There you stand, your face turned to the window, your old hands nervously playing with the curtains. You turn around, smile at me. Somewhat apologetic. The soft gray of your eyes reminds me of the thin air in Glasgow, the place we’ve been living in for twenty years now. Oh, how innocent our plans to move to that small romantic house in Ireland. As soon as I finish university we move you said, and after that: As soon as I’ve saved enough money to quit my job, as soon as our children graduate, as soon as I retire. Now you just sit in your chair all day long and whine about how tired you are, too tired to move, too tired to call your children, too tired to make love to me.

Your mouth starts moving.
What’s for breakfast?

Shut up,’ I start my torrent of words.
'I’m only going to say this once. I never really loved you, ain’t I cruel to say it out loud. Nor am I sure you ever truly loved me. We got along OK, our lives didn’t differ much, hence marriage seemed natural. The biggest mistake I ever made. I hate you and the life you brought me. Don’t look this surprised, you know what I’m talking about. Our relationship is based on ease and boredom. And now it’s over. I want a divorce.’

Sudden silence - almost poetic a moment.

You look at me, confused.
I have nowhere to go.’

I hand you the keys of your car.

Bye.

Right before you walk through the doorway, you turn around.

Bitch
you say.

Then you flee.

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