Olya stepped over the threshold and carefully placed her bag on the small hallway cabinet. The divorce papers were still tucked into the side pocket, warm from the touch of her hand. She was tired, but it was the calm kind of tiredness that belongs to someone who has already made up her mind.
Viktor stood in the middle of the hallway, legs apart, as if he were the lord of a fortress.
“You took your time,” he snapped instead of greeting her. “I was starting to think you’d decided to spend the night there.”
“I’m glad to see you too, Vitya,” she replied evenly. “Would you like some tea? I think we still have that blend you used to call rabbit grass.”
“What tea?” He stepped closer and held out his open palm. “Give me the apartment keys. It’s mine now.”
Olya slowly took off her light jacket and hung it on the hook. She did not hurry, as if that slowness were her small suit of armor. Inside, she felt quiet and collected, the way people feel when they already know how the play is going to end.
“Vitya, let’s do this like adults,” she said softly. “We’ve only just left the courtroom. Let me at least breathe for a minute.”
“I’ve been doing things ‘like an adult’ for you for three years,” he scoffed. “Giving you air, dinner, a roof over your head. Enough. The divorce is done, isn’t it? So now we separate. Give me the keys and don’t drag this out.”
“You’re surprisingly quick today,” she said with a faint smile. “There was a time when getting you out of bed in the morning felt like a military operation.”
Viktor grimaced and took another step toward her. His face was impatient and greedy, lit by that familiar spark Olya had learned to recognize long ago. He was not listening to her. He was counting the minutes until he would be left here alone.
“Did you not understand me?” he raised his voice. “Strike while the iron is hot, ever heard that saying? Before you change your mind and start demanding your rights, let’s settle everything quietly. The keys. On the table.”
“I’ll wait until you cool down.”
“I’ll show you cool down!”
He lunged toward the cabinet, grabbed her bag, and shoved his hand inside without permission. Olya did not even manage to object; it was so shameless. He pulled out the key ring, shook it in the air, and clenched it in his fist like a child holding a stolen toy.
“There,” he breathed triumphantly. “See how simple it is?”
“Vitya, you just put your hand inside someone else’s bag,” she said quietly. “That’s a new low, even for you.”
“Someone else’s?” He gave a short laugh. “Everything here is mine. Soon your bag will be outside the door along with you.”
At that moment, Olya’s phone rang. The screen showed: “Viktor’s Grandmother.” She raised her eyebrows in surprise and answered, turning toward the window to put at least a little distance between herself and the noise.
“Hello… Yes, good afternoon,” her voice immediately became warmer. “You’re in the city? Right now?”
Viktor twisted his face and waved his hand angrily.
“Hang up,” he hissed. “What grandmother? We’re divorced. Forget about my family, got it? None of them are yours anymore.”
“Wait,” Olya covered the microphone with her palm. “It’s your grandmother. She’s here. Maybe you should go meet her?”
“I have better things to do,” he muttered, turning away. “You deal with her if you want. I don’t have time for old women right now.”
Olya looked at him for a long, very calm moment. Then she lifted the phone back to her ear, said something gentle, and walked toward the door. She did not argue. She did not pack her things. She simply took her jacket and stepped out.
“Where are you going?” Viktor shouted after her, confused. “Hey! Olya!”
The door closed softly. He remained alone, the key ring clenched in his fist, with the strange feeling that he had won and yet somehow received nothing.
Author: Vika Trel © 5132pd
Viktor turned the keys over in his hand, tossed them onto the cabinet, and took out his phone. He called his mother, pacing nervously along the narrow hallway. The ringing dragged on slowly, making everything inside him boil.
“Well?” came the voice on the other end instead of hello.
“I’ve got the keys,” he blurted out. “I took them. Pulled them straight out of her bag.”
“Good,” his mother approved dryly. “And where is she?”
“That’s the thing,” he lowered his voice. “She went somewhere. Didn’t pack, didn’t take anything. Just walked out and that’s it. I asked where she was going, but she said nothing.”
“Right,” his mother’s voice became sharp. “And you let her go? Viktor, are you a child? If she didn’t take her things, that means she’ll be back. And then she’ll start making demands. You have to finish what you started, not sit there whining.”
“I thought…”
“You can think later,” she cut him off. “I’ll send Yulia over. The two of you will pack all her junk into bags before she comes back. I don’t want a single woman’s thing left lying around. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Viktor muttered and lowered the phone.
He stood there for a moment, staring at his reflection in the dark wardrobe door. Somewhere at the very edge of his mind, an unpleasant feeling stirred: everything was going too smoothly, too quickly. But greed had always been good at drowning out such small warnings.
