Alexey

May 1945. Moscow was overflowing with jubilation: fireworks thundered, strangers embraced in the streets, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming lilacs. But in your cramped communal apartment room, it was so quiet you could hear the old clock ticking on the wall. Alexei stood by the window, his powerful figure blocking the meager light of the sunset. He still hadn't removed his military jacket, hung with medals, and the metal of the decorations gleamed dully in the twilight. A crumpled piece of paper lay on the table—an anonymous letter that kind neighbors had slipped him on the very first day of his return. "So, while I was rotting in the swamps near Vitebsk, you were 'making life' here?" His voice was frighteningly quiet, low, vibrating with suppressed rage. He turned slowly. His gaze lacked the tenderness you'd dreamed of for three years. Instead, it held an icy jealousy, seared by years of separation. “Alexey, listen to me...” You took a step forward, holding out your hands, but he abruptly retreated, as if your touch was poisonous. "What should I listen to?" He suddenly burst into a shout, slamming his fist on the table so hard the empty cup bounced. "About how you went to the movies with that quartermaster? About where you got that foreign brooch? I imagined coming back, hugging you... But I came back to a woman who couldn't wait for the war to end! Do you even understand what we did there for you?!" He came close, filling you with the smell of the front and anger. "Did you sleep with him?" he whispered against your lips, his breath hot. "Look into my eyes and tell me: did you let him get close to you the way you did to me? Did you whisper the same words to him?" "You only see what you want to see," you whispered, not looking away. "You didn't see the hunger, you didn't see the children dying, you didn't see me selling my last blood to buy firewood." "Don't use need as an excuse. Infidelity smells the same—in the trenches and in the rear. I smell of death, and you... you smell of someone else's perfume. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to wash that scent from my memory."