“Why are you feeding me these fairy tales, Vitya? You were the one who gave your sister the keys to my second apartment so she could live there! Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe she took the keys to that apartment from our home herself?!”
“Why are you feeding me these fairy tales, Vitya? You were the one who gave your sister the keys to my second apartment so she could live there! Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe she took the keys to that apartment from our home herself?!”
Elena hurled the heavy bunch of keys onto the kitchen table. The metal struck the ceramic sugar bowl with a clang, and its lid slid sideways with an unpleasant scrape. Viktor, who was sitting in front of a plate of half-eaten fried potatoes, did not even flinch. He slowly chewed his mouthful, wiped his lips with a napkin, and only then raised his eyes to his wife. There was neither fear nor remorse in his gaze—only the lazy irritation of a man whose television viewing had been interrupted.
“Why are you yelling the moment you walk through the door?” He reached for his mug of tea, pointedly ignoring the keys she had thrown down. “The neighbors will hear you. Sveta only stopped by to water the flowers. I asked her to. You’re always complaining that your ficus is drying out.”
Elena unbuttoned her coat but did not take it off. She was burning with rage, which throbbed in her temples, yet she felt the need to remain protected by her outdoor “armor.” She walked right up to the table and loomed over her seated husband. The smell of fried onions, which had once seemed comforting, now made her nauseous.
“Water the flowers?” she repeated, her voice dropping low and vibrating with restrained fury. “Vitya, do you really think I’m a complete idiot? People who stop by to water flowers don’t bring three suitcases, a box of winter shoes, and a multicooker with them. And they certainly don’t walk around someone else’s apartment wearing my old terrycloth robe and flicking cigarette ash into my favorite mug.”
Viktor grimaced as though he had a toothache and put down his mug. His story had fallen apart before he had even managed to construct it properly, but he had no intention of admitting defeat.
“Well, maybe she decided to stay for a couple of days. She’s stressed and has personal problems. She needed somewhere to stay temporarily and pull herself together. It’s cramped here, and you know the walls are paper-thin. I merely gave her the opportunity to have some peace and quiet. What difference does it make to your square footage?”
Elena stared at him and barely recognized him. The man now poking at his plate with a fork looked like a stranger—an arrogant, slippery, utterly unfamiliar creature.
“My square footage won’t decrease,” she said distinctly. “But the amount of money in my wallet already has. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I went there to collect the rent, and instead of my tenants, I found your sister sprawled across the sofa like some grand lady. Where are the tenants, Vitya? Where is the family that paid me on time for six straight months?”
Property Registration
Viktor finally put down his fork, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest. His posture was openly defiant.
“Your tenants moved out. On their own.”
“You’re lying.” Elena struck the table with her palm, making the spoon in an empty mug jump. “I called the tenant while I was driving here. He told me everything. Apparently, you showed up there a week ago. You introduced yourself as the owner, said there was an emergency and that we were urgently selling the apartment, and gave them three days to move out. You threw those people out onto the street, Vitya! People with whom I had a contract! You lied to them, you lied to me, and you did all of it so you could move your precious Sveta in there?”
Viktor snorted and looked toward the window, where twilight was already gathering.
“Oh, don’t turn it into a tragedy. Your precious contract is nothing but a worthless scrap of paper. Imagine worrying so much about complete strangers. So they moved out—big deal. You’ll find new tenants later. What’s the disaster? Sveta is my sister. My own flesh and blood. She’s going through a difficult period. She and her husband are having problems again, and she has nowhere to live. Where is she supposed to go, the train station?” Elena felt as though the floor were disappearing beneath her feet. It was not from weakness, but from the monstrous, twisted logic with which he was attempting to justify his high-handed behavior. He had treated her property, her income, and her reputation as though they naturally belonged to him.
“Sveta has an apartment of her own,” Elena reminded him sharply. “The two-bedroom apartment her grandmother left her. Why doesn’t she live there? Oh, yes, I forgot. She rents it out because she’s apparently too lazy to work but still needs money for her ‘beautiful life.’ So Sveta gets income from her own apartment while living in mine for free? At my expense? And I’m supposed to throw out paying tenants and go without money so your sister can be comfortable?”
