The sky, an ode in grey, walking under the trees, she kicks the stones, turn around and cannot find her keys. She curses in silent, phones her husband. No response. She goes to a hotel, dreams she is free and cries a little. In the morning, she tries again, a sour voice answers. Startled, she goes to his office. Nobody had seen him since last August. The locksmith takes his time to come. Once inside, she goes through his papers. Nothing. She buys a small box and she buries it in the garden with a plaque in his name. Every year she puts flowers.
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