Maria pulled the covers over her head, trying to put off the moment she’d finally have to get out of bed. The alarm broke through the silence. Her hand darted out to press the little screen and set snooze for another five minutes. And again. And again.

“Byeee, Mum,” said Tykhon, sticking his head through the door.

“Rise and shine sleepyhead,” shouted Andrei. “You’re going to sleep all your way through life!”

Maria again stuck her hand out from under the covers and waved without turning toward them.

The door slammed shut and the flat fell silent. She dug her fingernails into her palms, stretched and showered sleepy curses on the slowly sharpening world for the brevity of the night. She flopped onto her back and looked at the ceiling. Her night-time tormentors—confusion and fatigue—lay in wait under the bed for her to completely throw off her sleep, ready to begin a new day’s labour with renewed energy.

She waited till the chills in her spine had eased, turned on the hot water and splashed her face with soapy water. As she brushed her teeth, she examined her stomach, shoulders, neck, and hands. “Hands of the Virgin Mary,” Andrei liked saying, but it was not true. Sweaty palms in latex, carrying the child along winter streets, cleaning, fixing. Her hands had grown cold, sheathed with a crust of ice that was invisible to the eye.

No shaking that damn suicide from my mind. That lard-arse investigator is probably right: who cares?

Maria spat out the toothpaste, rinsed, and beamed at the mirror. At least her teeth were pristine. Forensics will have to sweat working out her age.

She stepped over the side of the bathtub and turned on the shower. Hot water flowed over her body, peeling away the sleep and cold. Maria lathered and scrubbed herself. Her hands dropped between her legs, and she closed her eyes. Fryderyk entered the bathroom and surveyed her with his gelid stare. He took off his clothes.

Pleasure, extraordinary pleasure. Maria threw her head back, remembering and feeling those dark rooms, the music, the embraces. He was in front of her, he gripped her wrist.

Maria groaned, arched her back, and pressed her buttocks and the back of her head against the cold wall. Her body trembled. The water suddenly felt too hot. Rainbow motes floated in the space beneath her eyelids.

The next spasms were unpleasant and painful. As though something had spilled and flowed out of her body: a black, ugly shame. Maria turned off the tap and hastened out of the bathtub. She dried herself off with a white towel and rubbed the misted mirror. No shadow of the ugliness lurking inside. She put on a robe and went to get ready for the night shift.

How to endure another night of work?

Leaving the flat, she didn’t bother checking the letterbox. She sensed there would be no envelope.