Maria, a forensic expert with shattered nerves, and Nina Petrovna, a seasoned psychiatrist, sat in old leather chairs quietly chatting. After a five-day stint in the regional hospital, which Maria had categorically resisted, Andrei put her in a car and took her to a psychiatrist at the military rehabilitation centre. He didn’t know who else to turn to. Things got even worse when the police went to the construction site on Shevchenko Street and confirmed that the plastic bag contained the body of a homeless man. Nobody could understand how she found it.

Nina Petrovna was around fifty. Her face was gentle, her movements smooth, and her eyes attentive.

“You must be retired by now. You count each year as two, don’t you?” Maria asked, watching a small yellow fish tap its head against the aquarium glass.

“Are you talking to me or to the fish?”

“You. But I can’t think straight because of your green gown.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About this fish in the aquarium.”

“What do you think about it?”

“That it reminds me of myself. So, are you retired?”

“Yes. But we have a war going on, and there aren’t enough specialists to go around. How is it similar?”

“I think it’s tired of living here with you.”

Nina Petrovna scribbled something in her notebook.

“When did you start touching your hair like that?”

“I don’t remember.”

“It should stop with treatment. Go home and rest now. If you have another episode, we’ll have to think about inpatient treatment.”

“Do you mean I would have to be sectioned?”

“It would mean being in a neurological facility under the supervision of a doctor, yes.”

“The one in Kyiv?”

“Maybe. But you don’t need to worry about that for now. Just make sure you take the medicine I prescribed you. It will help. The main thing now is to relieve your acute state and to phase out irritant triggers. You need to take yourself in hand.”

“And what if I am the irritant trigger?” Maria said with a sigh, looking at her hands.

The soldier in the wheelchair came past, completing another circle.

“How are you feeling, Seryozha?” the doctor asked.

“Thank you, Nina Petrovna. Still alive,” the soldier smiled at the doctor.

His wife stroked his short-cropped hair. Nina Petrovna again jotted in her notebook.

The fish opened its mouth and swallowed Maria.

There were five letters waiting. They lay in a dense pile and nearly fell out when Maria opened the letterbox. Andrei had not, of course, checked the mail. She rushed to hide them in the usual place.

“Nina Petrovna’s good, right?” Andrei said at supper. “She managed to sort out so many guys after being wounded.”

“Gave them new legs?” Maria wanted to say, but she thought better of it: “I think I’m just wasting her time.”