THEIR LOVE grew deeper every day. They were lovers, partners, best friends. The connection they first felt at university had only strengthened over the course of their foreign adventure. Minor betrayals had been forgiven or left unsaid. Through the strains of everyday life, they had learned to rely on each other. Tom called Anna’s parents without fail once a week; Anna wrote his emails in German for him. They had a joint Volksbank account but separate Netflix profiles, although the algorithm suggested the same shows for both of them. Either of them could choose anything on their joint behalf—be it a dish from a menu or an apartment—without a second thought, confident that the other would like it. They would fight over silly things: random social media storms, a form they were supposed to fill in. Every other Sunday they would clean the apartment while listening to old Eurovision songs. They never doubted they would grow old together. The sex was infrequent and bad.