“Your salary is with your mom, so let her do the cooking,” I said. This morning, I filed for divorce.
“Katya, are we supposed to eat mice or something?” The question echoed from the dark kitchen as Ekaterina slipped off her shoes. Her left foot was throbbing after her shift. The yellow shopping bag was weighing down her fingers. “Did you check the fridge?” she asked. “I did. There’s just light and half a jar … Read more