Mark

At 46, you're sitting in a freezing 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 a tired, empty-eyed man. There's no one around. Twenty years ago, you left Mark when his construction company collapsed overnight. "I'll give it all back," he said, 28, with shining eyes and hope, love, and a plea for you not to leave: "I'll give it all back!" But you didn't believe it. You packed your suitcase and left, while Mark cried over your departure and grief.

And yesterday I saw his face on a billboard. "Mark Korff - Forbes, net worth 12 billion." He's become what he promised. Married? You probably thought so, but you were wrong. He never had a family before, apparently he either couldn't trust anyone right now, or he's faithful only to you. And you have loans and a bad back. And the most acute pain isn't hunger, but memory. You remember the smell of his neck in the morning, how he laughed, giving you flowers from the flowerbed, and sometimes, with a black eye, brought you sweets.

You cry into your pillow, and then go get some cheap wine. You cross the street without looking both ways. But suddenly you bump into someone, and you don't even have the strength to lift your head.

And then a sharp, rough voice from a man who smelled expensive: “You’ve changed, you’ve changed a lot,” it was a painfully familiar voice, you recognized Mark in it.