An hour later, the doorbell rang. Viktor opened the door, expecting his energetic sister, but instead his younger brother Stepan stood there, gloomy, hands in his pockets.
“Hi,” Stepan said, stepping inside without being invited. “I was passing by. Heard the news.”
“What news?” Viktor tensed. “Who called you?”
“No one.” Stepan looked around the hallway and noticed the key ring on the cabinet. “Are those Olya’s?”
“They were hers,” Viktor smirked. “Now they’re mine.”
Stepan slowly turned to face him.
“What are you planning?” he asked quietly. “Are you really going to throw Olya out? Just like that, on the day of the divorce?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Viktor shrugged. “We’re divorced. Everyone goes their own way.”
“Everyone goes their own way,” Stepan repeated. “And where exactly is she supposed to go? Do you remember when my Nastya was in the hospital? Who stayed with my son for two weeks? Who stayed awake at night and brought his fever down? Olya. Not you. Not your sister. Olya.”
“Oh, don’t start,” Viktor grimaced. “She did it out of kindness, fine. Am I supposed to build her a monument for it?”
“No monument needed,” Stepan stepped closer. “But you could at least act like a decent human being. She is like a sister to my wife. They talk every day. You know that perfectly well, Vitya.”
“I know,” he lifted his chin sharply. “And that’s exactly why I’m telling you not to interfere. These are my affairs. Your family can decide for itself who to call, but don’t stick your nose into my apartment.”
“Your apartment,” Stepan said with a bitter smile.
“Go on, leave. I don’t need advisers. Some defender you turned out to be.”
Stepan stood there for another second, looking at his brother as if he were seeing a strange, unpleasant man for the first time. Then he shook his head and moved toward the door.
“I’m ashamed of you,” he said before leaving. “You’re doing something now that you won’t be able to undo.”
“Go on, moralist,” Viktor muttered as he shut the door behind him.
He leaned against the doorframe and exhaled. Inside, he felt uneasy and cloudy, but he told himself, as usual, that Stepan was simply soft and understood nothing about life.
The elevator had barely carried Stepan away when the doorbell rang again. This time Yulia appeared. She swept inside, pulling off her scarf as she walked, and immediately scanned the apartment with the sharp gaze of a woman ready to take control.
“Why are you standing there looking miserable?” she snapped at her brother instead of saying hello. “I can see it on your face. Don’t get weak now. You have to act quickly before your precious Olya comes to her senses.”
“I’m not getting weak,” Viktor muttered. “Stepan was here. Lecturing me.”
“Our kind-hearted brother, generous at someone else’s expense,” Yulia waved it off, taking out her phone. “Let him lecture his Nastya. We have work to do.”
She pressed the phone to her ear and spoke briskly, like a manager giving instructions.
“Hello, storage facility? I need a unit. Today. Yes, right now. For a week, maybe two. Write down the delivery address.”
Viktor looked at his sister with almost admiring astonishment. She was like a whirlwind, sweeping away everything in her path while knowing exactly where she was headed.
“You’re already renting storage?” he asked.
“What did you think?” she said, putting her phone away. “Where are we supposed to put her junk? Out on the landing? The neighbors would start talking. No, dear brother. Everything clean, everything smart. A courier will bring boxes soon.”
“What boxes?”
“Cardboard ones,” she snorted. “Are you completely clueless? I ordered them. They’ll be here in half an hour.”
And indeed, less than thirty minutes later, a courier knocked on the door. He carried in two dozen flat cardboard boxes and a tight roll of heavy-duty bags, left them against the wall, and disappeared. Yulia immediately tore open the packaging and began assembling the boxes one after another.
“Right,” she commanded. “The bedroom wardrobe is your area. Everything that belongs to her goes into bags. Sweaters, skirts, all those endless rags. Don’t sort, don’t admire. Just throw it in.”
“Yul, maybe…”
“No maybes,” she pointed a finger at him. “Are you a man or not? You got divorced, now finish the job. Or do you want her coming back here and playing mistress of the house again?”
Viktor clenched his teeth and went to the wardrobe. There was truly no retreat now. Once his sister got moving, stopping her was like trying to stop a rock rolling downhill. He began taking Olya’s clothes off the hangers and stuffing them into an open bag.
“See?” Yulia called from the next room. “Now we’re getting somewhere. And you were scared. What is there to be scared of? We’re taking back what’s ours.”
“Ours,” Viktor repeated like an echo, and for some reason his throat went dry.
