Vera Pavlovna opened the door with her own key, just as she had done hundreds of times over the past few years, and froze in the hallway when she heard a woman’s laughter coming from her son’s bedroom.
The laugh was unfamiliar — high, playful, careless.
A pair of women’s high-heeled shoes lay scattered on the floor. Beside them was a handbag, tossed aside as if its owner felt completely at home there.
The old woman’s heart tightened with a terrible premonition.
“Maxim!” she called sharply, pushing open the bedroom door.
A young blonde woman sat on the bed in a silk robe. Next to her was Maxim, wearing house pants, his hair still damp from the shower. There was no shame on his face. Not even surprise. Only mild annoyance, as if his mother had interrupted something inconvenient.
“Mother, you could at least call before coming over,” Maxim said without even getting up.
“What is this?” Vera Pavlovna’s voice trembled. “Who is she?”
“My name is Kristina,” the blonde said with a smile, as though they had just met at a polite dinner party. “Nice to meet you.”
“It is not nice for me,” Vera Pavlovna snapped. “Maxim, where is Marina? Where is your daughter?”
Maxim stood up, stretched lazily, and walked toward his mother. His eyes were cold, almost unfamiliar.
For twenty-five years, Vera Pavlovna had looked into those eyes and believed she knew her son. Now a stranger stood before her.
“Marina and Alisa are at her parents’ place,” he said casually. “And honestly, I don’t care. I’m leaving her.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Vera Pavlovna grabbed his arm. “You have a family! A child!”
“A family?” Maxim gave a bitter laugh. “You’re going to lecture me about family? You and Dad hated each other for twenty-five years but still lived under the same roof. I grew up in that swamp. Am I supposed to repeat your mistakes?”
His words struck her painfully.
Vera Pavlovna stepped back, feeling bitterness rise in her throat. Yes, her marriage to Grigory had never been happy. Habit, fear, and property had kept them together. But she had never expected her son to throw that truth in her face.
“Grigory is your father,” she said quietly. “And Marina is your wife. Your lawful wife.”
“A legal wife is just a piece of paper,” Kristina interrupted, walking up to Maxim and wrapping her arm around his waist. “Love is something else.”
“No one is speaking to you,” Vera Pavlovna said, looking at her with contempt.
“I don’t care,” Kristina shrugged. “I’m staying here. You can leave.”
Maxim said nothing in his mother’s defense. He simply stood there and watched as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
His silence hurt more than any insult.
“You will regret this,” Vera Pavlovna said, stopping at the doorway. “Marina is a good woman. She did not deserve this.”
“She’s boring,” Maxim replied. “Boring and predictable. I can’t breathe beside her.”
Vera Pavlovna left and slammed the door behind her.
On the stairwell landing, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. A memory rose before her: little Maxim, seven years old, sitting in the kitchen and listening to his parents scream at each other in the next room. His eyes had looked empty — far too grown-up for his age.
“We raised him this way ourselves,” she thought bitterly. “Among anger and accusations.”
The phone rang at three in the afternoon.
Maxim picked up, expecting to hear his mother’s voice and another lecture. But it was Marina. Her voice was even, almost indifferent.
“Your father is dead,” she said. “Heart attack. An hour ago.”
Maxim sat down on the bed.
Beside him, Kristina was painting her nails and did not even look up.
“When is the funeral?” he asked after a pause.
“The day after tomorrow. Your mother already knows. Is she at your apartment?”
“No. She left.”
“I know,” Marina said, and something sharp appeared in her voice. “She called me. Told me about your… bed warmer.”
Maxim rubbed his forehead. Anger, irritation, and something like confusion mixed inside him.
“So what now?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Marina replied. “I will collect Alisa’s things. And mine. You don’t need to pretend to be a grieving husband.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“You have been pretending for the last few years, Maxim,” her voice trembled. “But we’ll talk about that after the funeral.”
She hung up.
Maxim sat motionless for several minutes, staring at the wall. Then he turned to Kristina.
“My father died.”
“Oh,” she said, finally lifting her eyes from her nails. “My condolences. Is that the rich one?”
Maxim nodded.
