– You should lock the door! – he grumbled, seeing her stepfather in her bed.

And he left the room, spitting on the ground. Gulshan felt destroyed, dead inside. She got out of bed, put on a robe, and went to the bathroom. She scrubbed herself fiercely, as if trying to scrub away every touch of her abusive stepfather. When she came out of the bathroom, Gulshan drank a strong, hot tea, trying to regain her composure. But in her head, the words kept pounding: "It's all over, it's all over, it's all over… If Aman-Jalil finds out, he'll kick me out to hell and back… Then it's the panel for me, but even that won't let me go, he'll send me to some remote place where seeing a decent human face is already a holiday. I need to find a way out immediately, I need to find it now…"

Gulshan grabbed a heavy, thick stick from the kitchen, used for stirring laundry in the vat, and went into the bedroom. Her stepfather lay on his back, snoring with his mouth wide open. Gulshan struck him several times in the face with the stick, knocking out a couple of teeth before he woke up, yelling:

– Have you gone mad, you fool? I'll disfigure you, you whore!

Gulshan fetched a small, almost toy-like pistol from the bedside table drawer, a nickel-plated Browning.

– I'll shoot you, you dog!

– Fool! – the frightened chauffeur recoiled from her. – What will Aman-Jalil say when they find me here naked? Think before you act.

And with that, clutching his clothes, Gulshan's stepfather slowly exited the bedroom. Despite her urge to pull the trigger into his bare back, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Killing someone for the first time is exceedingly difficult. At the threshold, her stepfather turned back.

– Keep silent, or I'll come up with something you'll never wash off in your life! – he threatened menacingly, spitting blood.

And he slipped out the door. It was then that Gulshan remembered her official husband had entered the bedroom earlier, saying something she couldn't recall, but regardless – he was a dangerous witness.

"Stepfather will stay silent," Gulshan thought. "But what's the point of protecting me? He'll betray me!"

And an idea dawned on her. A terrifying idea. Such ideas only arise from desperation or from twisted minds. Gulshan went to the study. She didn't quit her job not because she had nothing else to live on, but because she couldn't leave Aman-Jalil unattended. Besides, Aman-Jalil didn't insist on it; he needed a devoted person in such a responsible position as secretary…

From the closet, Gulshan took out last year's lists of executed prisoners, found the most suitable one, which included the surnames of her late husband's son's friends and acquaintances, meaning he could have heard of or known them. Diluting the ink with water to make the writing look faded and old, Gulshan added the surname, first name, and patronymic of her fake husband's son to the list. She carefully dried the entry on the hotplate. Now the forgery could only be detected with specialized equipment, more advanced than the human eye. And the old man's eyes were weak.

Having crafted such a deadly weapon, Gulshan returned home. She had grown so accustomed to considering this house her own that she forgot it belonged to someone else, or rather, it had belonged until recently, and essentially, she had stolen it.

The old man was praying when Gulshan entered his room.

– Can't you refrain from defiling my prayers for even a minute with your presence? – the old man snapped angrily at her. – I forbid you to enter my room.