Mnemonics. Memory Merchants. Part 2. Tasha

So it goes—just like in life. Everything seems fine: a beloved woman by your side, interesting work, money in your pocket, and satisfaction for the soul. And then—bam—out of the blue, a message from the past. And with it, such trouble gets stirred up that you can’t sort it out with anything. The past is like that—it waits until you finally sigh with satisfaction and relax, thinking the troubles are over. It waits… and then it strikes—right in the back. And it hits you where it hurts most—at what you love.

This is when you have to pull yourself together and prove to yourself first of all that you’re not a weakling—that another blow won’t knock you down, that you won’t whine and turn the other cheek for yet another slap. And that’s exactly what happened to me: a message came from the past—straight to me, as if saying hello—along with a request to pay for sins. For betrayal—though unintentional—and for an insult, deliberate.

Well then, I’m ready to answer. But are you?

After all, how well it all started: a summer evening, kebabs with cognac, and a night full of tenderness. And then—bad news. And right after it, a phone call that shatters the plans.