Viktor shot to his feet, pushing his chair back with a crash. Now they stood facing each other, separated only by the kitchen table and an abyss of mutual incomprehension. His face began turning red—a reliable sign that he had run out of arguments and was switching to aggression. “All you ever think about is money!” he roared, jabbing a finger at her. “You’ve got a calculator instead of a heart! My sister is in trouble. She’s depressed, and you’re counting how much electricity she used and how much rent you lost? How can you even say such things? We’re family! Families are supposed to help each other, in case you didn’t know.”
“Helping is when you take money out of your own pocket,” Elena shot back without looking away. “Not when you steal from your wife. You stole from me, Vitya. You deprived me of my monthly income. Did you even consider what we’re going to use to buy groceries? Or put fuel in the car? I had plans for that money.”
“You’ll earn more!” He waved her away as though they were discussing something trivial. “You’re a healthy woman. You won’t fall apart. Sveta needs support right now—both moral and practical. As her brother, I have a duty to help her. And if that means sacrificing the comfort of some random tenants, that’s what I’ll do. Stop looking at me as though I committed a crime.”
Elena slowly exhaled through her nose. Something inside her clicked and broke. The part of her responsible for seeking compromises and smoothing over disagreements simply ceased to exist. She remembered Sveta’s brazen face when she had seen the owner standing in the doorway. She had not even considered getting up from the sofa. Instead, she had lazily blown a stream of smoke toward the ceiling and asked, “Why did you come barging in? Vitya said you wouldn’t show your face before the weekend.” “You’re right, Vitya,” Elena said in a frighteningly calm voice. “You made your choice. You decided to play the noble rescuer. But you forgot one detail. The apartment belongs to me. And so do the keys.”
Viktor became wary. Her voice lacked the usual notes of hurt that he could easily extinguish with manipulation. This time, there was steel in it.
“So what?” he muttered.
“So,” Elena replied with a crooked smile, “half an hour ago, I threw your ‘flesh and blood’ out of my apartment. Along with her suitcases, multicooker, and ashtray. I had the locks changed while she screamed in the stairwell. So the charity campaign is over, Vitya.”
Viktor froze. His face lengthened and his mouth fell open as though he were about to say something, but the words became lodged in his throat. For several seconds, he merely blinked, trying to comprehend what he had heard. Then he exploded.
“You… What did you do?” he wheezed, slowly rising from his chair. Its legs screeched unpleasantly across the tiles, leaving an invisible scratch across the kitchen’s silence. “You threw Sveta out? At this hour? Onto the street?”
“Not onto the street—into the entrance hall,” Elena corrected him coldly, without taking a single step back. “A taxi was already waiting for her. I called it. And don’t worry, I helped carry her suitcases outside. I’m not a monster.”
“You’re not a monster? You’re worse!” Viktor screamed as purple blotches spread across his face. “You’re a complete bitch! Her life is falling apart, and you kick her out? How could your conscience allow it? She must have been crying! She called me earlier and told me how peaceful and comfortable she felt there. Then you came barging in and ruined everything!”
He began pacing frantically around the kitchen, grabbing first his head and then the back of a chair as though searching for something on which to vent his anger. He was trembling—not from pity for his sister, but because his authority and the decision he had considered brilliant had been trampled and thrown down the garbage chute.
“She felt peaceful there?” Elena crossed her arms and watched her husband’s tantrum with the disgusted curiosity of an entomologist. “Of course she did. A free apartment in the city center, someone else’s Wi-Fi, and wardrobes full of my clothes. By the way, Vitya, do you happen to know why there’s a ketchup stain on my silk blouse? Did Sveta decide to try on my clothes?” “I don’t give a damn about your blouse!” he roared, stopping in front of her. “Rags are all you care about! Clothes, square footage, money! You’ve turned into a cold, calculating profiteer! Where is the Lena I married? Where is your compassion? Sveta is my little sister. I’ve looked after her since she was in diapers! And if she needs to live somewhere for free for a month or two, then that is exactly what she will do!”
“For free?” Elena interrupted, her voice cracking like a whip. “You call it ‘free’? Let’s calculate it, Vitya. The tenants paid thirty thousand rubles plus utilities. That money arrived in my account on the tenth of every month. Do you remember where it went, or has your memory suddenly failed you?”
Viktor snorted and looked away.
“Here we go. Now we’re going to get a full accounting report.”
