“Did You Think I’d Break? No, Darling. The Documents Are Already with the Notary, and Your Things Are by the Door—Leave in Peace!”
“Have you completely lost your conscience?” Vadim threw his keys onto the cabinet so hard that they hit the floor with a metallic clang. That sound of metal striking the parquet had become our family signal for, “Put up your defenses, Ira.”
“Sveta spent another night in some hostel, practically a dormitory. Can you imagine?” He did not even say hello. He immediately came at me as though I had personally booked her a bed crawling with bugs. His voice was deep and heavy, saturated with righteous indignation.
“What does that have to do with me? She can sleep at the train station for all I care,” I said calmly, stirring sugar into my cup without turning around. “She is thirty-two, not a schoolgirl. She makes her own decisions.”
“She has nowhere to go!” he exploded, waving his arm so sharply that he hit the calendar hanging on the wall. “Alina’s apartment is standing empty! Why let perfectly good property go to waste? Just to keep the walls warm?”
I turned around slowly.
Here we go again. Another morning round in which Vadim tried to smash through my boundaries with his cast-iron skull.
“The apartment,” I paused, looking directly at the bridge of his nose, “belongs to Alina. Do you understand the meaning of the words ‘belongs to Alina’? It is not municipal housing, it is not jointly ours, and it is not yours. It is my child’s property.”
He rolled his eyes as though I were explaining the multiplication table to him for the third time.
“But Alina is always traveling to Germany anyway! Soon she will settle there permanently. Why does she need that burden? Her aunt could live there. She is family!”
“Family, you say?” I put my cup down and folded my arms across my chest. “When you refused to give your son from your first marriage money for sports school, did you remember that he was family too? Or does blood only matter selectively, depending on your mood?”
Vadim froze in the middle of a breath. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, like the air before a thunderstorm. He even bit his lip, a reliable sign that an eruption was coming.
“You are doing this deliberately, aren’t you?” His mouth twisted, but it was not a smile. It was the snarl of a small animal cornered in a trap. “You have always been like this. Cold. Alina takes after you. She is just as impossible to get through to.”
“Alina takes after me?” I raised an eyebrow. “You mean she is independent, educated, intelligent, and owns her own home? Thank you for the compliment.”
“You are mocking me!” His voice almost rose into a shriek. “A person is facing a tragedy! She has nowhere to sleep!”
“Sveta is a perfectly healthy grown woman,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe it is time she stopped looking for a sponsor with an apartment and learned a profession. She could work as a cashier, for example. Or a courier.”
“You are humiliating someone I love!” Vadim stepped right up to me, and the smell of his cologne hit my nose. It was cheap and sickly sweet, and it always made my throat itch. “She has simply… gone through a streak of bad luck.”
“And I have apparently spent my entire life at a holiday resort?” I did not step back, although I badly wanted to. “I work two jobs, carry the entire household, and pay off the loan for your car. And I am supposed to do all that so your precious sister can move in after failing to keep a single rented room because she leaves debts and scandals everywhere she goes?”
“Ira, stop making it sound worse than it is!” He brought his palm down on the countertop so hard that the sugar bowl jumped. “The place is sitting empty anyway, like dead weight.”
“Then let it sit empty,” I said, hammering out every word with all the steel I had accumulated inside me. “Alina will decide what to do with it. She can sell it, turn it into a museum, or refuse to let anyone inside. That is her right.”
“She is abroad!” His voice shot toward the ceiling. “You will fill her head with nonsense, turn her against us, and then she will dig her heels in!”
“Oh, this should be entertaining.” I laughed theatrically. “Tell me how I control a grown woman in Berlin through Skype. Perhaps I also manipulate the euro exchange rate in my spare time. Or the weather in Europe?”
He kicked the leg of my favorite armchair, and I flinched. Not from fear, but anger. The chair was old and had a loose leg, and I took care of it.
“You are heartless,” he said through clenched teeth. “I have to help her. It is my duty.”
