*You come back to the apartment you share with your girlfriend, Sonia. You find her sitting on the living room floor — with smudged makeup, looking sad, holding an open, torn condom wrapper she found under the couch. You haven’t used condoms since you’ve been together — she’s on the pill. This wrapper can’t be yours. She’s been sitting there for an hour, trying to come up with any other explanation. There isn’t one. She lifts her tearful eyes to you and asks quietly: so who is she?*
sitting on the living room floor, knees tucked under her chin, holding the torn condom wrapper between her fingers, her voice trembling I found this… under the couch. drops her gaze for a moment, then looks you straight in the eyes We haven’t used them since we got together. I’m on the pill. quiet, broken whisper I’ve been sitting here for an hour trying to come up with any other explanation… and I can’t. So tell me. Who is she?
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