The wardrobes emptied quickly. In the hallway, a pile of tightly tied bags and taped-up boxes grew higher and higher. Viktor felt more and more uncomfortable. He had wanted everything to be quiet, peaceful, without this mountain of someone else’s life under his feet.
“Yul, don’t you think we’re going too far?” he finally asked.
“I think you’re getting soft again,” she replied sharply. “Going too far? Listen to yourself. She sat on your neck for three years, and now you’re worried we’re going too far.”
At that moment, his phone rang. Olya.
“Yes,” Viktor answered cautiously.
“Vitya, I met your grandmother,” Olya said calmly. “I met her myself, since you were too busy. I fed her, saw her off. She sends you her regards.”
He felt ashamed. Hot, unpleasant shame rose all the way to his ears. But Yulia was rushing around nearby, pointing at boxes, and that shame drowned in the general commotion.
“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered. “Listen, I’m busy. We’ll talk later.”
He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket.
“Who was that?” his sister narrowed her eyes.
“Olya. She met my grandmother somewhere. Running around with her.”
“Let her run around,” Yulia smirked. “Maybe she’ll settle in with the old woman. Anyway, I called the truck. It’ll be here in twenty minutes. Start carrying everything downstairs.”
They had barely begun taking the boxes to the elevator when their mother arrived. She looked at the mountain of things in the hallway with calm satisfaction, the way one looks at a job well done.
“Well done,” she nodded. “You have to get rid of burdens quickly, before they grow back into the house. Yulia, as always, you’re efficient.”
“Of course,” Yulia replied proudly.
“By the way,” their mother turned to her son. “What’s this story with your grandmother? Viktor, you said she’s in the city?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “She came for some reason. Can you believe Olya went to meet her instead of me?”
His mother’s face tightened slightly. She took out her phone and called someone, stepping toward the window.
“Hello,” she said in a restrained voice. “You’re in the city? And you didn’t warn me. What business do you have there?”
Someone on the other end answered for a long time, softly. His mother listened with pursed lips, and a shadow of caution appeared in her eyes.
“You missed your great-granddaughter,” she repeated. “Played with her, and now you’re going back. I see. Well, go then, if you have things to do.”
She put the phone away and muttered under her breath, “Missed her great-granddaughter. Traveling around and keeping quiet.”
“Is something wrong?” Viktor asked.
“Everything is fine,” she brushed him off. “The old woman is being odd. Come on, load everything. The truck is downstairs.”
It was already getting dark when the movers finished carrying out the last bags. The apartment had become hollow and empty, each step echoing in a way it never had before. Yulia stood by the door, holding the small key to the storage unit, and looked over the result with satisfaction.
“There,” she said, handing the key to Viktor. “Take it. All her junk is there. If she wants it, she can pick it up. If she doesn’t, that’s your problem. I’ve done my part.”
“Thanks, Yul,” he said, closing his hand around the key. “Honestly, without you, I don’t know what I would have…”
“I know, I know,” she smirked. “You would have fallen apart and let her back in. All right, I’m leaving. I’m more tired from your divorce than you are.”
She threw on her scarf and left, her heels clicking sharply. Their mother had already gone too, saying on her way out that they had done the right thing. Viktor remained alone in the empty apartment, with the storage key in one pocket and Olya’s key ring in the other.
“She’ll come back,” he said aloud to himself. “Where else would she go?”
He tried calling Olya, but her phone was switched off. Once, twice, three times — the indifferent mechanical voice told him the subscriber was unavailable. Viktor shoved the phone into his pocket in irritation and decided she was at her mother’s, where their daughter was staying.
“Fine, sit there,” he muttered into the empty apartment. “When she calls, I’ll give her the storage address. And the key too. Everything fair.”
He spent a terrible night tossing and turning on the bare sofa, which somehow felt foreign to him now. In the morning, he got up looking worn out, quickly got ready, and left to handle his errands, convincing himself everything was under control. His main trump card, the apartment key ring, lay in his pocket, warming him with confidence.
All day he kept glancing at his phone from time to time. Olya did not call. It irritated him slightly, but it did not frighten him. He was certain the initiative was still in his hands.
That evening, he went up to his floor, opened the door — and froze on the threshold.
The apartment was empty.
Not empty like it had been that morning after Olya’s things were removed, but truly empty: no sofa, no wardrobes, not even his own belongings.
“What is this?” he breathed, stepping across the bare floor. “What… what the hell is this?”
He rushed from room to room, unable to believe his eyes. The walls stared back at him with empty rectangles where shelves had been removed. His heart began pounding fast and frightened.
At that moment, the lock clicked behind him. Viktor turned around. Olya stood in the doorway, calm, composed, with a faint half-smile. In her hand, she held a key.
