The ground floor, with the huge black bow on the door was dormant, Danica was sleeping and I had crossed one obstacle, not in the least bit harmless as Danica often as a result of her insomnia sat by the window and stared helplessly at the street, but even if she had seen me, she probably had no right to scold me, she would not embrace me like mom would, no one could ever do so, but she has no right to ask for any explanation, I have sacrificed too much trying to please her every need, and her needs were neither simple, nor naive. I could not expect her to understand me. I climbed up the stairs, entered the door, again, holding my sandals and after hearing my husband’s dormant breaths, I contently slid into a corner where I changed and then nestled down on the living room sofa where I had now gotten into the habit of falling asleep more often with the excuse of watching Fox Life shows because we did not have a TV in the bedroom, I laid down with all the wonderful memories I had carried rendered into a reckless smile at the break of dawn.
Before I started replaying the events of the evening in my head, something which I had done, with certain alterations, since childhood, so as to transport myself into the land of dreams, I realized that everything my husband had falsely accused me of is no longer false and that seemed to me a kind of a poetic justice, a moment made just for me, a feeling I had forgotten. Maybe he had himself to blame, I thought, that cruelty-and all his accusations were cruel, he would blame me for anything that crossed his mind-it had to be punished somehow, at the end of the day it happened instinctively, I had never before given up the intention to help him.