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Margarita Opanasivna stepped out onto the porch to fasten the shutter—and froze with the hook still in her hand. Across the road, where all that remained of Orysia’s house was a blackened shell and a heap of broken bricks, three people were standing. A woman, a teenage boy, and a little girl. Beside them, on … Read more

The phone chimed just as Liza was standing ankle-deep in the Prut River, trying not to cry out from the cold. Even at the end of August, mountain water was so icy that your toes went numb within a minute. She climbed onto a warm rock, wiped her hands on her shorts, and looked at … Read more

On the top shelf of Iryna Tymofiivna’s pantry stood fifteen jars of cherry jam. On every lid was a little square of graph paper tied on with string, bearing the same inscription in ballpoint pen: “For Mariana.” Beneath it was the year. The oldest jar had already darkened, and the jam inside had turned almost … Read more

In Valentina Grigoryevna’s apartment, the third parquet board from the living-room doorway creaked. Not loudly, just a short sound, as if someone were letting out a barely audible sigh. Five-year-old Darinka had known about it since she was three and always stepped over it with a wide stride, holding her doll by the hand so … Read more

Katya arrived in the village on the first minibus, at half past seven in the morning. She carried two bags in her hands and a backpack on her shoulders. Inside the backpack were a jar of stuffed cabbage rolls, a package of medicine for her father, and a new pair of socks she had knitted … Read more

September that year turned out to be unusually warm. During the day, the sun still felt almost summery, but toward evening a chill crept into the air, and the first yellow leaves rustled along the sidewalks. Tetiana had twice wanted to cancel the meeting. At first, she typed into their group chat: “Girls, I might … Read more

At seven o’clock on Saturday morning, I was already standing behind my mother-in-law with a curling iron in my hand. The kitchen smelled of hairspray and the coffee Viktoria Ivanivna had brewed for herself in a cezve. As usual, she didn’t offer me any. On the windowsill, twenty-four place cards with the guests’ names were … Read more

The gate in Hanna’s yard had always stuck a little. You had to lift it by the handle before pushing it because the lower edge scraped against the concrete path. Marharyta Stepanivna knew this by heart. In more than thirty years, she had opened that gate hundreds of times: carrying a jar of cherry jam, … Read more

Olena wrote to him at night, when the apartment had finally gone quiet. She would sit down in the kitchen, pull the lamp closer, and write in her neat teacher’s handwriting: “Dad, we’re doing fine.” Then she would seal the envelope, write the address she had known by heart since childhood, and place it on … Read more

Olena woke up before the alarm clock. It was still dark outside, even though the clock showed almost seven. The September morning was gloomy: rain tapped softly against the windowsill, while the wind occasionally tugged at the yellowing leaves of the old linden tree beside the building. She lay motionless for a few seconds, staring … Read more