All Chapters of THE ALTAR WE BURNED : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting soft gold over the wooden fence and cracked path that led to the little cottage on the town’s edge. The air smelled like damp earth and wildflowers, and the evening breeze stirred the curtain hanging in the only window. Inside, the silence was warm, sacred and soothing to the soul.Auther sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the worn leather-bound Bible in his lap—the same Bible he had left behind the night he walked away from everything he knew. Michael had delivered it that morning, a quiet but monumental gesture. No sermon. No guilt. Just a nod, and the words, “It’s yours. Still.”Auther had clutched it like an anchor, heart hammering, as Michael walked away. That gift, humble and deeply personal, felt like an absolution. The weight of it brought tears to his eyes, and though Michael hadn’t said it outright, Auther knew it was his father, mentor, brother and friend's way of saying, I still believe in you.He

The day came, The day of the meeting where Arthur life after his little exile will be examined arrived. It came calm but too suspicious to trust. The sky was too blue, the wind too gentle. It was the kind of morning that made you wonder what storm had passed or what storm was still hiding behind the horizon. Auther had dressed in his old priest’s attire. Not out of fear. Not even out of nostalgia. But out of something deeper—a strange desire to present himself as a whole man, wearing both who he was and who he had become. The black clerical shirt, the white collar—it all still fit. But it didn’t feel like armor anymore. It felt like memory. Isabella stood at the door, watching him straighten the cuffs. “You sure you want to go alone?” she asked. He looked at her, love deep in his eyes. “If I go alone, they’ll see I’m not hiding behind you. If I go alone, they’ll know I’m choosing

The rain had not stopped since morning. It whispered against the windows and slipped through the trees like a secret, drenching the little house in a melancholic rhythm. Isabella sat curled on the sofa, Auther’s head resting on her lap, her fingers combing through his damp hair. The fireplace crackled softly, casting shadows across his face, softening the edges of the guilt he carried in his eyes. For hours, neither of them spoke of the letter. Instead, they stayed wrapped in each other, pretending the world hadn’t crept into their bubble, pretending that love alone could keep it out. “I don’t want her to come,” Isabella said finally, her voice breaking the hush. “I don’t want her to take you from me.” “She won’t,” Auther replied, without hesitation. “She has no power over me anymore.” Isabella said nothing, but her fingers stilled for a moment in his hair.

Catherine’s POVCatherine sat alone in the dim light of her cramped apartment, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and bitter regret. Outside, rain hammered relentlessly against the windowpanes, drumming a mournful rhythm that echoed the chaos in her soul. She held a chipped ceramic mug in her hands, once filled with tea now long cold and forgotten. Her gaze was fixed on the glowing screen of her phone, where a collage of images and videos played on loop — Arthur smiling, laughing, holding Isabella’s hand, his eyes bright with a happiness Catherine hadn’t seen in years.The sight stabbed through her chest like a jagged knife.Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the fortress of bitterness she’d built around herself cracked. Tears—hot, relentless—spilled down her cheeks. She wasn’t just grieving a lost love; she was mourning a shattered dream, a life she had tried so desperately to cling to, only to watch it slip through her fingers like smoke

The wind was gentle that afternoon, tousling Isabella’s curls as she leaned against the garden wall, her journal nestled in her lap. She had taken to writing again—an old hobby she once abandoned during the harsh seasons of her life. But something about this new chapter with Arthur had rekindled her desire to express, to explore, to expand.Life was different now. In the little town where peace once seemed like a myth, the gentle rhythm of routine had become a gift. The house on the outskirts of town had blossomed into a sanctuary—one built on love, healing, and quiet hope.Arthur arrived from the church library later than usual that day. A soft smile played on his lips as he watched Isabella from the walkway, admiring her grace in that sun-kissed moment. She looked up and caught his gaze, her eyes lighting up.“You look like you’ve seen a miracle,” she teased, standing to meet him.“I have,” he replied, touching her cheek. “Every single day with