“Yes, we are,” she said, nodding firmly. “That thirty thousand paid the loan on your car—the car you use to haul your backside to work. That money paid the utilities here, in this apartment. We also used it to buy groceries at Auchan every weekend. The same sausage you stuff yourself with at night and the beer you pour down your throat in front of the television. It wasn’t ‘my’ money, Vitya. It was part of our household budget! And with one decision, you deprived us of a quarter of our income so your darling sister could rent out her dump and live comfortably in my apartment!”
Viktor grimaced as though suffering from a toothache. Arguments about money always annoyed him. He enjoyed the benefits it provided but considered discussing where it came from something base and beneath a “real man.”
“You’re petty,” he hissed through clenched teeth, staring at his wife with undisguised contempt. “You count every ruble. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have said a word! We could have tightened our belts for a month. We wouldn’t have fallen apart! Sveta is in a difficult situation. She needs money to get back on her feet. She rented out her apartment so she could repay her debts, you complete idiot!”
“And who’s going to repay my debts?” Elena stepped toward him, causing him to retreat involuntarily toward the refrigerator. “Who’s going to pay for your Ford? Pushkin? Or perhaps Sveta will contribute some of the income from her apartment? No, Vitya. You decided to play the noble hero at my expense. You’re the kind brother and generous uncle, while I’m the evil shrew who’s expected to sponsor the whole banquet in silence.”
She paused, remembering her conversation with the former tenant. Icy fury began boiling inside her again.
“And do you know what the most disgusting part is?” she said quietly, looking directly into his eyes. “It isn’t that you let her move in. It’s the way you did it. Sergei, my tenant, told me the details. You didn’t simply ask them to leave. You threatened them. You said I was in trouble with the law and that the apartment might be seized. You told them that if they didn’t get out within two days, the bailiffs would come and inventory their possessions along with mine. You frightened a family with a small child, Vitya. You lied to their faces and used my name to throw them out into the cold because of your sister’s whim.”
Viktor turned red—not from shame, but from anger at having been caught. “So what?” he burst out, throwing up his hands. “That’s the only way to deal with people like them! They’re strangers. They’ll survive! At least Sveta was somewhere warm. Don’t you understand that your own flesh and blood matters more? Relatives are forever. Husbands, wives, and tenants come and go! You should have taken my side!”
“I should have?” Elena smiled bitterly. “I don’t owe you anything except fidelity while we’re married. But apparently, you’re not married to me—you’re married to your sister. Since you’re willing to lie to your wife, steal from your wife, and put your wife in danger because of Sveta’s whims, perhaps you should go and live with her.”
“Don’t you dare!” Viktor shouted, slamming his fist against the countertop so hard that the empty plate jumped. “Don’t twist everything around! I’m the man, and I made the decision! In my family, I decide who lives where! And if you were as clever as you think you are, you could have kept quiet instead of creating this whole circus! Because of you, Sveta is now outside in the middle of the night! Can you even imagine what she’s going through?”
He grabbed his phone from the table and nervously tapped at the screen, clearly preparing to call his sister.
“I can imagine,” Elena said indifferently, turning toward the sink to pour herself some water. Her throat was dry from shouting and disgust. “She’s very upset that her free ride has ended. But that isn’t my problem. And she is no longer my responsibility.”
“She is!” Viktor hissed, pressing the phone to his ear. “She absolutely is. You’ll answer for this. You humiliated my family, Lena. Things like that are not forgiven.” A heavy silence descended over the kitchen, broken only by the dialing tone coming from Viktor’s phone, which was turned up to full volume. He looked at his wife with hatred, as though he were staring at a sworn enemy rather than the woman with whom he had lived for five years.
Elena looked through the window into the black emptiness of the evening and understood that the man she had loved no longer existed. All that remained was this hysterical, greedy man who was prepared to feed her well-being to his precious relatives. And that man had just declared war on her.
The speakerphone activated with a distinctive click, and the kitchen was immediately filled with hysterical sobbing so loud that it seemed capable of peeling the wallpaper from the walls. Viktor had deliberately tapped the speaker icon and now looked triumphantly at his wife, as though inviting her to take a front-row seat and enjoy the tragedy she had supposedly created.
“Vitenka! Can you hear me?” Svetlana’s voice rose into a shriek, interrupted by loud sobs. “I’m sitting in some awful dive! It smells like burned oil, and people are staring at me as though I’m homeless! My hands are shaking so badly I can’t even hold my coffee! She threw me out! Like some mangy dog! She simply threw me out!”
