On the third evening, Anya sat on the couch, wrapped in the blanket he’d brought her. Then she heard not just footsteps, but the rustle of bags. He was coming down, and there was a strange, almost ceremonial smile playing on his face.
He set a large bag on the floor and carefully—as if it were a precious relic—pulled out a dark-blue silk dress. He smoothed the fabric with his hands and said:
“I stopped by your place today. You know, you have a very nice apartment. Third floor, windows facing the courtyard… Only the violets on the windowsill had started to wilt. I watered them. Don’t thank me.”
Anya went pale. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“You… you were in my home? How?”
Viktor took a keyring out of his pocket and jingled it.
“They were in your bag, Anya. It would’ve been stupid not to use them. Everything there is so… childish. So many unnecessary things. But this dress—this one is special, right? You wore it on your birthday last year.”
She jumped up, shaking with rage and helplessness.
“Don’t you dare… Don’t you dare touch my things! You had no right to go in there! That’s mine! Do you hear me? Mine!”
“Now it’s ours,” he said calmly, even coldly. “And the dress isn’t the only thing I brought.”
He reached into the bag and pulled out a yellowed plush teddy bear with an old ribbon around its neck.
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“You keep it on the top shelf of your closet. Why? It’s old. It smells like dust and… your childhood.”
A strangled sound escaped her, almost a sob, and she covered her face with her hands.
“Please… Viktor, stop. Why are you doing this?”
He stepped closer and put the bear on the couch beside her.
“Understand this: you’re not there anymore. I turned off the lights, shut off the water. Your neighbors think you just left. I even took your favorite mug—the one with the chip on the handle.”
He pulled out the mug.
“Now you can drink tea from it here. See? I’m bringing your world here, piece by piece. Soon you won’t feel the difference.”
She lowered her hands. Her eyes were full of hatred.
“You think if you bring all my things down here, I’ll forget you’re my jailer? They’re just things, Viktor! My home isn’t a mug or a dress!”
His voice dropped, frighteningly quiet and smooth.
“Your home is where someone is waiting for you. And no one is waiting for you there anymore, Anya. I left a note on your kitchen table, signed in your name, saying you decided to start a new life in another city and asking them not to look for you.”
Anya felt the ground drop away beneath her.
“You erased my life…”
He took her by the chin, forcing her to look at him.
“I cleaned it. Of extra noise. Of unnecessary people. Of empty expectations. Now this is your only reality. Put on the dress, Anya. I want us to have dinner like normal people tonight. I brought wine. The same one you used to sometimes buy on sale on Fridays.”
She looked at the dress. Now it felt like a shroud.
“I won’t put it on. Never.”
He straightened, and his gaze hardened.
“You have an hour. If you’re not at the table wearing it by then… I’ll go back to your apartment and burn everything that’s left there. Every photo, every book, your diploma, letters from your grandmother. Everything will turn to ash. Choose what matters more: your pride—or what’s left of your past.”
He left the dress on the couch and walked out without looking back. Anya stayed alone in the silence, staring at the teddy bear, which now seemed alien and dead in the cold light.