“When do we get divorced?” “I urgently need to know when we’ll put an end to this.”
“We’ll see,” “It sounded like a mock, did I hear that right?”
“Yar, don’t joke like that. I’m a temporary wife!”
“Marie, you need constant supervision. You get married almost every month—aren’t you tired of it?”
“What is this insinuation?!”
“But you’re the one dragging me back and forth!” I shout, springing up, and grab a pillow from the bed to throw it at the satisfied brunette.
“Then I’m the last one—be happy! Now you’ll have a calm and steady life!”
“Where are you and where is my peace?! We won’t have a divorce—because one of us will become a widower or a widow!”
My unexpected enemy agrees to pay a large sum for my head, but my friends always have a plan. And there’s a new husband who insists that he’s the last one. Naive. I’ll never stay close to a cruel and frightening man—one who can only irritate me. But why is he looking at me with such tenderness then?
The third part of the cycle.