Dima froze in the corridor, heart hammering. Through the cracked bathroom door he could see his mother in the mirror — black lace lingerie, hair being pinned into a severe updo, the line of her waist catching the light. He hadn’t meant to look. When Alina turned and their eyes met, her face twisted with fury.“This is disgusting,” she said later, cold and precise. “You’re already grown. You should know better.”By evening the cold wall between them was still there. Then Denis arrived — tall, cocky, suitcase in hand — and everything shifted. At dinner Alina laughed at his jokes and let him touch her hand when he passed the salad. Later, in the dark of the shared bedroom, Denis studied a photo of her on his phone and murmured, “Not bad…”Dima’s fists clenched. Something had started, and he had no idea how to stop it.