“Marina, do you remember Kirill Stepanov?” her mother asked her one day, about three years ago.
— Aunt Lida’s son? A little.
— The poor boy was left all alone.
Lidia Stepanova had been friends with Tamara Sergeevna since their student days. Ten years ago, she died in a car accident. Her son was seventeen at the time. After the funeral, Kirill often visited Tamara Sergeevna. She helped him prepare for exams, invited him to lunch, and sometimes gave him money.
“Mom, why do you keep calling him ‘boy’?” Marina wondered. “He’s already twenty-seven.”
“To me, he will always be a child. I remember him when he was little.”
Neither Marina nor Ilya had anything against Kirill. He came to family meals, chatted politely with everyone, and on March 8th brought flowers to Tamara Sergeyevna. He worked as a barista, moving from one café to another. He and his girlfriend, Anya, rented a studio apartment.
