The working day left a surprisingly vile aftertaste - there were enough nasty things in recent days, but today it somehow responded especially sharply. Neither a decent dinner nor the anticipation of a great evening helped. Veronica was also gray with fatigue, I wanted to put her under the shower, then pour wine for her and put her to bed. In every sense, put to bed, and quickly. So let her take what she needs there at home, and more, so that not for one day, and let's go already.

As we were approaching her house, her father called. At first he asked sternly what he, Vic, thought about the...