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“The rent. Is it paid?”

“Through the end of the month.”

“And after that?”

“There’s money in the account.”

“How much?”

“Enough for now.”

“What does that mean?”

“You can check.”

He had that one ready too.

My throat gets tight.

I put my hand on his chest. It’s been there every night since we moved to this country. His heart beats like this is just another Friday. Mine feels like it’s trying to get out.

“Please.”

His hand covers mine.

For a second I think he’s still in there.

Then he takes my hand off him.

“Don’t make this harder.”

“It should be hard.”

The first tear runs down to my chin. Then another one.

I don’t turn away. I want him to see every one of them.

He turns back to the suitcase.

He’s told me I’m beautiful in every place we’ve lived. In Stockholm. In that first apartment here with the stained carpet and the fridge that froze the milk. In this apartment, after we bought the table and the good suitcase and started replacing the cheap stuff.

He closes the lock anyway.

I’ve never begged for anything in my life. I’m begging now.

“Stay till morning. We’ll talk after we sleep. You can still get a flight tomorrow if you want. Just don’t leave us like this.”

“I can’t.”

“Then tell Tova goodbye.”

His hand stops on the handle.

“Don’t wake her.”

“You’re leaving her.”

“I know.”