Irena wrote the message at the station: "I'll be there at eight. Tell me which entrance to wait at." Then she deleted "wait at" and replaced it with "come to." She did not want to look like a woman who was always waiting, although that was precisely what she had done for eight months. Marko still lived with his wife, and every meeting began with an explanation of why now was not the time for change.
She had a few hours before the evening train. Near the station was the center where her brother Nenad organized meals for older people. They had never seriously argued. They had simply spoken less often over the years, until their closeness became a series of greetings and holiday photographs.
Nenad welcomed her wearing an apron stained with tomato. He did not say she had finally found time. He gave her a knife and asked her to slice bread. They worked at a table beside a radio that kept losing its signal. Irena expected a story of his self-sacrifice and instead received gossip about two volunteers who had fallen in love and now argued over how to stack plates.
After lunch, they sat in the courtyard. Nenad asked whether she was seeing anyone. Irena began as usual: a complicated situation, a marriage that had long ceased to exist, patience. Her brother neither attacked Marko nor tried to rescue her. He only asked whether she knew what she wanted when she did not have to consider his schedule. Irena looked at the open gate. She could not remember the last time she had framed the question that way.
She said she wanted a dinner she could reserve in her own name. A weekend without an invented business trip. The chance to call when she was sad without first checking whether his phone was allowed to ring. Nenad listened. Then he admitted his life was not as orderly as it appeared either, that he missed companionship and sometimes hid behind useful work instead of trying a new relationship.
Irena stayed to help wash dishes. Marko sent word that he was late and it would be more convenient if she waited in the car. She sat on the bench before the exit and wrote that she would not come. She did not demand that he leave his marriage immediately or offer a new deadline. She said she no longer wanted to take part in hiding.
At the gate, she stopped to read her own words. Then she sent them. Nenad packed two pieces of cake for her journey. They arranged Sunday lunch the following month, without grand promises to make up for everything they had missed. On the train, she ate both pieces. She arrived home late, at an apartment where she could turn on every light.