She lowered the sheet of paper, took off her glasses, and stared into space again, as if she could find something there. What did that mean: When you read this, I'll be gone. Written in his typical poor spelling. Did he want to leave her, end the affair, expose her? To leave a message like that, without an envelope, unsealed, on her desk, so that any cleaning lady, her secretary, or even curious visitors could read it. She closed her eyes and felt a sharp pain rise within her. The man was leaving her, abandoning her like a discarded dirty rag that had been thrown away. Anger followed the pain. Red like the paper. The pain was black in contrast. Black like the news. She felt tears running down her face and heard herself sobbing. Was that her crying? It couldn't be, she wasn't crying. And yet, weren't those mascara-black torrents flowing onto her pure white silk blouse? That couldn't be, no, it wasn't possible. Soon the door would open, Manuel would appear laughing and take her in his arms. She would breathe in his scent and stroke his black curls, and he would kiss her and whisper all the tender words she loved to hear in her ear. As the tears continued to flow, she sank deeper into the longing images when there was a knock at the door. Marianne Kohnert, DPV - Hamburg Her attention was drawn to a piece of paper on the desk. It was unmistakably his handwriting. Steep, elegant, delicate, unmistakably testifying to a strong will and a determination to achieve beauty. Go away, go, leave me alone, it screamed inside her. She hadn´t expected that. She abruptly pushed back her chair and leaned heavily on the edge of the desk, trying to calm her breathing. Then the telephone rang, piercing her gasps. Behind her closed eyelids, it began to flicker. She heard the heavy wooden door creak open behind her, giving way for the cry of the woman standing inside her. “Go and answer it!” She slumped back into her chair as she heard her sister picking up the receiver. “So, are you ready?
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