Eliza stood perfectly still, as if time itself had paused. In her ears rang a sharp, metallic buzzing, like an old television left on full volume, its screen gone to static. She felt no anger, though she should have. No pain, though it lurked just beneath her skin.
Only emptiness—deep, cold, heavy, like the snow drifting slowly outside.“Who is she?” she finally asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, carrying not accusation, but the weary curiosity of someone freshly betrayed.
“Anna. From marketing. We worked on a project together, and… it just… happened,” Mark said, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Eliza smiled bitterly. “Just happened?” she repeated, the irony in her voice sharp. “That’s what people say when they’ve already decided everything.”
Mark said nothing. His eyes wandered across the floor, as if searching for words that could save him.
Eliza moved to the window and slowly drew back the curtain. Outside, snow fell gently, catching the light in glimmering flakes. Their house reflected in the glass—a warm, cozy place full of light and memories.
The home they had built together had suddenly become a stranger. It no longer belonged to her.“So what will you do now?” she asked, still facing the window.“I’m moving out tomorrow. The lawyer is handling everything,” he said.
Eliza turned to him slowly. Her eyes were cold, calm—but in that calm was something far sharper than any shout. “You organized this quickly,” she said softly. “You didn’t even think I might resist?”
“I just want everything to go smoothly,” Mark said flatly. “No scenes.”Eliza let out a short, bitter laugh, almost silent. “Smoothly? You destroyed everything we built, and now you want smoothness?”
Mark shrugged, sighed, and stood up. “I’m sorry.”
The door closed softly behind him. The sound echoed in the apartment like the final note of a closing chapter. Eliza stood in silence for a long time. The kitchen smelled of cooling stew, mingling with the scent of wet snow brought in on shoes.
Finally, she approached the table. She picked up Mark’s half-empty wine glass and drained the last sip. The bitter taste lingered on her lips. “So Anna… from marketing…” she whispered to herself, as if committing the name to memory so she would never forget it.
Half an hour later, she was sitting at her laptop. The pale glow of the screen illuminated her face—tired but resolute. Old passwords, forgotten contacts, abandoned emails—all came back slowly. Her fingers remembered the nights she had worked through,
writing papers, translating texts, surviving. She remembered who she had been.Now she had to remember who she was before him.Her fingers flew across the keyboard. On the screen appeared a new email:
“Dear Sir/Madam, Please find attached my CV for the position of German language teacher…”
Eliza pressed “Send” and closed the laptop. For a moment, she gazed at her reflection in the window glass—an unfamiliar face, but somehow free.
Before her lay the night. And a morning—without Mark.
But for the first time in a long while, she did not feel fear. Only a quiet, new sensation—the tentative first breath of freedom.
