— That’s Irma. In your interests, don’t hang up!
A nervous exclamation stops me half a second before I press the red button. The assistant of the husband’s traitor switches to a whisper:
— Lika, I’m pregnant. You have to understand: Frol would never bring a lover, for an hour, to his house. Our affair has lasted six months. It’s a pity that Frol is a decent man and never said it himself.
My heart drops. That’s it—this is the sign that nothing will ever return.
— What do you want from me? — My stomach fills with cold; I feel nausea rising in my throat.
— And what can you give me? How to make Frol happy—I know it myself. He didn’t marry you in five years. And we filed at the registry office two weeks ago. Just don’t interfere with us!
I’ll believe what you say and disappear from the traitor’s life for seven long years. But one day…