“He wished that everything would stop! That everyone would disappear in that moment! Everyone—truly everyone... He would be just a street vendor, pulling his old cart, the one he repairs over and over, selling peppers, tomatoes, lettuce, and a few cucumbers in the working-class neighbourhoods. The cart would be wooden, made of cedar wood, and she would be his simple wife—the one who welcomes him with a smile every evening, and argues with him afterwards for forgetting to buy the groceries. Who knows? Maybe they’d be blessed with a boy and a girl—one with blue eyes, and the other with beautiful, dreamy green eyes like hers.
She had read that message he had not yet sent, and whispered:
– Adam, don’t go to her!
He said nothing… She pulled him closer and pressed her cheek to his shoulder, and said:
– Please, Adam… don’t go to her!”
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