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Many years ago I lived in a small provincial town near Smolensk. I had many friends there and, of course, a beloved boy. His name was Alexei. We dated for about three years, but then I left for Moscow to go to college. Our communication gradually came to naught.

In my second year, I started dating another guy, Sergei. We had a very stormy romance and decided to get married. In the summer he and I went to my hometown to introduce him to my parents.

In my second year, I started dating another guy, Sergei. We had a very stormy romance and decided to get married. In the summer he and I went to my hometown to introduce him to my parents.

On the second day of our arrival, Seryozha and I went to a disco at a local club and on the way we met Lesha. I turned away and pretended not to recognize him. I didn’t even say hello! And he stared long and hard at us. We had a good time, and I’d almost forgotten about the meeting, but something was bothering me.

Early in the morning the doorbell woke me up. It was a neighbor. He had come to call my brother to help dig the grave. I was dumbfounded, “Who died?” “Lesha hanged himself last night,” the neighbor answered. He meant my ex-boyfriend…

Later I found out that he had debts and many other problems, but I still think that my behavior when I met him was the last straw. Why should I have just said hello? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for almost five years now. I have a family, a child, I live and enjoy myself, but Lesha is gone. And never will be again.

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