Numbers immediately began clicking in his head: the apartment in the city center, company shares, bank accounts. Grigory had always been stingy and never spent anything on himself. That meant there must be quite a lot saved.
“So we’ll be rich soon,” Kristina smiled. “I saw pictures of that apartment. It’s gorgeous.”
“First the funeral,” Maxim said. “Then the inheritance.”
“Of course,” she said, returning to her nails. “Everything in order.”
At the funeral, Maxim stood next to his mother.
Vera Pavlovna looked at the coffin with dry eyes. She did not shed a single tear for Grigory. After twenty-five years without love, what was there left to mourn?
Marina stood aside, holding seven-year-old Alisa by the hand. The girl did not fully understand what was happening, but she could feel the tension among the adults.
“Grandma, why is Grandpa lying there and not moving?” she whispered.
“He has fallen asleep, sweetheart,” Marina answered softly. “Forever.”
After the ceremony, Maxim approached his wife. He tried to take his daughter into his arms, but Alisa turned away and pressed herself against her mother.
“She doesn’t want to,” Marina said coldly. “She has barely seen you these past few months.”
“I was busy.”
“Yes,” Marina looked him in the eye. “I know exactly with what.”
Vera Pavlovna came closer and stood beside her son. Her face was hard, but her eyes were full of hostility toward her former daughter-in-law.
“We need to discuss the inheritance,” she said. “Grigory left a will. The notary will read it in a week.”
“I’m filing for divorce,” Marina said calmly. “Tomorrow. I see no reason to wait.”
“That’s right,” Vera Pavlovna nodded. “At least you are useful for something. Maxim needs his freedom.”
Marina gave her mother-in-law a long look. Then she smiled faintly.
“You both need many things,” she said quietly. “But I doubt you will get them.”
She turned and walked away, leading Alisa by the hand.
Maxim watched her leave with a vague sense of unease.
“She’s strange,” he muttered. “Too calm.”
“You should be grateful there are no hysterics,” Vera Pavlovna snapped. “Come on. We have plenty to do.”
The divorce was finalized in three weeks.
Marina demanded nothing except child support for Alisa. Maxim willingly signed away his parental rights.
“Are you certain?” the notary asked. “This is a serious decision.”
“I’m certain,” Maxim shrugged. “The child will stay with her mother. I’ll pay support. That’s fair.”
Marina sat across from him and silently watched the man she had lived with for eight years. She knew every line of his face, yet he had become a stranger.
Or perhaps he had always been a stranger, and she had simply failed to notice.
“Sign it,” she said evenly. “Alisa will manage without you.”
“I’ll visit her,” Maxim said.
“Don’t trouble yourself. You have your bed warmer.”
A week after the divorce, Kristina moved in with Maxim.
She arrived with four suitcases, a Yorkshire terrier, and the habit of turning on music at six in the morning. Maxim put up with it. He was in love. Or at least he thought he was.
Two days later, Vera Pavlovna came to visit.
She looked around the apartment carefully, noticing Kristina’s scattered clothes, piles of dirty dishes, and the complete absence of comfort.
“Where does Marina live now?” she asked.
“In our apartment,” Maxim answered. “The one Father bought us as a wedding gift.”
“That apartment belonged to Grigory,” Vera Pavlovna frowned. “It was registered in his name. Now it is part of the inheritance.”
“And?”
“And your ex-wife must move out,” Vera Pavlovna said, sitting down in an armchair. “That apartment belongs to the family. Not to her.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Maxim said uncertainly.
“I’ll talk to her myself.”
She called Marina right there in front of her son. The conversation was short and harsh.
“Marina, this is Vera Pavlovna. The apartment you are living in belonged to Grigory. Now it is part of the estate. You need to move out.”
“When?” Marina’s voice was calm.
“The sooner, the better.”
“Four months,” Marina replied. “I need time to find a place for myself and Alisa. Four months is reasonable.”
Vera Pavlovna grimaced but nodded.
“Fine. Four months. Not a day more.”
“Of course,” Marina said, and hung up.
Kristina, who had heard everything, clapped her hands.
