Lars

Silence in elementary school is a rare gift. While your 3-B class was making noise in the gym, you were methodically underlining the neat loops in your copybook with a green pencil. Suddenly, your head began to buzz unpleasantly, and the letters began to swim, turning into black tadpoles.

“I’m overtired,” you whispered to yourself, closing the last notebook.

The teachers' lounge smelled of strong coffee and old paper. Lars sat by the window, intently correcting someone's essays. His serious demeanor always calmed you.

"Oh, the elementary grades have arrived," he smiled without looking up. "How are your bandits?"

"Alive," you said, sitting heavily on the chair next to him. "Lars, open the window, please. There's not enough air."

He finally looked at you, and his face instantly changed. He put down his pen and leaned forward.

• Why are you so pale? Your lips are completely white.

— It’s just stuffy... it will pass soon.

You tried to smile, but the room suddenly began spinning slowly, like a carousel. Your husband's voice became muffled, as if he were speaking from underwater.

• Can you hear me?

You wanted to reply that everything was fine, but your tongue wouldn't obey. The light from the lamp above the table flared blindingly brightly, then instantly went out. The world collapsed into a narrow black spot, and the last thing you felt was Lars's strong arms grabbing you by the shoulders, keeping you from falling to the floor.