naomi stayed up late into the night sewing. In the end, she had sewn Arin’s dead wife into a surrogate womb. After a few hours of rest, Arin was awake and standing, cradling the womb that held our God. <br><br>The stitching held for two months. I’m sure Arin felt pain with every movement, but he could walk again. And two months later, the stitching burst, and out came a healthy baby boy. <br><br>Arin picked up the baby and held it to his breast. “I remember,” he said. “He’s a joy. I should have done this years ago.”<br><br>Naomi was in tears, but for some reason, I was worried. “It’s just like I told you,” I said. “He’s a good God.”<br><br>Arin ignored me. As he watched the baby, I could see the pain in his eyes. “I remember so many things now,” he said. Then he handed me the baby. <br><br>I raised an eyebrow, but Naomi took the baby happily. It was the first time I’d seen her smile in months. <br><br>“Now what?” I asked Arin. “Will you go back home?”<br><br>Arin nodded. “I’m sure my son will appreciate the surprise.”<br><br>Now Naomi turned to Arin. “Where should we send the invitations?”<br><br>Arin shrugged. “I’ll tell you later.”<br><br>I was sullen as Naomi wrote down a list of what we’d need for the wedding. I had always wanted a normal life, with a normal job, a normal wife, and a normal son. But I was a priest, and our son was a God. It was only natural that life would be difficult. <br><br>Now Naomi wasn’t so pleased. She had always dreamed about being a priestess. But what happened next was the worst moment of her life since our son was arrested. She ran outside to look at the yard, but it was a charred wasteland. <br><br>“Stay inside,” I told her, but she wouldn’t listen. She ran out into the yard to see if anything was left. <br><br>I received a call from the police an hour later. Naomi was in a mental health facility. As a priest, I wasn’t a denier myself, but I was allowed to visit her. The deniers found us a menace, but they would never technically break the rules. <br><br>When I came in, she was talking to a doctor. “I don’t deny,” she said. “I can see the world. I’m just worried.”<br><br>“It’s okay,” the doctor said. “You’ll get better.”<br><br>There was a knock. It was Arin. He was holding a package. I went to him and asked how he had known where to find us. <br><br>“Lawyer,” he said with a smile. <br><br>I smiled back before opening the package. It was a wedding dress. <br><br>“Beautiful,” I said. “Can you bring it inside?”<br><br>Naomi beamed as I handed her the dress. <br><br>Now Arin was no longer smiling. “Please,” he said. “Don’t do this. You’re the only friends I have. I’ll never see you again.”<br><br>With a heavy heart, I brought Arin inside. As my son was a God, it was only natural that life would not be easy. <br><br>As Arin walked into the room, I could hear Naomi’s sobs. But she wiped them away and smiled when she came out in her dress. <br><br>Now Arin was openly crying. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t tell my son the truth.”<br><br>“No,” I said. “He’ll learn someday. And it’s better he doesn’t know now. It’s always best to have him forget.”<br><br>“Thank you,” Arin said. “I’ll never forget this.”<br><br>I told him it was no trouble, but it was trouble. We weren’t ourselves anymore, and we had to live a lie. But we were happy. Arin was happy. He was so happy he forgot to take the dress when he left. <br><br>I only remember now because Naomi is still in the hospital. She spends her days staring out the window, watching something. They say she may never come back. <br><br>I’m sure she will. I’ll never lose faith in her. And now, as I look down at the dress, I remember our wedding. And how happy we used to be.