“There are things I don’t want to talk about. For instance, what happened that winter afternoon. I don’t remember exactly what I said to him; I think we argued at first, I was sitting just a few inches opposite him, watching him with the slight crinkle of his jacket and his persistent gaze piercing me like a needle. After a while, he rested his forehead on his hand and left the apartment. I remained there, speechless, without a whisper, looking at his reflection in the closed window, my bare feet touching the polished marble floor.”

A woman. A marriage. A deafening divorce. A great professional opportunity. A passionate relationship. A chilling prophecy. (. . .)

[Excerpt from the text on the back cover of the edition]