My husband stopped at the bakery to get some bread, and his phone was connected to the car radio. A message from “Marek the Plumber” flashed across the screen: “You left your glasses by my bed. I’ll bring them back on Thursday.”

“How is Marek?” I asked. “The plumber.”

Grzegorz froze, his hand hovering over his plate. He took off his glasses. He folded them slowly, very carefully, as if it were the most important thing in the world right now.

– Danka…

– On Saturday. In front of the bakery. It appeared on the fHe didn’t say anything for a long time. The refrigerator hummed, the neighbor next door turned up the TV. Finally, he spoke quietly, to the counter, not to me:

“Lucyna. A widow. I did this installation for her two years ago, I really did… She was happy when I came. Do you understand? She made tea, asked how my day was. She said, ‘Mr. Grzesiu, what would I do without you?’

• And I didn’t ask?

– You asked if I took out the trash.

It hurt. More than the betrayal itself, because there was some truth to it. For the past few years, we’d passed each other in that apartment like two pieces of furniture. Only I didn’t go looking for someone to make me tea.