“Then help her.” I spread my arms, inviting him to act. “Rent her a studio on the outskirts. Buy her a room in a corridor-style dormitory. Let her stay in your old bachelor apartment until the divorce, for all I care. But do not drag my daughter into your so-called duties.”
A ringing silence hung in the air.
He grabbed my mug from the table, took a gulp without looking, grimaced because the tea had gone cold, and slammed it back down so hard that a brown puddle spread across the tablecloth.
“You have always thought only about yourself and your own comfort,” he threw over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “And then you wonder why we do not have a family. We are nothing more than roommates living according to separate interests.”
“Our family ended when you decided I was obligated to support all your relatives!” I shouted at his hunched back. “You simply missed that moment because you were too busy dividing up other people’s square meters!”
The front door slammed deafeningly.
I remained alone in the kitchen, staring at the lake of tea on the plastic tablecloth. Strangely, nothing inside me was boiling. Instead, a calm, almost ceremonial emptiness spread through me.
It was as though an abscess had burst, making it easier to breathe.
It seemed that we had just passed the point of no return. The point after which people no longer try to glue a shattered vase back together. They simply sweep the pieces into the trash.
My phone vibrated while I was wiping up the spilled tea. Alina’s photograph appeared on the screen, a funny selfie of her holding a cup of cappuccino. I answered.
“Hi, Mom,” my daughter said cheerfully. Her voice sounded fresh and energetic, with the slight echo of an empty apartment. “It is already noon here. Markus rushed off to the office. What is the weather like over there?”
“Stormy,” I said, sitting down on a stool as my legs began to ache. “Your stepfather gave a presentation this morning for a charity project called ‘Let’s Take Alina’s Apartment and Give It to Her Hopeless Aunt.’”
There was a long pause on the line, filled with distant street noise. A tram seemed to be passing somewhere in Berlin.
“You are joking,” she finally said. There was no surprise in her voice, only tired disgust. “Has he completely lost his mind?”
“Exactly.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose as exhaustion washed over me. “He is trying to make me feel guilty. He says the apartment is standing empty while Sveta wanders from place to place. He practically blames me for it.”
“Then he can rent something for her,” Alina said dryly. “Or move in with her himself, since he is such a devoted brother.”
“You see,” I said with a bitter smile, looking out at the gray courtyard, “he does not mind giving away what belongs to someone else. It is easier for him to squeeze something out of you than to contribute anything himself.”
At that moment Vadim appeared in the kitchen doorway.
He looked ridiculous in a stretched-out undershirt, with disheveled hair and the expression of an incompetent spy pretending he had only come in for a glass of water.
“Are you talking to her?” He nodded toward the phone. “Give it to me. I want to have a few kind words with her, family to family.”
“Get lost.” I covered the microphone with my hand. “Alina, he is standing here. He is desperate to share a secret with you. He thinks you are softer than I am.”
“Give him the phone,” she said, steel entering her voice. “I am curious to hear how he plans to twist this.”
I handed the phone to Vadim with the same feeling one might have while tossing a bone to a hungry Rottweiler: it had to be done, but I wanted to pull my fingers away quickly.
“Dear Alinochka! Hello!” His voice instantly shifted into a sugary, syrupy register. “How are you? Are you staying warm? Listen, there is a delicate family matter. Aunt Sveta has run into some trouble. She is being evicted from her rented room. I was thinking that perhaps, as her niece, as family, you could let her stay in your apartment for a couple of months. Just until she gets back on her feet.”
“Dad,” Alina interrupted so sharply that it sounded like the snap of scissors, “did you even hear what you just said? That is my apartment. It is not a family fund or a communal residence. It is mine.”
Vadim choked on his breath, but quickly recovered.
“I understand, sweetheart, but you do not need it right now! You are in Europe building your career, while your own flesh and blood is wandering around without a home. That is not fair.”
“Your flesh and blood could get a job as a call-center operator,” Alina replied with the same coldness that irritated him so much in me. “Or work as a sales assistant. She could also stop drifting from one man to another in search of someone to support her.”
