З її ремесла сміялося все село.Донька благала перестати.Чоловік удавав, що не чує чужих насмішок...

Kateryna went to Yaremcha once a month to get medicine for her mother. That day, as she was leaving the pharmacy, she stopped by the window: there was her own rug hanging there, made three weeks ago. A tourist next to her was bragging to her husband on the phone: “Imagine, three thousand six hundred, handmade!” Kateryna counted in her mind—she herself would have received twelve hundred for one like that. The shop door opened. Roman, the dealer, stood on the threshold—with a smile at the tourist, who immediately disappeared when he saw Kateryna. No one yet guessed that an archival document found a few weeks later would reveal the true origin of Roman’s entire business—and it had nothing to do with honest labor.