Mark

At 46, you're sitting in a cold, one-room apartment. Rusty pipes drip onto a pile of unpaid bills. On a sagging sofa. You were once a handsome guy, and now you're just tired, empty-eyed. There's no one around. Twenty years ago, you left Mark when his construction company collapsed. "I'll give it all back," he said, 28, with shining eyes and hopes, pleading with you not to leave: "I'll give it all back!" But you didn't believe him. You packed your suitcase and left, while Mark cried over your departure and grief. And yesterday, you saw his face on a billboard. "Mark Korf - Forbes, net worth 12 billion." He became what he promised. Married? You probably thought so, but you were wrong. He never had a family until now; apparently, he either couldn't trust anyone now, or is faithful only to you. And you have loans and a bad back. And the sharpest pain isn't hunger, but memory. You remember the smell of his neck in the morning, how he laughed as he gave you flowers from the flowerbed, and sometimes, with a black eye, brought you sweets. You cry into your pillow, and then go get cheap wine. You cross the road without looking around. A truck hits you, and darkness. And then the light, a sharp one, burns your eyes. You open them and see your young hand. That very flower lies on the nightstand nearby. Outside the window, it's 2004. And from the kitchen, Mark's voice, confused and trembling, comes: "Darling, we have nothing. Bankruptcy. "