Autumn entered the village slowly, like a man who does not want to disturb the house. Fog settled on the roofs, and in Anahit’s yard the apple tree had
I was eighteen the first time I saw him. His name was Armen. Thirty-eight, quiet voice, dark coat, a look as if he had already seen the world and grown tired of it.
We were a wonderful family. In the mornings, the house smelled of coffee and fresh bread. In the evenings, it smelled of clean floors and my mother’s perfume.
That day truly became a turning point in Mila’s life. Feeling as though she had become hopelessly unlucky after everything that had happened recently