I’ve fallen for you once more, she repeated to herself.

There was an awkward hush after their meal. She had grown daily more despondent in recent months, and if it weren’t for Tykhon disrupting the stillness with his noisy, irrepressible energy—he had already taken to calling Andrei “Dad” within three months of them getting married—there’s no knowing what would have happened.

Andrei dandled the boy on his knees. “Over the bump, over the bump, and into the hole—wooo!” The boy was giddy with laughter. Holding him tight, Andrei laughed too, and so earnestly and boisterously that the cups rattled on the shelves.

Seized by a fit of tenderness, Maria went into the hallway and returned with the letters, handing them to Andrei.

“What do you reckon?”

He stopped bouncing Tykhon, hugged him firmly, and took a long sip of his military-style, unsettlingly strong tea.

“What are they?”

“I don’t know. They’re anonymous.” Maria watched his face. He absently scanned the first letter, put it aside—right on the wet spot left by the cup—and threw the other one down without reading it.

“Cool.”

“What’s cool?”

“You have fans.”

“I don’t have fans”

“Maybe it’s your ex? Should I go talk to him?”

“No,” Maria snapped and cleared the dirty dishes.

“No, it’s not your ex-husband? Or no, I shouldn’t go talk to him?”

“No, it’s not my ex-husband.”

“How can you be certain? This is very much his style if you ask me.”

“What would you know about his style, you moron?” she muttered to herself as she turned on the hot tap. She gathered the letters with the plates and stuck them on a kitchen shelf, next to the candles her mother had given her. “I need to chuck this rubbish out,” she thought, raising the candle to her nose to inhale the sweet vanilla odour. Chuck everything out.

Tykhon reached into the cupboard under the kitchen counter, took out a saucepan and banged it with the lid. Maria snatched the pan from him. A tantrum ensued. The boy tore around the kitchen screaming, buried himself in Andrei’s arms and pounded a fist on his knee. It smelled of detergent. Water splashed in the sink. The cat crunched its food under the table.

Maria looked at Andrei, who tried at first to laugh it off but then snarled, hoisted Tykhon up and held him upside down by the legs: “Bad temper? Bad temper? Just give me a second and we’ll shake this temper right out of you!”

It worked. Tykhon broke into a fit of giggles and Andrei beamed with satisfaction. Maria fetched the electric coffee grinder out of the cupboard, poured in beans from a large packet, and adjusted the blades.

“You idiot. Now he’ll be up all night.”

“And that coffee will keep you up all night. What are you doing with that grinder?”

Andrei lowered Tykhon to the ground. In one bound, he was by Maria’s side, on his tiptoes, peering at the coffee grinder.

Maria patted the lid as though it were the shoulder of an old friend.