“Finally! I’ve already picked out new furniture for that apartment. The windows there are huge! And the view of the park is amazing!”
“First we settle the inheritance,” Maxim said. “Then furniture.”
“You’re so tense,” Kristina pouted. “Relax. Everything will be fine now. We’re rich.”
Vera Pavlovna looked at her with poorly hidden irritation but said nothing.
The main thing was the apartment. Everything else could be handled later.
The notary’s office was small and severe. Heavy curtains, wooden furniture, and the smell of old papers filled the room.
Behind the desk sat a man of about sixty, wearing thick-framed glasses.
Vera Pavlovna and Maxim sat across from him. Marina came with Alisa. The girl sat quietly beside her mother, drawing in a notebook.
“Now then,” the notary said, opening a folder. “The will of Grigory Andreyevich Morozov. It was written a year and a half ago.”
Maxim leaned forward. His eyes shone with impatience.
“Read it,” Vera Pavlovna said.
The notary cleared his throat.
“I, Grigory Andreyevich Morozov, being of sound mind and clear memory, leave all my property — including my share in the apartment located at…, bank accounts in the amount of…, and shares in the company… — to my granddaughter, Alisa Maximovna Morozova.”
Silence.
Maxim opened his mouth. Then closed it.
His face turned pale.
“What?” Vera Pavlovna whispered. “To his granddaughter?”
“All assets,” the notary continued, “are transferred into trust management under the child’s legal representative — her mother, Marina Sergeyevna Morozova — until Alisa reaches adulthood.”
“This is a mistake,” Maxim jumped up. “This is impossible! I am his son!”
“There is no mistake,” the notary said, removing his glasses and wiping them with a handkerchief. “Grigory Andreyevich signed this will in the presence of two witnesses. It is entirely valid.”
“He was not in his right mind!” Vera Pavlovna slammed her palm on the table. “He could not have done this!”
“I am sorry, but a psychiatric evaluation confirmed his legal capacity,” the notary said, closing the folder. “The will is now in effect.”
Marina said nothing.
She simply sat there and looked at her former husband and mother-in-law. There was no triumph on her face — only cold calm.
“You knew,” Maxim hissed. “You knew about this!”
“No,” Marina replied. “Grigory Andreyevich did not tell me about his plans. But I am not surprised.”
“Not surprised?” Vera Pavlovna gasped with rage. “You robbed us! You manipulated my husband!”
“I did nothing,” Marina stood up and took Alisa’s hand. “Your husband decided for himself who deserved his estate. And he chose his granddaughter. The only person in this family who never betrayed him.”
“This isn’t fair!” Maxim shouted. “I’m his son!”
“You were his son when you needed money,” Marina turned to him. “And only then. Grigory saw everything. And understood everything.”
She headed toward the door. Alisa obediently walked beside her, holding tightly to her mother’s hand.
“Wait!” Vera Pavlovna rushed after her. “You cannot just leave! That apartment…”
“That apartment now belongs to Alisa,” Marina stopped at the doorway. “Which means I manage it as her legal representative. And by the way, that also includes the apartment you wanted to force me out of. It was registered in Grigory’s name too. Now it belongs to Alisa.”
“No…” Maxim whispered.
“Yes,” Marina smiled — faintly, almost invisibly. “So you will be the ones moving out. You have one month. I think that is reasonable.”
She left, closing the door quietly and carefully behind her.
Kristina heard the news that evening.
Maxim came home with empty eyes and sat in the kitchen without taking off his jacket.
“Well?” she asked impatiently. “How much did we get?”
“Nothing,” he answered hollowly. “We got nothing.”
Kristina laughed.
“Very funny. Stop joking.”
“I’m not joking,” Maxim looked up at her. “My father left everything to Alisa. Absolutely everything. The apartment, the money, the shares. We’re broke.”
For several seconds, Kristina said nothing. Then her face twisted.
“You lied to me,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t know myself.”
“You promised me a beautiful life! A downtown apartment! A car!”
“The car is registered in your name,” Maxim said tiredly. “Take it and leave.”
Kristina froze. Then she slowly nodded.
“You know what? That is exactly what I’ll do.”
