— I’m leaving, — the brunette snatched the test from my husband’s hands. But Mark seemed not to notice her disappearance.
— Now you won’t be able to wriggle out of the truth, Mark.
— Masha, this proves nothing.
— But to her you said it completely differently, — I reminded what I had overheard.
— I just didn’t want her to throw a tantrum. For me, she’s nobody. A blank spot.
— Then this “blank spot” will give you a child.
— That won’t happen, — he cut me off harshly. — You’re my wife. And you’ll give birth to only my child.
— Now I can say it: that won’t happen, Mark. You cheated on me. I can’t live with you.
— You can. You’re the governor’s wife. We’re connected.
— It’s over. I’m filing for divorce!
— Divorce—only through your corpse, Masha. A widower in the elections looks far more advantageous. Remember that.
The media painted him as an ideal husband, exemplary family man, incorruptible official. I believed that picture too—until the next rumors about his cheating turned out to be true. I learned that his mistress is pregnant, and decided to leave. But he isn’t going to let me go.