He said it in one long exhalation.

Anneli felt cold, the fear on the verge of changing to panic.

“Twenty years,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“We’ve been together for twenty years, you and I. We’ve lived back and forth, off and on, to and from... Even though it’s been like that, I never thought that you’d do this to me. I thought I meant more to you, that you saw us as something worthwhile, something to fight for, but now I know that’s not how it is. Now I know that you and I, that what we have, or rather had, doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” she said.

“Me, neither,” he said.

He took something out of his pocket. He hid it in his hand but then flung it onto the table. She stared at the bag.

“My underwear,” she said.

“Among the towels. Not a good place to hide things. You should know that. And you put them in a bag, too, like a fucking souvenir.”

“But Anders and I... We...”

She fell silent.

“You what?”

“Nothing.”

“Yes, explain it to me. I really, truly want to hear all of the details. Please, do tell! Did he take you in the bed? In the bathroom, maybe? Or maybe on a fucking table?”

“Be quiet, please. Think of Adam.”

But Gunnar raised his voice.

“Are you happy now? Are you? That you got to fuck him again...”

Gunnar’s voice trembled.

“And why him? Huh? Why did you have to do it with him? Can you even imagine how that feels?”

He slammed his hand against the glass. Whiskey and corn kernels spilled onto the table and dripped down to the floor.

Anneli met his furious eyes. She couldn’t speak a single word, felt completely weak.

“I want you to leave,” he said.

“But listen to me, Gunnar. Let me explain...”

“Just go,” he said, loudly. “And take these with you.”

He threw the bag with the underwear at her. She caught it, feeling terribly ashamed.

Then she turned and left the kitchen, continued into the hallway. Not stopping to see Adam, she pushed the door open and went straight out into the cold evening.

* * *

Emma lay reclined in the passenger seat, screaming. She squeezed the leather of the seat so hard that it folded.

Their young daughter, Vilma, was screaming, too, and Felix was sitting next to her. He was quiet, but his wide eyes said it all.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Henrik said, feeling the car skid on the slippery pavement.

He looked at Emma, who was resting her head against the glass. She took short, quick breaths before screaming again.