in this three-room apartment in the village of kalininets near moscow, tatyana famina lives with heris my father's room. i say: father, let me help you clean up if anything happens. i did everything myself, you cleaned up, you see, his place is clean, my daughter’s room is littered with things, there’s a blanket and dishes and stacks of books, i’m hiding everything from my father, all the pots, everything i have is here, because he’s burning everything , you can change so much for the dishes, tatyana mostly cooks at home, cooks porridge and soup for her sick mother, she stands at the stove in her outerwear, otherwise she might freeze, here is the window, please, it’s not closing. the woman’s mother placed her in a separate room so that her father’s screams would not bother her too much, the daughter assures that she hurries to the patient at the first call, feeds her, washes her, helps her turn over on her side, adjusts numerous blankets, she is cold, yes she is cold, why are you cold? you gave me a jacket under three blankets, i was cold, lyudmila hasn’t gotten out of bed for a year