In any marriage there are complicated moments. But not when you’re lying sprawled out on cold asphalt, nose pressed into the hard coating of the MKAD—and police officers keep you in their sights. I didn’t plan to run anywhere; I was more interested in the question of how I ended up living like this.
Yes, I wasn’t the perfect wife. I wasn’t the hostess in the kitchen, and I wasn’t a prostitute in bed. And yes, sometimes I nagged my husband because of money. But I loved him. I forgave him.
So why did he escape from the place of the arrest? Why was the car being searched? Why did Sergey leave me in this terrible situation?