She began packing her things.
Four suitcases, the Yorkshire terrier, cosmetics scattered all over the apartment. Maxim watched it all and felt nothing — no pain, no relief. Only emptiness.
“You’re pathetic,” Kristina said, standing by the door with her last bag. “I wasted six months of my life on you. And what did I get? Nothing.”
“A car,” Maxim reminded her.
“I deserved that car,” she smirked. “For listening to all your fantasies about a great future. Goodbye, loser.”
The door slammed.
Maxim remained alone.
He sat in the kitchen until dark without turning on the light. Broken thoughts circled in his head: his father, the inheritance, Marina, Alisa…
How had everything gone so wrong?
Then the doorbell rang.
Vera Pavlovna stood on the threshold with two suitcases.
“Did your little passion leave?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m moving in with you. Our apartment belongs to your daughter now.”
Maxim silently stepped aside and let her in.
The two-room apartment suddenly seemed tiny — far too small for two grown people carrying so much resentment and disappointment.
“You ruined everything,” Vera Pavlovna said, looking around the room. “If you hadn’t left Marina…”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” his mother’s voice rose. “We lost everything because of you! Because of your stupidity and lust!”
“And Father?” Maxim turned to her. “Why did he do it? Why did he leave everything to his granddaughter instead of his son?”
Vera Pavlovna looked away.
“Because he always hated you,” she whispered. “Just as he hated me. We were a burden to him. But Marina… Marina knew how to make him feel valued. She was gentle. Attentive.”
“She was his daughter-in-law!”
“She was better than us,” Vera Pavlovna sat down on a chair. “And Grigory saw that.”
Six months passed.
Marina sat at a large desk in a spacious office. In front of her were company documents. She was now managing the business as executive director until her daughter came of age.
The work was difficult, but interesting. Most importantly, she no longer depended on anyone.
Alisa was playing in the next room with a golden retriever puppy. It had been a birthday gift when she turned eight. She named him Barney and refused to part with him for even a minute.
“Mom!” Alisa called. “Barney ate my pencil!”
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Marina answered with a smile.
She stood up and walked to the window.
Below, the city moved as usual — cars, people, ordinary life.
Marina remembered how six months earlier she had cried at night after Alisa had fallen asleep. She had cried from pain, humiliation, and the feeling that her whole life had collapsed.
Then everything had changed.
One will — and the world had turned upside down.
The phone rang.
An unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Marina, it’s Maxim.”
She remained silent for a few seconds.
“What do you want?”
“I…” His voice was hoarse. “I need a job. You’re managing my father’s company now. Maybe there’s some position…”
“No,” Marina said.
“Please. I know I’m guilty. But Alisa is my daughter. You can’t…”
“Alisa is my daughter,” Marina interrupted. “You gave up your parental rights, remember? You signed the papers. So no, Maxim. I owe you nothing.”
“Marina…”
“Do not call here again.”
She hung up.
In the next room, Alisa laughed while playing with the puppy. That laughter was the most beautiful music in the world.
Meanwhile, in a cramped two-room apartment, Maxim sat on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
Nearby, his mother clattered dishes in the kitchen, making dinner from whatever was left in the refrigerator.
“Again, you did nothing all day,” she said without turning around. “When are you going to find a job?”
“I’m looking.”
“You’re not looking hard enough. In my day, people didn’t sit around doing nothing.”
“In your day, Father paid for everything,” Maxim snapped.
“And now there is no one to pay for us!” Vera Pavlovna turned toward him. “Do you know why? Because you couldn’t keep your wife! A simple, boring woman — and even she slipped away from you!”
“She was boring!”
“She was smart,” Vera Pavlovna cut him off. “Smarter than both of us. And Grigory understood that. We didn’t.”
Maxim turned his face toward the wall.
Somewhere on the other side of the city, his daughter was playing with a puppy. His ex-wife was running a company.
And he was sitting in a cramped apartment, listening to his mother’s accusations.
His father had seen further than all of them.
He had understood people well.
And he had left his fortune to the only person who truly deserved it.
A little girl with a golden puppy — and the mother who would never betray her.
THE END