He suddenly started coming home earlier, more attentive – not to his wife, but to his daughter – but Alexandra kept telling herself that it was normal, that he was making up for lost time, that it was always like that.
Igor, their son, remained silent.
He was fourteen years old, and his hearing was stronger than any word.
Alexandra noticed that he avoided the kitchen in Vika's presence, that he locked himself in his room with his headphones, and that he looked at his father with that strange contempt, typical of adolescence, mixed with a deep maturity and a vivid indignation.
"Igorochka, how are you?" Alexandra would ask him in the evening when she went to see him.
"Good," replied the boy without removing his helmet.
GOOD.
This word became the universal answer to all questions in their home.
The second week, Vika asked her father for money.
Openly, in the hallway, in front of Alexandra, casually, as if it were obvious.
Anatoly took his coat and Alexandra took refuge in the kitchen so as not to see him take out his wallet.
The third week, Vika renewed.
This time, she needed it for her studies: equipment, books.
And the fourth week, just "to be able to move around town properly", "so as not to stay at home".
Anatoly gave him some.
He couldn't say no to this girl who had the same grey eyes as him, in which one could read a kind of reproach.