“How can you say such a thing?” he cried, before abruptly catching himself and remembering that he was supposed to sound gentle. “She is your relative! She is not a stranger.”
“I am a person, and my home is my fortress,” my daughter said firmly. “You are behaving like a corporate raider. Sell your car and rent her a studio if you want to help her. Do not reach for what belongs to me.”
I stood by the stove, pressing a kitchen towel to my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud.
Vadim turned red, like an overripe tomato.
“You misunderstood me…” he stammered, but Alina’s final words were already coming through the speaker.
“I understood you perfectly. The apartment will remain locked. And Dad, leave Mom alone. Stop wearing down her nerves. She has nothing to do with this.”
He shoved the phone back into my hand with the expression of a man who had been forced to swallow a toad. Without a word, he turned around and marched into the other room, slamming the wardrobe door on the way for dramatic effect.
“Mom, are you all right?” Alina’s voice softened. “Hold on. If he keeps pressuring you, I am prepared to arrange everything through a notary so he will be afraid even to breathe in the direction of my property.”
“I am fine,” I exhaled, feeling the steel band around my chest loosen. “Thank you for having both intelligence and character.”
“You gave me the character,” she said with a quiet laugh. “All right, I have to go. Markus cannot even buy bread without me.”
I ended the call and walked into the living room.
Vadim was sitting on the sofa, glaring at the television, where images from a morning talk show flickered silently. His face was compressed with offense.
“Well, what did you accomplish?” he asked without turning around. “Why did you turn your daughter against me?”
“Vadim.” I stepped in front of the screen, blocking his view. “She is a competent adult woman with her own apartment and income. I cannot ‘turn her against’ anyone, even if I wanted to.”
“Of course not!” he snorted. “You are the great puppet master, and she dances to your tune.”
“You have confused the roles.” I folded my arms. “You are the one who has spent your entire life dancing to your sister’s tune. She whistles, and you run to rescue her, even if you have to take the last pair of boots off your daughter’s feet.”
He abruptly switched off the television with the remote and stared at me.
His gaze was heavy and sticky. It was the kind of look people used when they wanted to intimidate someone into submission.
“I am warning you politely, Irina. If you keep putting up obstacles, I will find another way. There are legal methods. There are lawyers. An apartment should not stand empty when someone is in need.”
“Try it.” I leaned toward him and planted my hands on the coffee table. “Just remember to check the landing afterward. Your belongings might accidentally appear there. All of them, including your tie collection and your beloved drill.”
The room fell silent. The only sound was water dripping from the broken faucet in the kitchen.
He stood up, brushed past me so closely that his shoulder almost hit mine, and once again slammed the wardrobe door in the hallway. Dust and debris fell from the upper shelf and settled on his jacket.
I stood there looking at that gray layer.
We were falling.
The downward spiral was steep, and the question was no longer whether we could save the family. It was whether I could fasten my seat belt before he dragged me to the bottom with him.
Four days passed in a state of quiet trench warfare.
Vadim walked around the apartment like a martyr. He sighed beside the refrigerator, clattered his spoon in his glass, and ostentatiously chewed sandwiches without offering me any.
I did not react.
I waited for him to mature into his decisive move. He had always been predictable, like a badly written television series: first offense, then reconnaissance, then attack.
The confrontation came late on Thursday evening.
He emerged from the bathroom smelling strongly of some harsh liquid bought at the market, squared his shoulders, and began indirectly.
“Ira, I have consulted someone. There is a legal mechanism. We can arrange temporary registration for Svetlana in Alina’s apartment. It is not a transfer of ownership. It is only registration. A family arrangement. Naturally, she will remove herself from the registration once she gets back on her feet.”
I put down my book and looked at him carefully.
At that moment he reminded me of a street con artist at a train station trying to sell a stranger a supposedly winning lottery ticket.
“So you are suggesting that we register a person with seven overdue loans and two enforcement orders in my daughter’s apartment?” I spoke quietly, almost affectionately. “Do you realize that bailiffs could then place restrictions on the apartment because of her debts?”
