Wardrobe

— Take the bed linen from the closet.

— We have our own, don't worry.

The landlady's face darkened and she chewed her lips.

— The towels are all in the closet too...

— Okay, we'll take them.

Ilya and Marina were already willing to take anything from the closet, just to make the landlady leave.

Marina's mother was sick, and Marina refused to go on vacation abroad—if anything happened, the return trip would take at least a day, maybe more. And from the Shire, it's a three-hour drive home. They arrived "on a whim," at dusk, and right at the bus station, they met a woman renting out an apartment—and a cheap one at that. They'd been told it would be difficult.

The woman, however, almost changed her mind when she saw they were with the child (Svetka was sleeping in the back seat), but she agreed anyway.

 Svetka never woke up, even when they carried her into the apartment. Marina was also dozing off, and the landlady didn't leave, constantly mentioning that damned closet. The apartment had little else to boast about, though—there wasn't even a bed, just two shabby sofas.

After seeing the landlady out and making their daughter comfortable (Marina had spread her own sheets on the sofa), they fell asleep side by side. In the morning, they discovered they'd forgotten the towels. They'd definitely taken them, but they weren't in the bag.

It would have been logical to take up the landlady's offer, but the thought of drying herself with someone else's rags was repulsive to Marina, and the landlady didn't exactly inspire affection. They'd bought the towels on the way to the beach.

That evening, while Ilya was feeding a nodding Sveta, Marina came into the kitchen, pale and biting her fingernail:

"Svetka, finish your milk yourself." Ilya, come with me, calm down.

A corner of a towel peeked out from the still-closed closet door. Their house towel.

"Not you?"

"No..."

"So, the owner? She has the key."

Ilya rushed to find his cell phone to call the owner, but it was nowhere to be found. He froze, shaking out his pants pockets for the second time, and turned his gaze to the closet. A vague thought flashed through his mind, and Ilya moved toward the dark doors.

Marina, shrieking, intercepted him:

"Don't!"

"But the phone..."

"You lost it on the beach!"

"Let me just check."

"Don't touch what doesn't belong to you!"

Ilya agreed with a sense of relief. The phone was still missing. The three of them slept on the same couch, restlessly. In the morning, however, yesterday's events seemed like silly imaginings. Marina tried to ignore the corner of her towel sticking out from behind the door, preening herself. Svetka, getting ready for the beach, was playing with an inflatable ball. Hitting the ball against the closet, she screamed with delight: the door cracked open, and something bright, shiny, and toy-like fell to the floor. Marina intercepted her daughter just as she reached the closet. She whined—her rightful prey was close, but Marina said curtly, "It's someone else's!" and sent her off to put on her flip-flops. Ilya approached his wife, glanced at the toy lying at her feet, and, putting his arm around her, led her into the hallway. His wife's shoulders trembled slightly.

 Ilya was the last to leave the apartment, so he was the only one to hear the quiet creak: two five-thousand-ruble bills fell from the slightly ajar closet door onto the floor...

That evening, neither the toy nor the money were on the floor. Ilya called the landlady from his new cell phone and furiously declared that they would not live in an apartment with strangers roaming around. They wanted their money back. The landlady only replied:

"The money is in the closet. Take as much as you need."

After that, she hung up and didn't answer again. After listening to a series of long beeps, Ilya clutched the phone in his hand, and at that moment the call rang. The number that appeared was familiar to him—his own old number. He stared at the flashing screen until the call ended. Then he pressed redial. A familiar melody came from the closet.

"Did you find your phone?" Marina came running from the kitchen. The husband and wife stared at the closet, then backed away from it—simultaneously. They rushed to gather their things.

Sveta was cranky, reluctant to leave, but Marina dressed her, trying not to yell. Finally, the bag was packed, Ilya carried it out to the car, and returned for the family. Marina emerged from the bathroom with toothbrushes. They exchanged glances, growing cold...

"Mommy, guess where I hid!"