My CMS

— Oksana! What do you think you’re doing?! Viktor didn’t enter the apartment—he flew into it, as if some malicious force had hurled him inside. The metal keys he threw onto the hall stand clanged with spite, shattering the evening quiet. His boots left dirty, melting tracks on the clean floor—disgusting blotches of city slush. … Read more

— “You’re sixty—what job?” my son-in-law Vadim chuckled, tossing his car keys onto my perfectly tidy entryway. “Go babysit the grandkids, Galina Sergeevna.” He always called me by my first name and patronymic, as if to underline the distance and my age. As if hammering nails into the coffin of my professional life. My daughter … Read more

Emma Nikolaevna had been bustling around the kitchen since early morning. Cutlets sizzled in the pan, and the oven breathed out the smell of apple pie. Olga followed her husband into the apartment, immediately caught the familiar aromas, and sighed. “Vit, something’s definitely up. Emma only bakes pie for special occasions.” “Oh, come on, Mom,” … Read more

Irina stood on the porch watching the evening sun paint their brand-new frame house in warm peach tones. Sergey was fussing with string lights, carefully hanging them along the fence. For three years they’d saved, scrimped, skipped vacations—and here it was at last. Their very own dacha. — Sergei, maybe that’s enough? It’s getting dark, … Read more

The apartment came to Sofia from the people closest to her—the ones who gave her life and taught her to cherish every moment. The two-room place, on the fourth floor of an old brick building, held within its walls the echo of the past, the whisper of former conversations, and the warmth of parental embraces. … Read more

— Dry again! Where did you even learn to cook? — Oleg pushed the plate away and grimaced. — My mom’s is always juicy! You could at least go over there once and see how you’re supposed to cook! Kristina slowly set her fork down and looked at her husband. He was scrutinizing dinner with … Read more

Anatoly sat hunched into the cold plastic of the hospital chair, and the whole world had shrunk to the size of this soulless corridor painted a dreary celery green. His large fingers—hands used to a keyboard—were clasped helplessly around his head, hiding a face wet with tears. Behind the frosted glass of Room Seven, in … Read more

— Dasha, you don’t know how to make salads at all! This is a jubilee, not a student party! — Tamara Nikolaevna demonstratively pushed away the plate with the freshly chopped ingredients. — I’m doing everything according to the recipe! — Dasha tried to speak calmly, though her hands were already trembling with tension. — … Read more

October evening wrapped the city in a gray veil. Rain drummed against the windows, and drops slid down the glass, leaving winding trails. Elena sat in the kitchen with a cup of hot tea and watched those rivulets of water. It had already been six months since the divorce, but she still hadn’t gotten used … Read more

I often catch myself thinking that smells are more honest than people. They don’t pretend, don’t wear masks, don’t speak in half-truths. If the kitchen smells of dill, it means someone tossed it generously into the soup, even if you swore to yourself it would be pumpkin cream today, no greens, just the way you … Read more