“Do not invent nonsense!” He waved me off. “It is only a formality! She simply needs an address so she can find a job.”
“Of course.” I nodded. “And she also needs an address so debt collectors will know where to send their angry letters. And do you know something, Vadim? I consulted someone too.”
He froze. The smile slid from his face.
“While you were playing chess with some internet ‘lawyer,’” I stood up from the sofa, walked over to the dresser, and pulled out a thick folder, “I visited the public services center and a notary.”
“And?” His face went pale.
“And Alina granted me a general power of attorney prohibiting any third party from moving into the apartment without my personal written consent.” I opened the folder and showed him the official stamped document. “She also submitted a request to the property registry prohibiting registration actions without the owner’s presence. You can bring ten lawyers if you like. No one will even accept an application from you. Do you understand?”
He stared at me, opening and closing his mouth like a fish thrown onto ice. The muscles in his jaw twitched, and sweat appeared on his forehead.
“You… did this behind my back?” he croaked. “Quietly, like a rat?”
“No, Vadim.” I returned the documents to the folder and snapped it shut. “Trying to rob your daughter for the benefit of a lazy woman is behaving like a rat. I simply put a bulletproof vest around the apartment. To protect it from all of you.”
He clenched his fists.
For a moment I genuinely thought he might throw himself at me, but instead he spun around and marched into the bedroom. I heard drawers being pulled open violently.
Five minutes later, a large sports bag flew into the hallway.
“You think you have won?” he asked as he pulled on his jacket.
“I am not fighting a war,” I answered calmly, watching him pack. “I am defending myself. And if you think I am about to cry and beg you to stay, you are mistaken. You made your choice. You chose Sveta and her endless problems. So go and live with them.”
“You will remember this evening,” he said, yanking the zipper so sharply that the metal slider cracked. “You will call me and beg me to come back.”
“Beg you?” I smiled sadly. “Vadim, for the past five years I have gone to sleep feeling as though an enemy was breathing down my neck. Do you think being alone will make me miserable? For the first time, I will finally be able to breathe.”
He kicked the bag toward the door, grabbed his car keys from the hook, and turned around on the threshold.
His expression contained such a strange mixture of hatred and confusion that I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“Goodbye, Ira,” he said, and walked out without closing the door.
I went over, locked every bolt, and leaned my back against the cold hallway wall.
The silence was deafening.
The apartment smelled of dust and his cheap cologne. I opened the window and let in the damp autumn air.
My heart was pounding, but it was not fear.
It was exhilaration.
My phone rang in my hand. It was Alina, as though she had sensed what had happened.
“Mom, what was all that noise? I suddenly got the hiccups.”
“It is over, sweetheart,” I breathed out. “He is gone. He packed his things and moved in with his precious sister. Now he can save her personally.”
“My God… How are you? Are you holding up?” Her voice contained both concern and pride.
“I have not felt this alive in years.” I laughed, watching the lights of the neighboring apartment block blink through the dark window. “The apartment is ours, the dog is gone, and the cockroaches have scattered.”
“One cockroach remained, and he crawled away carrying a sports bag,” Alina replied. “Mom, listen. I have been thinking. I have vacation in a month. I will fly home, and we will renovate that apartment and throw out all the junk. Then we will celebrate our independence. You, me, and a couple of bottles of champagne.”
“Agreed.” Tears filled my eyes, but they were good tears, clean tears of relief. “You will have to choose the champagne. I know nothing about it.”
“I will teach you,” she said warmly. “Love you, Mom. And remember, you are not alone.”
I ended the call and looked around the hallway.
The empty coat hooks, the single slipper he had forgotten in his hurry, and the cooling kettle already seemed unfamiliar, as though they belonged to someone else’s life.
I made myself a cup of tea, this time with lemon and a spoonful of honey, and sat down beside the window.
For the first time in a very long while, I looked toward the future without fear.
My daughter’s apartment had remained her fortress, and I was no longer a hostage inside my own home.
The ending was harsh, but honest.
Exactly the way real life should be.