Mirror of Betrayal

The door shut behind him.

At once, I stared at my reflection in the oven glass. Dark circles under my eyes, the hint of a second chin, that traitorous neck that gives away my age first, and then—my figure. And it has nothing to do with childbirth: Grisha is already eighteen, and Stasik is soon to be twenty-four—he even has a girlfriend.

It’s just that I’m forty-five. And also—because… because what, exactly? What am I supposed to have done wrong? Why doesn’t he notice me anymore? I raised two sons, supported the home and my husband, took care of everything—besides, we have such a garden you could film a movie here. Sometimes I work when clients come in. So what is there to blame me for? For getting older? For the fact that life isn’t a glossy ad for a wrinkle cream, where women are always thirty?

Get up, Viktoria. Don’t give up.