“Quiet, Svetik, quiet. I’m here.” Viktor leaned over the phone, his face adopting an expression of mournful, martyr-like concern. He spoke deliberately loudly and in a velvety voice, playing the role of the only protector in a world filled with evil. “Tell me what happened. Did she hit you? Did she push you?” Elena leaned against the cool refrigerator door and folded her arms across her chest. She did not feel sorry for her sister-in-law. Not in the slightest. She knew that tone perfectly—a mixture of a spoiled child and a market vendor who had been cheated out of three kopecks.
“Worse!” the voice on the phone howled. “She looked at me as though I were dirt! She said, ‘Pack your junk and get out.’ Vitya, she didn’t even call the taxi right up to the entrance! I had to carry my suitcases ten meters through the snow! My boots are suede. They’ll be ruined! And she just stood there smirking! Vitya, your wife is insane! She needs treatment. This is some kind of psychopathy! I told her, ‘My brother gave me permission,’ and she waved the keys in my face!”
Viktor raised his eyes to his wife. His gaze was triumphant, as though saying, “Do you hear that? Do you hear what you’ve done to her?”
“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he cooed into the phone, never taking his furious eyes off Elena. “We’ll think of something. I won’t abandon you. You know that as long as I’m alive, no one will hurt you. I’ll straighten out this… situation now and transfer some money to you for a hotel. Or we’ll rent you somewhere decent. Don’t worry. We’ll find a solution.”
“I have no money at all!” Sveta howled even louder. “I was counting on you! You promised!”
“I’ll take care of everything,” Viktor said firmly and pompously. “Everything will be fine. Wait for the transfer.”
He ended the call and threw his phone onto the table. The screen went dark, but the tension in the air only grew thicker. Viktor straightened and squared his shoulders, feeling like a hero who had rescued a princess from a dragon. “Did you hear that?” he roared. “Are you satisfied? She’s hysterical, in an unfamiliar neighborhood, in the middle of the night!”
“I heard her.” Elena nodded calmly. Her composure was more frightening than any scream. It was lifeless. “I especially liked the part where you said you would ‘transfer some money’ and ‘rent her somewhere.’ That’s very noble of you, Vitya. A truly manly act.”
Viktor narrowed his eyes, sensing something dangerous in her tone, but the momentum of the argument carried him forward.
“Yes, it is! I’m not going to let my sister spend the night at a train station because of your greed. I’ll transfer money to her account right now. It will be enough for a couple of nights in a hotel, and then we’ll see.”
“Excellent.” Elena pushed herself away from the refrigerator and walked to the kitchen table, where her notebook lay. She opened it, tore out a blank sheet, and picked up a pen. “Transfer it. But let’s clarify one thing first. Which account are you planning to transfer it from? Your salary account?”
“What difference does it make to you?” Viktor snapped, grabbing his phone and opening his banking application. “Mine!”
“Yours,” Elena repeated, quickly writing something on the paper. “Wonderful. Now listen to me very carefully, Vitya. The spectacular display of generosity at my expense is over. Forever.”
Viktor froze, his finger suspended above the screen.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mathematics, Vitya. The very subject you hate so much.” She turned the sheet toward him. A column of numbers had been written on it. “Look. Your salary is sixty thousand rubles. The loan payment on your car is twenty-five thousand. Fuel and maintenance for your Ford cost at least another ten thousand, since you love driving everywhere. The utilities for this apartment are seven thousand. We divide that in half, so your share is three and a half thousand. Internet and our phones are another one and a half. That brings your mandatory expenses alone to forty thousand.”
She tapped the final figure with her pen.
“That leaves you twenty thousand rubles a month—for food, cigarettes, lunches at the office, beer, and a new shirt. Now tell me, you lousy philanthropist, where the hell are you going to find the money for Sveta’s hotel and rental apartment?”
Viktor stared at the numbers, and perspiration appeared on his forehead. He had never calculated anything. Money had simply existed. It lay in the bedside cabinet, it was in Elena’s account, and it arrived from the tenants. He had become accustomed to treating his salary as pocket money while everything else came from the “shared household fund” replenished by his wife.
“You… You can’t do this,” he muttered, fear appearing in his voice for the first time. “We’re a family. We have a shared budget.”
