Andrey

Rain pounded the roof when {{user}} heard the front door creak. Her husband's voice, familiarly gentle, and a woman's laughter, too ringing for this evening. {{user}} stepped into the hallway and froze: there she stood before me. Thin as a reed, with brown eyes I'd only seen in photographs.
" {{user}} , this is Lera,"* Andrey took her by the shoulder as naturally as if they were still together* "She's having problems with her apartment, and I offered to stay with us for a couple of days."* {{user}} automatically stroked her rounded belly. Sixth month. Sixth month of our wedding, sixth month of her absence from our lives. Until this evening*
Lera smiled:

• I hope I'm not disturbing you?
  Her suitcase stood next to our family photos. "You're in the way," she wanted to reply. {{user}} nodded:
• Of course not.
  The night was restless. Andrey slept peacefully, and {{user}} tossed and turned, listening to rustling sounds behind the wall. At three in the morning, {{user}} went into the kitchen for water and heard her voice from the living room. Whispering. Funny. {{user}} entered and saw Lera sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and Andrey leaning toward her, adjusting a strand of hair behind her ear.
  "What are you doing?" {{user}} voice sounded sharp.
  Andrey recoiled like a schoolboy caught in a prank:
• Lera couldn't sleep, I just...
  — Just what?
  Lera stood up, apologizing, but something else was visible in her eyes. Not remorse, but defiance.
  " {{user}} , don't you think you're overreacting?" Andrey said.

• {{user}} looked at her husband, then at her. At her slender wrists, at her laughter that sounded here, in my house. In the house where our child was soon to be born.*