Chapter 1

I understand now that the question was tactless. If my father had asserted himself more in his wife's presence, no one would have dared ask it, but then… Back then, he answered as if his daughter weren't sitting right there, throwing his wife a brief glance.

“Yes, Nastia lives with my mother; it's more convenient for her that way. Her own home, her school, her friends—you understand… Let's leave things as they are.”

“At least she's not an orphan. She has a father.”

Yes, she does. Apparently everyone understood that except me. But no one asked me, and the conversation continued. The day had been too difficult, too long, and filled with worry over Grandma's fate; I simply wasn't used to that kind of attention. It was open and seemingly friendly, but it was torture, and throughout dinner I huddled at the corner of the table, scraping my empty plate with my fork and wrapping myself in my cardigan, trying not to look at the unfamiliar teenagers or my stepbrother, who never took his hostile gray eyes off me.

It all ended about two hours later, when Galina Yuryevna, after seeing the guests out and watching her husband fuss over clearing the table, said:

“As you can see, Nastia, this house is new—we only finished building it and moved in two months ago. We haven't finished furnishing or renovating it yet, so for now you'll sleep in Stas's room. It's warm, it has a computer and its own bathroom, and I think you'll be most comfortable there.”

Before I could even be surprised, my stepbrother sprang up from the table, nearly knocking over his chair.

“What?! No, Mom! You can't be serious! This is insane!”

Galina Yuryevna's voice suddenly turned stern—so stern that even I didn't doubt her decision.

“I'm absolutely serious.”

“But, damn it! Mom, that's my room! My computer, my bathroom, everything… It's all mine in there!”

“Keep talking, you little landlord! You ought to be ashamed of yourself in front of your sister!”

“She's not my sister…”

She smacked him again, and this time he fell silent at once.

“Well, she is what she is. So what? You can sleep on the sofa in the living room! You're a big, strong guy; you won't fall apart.”

“The room is still mine!”

They stood facing each other—mother and son—and I couldn't even hide behind my father's back.

“Looks like I didn't raise you right, Staska. Stop throwing tantrums in my house! I won't have it! I'd tan your hide, you idiot, but I'm ashamed of you in front of Nastia. In this house, the only thing that's yours is the skin stretched over your ass. You know me—I don't care how grown you are, I'll belt you so hard you'll be sorry!”

“Well, thanks, Mom.”

“You're welcome! And you might want to remember you're supposed to be grateful to your mother a little more often. Especially when you're asking for money for a new phone and new clothes.”

“Grisha!”

Well, look at that—my father was finally there.

“Yes, Galya?”

“And what are you standing there like a tree stump for, Matveyev? Take your daughter's bags upstairs already! How much longer are you going to make her suffer?”

My stepbrother's room was on the second floor. I climbed the stairs silently behind my father and stopped at the threshold of the unfamiliar bedroom, unable to go in. My father hesitated too, not hurrying to open the door.

“Galya may have gone a little too far in giving you the bedroom,” he said uncertainly, letting out a noisy sigh and looking at me sadly. “Well, never mind. Come in, Nastia. If she says this is where you'll be, then this is where you'll make yourself at home. There's no arguing with Galina Yuryevna about things like that…”

He went in, set the bag down by the door, and looked around awkwardly… then switched on the overhead light… and left, muttering a quiet, embarrassed goodbye: “Get some rest.”

The room really was warm, just as my stepmother had said. I could feel it against my skin after a day of travel. It was small, cozy, and somehow more modern than anything I'd known, though cluttered with boyish mess. My feet had gotten soaked in my old boots, and now, looking at the new, pale carpet on the floor, I suddenly worried that I'd dirty it if I stepped inside. I also thought I wouldn't be able to dry my boots, so tomorrow I'd have to go to the hospital to see Grandma in wet shoes. I was still standing at the threshold of someone else's room, unable to fully grasp everything that had happened to me or summon the courage to enter my stepbrother's bedroom, when someone's hand touched my elbow…

That unexpectedly hot touch sent a jolt of fear through every cell of my body, already tense with anxiety and dread. Panic flared in my chest, and I turned toward my stepmother, toward her watchful gray gaze, flinching and clapping a hand over my mouth to stop a cry.

“I'm sorry…”

She said nothing, but ushered me firmly into the room, wrapping her fingers around my slender wrist. She sat me on the bed, stood over me for a moment, then sat across from me, turning the swivel chair away from her son's computer desk.

“Nastia, listen…”

“Yes?” I had begun to shiver from distress and exhaustion, but I still couldn't lift my hands from my knees to hug myself and warm up even a little. Fighting shame and embarrassment, I raised my eyes to the woman.

“No, I'm the one who should apologize, sweetheart. This isn't how you welcome a stepdaughter, but that's just the kind of family we are. And I'm no good at this warm, heartfelt stuff, either… Everything comes out all at once, in a rush, never the way it does for normal people.”

She fell silent, studying me again, then let out a loud sigh:

“I don't understand why Grisha never told me about you. Why didn't he introduce you sooner? Could I somehow have missed it?… Sometimes I think I don't know my own husband.”

At fifteen, hearing that kind of truth from a stranger hurt just as much as it would have at twenty, so I gave an awkward shrug and lowered my eyes, hiding unbidden, prickling tears beneath my lashes.