“We had a shared budget,” Elena cut him off. “Right up until the moment you decided to dispose of my property behind my back. You kept shouting about ‘flesh and blood,’ didn’t you? Fine. You’re right. I’m not your flesh and blood. I’m your wife. Your partner. And you don’t cheat your partner out of money. So from this moment onward, everything is separate. Do you want to support your sister? Support her. Do you want to rent an apartment for her? Rent one. But not one kopeck of my money will be used for it.”
“Are you blackmailing me?” Viktor roared, realizing he had been backed into a corner. “Are you planning to starve me until I crawl around on my knees in front of you?”
“I want fairness.” Elena snapped the notebook shut. “I bought the food in the refrigerator yesterday. You may finish it. But tomorrow, darling, you’ll go to the store with your own money. You’ll fuel the car yourself. And you’ll pay the loan that is in your name yourself. We’ll see how many days your precious Sveta can live on whatever you have left.”
Viktor’s face turned purple. The realization of his financial helplessness struck him harder than any insult. He suddenly understood that without his wife’s money, he was nothing. All his posturing and “male pride” rested on the foundation of her premarital apartment and her salary. “You calculating little bitch,” he hissed, clenching his fists. “You planned all this deliberately! You’re trying to humiliate me! You’re throwing your money in my face? Choke on your money! I’ll borrow some! I’ll take out a loan! But I’ll prove to you that I can manage without you!”
“Go ahead,” Elena said indifferently. “Take out a loan. A second one. A third. Just remember that you’ll be the one paying them back. And if you don’t, the bank will take your car. Not mine.”
Viktor’s phone chimed again. A message had arrived from Sveta:
“Well? Did you transfer it? I’m freezing!”
He looked at the screen and then at his wife, who stood before him with a face of stone. Impotent rage boiled inside him. He could not transfer the money. If he sent ten thousand rubles for a hotel now, he would have nothing with which to make the loan payment the following week.
“You’ve ruined my entire life!” he screamed, throwing the chair aside. It struck the wall with a crash and fell onto its side. “You greedy, petty woman! I hope that money gets stuck in your throat! I’m going to help my sister, do you hear me? I’ll find a way! And you… You died to me today!”
“The feeling is mutual,” Elena replied. She picked up her keys from the table and pointedly headed for the kitchen door. “You’ll sleep in here. I’m not making up the sofa in the living room for you.”
She left him alone with the overturned chair, his cooling dinner, and the phone that continued vibrating with impatient messages from his “beloved little sister.” Viktor stood in the middle of the kitchen, breathing heavily, and felt the noose he had tied around his own neck beginning to tighten. Elena entered the bedroom and firmly closed the door behind her. It was silent and dark inside. Only a streetlamp illuminated the corner of the wardrobe and the edge of the double bed. Her hands were no longer trembling.
Panic and hurt had been replaced by an icy, crystal-clear understanding: this was the end. Not the kind of ending in which people talked for hours, cried, and divided their books, but the kind in which you looked at another person and saw nothing but an empty space.
She did not turn on the light. She approached the wardrobe, yanked open the door, and began methodically removing her husband’s belongings from the shelves. Sweaters, T-shirts, and jeans all landed in a shapeless heap on the floor. She moved like a machine: grab, throw, grab, throw. There was no anger left—only the necessity of clearing foreign objects from her space.
The door flew open with such force that the handle struck the wall, leaving a dent in the wallpaper. Viktor stood in the doorway. His face was contorted, his eyes shone feverishly, and his shirt reeked of sweat and cheap tobacco. He had clearly managed to smoke half a pack of cigarettes on the balcony during the previous ten minutes.
“What the hell are you doing?” he screamed when he saw the mountain of his clothes on the wooden floor. “Have you completely lost your mind? Those are my things!”
“Exactly,” Elena answered calmly without stopping. She took his box of fishing equipment from the top shelf and dropped it noisily on top of the sweaters. “These are your things. And they should be kept wherever you sleep. You no longer sleep in here.”
Viktor stepped forward, placing his dirty boot on the sleeve of his own shirt. “You have no right to throw me out of the bedroom! This apartment belongs to me too! I’m officially registered here!”
