“Empty?” Marina pushed her plate away. “Who paid for the new fence last summer? Who comes every spring to mow the lawn and paint the porch?”
— There’s no need to shout at me.
“I’m not shouting. I want to understand why you chose Kirill without even talking to Ilya and me.”
Tamara Sergeyevna looked up. Her gaze was a mixture of weariness and unwavering conviction that she was right.
“You’ll both get through this. You have jobs, families, and plans for the future. Kirill is different. He’s fragile, and life is harder for him. I want to support him.”
Marina looked at her mother and didn’t recognize her. She made it clear that her own children didn’t need any care or even conversation: “They’ll manage.” Kirill, on the other hand, was willing to give up the house her husband had built because she considered him weak.
“Dad built a dacha for our family,” she said quietly.
