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“He should divorce,” the neighbor said. She even has another child from her first marriage.
“Did you see her?” my cousin’s brother asked. “I saw her through a shop window. She and a colleague hugged and walked home together.”
“You should divorce,” my godfather added. “I’ve come across too many situations where your wife and that self-absorbed Don Juan from the special school were more than friends.”
“I saw them on camera,” said the school secretary.
And there I stood, in church, lighting a candle for the salvation of us all, wondering if I should have divorced. Should I have listened to all these people? A breeze brushed my neck—maybe someone entered the candle space, or maybe it was my late mother’s hand. I no longer knew.
In a daze, I heard the voices of Aleksandar and Anja asking, after 15 years, “Where are mom and dad now?”
Children are a wonder, yet I had placed my pride and self-respect under the rug of the future. I crossed myself and prayed, “God, give health to us all. And let the wicked face the justice they deserve.”
We are all equal under the sky: we are born naked and leave this world the same way. That is the only true justice on Earth.