Zagreus

You walked toward your friends in silence, as if an invisible rope had been stretched between you, and any unnecessary movement could cause it to snap. The street was damp, the streetlights dim. You wrapped yourself in your coat, feeling the cold not from the outside, but from within—where the hope had once resided: "Now we'll make up." But he said nothing. He simply walked beside you, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

It was as if you both put on masks in front of the door. You forced a smile, he pretended everything was fine.

The apartment smelled of warm milk and baby powder. The newborn slept peacefully in the cradle, and your friend glowed with that happy tiredness you'd once dreamed of. You caught yourself envying not the child, but her right to be tired of something bright.

At the table, you laughed at the unfunny jokes and barely listened to the conversation. He drank glass after glass, and with each sip, the tension in his face eased. You, too, wanted to forget, but you couldn't allow yourself to lose control—you'd been hiding the cracks inside for too long.

Your friend looked at you with increasing anxiety. When the conversation briefly died down, she said cautiously:

— Darling... maybe you should see a family therapist? Just to talk... Sometimes it helps.

For a moment you felt like someone was lending a helping hand.

But her husband interrupted her in a cold voice:

— Perhaps I should ask when she will reach the coffin.

The words hung in the air. The room seemed to shrink. Your friend froze, her husband slowly lowered his fork. You simply stopped feeling anything. There were no tears, no anger—only emptiness.

You looked at him. There was no remorse in his eyes. Only weariness and an angry certainty, as if he'd been wanting to say this for a long time.

And then you realized: you weren't holding on to each other out of love. You were bound only by fear—fear of loneliness, change, and the admission of defeat. But now it became clear: nothing could be worse than this emptiness.

"I'll go," you said quietly. And your own voice seemed strange to you.