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Julia shut down her computer and stretched. It had been a tough day—the client presentation dragged on, then a meeting, then contract edits. Her head throbbed and her shoulders were stiff. She wanted to get home, take a shower, and collapse on the couch with a book. The two-room apartment on Leninsky Prospekt had become … Read more

Hot dishes hadn’t even been served yet, but the air at the table was thick enough to cut with a knife. Zinaida Arkadyevna Voropaeva, the lady of the house, folded her linen napkin with an unreadable face. Her movements were precise and measured, like a surgeon before an operation. She took a pen from her … Read more

Every morning Yulia woke to the sound of raindrops tapping on the windowsill and saw gray clouds outside. The weather seemed to match her mood—anxious, uncertain, filled with vague suspicions. For the third week in a row, her husband Igor packed a sports bag and announced: “ My parents aren’t feeling well. I’ll go to … Read more

Anna Sergeyevna stood at the foot of a huge glass building where a special, headlong kind of life reigned. The height of the structure seemed endless, and her reflection in its walls looked distorted and alien. She adjusted the modest, frayed-at-the-edges bag on her shoulder and took a deep breath. The air was cold and … Read more

“Alinka, enough already with stuffing yourself with pastries, or soon you won’t fit through the doorway!” Stas’s voice—loud and self-satisfied—was still ringing in her ears. It had boomed out last night, cutting through the cheerful buzz of a friendly get-together. And right after it—an explosion of laughter. Not malicious, no. Just simple, stupid, male guffawing … Read more

— Are you serious right now? — Margarita slowly set the book down on the arm of the sofa. Her voice was so even and quiet that for a moment it seemed as if she were merely clarifying some trivial detail. Andrey, who had already kicked off one shoe in the entryway, turned and looked … Read more

The shadow from the tall poplar outside had already split the yard in two when the worst moment in sixteen years of the Beketovs’ life together began. The living room air—stagnant with cigarette smoke and unsaid words—felt thick enough to slice. Artyom Viktorovich, veins ridging the backs of his hands and a commander’s stare turned … Read more

Yana pushed open the apartment door and immediately caught the low hum of voices coming from the kitchen. Her husband, Igor, was in there with his mother—Valentina Stepanovna—who had shown up that morning and, as usual, made the kitchen her base camp. “So what’s with the TV?” Igor was asking. “It’s ancient,” his mother complained. … Read more

— Chris, will you talk to your parents? I asked you to. Oleg’s voice, usually soft and enveloping, now sounded to Kristina like an old engine idling — monotonous, buzzing, and provoking a dull irritation. She sat in an armchair with a book, but for the last ten minutes she’d been reading the same page. … Read more

— “Could you keep it down a little? My head is splitting.” Roman’s voice from the living room wasn’t loud, but it carried that particular, icy note that made something in Anna’s stomach unpleasantly clench. She froze for a moment with the knife poised above the cutting board, listening. The kitchen smelled of fried onions … Read more