«When are you finally going to disappear,» Jack muttered, slamming the door as he left the bedroom.
Behind the door remained his wife, tormented by an unrelenting cough. In just one year of married life, she had turned from a blooming young woman into a skin-covered skeleton. In the small town where they lived, there was a tiny clinic with two doctors—a paramedic and a veterinarian.
The latter was valued more. The paramedic threw up his hands at Sarah’s illness; he had already tried everything. Cough syrups, mustard plasters, plantain leaves, chamomile, and nettle.
He made Sarah steam in the sauna every other day, but nothing helped. She only got worse. «Why didn’t you tell me you were completely sick through and through!» her husband raged, foaming at the mouth.
«I never got sick before,» Sarah justified herself. She herself didn’t understand what was happening to her. She had always been healthy, cheerful, but it seemed like marriage had broken her.
Jinxed. The verdict was given by the townswomen, gathering to gossip in the local store or near the water pump.
Sarah got married at twenty to Jack, who was two years older than her.
Handsome and talkative, he knew how to mess with girls’ heads. Sarah was no exception. Jack came from the city to their small town, as he said, to infuse fresh blood into this backwater.
He got a job as a driver for a bread delivery van. He delivered bread from the bakery to the stores. «Proud, wife, what an indispensable husband you have! Can’t do without me anywhere! And if something happens to me, everyone will be left without bread!» Sarah just nodded, agreeing, although she knew that in any family, they could bake bread no worse than in the bakery…
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