Roadside Inn

“Those who cheat are the ones who find it hardest to forgive betrayal. Pay attention, and watch when no one is looking.”

This was the message from an anonymous sender that landed in my inbox that morning like a death sentence. At first, I was confused, but unfortunately, there was nothing ambiguous about that sentence. At least not for me.

I knew it was about her. Every single letter struck right at the heart of the despair I’d been drowning in for months, and now, I was completely unraveling. I checked the sender’s address immediately, but it was already non-existent. I just knew—no one would write this out of pure spite. I didn’t know who was sending it, but I knew what they were telling me. Anja was doing something behind my back, and if this stranger was to be believed, she might even be cheating on me.

I couldn’t even describe the rage I felt then, but by some stroke of luck, I wasn’t in a position to look her in the eye and demand answers. I was in Sombor, miles away from her. I was fixing some system downtimes for a client, but I planned to head back to Belgrade that very evening. She was at home, so I set my entrance cameras to alert me of any movement, and when the notifications started rolling in, I “paid attention.”

No one was visiting, no—but she left the house three times that afternoon to go to her car. She would get inside, stay for a brief moment, and then return to the house. Even then, it was clear she is hiding something inside. And God, I couldn’t wait to check what it is.

Everything that had been happening lately, everything that had confused me, suddenly took on a sinister meaning. Her horribly foul moods, the constant arguments, the tension—and then that twisted change for the better. She had cheered up, calmed down, and stopped attacking me. Happy that things were improving, I hadn’t questioned it much, but realistically, that change had to have a cause. And as it seemed, it also had a name.

Furious at myself for letting her blindside me—for letting her constant attacks deflect any suspicion away from herself—I packed my things and set off for the capital.

Night had already fallen by the time I started driving.

Heavy clouds gathered above the Pannonian plains. A storm was coming. I could feel it in the air. The wind was growing stronger. I expected rain at any moment, but I didn’t care.

Under normal circumstances, a drive across the flat Vojvodina landscape would have been peaceful, but that night my nerves were shredded. I was completely restless.

On the verge of losing my mind.

Radio frequencies were bleeding into one another. One moment there was music through the static, the next a distorted voice of a radio host breaking through the noise.

I didn’t even bother turning it off. It didn’t matter.

Only one thought kept repeating inside my head.

It’s not possible. She couldn’t have done this to me.

I had always believed that God Himself had created her for me. She was everything I had ever wanted. As if someone had designed her exactly according to my own wishes. And no matter how much she doubted it, from the moment I met her I never even looked at another woman.

I never cheated.

I never even thought about it.

And if I had loved her just a little less, all of this would have been much easier now.

I met her three years ago, when everything was much simpler. My firm—born from an attempt by me and a friend to stop being cheap programmers for the foreign market—was progressing well. There was plenty of work and more and more clients. Year after year we grew, broke through, developed, and truly, everything went like clockwork.

At that time, I was dating a girl who worked for us briefly as a substitute. Her name was Marijana, and although that relationship wasn’t particularly long or serious, it was good, and she was a decent girl. Honestly, I don’t remember us holding hands and watching sunsets, but I liked her. We talked, shared many common interests, and went out occasionally. I didn’t worry much about the future or what it would bring, but at times, I thought I might stay with her.

And then, all of a sudden, I met Anja in the company lobby. And that was it—a near heart attack for me, and the end of the road for Marijana and me.

In my thirty-something years, I had never seen a more beautiful girl, and as superficial as it might sound, I knew right then that she was the one. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and she made no effort to look away either. Had I met her anywhere else, I would have chased her down the street, but here I knew she couldn’t escape. She had to sign in at reception, and by the very next day, I had found her. We went for coffee and then again. Step by step, we started dating.

And it’s very important to mention: I wasn’t playing a double game or sitting on two chairs. I had already ended both the relationship and all contact with Marijana by then. I directed all my energy toward Anja, and things with her were even better than I had hoped. We got along well, got to know each other easily, and spent a lot of time together. From this perspective, as I shift through the shards of what’s left of us, I can freely say that it was, without a doubt, the time of my life, and that I was truly a happy man with her then.

Anja was perfect in that rare, unassuming way. Smart, sensible, and unusually modest. She had finished architecture and was hoping for a permanent position at the firm where she worked. The only thing I didn’t like about her was that she didn’t like to talk much about herself or her past. Like me, she had no living parents, but her story was cruel. Both her parents were addicts and she was still a baby when they overdosed together. After that, her grandmother took over her care. However, she lived only long enough to see Anja grow up and enroll in university. After her grandmother’s death, she was left completely alone.

By nature, she was withdrawn and somewhat introverted. She didn’t socialize much and spent her time mostly with her friend Daca. The two of them had lived and studied together for years, and now they were colleagues at work. Besides her, Anja had her best friend Nađa, with whom she grew up. And Nađa’s parents and brother Nikola were, in a way, Anja’s family.

Even when it came to men and romantic relationships, Anja didn’t have much to share. She told me she had only one serious relationship before me. And one violent ex-boyfriend she barely managed to escape.

They were no longer in contact.

And that was all she ever said about him.

I often wished she would tell me more but it was obvious her life had not been easy. And I understood why she didn’t want to revisit those memories.

We had been together for a year when I secretly paid her mentor to help her design the house of her dreams, and then had it built within a few months on a plot she chose herself. On our second anniversary, I proposed, and she said yes. We got married in early April of this year, and that day of our so-called wedding was also the last day we were happy and certain we would grow old together. After that, everything went downhill.

If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be funny. It happened only six months ago, but now it felt as if centuries had passed since then.