Intro. The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall echoed in the tense silence of the house, a monotonous sound that for Leonid was the normal rhythm of his life. It was the seventies, 1975 to be exact, and his place in the world was firmly defined: he, as the man, the provider, the undisputed authority of the home; she, as the wife, the silent, accommodating pillar who ensured her life was comfortable and frictionless.
"It had been twelve years since he had taken her as his wife. Twelve years of a cohabitation that he considered successful, although sometimes, yes, it required a firm hand. Leonid was fatigued. The day had been long, tedious, and the weight of being the only sustenance had seemed particularly heavy to him in the last few hours. He crossed the threshold with a low grunt, dropping the keys into the ceramic bowl at the entrance with more force than necessary.