Anna stood in the middle of the empty living room and could hardly believe it. Finally, a place of her own, not a rental.
“Well?” Dima came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his nose in the top of her head. “Has it sunk in yet?”
“Not yet,” she admitted honestly. “It feels like someone is about to come in and say this was all a mistake.”
“No one is coming. We have the documents, the mortgage is approved, and the keys are in our pocket. You’re the owner now, Anya Sokolova.”
She turned around in his arms and laughed. Warmth spread through her chest. For the first time in thirty-five years, she felt solid ground beneath her feet.
The phone rang, breaking the silence.
She flinched. The screen showed: “Mom.”
“Here we go,” Dima said quietly, letting her go. His face instantly hardened.
She answered.
“Annushka!” her mother’s voice sounded cheerful, with that tone that usually made Anna’s stomach twist. “Well? Did you sign everything? I told Maksim, he’s so happy, so happy! We’re already on our way!”
“Mom, we just walked in…” she began, nervously twisting her wedding ring.
“That’s perfect! I’m bringing a pie. We’ll celebrate! Maksim will at least get to see how his sister has settled in.”
The line went dead.
Anna lowered her hand with the phone.
“They’re coming?” Dima asked.
“Yes. With a pie.”
Dima sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Fine, we’ll survive it. But remember what we discussed.”
Valentina Petrovna entered the apartment like a mistress inspecting the property of her serfs.
Her usual oversized bag hung from her shoulder. Anna knew what was inside: her passport, savings book, keys to her own apartment, and a bundle of cash. A “panic suitcase” from the nineties. Her mother never parted with it, not even in the bathroom.
Maksim lumbered in after her. Thirty-two years old, headphones around his neck, absent eyes, hands in the pockets of stretched-out jeans.
“Whoa,” he muttered. “Nice place. High ceilings.”
Valentina Petrovna was already in the center of the room. She touched the wallpaper, tapped the windowsill, and peered into the empty cupboards.
“Well, not bad,” she delivered her verdict. “The neighborhood is a bit noisy, of course, and the kitchen is a shoebox, but it’ll do for two.”
She dropped onto the only chair they had managed to bring. She sighed, pressing a hand to her chest as usual.
“You know, Annushka, I’ve been thinking…” she began, looking at her daughter with a Lenin-like squint. “This little apartment was basically bought with your grandmother’s money. The down payment was the inheritance, wasn’t it?”
Everything inside Anya tightened.
Valentina raised one finger.
“And Grandma was my mother. So that money is, you could say, family money. It came to you through me.”
Dima, who was standing by the window, tensed.
“What I’m getting at,” her mother continued, not noticing the tension, “is that this can be considered OUR shared apartment. Maksim should feel at home here too. Right, son?”
Maksim lazily nodded, scraping the toe of his sneaker against the laminate floor.
“Yeah. So, Anya, will my game console fit here? There’s plenty of room.”
“Valentina Petrovna,” Dima’s voice sounded clear. “The apartment is registered to me and Anya in equal shares. It is our joint property.”
Her mother turned to him. Her smile became sweet as molasses, but her eyes remained cold shards of ice.
“Dimochka, who’s arguing? I’m just saying. We’re family, and in a family everything is shared.”
She turned back to her daughter and lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Annushka, you understand I only want what’s best. Grandma would have wanted the apartment to stay in OUR family name. You never know what can happen in life. Divorces, property division… Men are here today and gone tomorrow.”
“Mom!” Anna flushed. “Stop it.”
“What do you mean, ‘Mom’? I’m worried about your security!” She theatrically clutched her heart. “You know how much I worry about you. I sacrificed my whole life so you two could become decent people.”
That phrase, “I sacrificed my whole life,” was a universal gag. Anna fell silent, feeling the familiar guilt.
“All right, don’t sulk,” Valentina waved her hand. “Let’s have tea. The pie is getting cold.”
Three months of silence were deceptive.
Dima worked from home: a programmer, numbers, logic. Anna had gone to the office, forgetting her phone on the charger in the bedroom.
A call came.
Dima answered, thinking it was a courier.
“Anna Viktorovna? Bank security department. Please confirm a transfer of forty thousand rubles to the card of Valentina Petrovna Kolesnikova.”
Dima frowned.
“This isn’t Anna. I’m her husband. What transfer?”
“A recurring automatic payment,” the operator replied cheerfully. “It was set up eight years ago. The system detected an error, and we need manual confirmation.”
Dima hung up and opened the laptop. He knew the password to their joint bank account. They had no secrets—or so he thought.
Transaction history. Filter by recipient.
Valentina Petrovna Kolesnikova.
