After the Divorce. Don't Call, I Won't Come Back

— Larisa, we need to talk. Honestly. Sort everything out, face to face, like business partners.
Partners. The word makes me go instantly hot.

— I’ve considered everything, — his voice is calm and dry, as if he’s reading a report at a board meeting. — Our marriage was an ambitious venture. But, unfortunately, it turned out to be unprofitable.
Something inside finely rings, like a fragile ice-spoke snapping.

— You no longer bring value, — my husband continues, looking not at me, but somewhere past me, over my shoulder. — These years of treatment, depression, your apathy… all of it has erased your shine. I need a woman who’s always at the top. A wife is part of the image. You understand, don’t you?

— I understand, — I exhale almost inaudibly; my lips barely move.

— I’ve met someone else, — he says, and in his gaze there’s neither love nor passion, which makes me feel truly sick. Pleasure. Like the satisfaction of a deal that’s been closed successfully. — She’s younger. Stylish. She has healthy, clear energy. She’s ready to give me an heir. And she won’t become a permanent patient of the clinics.