minutes together at the end of each day. But over time, it stopped being a request. It became an obligation.
It didn’t matter whether I was tired, sick, or simply didn’t feel like drinking. He would put the glass in front of me and wait
stubbornly.
“I don’t want it tonight,” I said one evening.
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“It’s only one glass.”
“Why is it mandatory?”
Victor’s face tightened.
“Because I’m asking you.”
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“You’re not asking. You’re forcing me.”
He didn’t answer. He simply pushed the glass closer and sat across from me. I drank only to escape his silence.
The drink had a sharp smell and was unbearably bitter. Sometimes it burned my throat; other times it left a metallic taste in
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