One evening Boris came home especially worked up and mean. He slammed the front door and dropped a duffel bag on the floor. In his hand was an official-looking paper with a government seal.
Annie curled into the corner of the couch, already afraid. Boris lowered himself into a chair across from her and unfolded the wrinkled document. A dark kind of satisfaction spread over his face.
“Well, kid,” he said, “looks like your hero finally ran out of luck.” He waved the paper in front of her pale face. The words he said next made her heart seem to stop.
Outside, a distant blast rattled the windows. Somewhere in the city, another emergency was unfolding. But for Annie, the most dangerous thing in the world was the man standing in her living room.
Boris got up and went to the old dresser where the family kept important papers. He started digging through drawers, tossing Mike’s things onto the floor. Photos of Mike in uniform landed in the trash one after another.
“From now on, this place runs my way,” he muttered. “And before long, this apartment will be mine.” He pulled out a green folder containing the deed and personal documents. His plans were no longer vague—they were taking shape.
Annie swallowed tears and watched, powerless to stop him. She felt small and trapped in a storm of someone else’s cruelty. Only the stubborn hope that miracles happened kept her from giving up completely.
Then the front door lock turned, and footsteps sounded in the hall. Boris instantly shoved the folder under the couch and put on a fake expression of concern. Annie looked toward the door with sudden hope, praying it was her mother home from work.
But it wasn’t Ellen. In the doorway stood a man in a worn military jacket with volunteer insignia on the sleeve. In his hands he held a burned scrap of camouflage cloth stained dark with dried blood.
The stranger’s face was gray with exhaustion. He looked from Boris to the frightened little girl. Then he stepped inside and said the words that split the room wide open…
