We were finished. Money was transferred, accounts were closed. “Job well done,” we’d said. And then the request appeared, like a gravy stain on white linen. Ignorant of our intentions. “But wait. It’s not right,” they protested. But. Can’t. Should’ve. Won’t. I feigned politeness in my rejection. They didn’t take it well. Accusations. Protestations. Begrudging acquiescence. “It shall be done,” I agreed in martyred surrender. “To serve the Divine,” the voice through the earbuds said, “is the highest calling.” Really? Are you certain? There is no other way? To forgive, to apologize, is as a kiss. And so I apologized, against every desire of my ego. And the Divine kissed me back.