Victoria carefully used tweezers to place tiny clumps of preserved moss into the cracks of a piece of driftwood. Her work demanded perfectly steady hands. Creating underwater landscapes for aquariums was a craft for people who knew how to wait. On the table in front of her rose a miniature cliff made of volcanic lava rock.
The door to the room flew open.
It did not creak. It burst inward, slamming its handle against the wall. Lyudmila Stepanovna never simply entered rooms. She invaded them, like a draft on a hot day. In her hands, her mother-in-law held a towel, wiping her dry, sinewy fingers.
“That smell again,” she said, not looking at her daughter-in-law, but scanning the shelves with her eyes. “That glue of yours. The whole apartment reeks of chemicals. It gives me a migraine, Vika.”
Victoria slowly put down the tweezers.
She knew the glue had no smell. It was a special cyanoacrylate gel that hardened instantly and did not release fumes. But arguing with facts here was pointless. In this house, facts carried weight only when they came from the woman who considered herself its owner.
“I’ll air the room out now,” Victoria replied softly, turning in her chair. “I’m sorry. The order is urgent. I need to finish the composition by morning.”
“You’ll air out all the warmth,” her mother-in-law snapped, walking up to the table and touching a piece of lava rock with obvious disgust. “Stones, branches… A grown woman, and you’re still playing with little toys. Andrei will come home hungry, and you’ve got a forest on the table.”
“Dinner is ready. The cutlets are in the fridge, and the side dish is in the slow cooker. Andrei likes his food hot right away, so I timed everything.”
Lyudmila Stepanovna pressed her lips together.
She was searching for something else to criticize, sorting through possible complaints the way one sorts through grain.
“Cutlets…” she drawled. “Meat is expensive these days. You’d be better off thinking about the household budget, Vika, instead of moss. Andrei complained yesterday that his winter tires are completely worn out. And you’re still gluing pebbles.”
Victoria inhaled and slowly exhaled.
Patience was one of her professional skills. But even basalt cracks eventually when water keeps pressing against it.
She looked at her mother-in-law, hoping the woman would understand that this “moss” paid for half of the utilities.
“Lyudmila Stepanovna, my work brings in money. We already discussed the tires. Andrei said he would get through this season with them. Please, let’s not start the evening with accusations. I really am trying not to bother anyone.”
Her mother-in-law gave a short, mocking snort, turned around, and headed for the door, throwing over her shoulder:
“She’s trying. You’re not trying hard enough if a mother has to give her own son money for gas.”
The door remained open.
That, too, was part of the message: there were no private spaces here.
Victoria stood up to close it, but froze.
In the hallway, the front door slammed.
Andrei was back.
Her husband smelled of metal shavings and machine oil. He worked as a laser-cutting operator, and that smell had soaked into his skin permanently. Usually, Victoria liked it — the scent of labor, of something real. But today another odor clung to him as well.
Beer.
And anxiety.
They sat in the kitchen.
The light bulb above the table buzzed like an irritating fly. Lyudmila Stepanovna poured tea, clinking her spoon loudly against the porcelain.
“Vika, put your phone down,” Andrei suddenly said.
His voice was dull and crumbly, as if something inside it had broken.
Victoria looked up.
Her smartphone was lying face down on the table.
“I’m not touching it. What happened?”
Lyudmila Stepanovna placed a cup in front of her son, sat opposite Victoria, and folded her hands on the tablecloth. The gesture of a judge before delivering a verdict.
“What happened,” she began, looking straight at the bridge of Victoria’s nose, “is that today Andrei tried to pay for a delivery of spare parts. And his card was empty. We started figuring things out. And then we discovered something interesting. Vika, why are you hiding money like a rat?”
Victoria felt a spring tighten inside her.
“Choose your words carefully, please. What do you mean, hiding money?”
“That is exactly what I mean!” her mother-in-law’s voice grew stronger, rising into a shrill pitch. “You have three hundred thousand in your savings account. Three hundred and twelve thousand! I saw the notification while you were in the bathroom. Your phone kept ringing, so I wanted to turn the sound off. And there it was — Sberbank!”
Victoria turned her eyes to her husband.
She waited.
She waited for him to say, “Mom, that’s her business.” Or, “We’re saving money.”
But Andrei was staring into his plate of cooling soup.
“Andrei?” she called quietly.
He lifted his eyes.
There was disappointment in them. The childish kind. Offended and wounded.
