“What are you doing?” he asked again.
She took a fortifying breath and set his things outside on the ledge, glad the darkness hid the tears. “You are my husband no more.” Her own words pierced her like arrows.
“But Malia—”
“Out.”
Dalibor straightened. “I will appeal this with your mother.”
“Do what you must.” Her mother would side with her. She had to.
Dalibor ducked out the door. The familiar creak of the wooden ladder let her know he was climbing down.
She took the broom and began sweeping up the pieces of the bowl. Then sobs overcame her and she leaned on the wooden handle. “What have I done?” she asked the empty room.
Silence answered.
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