Inna stood by the window, watching as raindrops distributed the glass, forming whimsical patterns. Seventeen years – is that a lot or a little?
She remembered every day of their marriage, every anniversary, every gifts. And now everything becomes collapsed.
“We need to talk,” Alexey said.
“I’m leaving, Inna. To Natasha.”
Silence. Only the ticking of the old wall clock, once gifted by his mother, broke the calmness of the room.
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