A foreign woman was sitting in the living room. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/62dd43/620x0/1/0/2024/11/09/b94txnpem8wmxrw5gqknzgi1d45fpatd9bwpxyyp.jpg" alt = "woman @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (180,171,160,1)" > < p > After fifteen years of work abroad, I returned home with a heart full of longing and hope. I imagined my husband greets me on the platform, how he embraces me strongly, how our life returns to the WSP; Oacute; Over all these years, our phone calls have been rare, but always full of warmth. I believed that our love survived pr & oacute; for time and distance.

< p > When I got to our house, something seemed wrong to me. New curtains in the windows, different door color. Maybe the husband decided to refresh the interior to the m & oacute; j < p > A foreign woman was sitting in the living room. A small child had fun on her lap. She looked at me surprised.

< p > — Who are you ? — asked.

< P >& Amp; MDASH; I should ask this question — I answered, feeling my heart beating faster and faster. & Amp; MDASH; Where is M & oacute; ju husband ?

< p > At this moment he entered the room. M & oacute; Jer. He was holding a shopping bag in his hands. When he saw me, he paled.

< p > — What are you doing here ? & mdash; he choked.

< p > — Wr & oacute; I was home — I said, feeling the tears flowing into my eyes. & Amp; MDASH; Who is this woman ? and this child ?

< p > looked at her, then at me. I saw panic in his eyes.

< p > — It's … it's my wife. And this is our son.

< p > The world swirled. I leaned against the door frame, pr & oacute; bothering your breath.

< p > — How possible ? I am your wife!

< P >& Amp; MDASH; You were … — He started but interrupted, seeing M & oacute; j b & oacute; l. & Amp; MDASH; I thought that no longer was & cisz. There has been no messages from you for years. I decided that … that you died, that you are gone.

< p > — There was no message ? — Repeat & oacute; feeling anger growing in me. & Amp; MDASH; I wrote, called! You replied to my letters!

< p > — I did not receive any lists & in & mdash; He said quietly. & Amp; MDASH; I thought it was the end.

< p > I looked at a woman who was now holding a child closer to her, looking at me with a mixture of fear and a lot of outer;

< p > — How long are you together ? — I asked.

< p > — For five years — He answered, avoiding my sight.

< p > five years. He built a new life for five years, while I worked hard, dreaming of returning to him.

< p > — What now ? — I asked, feeling tears flowing down my cheeks.

< p > — I don't know … — He answered, and B & Amp; Oacute; L. & Amp; MDASH; I don't know.

< p > I stood there at home, who was no longer my home, with my husband, who was no longer my husband, and I understood that everything I knew was lost. My sacrifice, my love, my dreams — Everything was in ruins.

< p > Oppture & oacute; I was and left, not knowing where p & oacute; I can. I only know one thing: I have to start again, away from the past, which no longer exists.

< P >< br />< Strong > see, as we wrote about in recent days: from life taken. “C & oacute; nam & oacute; me to rewrite her home”: now I am told to move

Natasha Kumar

By Natasha Kumar

Natasha Kumar has been a reporter on the news desk since 2018. Before that she wrote about young adolescence and family dynamics for Styles and was the legal affairs correspondent for the Metro desk. Before joining The Times Hub, Natasha Kumar worked as a staff writer at the Village Voice and a freelancer for Newsday, The Wall Street Journal, GQ and Mirabella. To get in touch, contact me through my natasha@thetimeshub.in 1-800-268-7116