My guest today sits at the table, sobbing uncontrollably.

  She doesn’t care about the scalding coffee with spicy notes of cinnamon and the sweet cherries sprinkled with ginger. My guest is drowning in an abyss of despair...

  “I can’t live without him…”

  Her shoulders are shaking with sobs, and her voice is dry and harsh from crying. I silently add boiling water to the cup...

  “I filed for divorce.”

  It was said quietly, almost resignedly. She wiped away the stinging tears, but they continued to stream down her pale cheeks. Her violent hysteria had begun to fade into a dangerous, latent phase, when every thought was tinged with the heavy bitterness of hopelessness, cold emptiness, and horror...

  “We met what feels like an eternity ago. Our life was like an endless duel: passion, heated emotions, tender sensuality... and constant showdowns.

  At first, there were casual remarks that were instantly forgotten or turned into family jokes. Then came more serious arguments, but they always ended with a passionate truce in bed.

  And then came the regular reproaches. I could never get enough of him; I wanted to be with him all the time. I was jealous of his parents, his friends, his colleagues at work. Even of ordinary passersby, if he happened to linger his gaze on someone for more than a few seconds.

  And he, in turn, pestered me with household questions. I cooked incorrectly and the wrong things, was sloppy about cleaning, and hated ironing. Then jealousy scenes were added to this. At first, they flattered me, but over time they became annoying, and then downright frightening.

  It got to the point where I had to call him every few hours if I wasn’t around. It had to be via video call so he could see where I was and who I was with.

  And switching us both to remote work didn’t solve the problem. We were together 24/7 now, but instead of cozy passions under the covers, we had more time for mutual recriminations.

  The birth of a child not only failed to solve the problem but even worsened it in some ways...

  It turns out I’m a completely lousy mother who does everything wrong. I change her clothes incorrectly, tug or button them too roughly, dress her too warmly or, conversely, too lightly. I tie her hair too tightly; I’m too fussy with my things...

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Everything has become either too much or not enough...

  And then came another round of jealousy. What if the child isn’t his? What if I take her to the playground and meet other men there?

  Quarrels became our daily routine.”

  That last sentence was said so... casually. And the most terrifying thing is when a person begins to consider it normal to live in hell and endure psychological torture day after day.

  I silently add tart-sweet cinnamon to my coffee...

  “My only salvation was work. But even there, I faced his constant demands. I had to get up early and work while the baby slept and didn’t disturb me. But I was too loud and woke him up.He got angry and constantly reproached me for keeping him from getting enough sleep. His work wasn’t as tightly scheduled as mine.

  I lived like this for years. Until one day I had to move. It was a necessary measure; I really didn’t want to do it, but the situation was out of my control. I took the child with me, and he stayed at home.

  Long-distance relationships became... different.”

  My guest sobbed loudly again, her gaze growing even more distant and empty. The bitterness of tears dissolves perfectly in the scent of cinnamon and ginger...

  “I became... bolder... more independent...”

  It was said quietly, almost incredulously. My guest herself didn’t yet understand what she had just said...

  “Our latest argument didn’t take long to escalate. I was criticized for the child’s new scratch on her knee. Of course, it’s summer, she’s wearing short shorts, and she’s quite restless at five. It’s no wonder she trips and falls a lot — like all children.

  Then the calls started every hour, sometimes several times an hour. Sometimes they lasted forty minutes or longer. And each time it felt like... a dissection. He desperately wanted to get inside my head and read every thought I hadn’t voiced aloud.

  And all this was interspersed with slightly snide remarks about the dark circles under my eyes. I must have stayed up too late the night before. Or that I was wearing a very revealing dress today — one he didn’t remember. I must have bought it here already. He wouldn’t have let me wear something like that.

  Of course, he doesn’t remember it; I really hadn’t worn it since last summer. And even then, only at home — he thought it was too revealing for outside. The fact that I hadn’t bought myself any new clothes in years didn’t bother him. Especially now, when rent was added to my main expenses.

  But now... I could avoid these scandals. I could hang up. And not answer...

  I haven’t answered his calls for the third week now...”

  She said it with such a trembling voice, as if she were afraid of her own words. She reminded me of a little snail trying to emerge from its shell for the first time and taste the vast world around it.

  But the shell that protected my guest today was built by the man she adored and loved infinitely...

  “I filed for divorce!”

  Tears were again present in my guest’s voice, but this time she managed to suppress them to finish her story...

  “I’m so tired of these fights. I tried asking him, I tried setting conditions. I tried everything.

  It’s so hard for me. I’m left alone, far from my friends, from home, from him. I need support so much. I’m so scared to be alone. And all he does is keep blaming me.

  I love him so much…”

  My guest burst into tears again. Cry, my dear. Bitter tears dissolve beautifully in the aroma of hot coffee with cinnamon.

  She sobs, covering her face with her hands, and doesn’t notice how wings are beginning to grow again on her back, covered with old scars...