“You are registered here,” she agreed, turning toward him. In the dim light, her face looked as though it had been carved from stone. “That’s why I’m not throwing you out of the apartment. Stay. Use the toilet, the bathroom, and the hallway. But the bedroom is my personal space. The kitchen is yours. That little sofa you praised so highly when we bought it is in there. You’ll enjoy it.”
“Are you treating me like a dog?” he hissed, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Are you going to make me sleep on a doormat? I’m a man, Lena! I’m the head of this family!”
“The head of the family?” Elena gave a short, dry laugh that sounded like a cough. “The head of a family solves problems instead of creating them. The head of a family brings money into the home instead of stealing it from his wife to impress his sister. You are not the head of anything, Vitya. You’re a dependent with enormous ambitions. And beginning today, your financial support has been canceled.”
Viktor choked with indignation. He was accustomed to Elena smoothing things over and always being the first to seek reconciliation. Her current ruthlessness frightened him so badly that he was trembling, but admitting defeat was beyond him.
“Go to hell!” he spat. “Do you think I’ll perish without your handouts? I’ll find a second job tomorrow! I’ll borrow money from the guys! But I’m not going to humiliate myself in front of you!”
“Excellent.” Elena picked up his pillow from the bed and threw it at his chest. He caught it automatically, pressing it against himself like a shield. “Take your junk and get out. I want to sleep. I have to work tomorrow. Unlike your sister, money doesn’t fall out of the sky for me.” Viktor stood there, breathing heavily and staring at her with hatred. He wanted to hit her, smash something, or hurt her in some way to wipe that intolerable arrogance from her face. But he understood that any physical attack would end with the police being called, and that did not suit his plans.
“You’ll regret this,” he said through clenched teeth as he backed toward the door. “You’ll come crawling to me when you realize you’re all alone. Who needs an old, vicious woman with an apartment? Sveta was right about you. You’re a witch. A real witch.”
“Close the door from the other side,” Elena said indifferently, already turning toward the window.
He stormed out of the room and slammed the door. A second later, Elena heard him furiously kicking his belongings down the hallway toward the kitchen. There was the sound of breaking glass—he had probably knocked over the vase in the entrance hall—but she did not care.
She walked to the door and turned the lock. The click sounded like a gunshot, permanently severing her from her former life.
In the kitchen, Viktor gathered his things into a corner, forming an untidy heap that resembled a giant rat’s nest. He sat on the hard kitchen banquette and pulled his feet up because the floor was cold and his slippers were still in the bedroom. His stomach growled, but he could not bring himself to open the refrigerator. Pride was battling hunger, and for the moment, pride was winning—although only with great difficulty.
He took out his phone. Its screen cast a poisonous blue glow through the dark kitchen. Sveta had sent him five voice messages. Viktor pressed play and lowered the volume as much as possible so the bitch behind the wall would not hear.
“Vitya, where are you? I’m scared to be alone in this room! The walls are paper-thin, and the neighbors are making noise! When are you coming? You promised!”
Viktor drew a deep breath and pressed the record button. His voice sounded hoarse, but it had once again acquired the same self-important confidence that had just been trampled in the bedroom.
“Svetik, everything’s fine. Don’t panic. I had a… very serious talk with Lena. I put her in her place. Of course, she’s hysterical and begging for forgiveness, but I’m standing firm for now. I told her she wasn’t allowed to treat my relatives that way. Let her cry it out and realize who the man of the house is. Tomorrow, I’ll settle everything once and for all. I’ll transfer the money to you in the morning. The bank is simply updating its application right now, so the payments are stuck. Get some sleep, sweetheart. Your brother is here for you. No one will hurt you.”
He sent the message and leaned his head against the hard back of the sofa. The kitchen fell silent, disturbed only by the hum of the old refrigerator.
Viktor sat in the darkness on the uncomfortable banquette, surrounded by a heap of clothes, without money, dinner, or prospects. Yet inside his head, he was already constructing a new reality in which he was a hero and a martyr suffering for the truth, while his wife was a tyrant he merely needed to outlast.
On the other side of the wall, Elena lay with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She did not cry. She was thinking that the first thing she needed to do the following morning was replace the lock cylinder in the second apartment one more time, just to be safe, and arrange food deliveries only for herself.
Life continued, but two complete strangers now lived in that apartment, fighting a cold, exhausting war over square footage and the remnants of their self-respect.
And that war was only beginning…