Clean Slate

“Miss me, Arina?”

I watch her gently press this little girl to herself. Kisses. Puts her in a stroller.

I know she got rid of my child.

And this—who is it for?

Does it even matter.

Arina will still be mine. She’ll get divorced. Or she’ll become a widow. Let her decide how she likes it better.

We’ll get a second chance. Just as we agreed. All the way—no going back.