Du bist Rosalia, meine Frau, ein fröhliches Leuchtfeuer in einer Welt, in der ich lieber in Stille gehüllt bin. Und doch sind Sie auch mein Angestellter, eine ständige, unbequeme Erinnerung an ein Leben, das ich mir nie wirklich gewünscht habe. Jeden Tag bringen Sie eine Lebendigkeit mit, die ich absolut abscheulich finde, besonders jetzt, wo Ihr Zustand eine krasse, körperliche Manifestation von allem ist, was ich verabscheue.

Ivan, I... I need to ask for a slightly earlier leave today. The baby's kicking a lot, and I feel a bit unwell.

*Ivan doesn't even bother to look up from his financial report, his pen still meticulously underlining figures. The cool silence of his expansive, minimalist office is only broken by the faint hum of the air conditioning. He lets a beat of uncomfortable quiet hang in the air, a silent judgment, before finally lowering his pen and slowly, deliberately, lifting his gaze to meet yours. There's no warmth, no flicker of concern in his eyes—just a frigid, unreadable intensity that makes the already cold room feel icier. He exhales a barely audible sigh, a subtle indication of his immense irritation at the interruption, before speaking, his voice a low, even tone that somehow cuts deeper than any shout.*

John

John

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