I can't sleep after Eve and I learned the true nature of our relationship. She took an abrupt turn for the worse, like the Yellowstone super volcano, blowing up with a fiery blast and spewing lava on me until nothing remained but ash. The actual volcano lies beneath us and I swear I heard the ground rattle during her initial explosion. Might have been my imagination. I'm not sure. May have been Eve fuming hot breaths on the forest floor, exhaling with such ferocity it made me think she was about to blow another round of magma. It wasn't just anger. She got mad at me before, like when Jinx and I brought back the transmitters without her knowledge. This is different.

We were so innocent before we placed the apple-shaped earpieces into our ears and unlocked the woes of our past. We were growing closer, even though we had only spent four nights on planet Earth.

Four nights. That's all.

I count them all in my head as both of us lie with our backs to each other, a deep division between us that might as well be the continental divide.

We learned so many things in one millisecond. In an instant, we know everything about Cain and Jezebel. We know how he sabotaged Abraham's reseeding and why, but what stands out the most is the reason Eve and I are at such odds with each other now. We loved each other before we partook of the knowledge of good and evil. Now, regret and bitterness drown us.

Oh yes, we're married, but if the global flood hadn't forced us to evacuate Earth, and rushed us into stasis, we would have gotten a divorce.

As I lie there, I stare into the dark forest with a mounting frustration about why she blames me for what happened.

"I loved her as much as you did," I say. "You can't think for one second I didn't."

"You knew I wanted children, Noah, and once that dream was over, I couldn't deal with it, and I still can't."

She sobs like it just happened, when, in fact, it occurred over a century ago. Over one hundred and seventeen years ago, but to us, it's a fresh wound. Losing a daughter.

"We never got to see her alive," she says. "I just wanted to hold her and see her beautiful eyes staring up at me. See a smile on her face. Just once."

We lost our baby girl in the third trimester. A miscarriage when we were so close to starting a family. We were married for three years, like Abraham had told us. We were going to name her Autumn because Eve loved that time of year when the heat of summer faded.

We named her Autumn, but we never got to hear her cry, or see her take her first step, or see her off on her first day at school.

"I'm sorry." I roll over to look at Eve. She lies with her back turned to me, her shoulders shaking with each sob. "I know it was difficult to accept what the doctor told you, especially after it was so hard to get pregnant."

She spins to face me. "It wasn't difficult. It was heart wrenching to find out I could never have a baby. Ever."

"I know."

"And what did you do?" Her eyes stab me. "You lost yourself in your work with Abraham, and when you came home, you stayed in your study, drinking. When you weren't in there, and it wasn't dark outside, you were in your garden."

"It hurt me too, Eve."

"You made me go through it alone, and for that, I can't forgive you."

I turn away and squeeze my eyes shut, but morning won't come fast enough. When it comes, she won't speak to me, and even if she would, I wouldn't know what to say to her. Jinx has been quiet during all this, as if we asked him for privacy and he obliged, but we didn't. I guess his artificial intelligence doesn't have an application for bitterness and regret.

We pour water on the embers from last night's campfire and resume our journey through the forest, heading west, according to Jinx. Based on the moderate temperatures during the day and at night, I assume it's late spring. There was a slight chill last night, colder than our first night spent outside. When goosebumps appeared on Eve's shoulders, I suggested we start a small fire. Jinx noted that Cain and Jezebel might spot the smoke in the sky, but when clouds covered the moon and darkened the night, he changed his opinion and said we could if we thought it necessary. That was before we used the transmitters and learned about our past life together.

Now, since I know the difference between limestone and granite, and a multitude of other rock formations and soil variations, I probably will use more caution about other things. I'm a planetary scientist specializing in geology and chemistry. This new knowledge and awareness should help us stay vigilant with murderers on our tails.

Though I feel the sobriety of knowledge directing my thoughts, I still feel the same way about Eve. I remember the past. I know what I did and how I treated her. How I drifted away into solitude and despair. The fact we lost our only child and couldn't have anymore hurt me too and drove a wedge between us. It's all I can think about now, but despite it all, I remember with vivid clarity how hard I fell for Eve since we came to Earth. I realize now, with her shutting me out because of the past, how much I still love her. I've always loved her, but I don't know if anything will ever change the way she looks at me now as we continue our journey through the forest with our drone escort leading the way.

Before long, Eve falls behind me. I suppose so she won't have to make eye contact with me. It's better I can't see her now, because it would make the tightness in my chest worse.

I narrow my eyes and fight back the swelling emotions that last night brought me. Then I remember something. We saw a three-dimensional image of our daughter's face before the miscarriage. Now, the memory of seeing the stillborn body on a table before they took Autumn away stings the back of my eyes. There, I saw Eve bent over, weeping over our loss, and me, suffocating in the background, drowning and wishing I could muster the words to say something to ease her pain. To ease our pain, but all I did was put a hand on her shoulder and watched her cry.

I held her after that moment and let her bury her face in my chest, but I did little of that in the days and weeks that followed. I kept thinking, if the world is about to end, if a global ocean is about to sweep over the Earth, and I can't even have children with my wife, what point is there to playing house and acting like everything is okay when it's not.

It wasn't okay then, and it's still not okay now.

But I still love Eve, and she's still my wife. What we'll do next when all we have is each other and a drone with artificial intelligence, I don't know. Time will tell.