“Vik, come on. Really. The lens on my machine broke, the mechanic is demanding money, and I’m borrowing from the guys at work. Meanwhile, you’re rich? We agreed everything goes into one common pot.”
“We agreed on household expenses,” Victoria said clearly.
Her voice had become firm.
“This is my money. My fees from private orders. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, and I’ve been wearing the same winter coat for three years. I have the right to keep an emergency fund.”
“Emergency from whom?” Lyudmila Stepanovna hissed. “From your husband? From the mother-in-law who took you in? There will be no rats in my house. That money must be used for the good of the family. The balcony glazing needs replacing. There’s a draft, I can’t stand it anymore. And Andrei needs to pay off his debts.”
“No,” Victoria said.
The word landed on the table heavily, like that same piece of lava rock.
“What do you mean, no?” Andrei shoved his plate away so abruptly that soup spilled onto the oilcloth. “Are you serious right now? My mother’s blood pressure is jumping because of those drafts, and you’re going to sit on a treasure chest?”
Victoria stood up.
Anger was boiling inside her — not hot, but icy, clear, and sharp.
“Your mother, Andrei, is healthy as an ox whenever there’s a scandal to start. We insulated the balcony last year. And your lens is the factory’s responsibility, not yours personally — unless, of course, you were doing side jobs on company equipment again, like you love to do.”
Lyudmila Stepanovna jumped to her feet.
“How dare you open your mouth like that! In my house! You are nobody here! Transfer the money to Andrei immediately! Right now!”
Her mother-in-law stepped toward Victoria and stretched out her hand, trying to grab the phone lying at the edge of the table.
“Give it here! We’ll transfer it ourselves if you’re so greedy!”
Victoria reacted instantly.
She caught Lyudmila Stepanovna by the wrist.
Firmly.
Hard enough that the woman gasped.
“Do not touch it,” Victoria growled.
For the first time in five years, she raised her voice to a shout. It was not a shriek. It was a commanding roar.
“GET your hands away from my things!”
“What are you doing?!” Andrei thundered, jumping up.
He moved toward his wife, looming over her with his whole heavy body.
“Did you hit my mother? Have you completely lost your mind?”
“I held her back!” Victoria shoved her mother-in-law’s hand away and turned to face her husband fully.
She did not retreat.
She stepped toward him.
“And you, Andrei… you’re simply a coward. This arrangement suits you. Mommy feeds you, your wife serves you, and all you do is WHINE about your evil boss. I stayed silent for five years. For five years I listened to complaints about the way I breathe in this apartment. Enough!”
“Get out!” Lyudmila Stepanovna screeched, rubbing her wrist. “I don’t want your spirit here! Andrei, throw her out!”
Andrei grabbed Victoria by the shoulder.
“Apologize to my mother. Now. And transfer the money. Otherwise, you really will be out on the street.”
Victoria looked at her husband’s hand on her shoulder.
Then she looked into his eyes.
“Take your paw off me,” she said quietly.
There was so much coldness in that whisper that Andrei involuntarily loosened his fingers.
Victoria walked into the hallway.
She was not shaking.
On the contrary, for the first time, her mind was perfectly clear, like water after filtration.
“I’ll leave,” she said without turning around. “But not because you’re throwing me out. Because there isn’t enough air for me here anymore.”
“Who even needs you?” her mother-in-law screamed from the kitchen. “Apartments cost a fortune these days!”
Victoria entered the room and pulled a suitcase out of the wardrobe.
She packed quickly and methodically.
Clothes.
Laptop.
Aquascaping tools.
Her documents had always been kept in a separate folder — the habit of someone living on enemy territory.
Andrei stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His posture showed a mixture of threat and confusion.
He did not believe it was really happening.
“What are you doing, putting on a show? Where are you going at this hour?”
“To my own place, Andrei.”
She zipped the suitcase shut.
“Your own place?” he snorted. “What, the train station?”
“No. I rented an apartment a week ago. Signed the lease. The keys are in my pocket.”
Andrei’s face stretched with shock.
“What do you mean? You… planned this? Behind my back?”
“I was looking for an emergency exit. And I found one.”
“So that’s what you needed the money for… You rat. You were getting ready to betray the family.”
He stepped toward her, blocking the way out.
“Leave the money. It’s marital property. I’ll ask a lawyer. Half of it is mine.”
