“Vera,” he said quietly. “We need to talk.”
I knew. Even before he said those words—those most terrible words in family life—I knew.
“Of course,” I said in a way that sounded far too cheerful. “Let’s talk over dinner. I baked duck with an orange sauce, the way you like.”
“Vera,” he finally looked into my eyes. “I’m leaving.”
Two words. They hung between us, heavy as concrete slabs.
“Where to?” I asked stupidly, as if he were going on a business trip.
Alexander sighed. In that sigh was everything: exhaustion, regret, and relief of a man who had finally decided to jump off a height.
“To Olga. My…” he faltered.
“Secretary,” I finished for him. “So you’ve been…?”
“Eight months,” he answered simply.
“You’re sure?” I asked quietly, feeling how my heart was breaking into pieces.
“About what you want to destroy everything we had?”
“I don’t love you anymore,” he said simply. “I’m sorry.”