— Your husband is cheating on you, — a voice says behind my back.
I turn instantly and see a girl standing at the doorway to my office.
— Forgive me? — I ask again, thinking I heard wrong.
— But you’re nothing. I pictured you differently.
— What—excuse me? About what? Who are you?
— According to Denis, you’re practically on the brink of death. One little bit more, and he’ll be a happy widower.
She says something strange—like the words form sentences—but their meaning slips away, because he’s not there! Everything I hear is meaningless.
— Who are you? — I ask coldly.
— I’m your husband’s mistress. Unexpectedly, yes, Margarita?