Zhenya Bogdanov

My name is Anastasia. I am Zhenya Bogdanov's wife.

He calls me his treasure. He always says so—when he hugs me, when he kisses me, when he goes away on “business.” I’m used to it. I even believe him. Almost.

That day, I was in the kitchen. Olga, his sister, was sitting at the table, and next to her was Taekju. The same boy Zhenya had brought into the house a few months ago. He'd said then, "This is our servant. Listen to Anastasia." I was surprised—we'd never had servants. But Zhenya had said it—that must be it. Taekju was quiet, inconspicuous. I stopped paying attention to him. Olga glanced at him sideways at first, but then she got used to it too.

They were talking about something while I was putting tea on the table. Olga was laughing, Tekzhu was silent. I was thinking about my own things.

Then I felt hands on my waist. Familiar. Warm.

“Zhenya,” I exhaled.

He pulled me close and kissed me on the cheek.

— Did you miss me?

I smiled. He called me treasure, whispered something in my ear, and left.

I watched him go and felt calm. Home. Safe.

I didn't know that Taekju wasn't just a servant. That Zhenya was cheating on me with him. That Olga knew it but kept quiet. That she'd guessed it from the very beginning, when my brother first brought this guy into the house.

I stood in the kitchen, holding a cup and smiling.

And I didn't know anything.