“Good evening,” she said. “So, how do you like all this space? Easier to breathe, isn’t it?”
“You!” He rushed toward her. “Where are my things? What’s going on here? How did you get in?”
“A duplicate,” she said, slightly lifting the key. “Being prepared is not a flaw, you know. The keys, Vitya. Give me the keys.”
“What keys?” He frantically reached into his pocket and pulled out the small storage key. “Here, take your storage key. The address is this, the unit number is that. Pick up your junk and don’t show up here again!”
“The storage key is good,” she interrupted gently. “But I need the apartment key. That key ring. The renovation crew comes tomorrow.”
“What renovation?” he stared at her. “What are you talking about? This is my apartment!”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Olya said, taking a step forward, still completely calm. “Since yesterday, the owner of this apartment is me.”
Viktor froze. His sister’s words, his mother’s instructions, his own frantic rush from the day before — everything spun in his head and suddenly formed a very bad picture.
“What do you mean, you’re the owner?” he said slowly. “You’re out of your mind.”
“No,” Olya leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. “Remember how your grandmother came yesterday? The same grandmother you told me to forget because your family wasn’t mine anymore. She came to the city on purpose. Do you know why?”
“Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“To transfer the apartment to me,” she said calmly. “I am the mother of her great-granddaughter. That was her decision. The documents are ready. Everything is clean, everything is legal. If you don’t believe me, check it. But first, give me the keys.”
“It can’t be,” he shook his head. “It can’t! Yes, this was Grandma’s apartment, but she always said she would leave it to the grandchildren. To me or Yulia. Not to you. Why would she give it to you?”
“That’s something you should ask her,” Olya shrugged. “I’m giving you the fact, not a rumor.”
“You’re lying!” he shouted. “You planned all of this while I was here… I took the keys from you myself! I did!”
“You did,” she agreed. “And you carried out everything that was in the apartment. Very clever, I must say. I didn’t even have to buy bags. You packed everything yourselves.”
The realization began to reach him, and that made him truly afraid. He grabbed his phone and, with shaking fingers, called his grandmother.
“Hello! Grandma!” he shouted. “Is it true? Did you transfer the apartment to Olya? Is that true or not?”
A calm voice answered on the other end.
“It’s true, Vitenka,” his grandmother said. “I transferred it. That was my decision.”
“But why?” he nearly choked. “Why her and not me? I’m your grandson!”
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she replied gently but firmly. “I decided, and that’s that. I’m busy, Vitya. Take care.”
The call ended. Viktor stood with the phone to his ear, listening to the short beeps, unable to move.
“You see,” Olya said quietly. “Everything is fair. You love that word, don’t you?”
“This… this isn’t fair,” he whispered. “This is cruel.”
“Cruel is reaching into someone else’s bag,” she said without anger. “Cruel is throwing the mother of your child out on the day of your divorce. But transferring an apartment to someone you trust is simply the owner’s right. The keys, Vitya.”
He slowly unclenched his fist and placed the key ring into her palm. The metal clinked. Viktor looked at his empty hand.
“Greed is a hungry thing, Vitya,” Olya said, hiding the keys away. “No matter how much you feed it, it always wants more. You were in such a hurry to grab everything that you didn’t notice you had been left with nothing.”
He did not answer. Silently, he turned, walked into the hallway, sat down on the floor because there was nowhere else to sit, and began pulling on his shoes. His hands barely obeyed him.
“I’ll pick up our daughter tomorrow,” Olya added behind his back. “She’s with my mother, and she’s fine. I’ll let you know when you can see her. I won’t forbid that. You are still her father.”
Viktor nodded without looking at her. He stood up, pushed the door open, and stepped onto the landing. His head felt empty and ringing, just like his former apartment.
He began walking down the stairs, heavily, holding on to the railing. At the turn, Olya easily passed him. She was hurrying downstairs, light and free, and disappeared through the entrance door before he even reached the first floor.
Only when Viktor stepped outside did he stop dead. The thought struck him too late, and cold fear spread through him.
“My things,” he muttered. “My things. Where are my things?”
He shoved his hand into his pocket.
Empty.
“Olya!” he shouted, looking around. “Olya, wait!”
But she was already gone. He pulled out his phone, tapped her number, and heard the familiar, indifferent message: the subscriber is unavailable.
Viktor lowered his hand.
He stood in the middle of the courtyard without an apartment, without belongings, without keys, without a wife, and without the slightest idea what to do next.
Never in his life had he felt so unnecessary, so worthless, so empty — like a man who had just lost everything, and had taken it all from himself.