Mom’s right, you’re a terrible cook!” my husband snapped over dinner.
The evening in the kitchen of their Khrushchev-era flat was not just stuffy – it was suffocating. The air, thick with the fumes of burnt sunflower oil and cheap “Laskovy May” perfume, which Anya had vainly tried to use to drown out the smell of failure, hung motionless like an oily shroud. On the stove, […]
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