Peter divorced his wife.

It was too hard. The three kids, the pressure at work, the constant rows.

Or again, he was bored, she was too accommodating. Her kindness irritated him.

No, she had started to age. He saw the new wrinkles and the reminder of death in her face.

He has found someone else, at work. She understands him. Romance, chemistry, she is young. They remarry in a Surrey chapel, with hawthorn trees outside.

She is pregnant. They have a son, Anthony. They wait a year, and their daughter comes, Alexandra.

He misses the church. He goes to communion. No-one can stop him. He will not leave his new wife. He is responsible, now. He has grown up. They will not give up their love, the free expression of humanity. It is not a one-night-stand, it is not a cheap thing confined to one night, to one hotel.

In Warsaw he is in mortal sin. His soul is wounded unto death. In Berlin, he has spoken to a priest, and absolution settles on him. Salvation depends on geography. Holiness depends on a plane ride.

Nothing changes. Peter will die. His decision stands.

Peter is damned. Peter is saved. Peter sees God in the face. Peter is in the winter of hell.

Is it all the same? Does it matter, anymore?  {Who am I to judge ???}