I walk around in the kitchen, in the room, my husband and brother are collecting the closet.

The hammer knocks out, “Your own mother! ", "Fuck, the hammer should not be here, but there! ", "We have everything in place, look at it yourself!". "No, here it should be, and where did you go?". Unclear, but obviously maternal bitterness. The knock of the hammer, the sound of the screwdriver, the suspicious silence...

I look into the room. The husband’s happy brother explains:

Don’t worry, we didn’t kill each other. We just follow the instructions!