“Ask,” Victoria said, lifting a heavy sports bag onto her shoulder. “I consulted one too. Artem Sergeyevich. A divorce attorney. Every transaction is recorded. My side jobs are my personal professional income, registered under self-employment. But your salary, Andrei… You receive half of it under the table, don’t you? The tax authorities would be very interested in your employer if we start dividing assets. Want to test that?”
Andrei froze.
He knew his company paid wages off the books.
“Let me pass,” Victoria demanded.
He did not move.
“Move,” she barked, and shoved the suitcase hard into his knees.
Caught off guard, Andrei stumbled back, hitting his elbow against the doorframe.
Victoria walked past him without even glancing in his direction.
In the hallway, her mother-in-law rushed out.
“Stop! Give back the bed linen! I gave it to you!”
Victoria silently took her coat from the hanger. She put on her shoes. Then she opened the front door.
“Choke on your bed linen, Lyudmila Stepanovna. And choke on your greedy son too.”
She stepped out onto the landing.
The door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the suffocating smell of the old apartment and the scandal inside.
Three months passed.
Victoria stood in her own studio.
A huge panoramic aquarium took up the entire wall — her pride, her exhibition piece. Business had taken off. People wanted a piece of nature inside their concrete boxes, and they were willing to pay generously for it.
The doorbell rang insistently.
Victoria looked through the peephole.
Andrei.
He looked worse than she remembered. Thinner. Dark shadows under his eyes. His jacket was untidy.
She opened the door.
“What do you want?”
Andrei tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.
“Hi, Vik. Maybe you’ll let me in? We could talk?”
“Talk here. I have a lot of work.”
“Vik… Here’s the thing.”
He shifted from one foot to the other.
“You were right about the lens. The factory found out I’d been doing a private job at night. I damaged the equipment. They put the debt on me. Three hundred and fifty thousand. Or court.”
Victoria looked at him calmly.
No triumph.
No pity.
Just emptiness.
“And?”
“Mother… Mother is losing her mind. She wanted to take out a loan, but they won’t approve her. Her pension is too small. And you still have money, right? Vik, we weren’t strangers. I’ll pay it all back. I’ll return to the factory, pay in installments… Help me, please. Otherwise, it could turn into a criminal case for damaging property.”
“Andrei,” she interrupted. “I don’t have that money.”
“What do you mean, you don’t?” he stared at her. “You were saving it!”
“I bought professional lighting and a filtration system. I invested in myself.”
“You… You spent everything on your aquariums? When I might be facing prison?”
“That is not my problem, Andrei.”
At that moment, behind Andrei on the stairs, a familiar face appeared.
It was Artem Sergeyevich, the lawyer. He was climbing the stairs with a folder of documents in his hand.
“Victoria Pavlovna,” he nodded. “The divorce papers are ready. Ah, you are already speaking with the respondent? Excellent.”
Andrei turned around, looked at the polished attorney, then back at Victoria.
“You’re really divorcing me? Over money?”
Artem Sergeyevich adjusted his glasses and said gently:
“Young man, your wife filed for divorce due to, and I quote, ‘irreconcilable differences and loss of trust.’ As for money… Victoria, I checked the information about the apartment where you used to live.”
Victoria raised an eyebrow.
“It turns out,” the lawyer continued with a faint smile, “the property is not registered only in Lyudmila Stepanovna’s name. There was a privatization process, and Andrei, who was a minor at the time, was included. He owns a share. One third.”
Andrei went pale.
“How do you know that? Mother said everything belonged to her…”
“Your dear mother lied,” Victoria said with a dry smile.
“So,” Artem Sergeyevich continued, “as part of the property division, we can claim compensation for the renovation that was paid for with Victoria’s money during the first years of the marriage, provided we prove it with receipts. But there is an easier way. Bailiffs are very fond of placing liens on debtors’ shares of property. If the factory sues you, Andrei, your share may be put up for auction. And do you know who might buy it for next to nothing?”
He paused.
“Your neighbor. The same one your mother gossips with. She has already called a realtor I know and asked whether there are any problematic shares available in your building. She has wanted to expand for a long time.”
Andrei squeezed his eyes shut.
“Mother will kill her… The neighbor living in the same apartment with Mom… That would be hell.”
For the first time, Victoria smiled.
“That’s not hell, Andrei. That’s a communal apartment. Welcome to adult life.”
She closed the door.
The locks clicked.
Two turns.
Securely.