It was always stuffy in the bank. Even in winter. The air there was like that — overdried, smelling of paper and other people’s perfume. Victoria sat at a low table, gripping the pen so tightly that her fingers had turned white. She was signing the last document. The mortgage was paid off. That was it. She could breathe.
Her heart was pounding in her temples — either from drinking coffee on an empty stomach or from the thought: “Five years. For five years I lived like I was sitting on a powder keg. I counted every paycheck, saved every bonus, didn’t buy myself an extra pair of boots. And now. That’s it. I did it.”
The bank manager, a pretty girl of about twenty-five, held out her hand.
“Congratulations, Victoria Sergeyevna. You are free.”
The word “free” sounded as though she had just been released from prison. Vika even gave a short laugh. Well, yes, a mortgage was also a kind of sentence.
She stepped outside, breathed in the frosty air, and immediately felt lighter. Images flashed through her mind: a romantic dinner in her own apartment, a bottle of wine, Andrey smiling… And most importantly — no more debt to the bank. A roof over her head that was truly hers.
At home, a surprise was waiting for her. Though not the kind she had dreamed of.
Lena was sitting on the sofa in sweatpants, painting her nails bright red. Empty chip packets were scattered across the coffee table, along with a mug of dried-up coffee and two of her sneakers, somehow lying in different corners of the room.
“Hi,” she drawled lazily, without even turning her head. “Do you have any bread?”
Victoria pressed her lips together. There had been bread; she had bought it that morning. But there was no point asking where it was — it had most likely already been eaten.
“Lena, how much longer are you planning to live with us?” she began carefully, taking off her coat.
Lena sighed, blew on her nails, and finally turned around.
“Well, you know I’m going through a difficult time right now. I have no money, renting an apartment is expensive, and crashing at friends’ places is… awkward. You understand.”
Understand? Victoria inwardly grimaced. This girl was always “going through a difficult time.” Yet somehow she always found money for new jeans and beauty salons.
Andrey came out of the kitchen with a mug of tea. His hair was tousled, and he was wearing a home T-shirt. He smiled at Vika so warmly that her heart gave a little tremble. And then he immediately said:
“Vik, we need to discuss something.”
She tensed. His “we need to discuss something” never ended well.
At dinner, the tension hung in the air like fog. Vika was frying chicken breasts, Lena was loudly watching a series on her phone, throwing out bursts of laughter as if they were sitting in a café. Andrey kept turning his fork in his hands.
“Vik,” he began, clearing his throat. “Lena… well, she wants to take out a mortgage. But the bank won’t approve her. She’s young, her job is unstable. You understand.”
“And?” Vika raised her eyes.
“And I thought… Maybe you could take it out. In your name. After all, you have a good credit history and an official salary.”
She almost dropped the frying pan.
“What?”
Lena sighed theatrically and pressed a hand to her chest.
“Vikochka, I’m not asking you to pay for me! Just to put it in your name. I’ll pay everything myself. I give you my word.”
Her word… That sounded especially absurd coming from her.
“Andrey,” Vika tried to speak calmly, but her voice trembled. “I paid off my mortgage only today. Today! Do you even understand what that means to me?”
“Why are you getting so worked up?” he frowned. “It’s for the family. For my sister. She’s my own blood. And you’re such a capable woman — smart, strong, you can handle anything.”
She felt anger begin to boil in her chest.
“Okay. Stop. I lived on buckwheat for five years to pay off this apartment. Five years! And now you’re suggesting I climb back into a debt pit so your sister can live beautifully?”
Lena lifted her chin, offended.
“What do you mean, beautifully? I’m barely making ends meet!”
At that moment Lena’s phone beeped. A message flashed on the screen: “Turkey booking confirmed.”
Vika looked at her in such a way that Lena hurriedly covered the screen with her palm.
“Are you serious?” Vika asked quietly. “You have no money, right? Not a single penny?”
“That… that was my friend who booked it!” Lena stammered.
Andrey looked away. He clearly knew, but pretended he didn’t.
And at that moment Vika understood: they were both against her. He was doing it because of “family,” and she was doing it because it was convenient.
“Vik,” Andrey began again, now irritated. “You’ve become so cold-hearted. You don’t think about your loved ones at all anymore.”
The word struck her like a slap. Cold-hearted. So five years of hard work was cold-heartedness?
“Cold-hearted?” her voice broke. “Who was I doing all of this for? For us! So that we would have our own home! And now I’m being told — be so kind, take out another mortgage so your sister-in-law can live like a lady?”
Lena snorted.
“Listen, if you’re stingy, just say so. No need for all this drama.”
That was when Victoria finally snapped. She slammed her fork down on the table.
“Excuse me, but this is my home. My apartment. And my decisions.”
Silence. The only sound was Lena’s fingernail tapping against her phone screen.
Andrey looked at his wife, and for the first time, dislike flashed in his eyes.
“You know what, Vik? Maybe you really are going too far.”
She stood up and clenched her fists.
“No, Andrey. You are the ones who have gone too far.”
That evening, no one spoke again. The television played in the background, Lena lazily scrolled through her feed, and Andrey went to the bedroom. Victoria sat in the dark kitchen and listened as strangers in her apartment pretended everything was normal.
Victoria woke up early, even though it was Saturday. Her sleep had been broken by the feeling that someone unfamiliar was acting like the mistress of the apartment. She went into the kitchen and found Lena there: standing in Victoria’s robe, pulling sausage out of the refrigerator and chewing it right there, leaving the door open.
