After the door closed behind him, the wife stood in the hallway for a few minutes, listening to the faucet dripping in the bathroom. Then she took a deep breath and turned to the guest.

“What’s your name?” she asked tiredly.

“Viktor,” the man answered awkwardly. “I… can leave if you want.”

“No, Viktor,” she said gently. “You’re going to take a shower now, eat something, and then we’ll talk.”

Two hours later, the person sitting in front of her was no longer a dirty homeless man but a tired, ordinary man wearing her old sweatshirt. She spread the papers he had been nervously crumpling on the table.

“You understand,” she said, “that according to these documents, you now own half of the apartment… but you also know you were used.”