Anastasia wiped the dust from her forehead and the cobwebs from her cheeks, feeling her face burning.
Her hiding place in the closet had never been a comfortable spot, her legs had gone numb from the awkward position. 

Boris had just entered the apartment. At that hour, he was supposed to be at the office, but there he was, speaking on the phone in a warm, slightly emotional tone, exactly the kind of tone back when he still left her notes on the fridge and roses on the windowsill.

Over the past year, their relationship had slid down a steep slope. There were evenings when Boris pretended to work late while Anastasia fell asleep alone, their daughter Paulina curling up beside her in bed. 

The whole story had started with a simple folder of documents that Paulina had thrown behind the wardrobe while playing. When Anastasia noticed the folder was missing, she had asked Boris to help move the wardrobe.
— “I’ll come with my brother this weekend, what’s the rush?” — he snapped at her, the way he’d been doing for some time now.

But she couldn’t wait any longer. So that morning, Anastasia stormed home in a rush. When she finally pulled out the folder, she felt like she had won a small but important battle.

The very next second, the door opened, and Boris walked in, speaking in a strangely confidential tone.
Anastasia pressed herself against the wall inside the dressing room and began to listen. At first, it sounded like he was talking about some business deal, but as the words kept flowing, she felt like her world was collapsing.