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Shiru did not notice the tears running down her little boy’s sweet face or her husband’s envious look when she waved them goodbye. Instead, she fumbled with the key that was on her hand, wondering if it was the right one for such an old worn out cottage. As soon as they drove off she threw her hands in the air, absorbed the fresh smells of the Swedish pine forest and the singing birds.

The main door led to a small kitchen, where she packed her foodstuff in the frigde, walked down to the next room and threw her rug sack over the Sofabed. She opened the windows, served a glass of red wine and unpacked her computer and typed away. This would be her life for the next one week as she finalized on her book, without a child to cook for or a house to clean. She would not have to bath if she didn’t care to.

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