Her Virtues

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I remember the moment I fell in love with Martin Yung’s wife. The moment seized me without warning, and perhaps that was why I was so vulnerable, so ill-prepared.

Long after the end of the business day, I made my way through Yung’s deserted laboratories. I carried a rack of important documents. I needed the most important one, the one that bore Yung’s personal chop. I expected to find him in his office; he was a man with no respect for time, or for any of the other limitations that ordinary men accept.

My mind wasn’t on my work; I was thinking of Dana. „What difference does it make to you what I do?“ my wife had said during last night’s installment of our perpetual argument. „Oh, I know, Thomas, you’re here; yes, there you stand, but you’re not here“

I don’t know how to respond to a statement like that. Would anyone? At Yung’s private suite, the thick steel door was slightly ajar. It swung open at my touch, into darkness.

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