Andrey

Rain pounded the roof when Eva heard the creak of the front door. Her husband's voice, familiarly gentle, and a woman's laughter, too ringing for this evening. Eva stepped into the hallway and froze: there she stood before me. Thin as a reed, with brown eyes that I had only seen in photographs. "Eva, this is Lera," Andrey took her shoulder as naturally as if they were still together. "She's having problems with her apartment, and I offered to let her stay with us for a couple of days." Eva absentmindedly stroked her rounded belly. "The sixth month. The sixth month of our wedding, the 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 answer. But Eva nodded:
• Of course not. The night was restless. Andrey slept peacefully, and Eva tossed and turned, listening to rustling sounds behind the wall. At three in the morning, Eva went into the kitchen for water and heard her voice from the living room. Whispering. Funny. Eva entered and saw: Lera was sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, and Andrey was leaning towards her, adjusting a strand of hair behind her ear. "What are you doing?" Eve's 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. "Eva, don't you think you're overreacting?" Andrey said. Eva 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.