40,000 rubles.
40,000 rubles.
40,000 rubles.
He had to scroll for a long time. Eight years. Every month. No gaps.
Below were transfers to Maksim Viktorovich.
15,000 rubles.
20,000 rubles. Note: loan.
25,000 rubles. Note: car insurance.
Dima leaned back in his chair. His temples began to pound. He grabbed a calculator.
Forty thousand multiplied by twelve months. Multiplied by eight years.
3,840,000 rubles.
Plus Maksim—roughly another million and a half.
Total: 5,340,000 rubles.
Half of Anna’s salary had been disappearing into a black hole. While they denied themselves vacations and drove an old car.
He got up and paced the room. Anger flared inside him toward that… “mother” who had been draining her daughter for almost a decade.
That evening Anna came home exhausted. She kicked off her shoes and smiled.
“Hi! I finished such a huge project today. It was amazing!”
Dima silently handed her the printout.
The smile slid off her face. Her hands began to tremble.
“Dim…”
“Eight years, Anya,” his voice was even. “Five million two hundred thousand. I knew you helped them. Groceries, medicine. But this?”
Anna collapsed onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands.
“I wanted to tell you… But you wouldn’t have understood…”
“Wouldn’t have understood?!” Dima crouched in front of her and pulled her hands away from her face. “Anya, look at me. We could have bought a second apartment. We could have traveled half the world, lived, damn it, instead of just surviving!”
“They’re my family!” she cried, tears flashing in her eyes. “Mom raised us alone! Dad died, she worked three jobs! I owe her!”
“Owe her?” Dima gave a bitter laugh. “Anya, I grew up in a family of alcoholics. They didn’t raise me, and I don’t give them a single kopeck.”
“Mom isn’t like that! She’s a saint!”
“A saint took five million from you,” Dima said sharply. “How much does it cost to raise a child in the nineties? A million? A million and a half? You paid her back, Anya. You bought yourself out of slavery, but you keep paying.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. No one had ever spoken to her like that. There had always only been emotions: duty, conscience, ingratitude.
“Sunshine,” Dima took her palms in his. “I’m not forbidding you from helping. But if it’s help, that’s one thing. If it’s tribute… If your mother considers you her property… that isn’t family.”
Anna began to sob bitterly.
The pressure started increasing.
Valentina Petrovna now appeared at their place every weekend, always with Maksim.
“Oh, it’s so cozy here!” she chirped, rearranging jars in the kitchen. “Not like our cramped two-room place. Maksim could really use space…”
She worked on Anya softly but persistently.
One day she cornered her daughter on the balcony.
“Annushka, we need to talk.”
Anna immediately tensed.
“I’ve calculated it,” her mother said, taking out a little notebook. “Forty thousand is good. Thank you, daughter, but life is getting more expensive: utilities, pills. And Maksim… you can see it yourself. The poor boy is suffering. There’s no decent work.”
“Mom, I’m already paying off his loans,” Anna said quietly.
“And you’re clever for doing it! Family is family! You have something, so you share. God commanded it. But here’s what I’m thinking…” She took Anna by a button on her blouse and began twisting it. “Maybe we should transfer this apartment to Maksim? Or give him a share?”
“What?!” Anna recoiled and hit her back against the railing.
“Well, what’s so strange about it?” her mother asked in surprise. “You’re married, you have Dima. You two will earn more. But Maksim is alone. He needs support. He wants to get married. Where will he bring his wife? To our Khrushchev-era apartment?”
“Mom, this is MY apartment!”
“And my mother’s,” Valentina cut her off sharply. “Grandma loved her grandson most of all. She would have wanted him to be provided for. Don’t be selfish.”
The word “selfish” struck like a slap.
“Think about it,” her mother patted her cheek. “I’m not rushing you, but according to conscience, it would be the right thing.”
The finale played out in a restaurant.
Valentina Petrovna gathered the whole family. Aunt Lyuda, Uncle Petya, cousins, Maksim with his wife Ira—a naive girl who believed her husband was “finding himself.”
Anna and Dima arrived last.
The table was overflowing with food. Valentina sat at the head, glowing in a new dress bought with Anya’s money.
“My dears!” she stood and raised her glass. “I’m so glad to see you! Family is sacred!”
Everyone nodded and smiled.
“And I have news for you!” her mother’s voice rang with triumph. “Our Annushka has made a noble decision…”
She paused, savoring the moment.
“…to transfer her new apartment to her brother!”
A silence fell so heavy that the buzzing of a fly could be heard.
Anna froze with a fork in her hand, the blood draining from her face.
Under the table, Dima squeezed her hand so hard her fingers cracked.
