The new doorplate carried only the flat owner's surname. Lana had ordered it herself between arranging a tradesperson and buying curtains. When she brought it home, Iva asked where her name was. Lana replied that it was simpler for the post. They had lived together for six years. Throughout those years the post had managed to find them both, even when the postman pronounced their old address incorrectly.

Iva did not raise her voice. She put down the screwdriver and went to buy bread, although they already had some. Lana remained in the hallway with a plate that suddenly looked larger than it had in the shop. She did not hide their relationship from friends. Her family knew, as did her colleagues. Yet in the new building she had introduced Iva as the person she shared a flat with. The statement was true in the way a closed door can still leave someone outside.

When Iva returned, they talked at the kitchen table still surrounded by unpacked boxes. Lana said she needed time to get to know the neighbours. Iva replied that she was not asking for a flag on the balcony or an explanation for every passer-by. She wanted her presence not to become temporary whenever a stranger appeared. Lana had bought the flat with her own money, but they had planned their life in it together. Those facts did not need to cancel each other out.

Lana wanted to say that Iva found courage easier because she had grown up in a different family. She stopped. She had used that explanation for years while Iva learned to stay quiet before Lana's aunt, sit a little further away at weddings and wait to be introduced. Not every old fear deserved a new sacrifice from the same person. For the first time Lana asked which of those small retreats had hurt Iva most.

The answer did not come quickly. Their conversation lasted beyond dinner, with pauses to eat cold bread and cheese. They did not decide everything would be easy the next day. They agreed that Lana would no longer choose words on Iva's behalf. In the morning Lana took the plate back and ordered another. The shopkeeper requested no explanation. He merely asked whether they wanted the names side by side or one beneath the other.

At home Iva held the plate while Lana tightened the screws. A neighbour on their floor stopped to introduce herself. Lana gave their names and added that Iva was her partner. The neighbour offered spare jars and warned them about a window that let in rain. They closed the door without a dramatic sigh. Iva ran a finger over both names and said they still had to decide whose shoes would go into the undersized cupboard first.