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Life is too short for boring stories

He opens the door carefully. A narrow figure stands in the hallway, which he vaguely knows. The expression of recognition finally flits across his face. He quickly hides the smile behind the long-practiced but fragile bitterness.
„What do you want here?“, he asks the woman, who will probably always remain a girl in his mind, even now that she herself has a family, even children.
„Visiting you,“ she explains briefly, „would you step back so that I can get in.“ He doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, but he still follows her request to let her come in.
„But you already know that this is not allowed now,“ he notes as she disappears into the kitchen. He slowly follows her, „And above all, now that you haven’t heard from you for 15 years, it could have waited two months.“
„I didn’t let anything be heard from me?“ Who never cared? And someone like that has the audacity to call himself a father. „
„So, you came to rehash all the old stories?“, he asks.
„No, I didn’t want to do that right now, but you absolutely had to put it on the wallpaper“, she explains, now pausing in her actions, „Maybe we can start again, e.g. with, ‚I am glad that you are there‘ or something.“ Whereupon there is a long silence, but finally he overcomes himself.

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