“Mom…” Anna whispered. “I never…”
“Why are you being shy?” Valentina interrupted, beaming. “We’re all family here! You understand that your brother needs it more.”
Aunt Lyuda choked on her wine.
“Valya, have you lost your mind? What apartment?”
“Our apartment! The family apartment!” Valentina snapped. “Right, Maksim?”
Maksim, chewing salad loudly, nodded.
“Well, yeah. My sister promised to help.”
Anna felt nausea rise in her throat. Hysteria was close, breathing down her neck.
Dima stood up.
“Valentina Petrovna, shut your mouth.”
The phrase fell like a brick.
“What?!” Valentina turned crimson. “How dare you speak to me like that, you puppy?”
“I said be quiet,” Dima took out his phone. “Anna, send the file to Aunt Lyuda.”
With trembling fingers, Anna pressed “send.”
“What is this?” Aunt Lyuda put on her glasses and peered at the screen.
“It’s a statement for eight years. Every month, Anna transferred forty thousand rubles to her mother. Plus she paid off Maksim’s loans.”
He looked around the now silent table.
“The total amount is five million two hundred thousand rubles.”
Aunt Lyuda gasped, Uncle Petya whistled, and someone stopped chewing.
“Valya…” Aunt Lyuda raised her eyes to her sister. “Is this true? Forty thousand a month?”
“So what?!” Valentina shrieked. “She’s my daughter and she’s obligated! I raised her, I didn’t sleep nights!”
“Now for the math,” Dima continued, ignoring the shouting. “Valentina Petrovna has a two-room apartment worth seven million. Maksim has a car worth eight hundred thousand, bought with Anna’s money. She gave her family five million.”
He leaned over the table, looking directly into his mother-in-law’s eyes.
“Who owes whom, Valentina Petrovna?”
“That doesn’t count!” she screamed.
“Maksim is thirty-two years old,” Dima shifted his gaze to his wife’s brother. Maksim sank into his chair. “He’s a healthy ox, he has arms and legs. Let him go to work.”
“I do work!” Maksim squeaked.
“Where?” Uncle Petya asked. “Maksim, you bragged to me that you bought the car yourself and paid your loans yourself…”
“Well… Anya helped me a little…” he squirmed.
“A million and a half is ‘a little’? You’ve really lost all shame, boy!”
“Anya,” Dima turned to his wife. “Tell them, has your mother ever said thank you to you even once?”
Anna raised her head.
She looked at her mother.
“No. Not once.”
“You… ungrateful beasts!” Valentina hissed. “Get out of here! I’ll curse you!”
“We’ll leave,” Dima nodded. “But there will be no more money. The shop is closed.”
He took Anya by the hand.
“Let’s go home.”
The next day, the first domino fell.
Anna sent a text message: “Mom, there will be no more transfers. Don’t call me.”
And blocked the number.
The second domino fell two weeks later.
Collectors called Maksim.
“Your payment is overdue. When will you settle it?”
“My sister will pay,” he muttered habitually, opening a beer.
“The third party has refused the obligations. Pay it yourself or we’ll go to court.”
The beer can fell from his hand. Foam spread across the linoleum.
“Mom!” he shouted. “Anya screwed us over! The bank is calling!”
Valentina was sitting in the kitchen.
“I know.”
“What are we supposed to do?!” Maksim hurled the phone at the wall. “I have debts! They’re going to pressure me now!”
“Go to work,” his mother said hollowly.
“Where?! As a loader?! I wasn’t born for that! You always said I was special! That Anya owed me!”
“I did say that…” she echoed.
The third domino was the family.
“Valya is a leech!” “She milked her daughter while pretending to be poor!” “Maksim is a parasite!”
Valentina was removed from the family chat. She wasn’t invited to Uncle Petya’s anniversary.
The fourth domino was everyday life.
Now they lived together: mother and son. In cramped space and hatred.
“You ruined my life!” Maksim screamed when he came home from work—he had gotten a job as a loader, since no one else would take him. “You raised me into a moral cripple!”
“I loved you!” Valentina cried.
“Loved me? You turned me into a parasite!”
The fifth domino was realization.
A year later, at a shopping mall.
Valentina, hunched over in an old coat, saw them.
Pregnant Anya was walking arm in arm with Dima. Her belly was already large and round. She laughed, throwing her head back. She looked… happy and free.
Valentina jerked toward them.
“Annushka…”
Dima noticed her first and stood like a wall.
“Keep walking, woman.”
“Daughter, let me say just one word!” she pleaded. “I’m going to be a grandmother!”
Anna looked at her.
“My child has no grandmother