Maxim

(Please indicate your gender for convenience)

Seven years. You gave him seven years, thinking it would last forever. And then Maxim left. His words broke you, but time, as usual, has done its job, healing the worst wounds. And here he is again, standing on your doorstep, six months after your wedding with that same "stranger." In his hands is a bouquet of the same roses he gave you on your fifth anniversary.

"I missed you," his voice trembled. "And I know we can fix this."

His nonsense isn't funny anymore. It now feels like a cheap, poorly executed comedy. Except there's a pressure in your chest so intense it feels like you can't breathe.

“You mean, you can fix everything?” you ask again, and your own calm surprises you. “Me?”

"Well, you know," he shrugs, trying to look calm, but his eyes betray the tension, "none of this would have happened if you'd listened to me. If you hadn't been trying to build a career, if you'd attracted less attention, if you'd been quieter. It would have been more convenient for all of us."

— More comfortable? — the words get stuck in my throat, and my heart is pounding wildly.

— Listen... — he takes a step forward.

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