“Sorry,” Lena drawled, not embarrassed in the slightest. “I was just hungry.”
“You know, breakfast can actually be eaten at the table,” Victoria said coldly, pouring herself coffee.
Lena shrugged and went into the living room, sprawling on the sofa and burying herself in her laptop. A series was blaring loudly from it.
So this is my apartment. My nest. Except I feel like a tenant here.
Andrey came back from outside around lunchtime. With bags. There was food in the bags, yes — but for “their” dinner, which they had decided to prepare for Lena.
“Vik, come on, don’t be angry,” he said, sidling up to her with a smile as he put away the groceries. “Let’s have something like a family dinner tonight. We’ll sit together. Talk.”
“Family, you say,” Vika smirked. “Only I seem to be the extra person in this ‘family,’ don’t I?”
Andrey frowned.
“You’re exaggerating. She’s my sister. She’s having difficulties.”
“Difficulties?” Victoria set her cup down hard. “She’s booking Turkey, Andryusha. Tur-key.”
He flinched, as though caught in a lie. But he quickly recovered.
“That’s all gossip!”
“It was a screenshot on her phone. You saw it yourself.”
“What kind of woman are you?” he snapped. “Always digging around, always looking for something suspicious.”
Vika felt her hands begin to tremble.
“I just want to live peacefully. In my own apartment. Without your sister, who has grown into our sofa.”
Lena entered, as if on cue, holding her phone.
“Oh, here we go. Go ahead, make me guilty for all the world’s problems.”
“And who is guilty, Lena?” Vika stood up. “You’ve been living off us for a month and haven’t brought a single penny into this home.”
Lena snorted.
“I am looking for a job, for your information.”
“On Instagram?” Vika asked sarcastically.
Lena turned red. Andrey slapped his palm on the table.
“That’s enough! Vik, you yourself are becoming unbearable. Constantly nitpicking!”
“I’m nitpicking?” her voice trembled. “I don’t recognize you anymore, Andrey. You used to be completely different.”
He turned away.
“People change.”
That evening, everything exploded. Victoria put soup on the stove, added meat, but she had no appetite. Lena was laughing loudly into her phone, talking to a friend about “last-minute tours.”
“Lena,” Victoria finally said, restraining herself. “Pack your things. Tomorrow you need to move out.”
Lena stared at her as if she were insane.
“What? Move out? Where?”
“Anywhere. But not here.”
Andrey rushed in, his face flushed with anger.
“Are you out of your mind? She’s my sister!”
“This is my apartment,” Victoria cut him off.
Lena gave a theatrical sob.
“I thought you were like a sister to me… And this is how you treat me? You’re kicking me out?”
Vika walked over to the wardrobe, pulled out Lena’s sports bag, and threw it onto the sofa.
“Will you pack yourself, or should I help?”
Lena jumped up.
“Go to hell!” she shouted, raising her hand as if she wanted to hit her.
Vika grabbed her wrist and pushed her away sharply. The bag fell to the floor, and a makeup pouch and a wad of euros spilled out of it.
Silence. Everyone stared at the money.
“So these are the ‘difficulties’ you’re having,” Victoria said. “You have euros for a vacation, but nothing to pay toward the apartment.”
Andrey tried to smooth things over.
“Vik, well, that’s… you never know…”
“Shut up,” she cut him off sharply.
Lena hissed as she gathered the money:
“You’ll regret this.”
“You will regret it if I don’t see a packed suitcase in five minutes.”
The night was hellish. The argument escalated into shouting, slaps, and doors slamming. Andrey defended his sister to the very end. Lena cried “buckets of tears” and called someone to complain. Victoria, for the first time in a long while, felt not like a victim, but like a person putting a full stop at the end of something.
Closer to morning, Andrey packed his things too. He left with Lena, slamming the door.
The apartment became quiet.
The fateful conversation happened that evening, when Victoria had already put the kettle on and was enjoying the silence. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Long and insistent.
Andrey stood on the threshold. His cheeks were red, his eyes darting around. Behind him stood Lena, clutching a folder of papers to her chest.
“We’re going to talk,” he said without greeting her.
They went into the kitchen. Lena immediately plopped down on a stool as if she were at home and put her bag on the table.
“Victoria,” Andrey began in a businesslike tone, “we consulted a lawyer. The apartment was acquired during the marriage. I am entitled to a share.”
“What share?” Victoria even laughed. “I bought it before the marriage. I paid the mortgage with my own money. You contributed nothing except endless whining.”
Lena raised her eyebrows.
“We’ll still win it through the court!”
Victoria stood up, took a folder from the cabinet, and threw it onto the table.
“Documents. Bank statements, payments, the contract. Everything is in my name. The apartment is mine.”
Andrey froze. Lena turned pale, but quickly shrieked:
“So you want to throw us out?”
“I don’t want to. I’m doing it,” Victoria said firmly. “Take your things and leave.”
Andrey clenched his fists as if he were about to argue, but for the first time he saw steel in her eyes. The very steel he had always feared.
Half an hour later, the door slammed shut. The apartment was quiet again.
Victoria poured herself tea, sat down in the armchair, and for the first time felt it: home was not walls or furniture. Home was a place where no one had the right to claim your labor or your life without permission.
And yes, now this home truly belonged only to her.