Kitchen
Vera placed a plate of dinner in front of Igor and sat across from him. She wanted to have a calm, honest conversation. Like they used to, back when they could actually listen to each other.
“Igor, Nina Pavlovna can’t be alone after her surgery. She needs help, at least for the first few months.”
“So what? Is she moving in with us? Into our little two-room apartment?”
“No. I’ll go to her place every day, morning and evening. You know she’s family to me.”
Igor pushed his plate away. His face turned to stone. Vera recognized that look—he always had it when he was about to say something nasty.
“Listen, Vera, I’ve wanted to say this for a while. Enough with playing nurse. She’s seventy-two, she’s a burden. There are special facilities for this, the state will pay for it.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Completely. Her apartment on Sadovaya is worth quite a lot, by the way. We sell it, and we can finally live decently. And she’ll be cared for, warm, fed. Everyone’s happy.”
Vera folded her hands on the table. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her voice stayed steady.
“Igor, that’s her home. She’s lived there for forty years.”
“So what? Forty years is enough. She’s alone in a three-room apartment and we’re here renting. Where’s the logic in that?”
“The logic is that it’s not our property.”
“She’s your mother! That means it’s family. That means it’s ours.”
Vera looked at him closely. Igor kept chewing his bread. He seemed completely comfortable with his nastiness—it was like he was used to it.
“I hope tomorrow you wake up and regret what you’ve said.”
“I won’t regret it. I’ve thought it all through.”
*
The park near the fountain
Her friend Tamara was waiting on the bench with two coffee cups. Vera sat down beside her, took a cup, and sat in silence for a long time. The morning was chilly, and people hurried by.
“Well? Spill it. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“Igor wants to put my mom in a nursing home. And sell her apartment.”
Tamara slowly set her coffee down on the bench. Her eyebrows shot up. Then she exhaled sharply, angrily.
“Wait. He actually said that out loud? Just like that?”
“Just like that. He said, ‘Your mother is no use to us.’ Those were his exact words.”
“Vera, is he even human? Does he have a conscience or is there just an empty hole?”
“Looks like it’s empty. He didn’t even blush. He just sat there chewing bread and calculating how much the apartment was worth.”
Tamara clenched her fists. She’d known Igor for eight years and always sensed something slick about him. But even she hadn’t expected this.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m already doing it. Yesterday I called Rostislav—he knows about real estate. The apartment is registered in my mom’s name, and I want her to sign the deed over to me.”
“Well, that makes sense. You’re her only child, after all. Does Igor know?”
“No. And he won’t. Not until it’s too late.”
Tamara looked at her friend with respect. She wasn’t complaining or asking for advice. She’d already made her decision and was moving forward.
“Are you going to leave him?”
“I already did. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Nina Pavlovna’s apartment on Sadovaya
Her mother sat in an armchair under a blanket. Her arm still ached after the surgery, but her eyes were clear and sharp. Next to her stood Rostislav—tall, calm, holding a folder of documents.
“Nina Pavlovna, I have everything prepared. The deed is ready to transfer to Vera, and it’ll take just three days to process. You only need to sign.”
“Hold on, Rostislav. Vera, take a seat. Tell me, why now? What’s this all about?”
Her daughter sat down on the edge of the couch. She didn’t want to scare her mother, but she also wasn’t going to lie. Her mother deserved the truth.
“Igor plans to sell this apartment. He thinks you’d be better off in a state institution. And the money would go straight into his pocket.”
Her mother didn’t flinch. She just gripped the armrest of her chair with her good hand. Her face became hard.
“So that’s how it is. I fed him borscht for eight years, and now he wants to throw me out like garbage.”
“There will be no garbage dump. I won’t allow it.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No. And it’s none of his business. This is between us. Your apartment—your decision.”
Rostislav coughed and opened a folder. The documents were ready, and the notary was waiting for tomorrow morning. Everything was clean and legal.
“Nina Pavlovna, once you sign the deed of gift, no one but Vera will have any rights over this apartment. Not your husband, not anyone else.”
“Give me the papers. I’ll read them over, and then we’ll go to the notary tomorrow.”
Vera took her mother’s hand. Nina Pavlovna looked at her daughter—both women were made of the kind who don’t cry, they act.
“You know, daughter, there’s a saying: betrayal isn’t a stab in the back, it’s the smile of the one holding the knife.”
“I know. But I’ve got a strong shield.”
Anchor Café on the Embankment
Igor showed up angry. He hadn’t been able to reach Vera for two days, and when he came home, he found empty shelves in the closet and a note: “Keys are on the table. Nothing left to talk about.”
Denis, his old friend, was sitting across from him. Igor ordered a double espresso and started talking, practically tripping over his words.
“She left, can you believe it? Just packed up her stuff and walked out! No warning, no discussion!”
“What did you expect, Igor?”
“I expected to be treated right! I’m the husband! I’m supposed to be in charge of this family! But she’s secretly doing things behind my back, signing papers!”
Denis took a sip of coffee and looked at Igor with an expression that was hardly sympathetic—more like tired of someone else’s foolishness.
“What papers?”
“The deed! For the old lady’s apartment! She made it over to herself! I found out this morning, called a contact—it’s already registered!”
“Well, the apartment was never yours to begin with.”
“It was family property! Ours! We’re a family!”
“Were a family. That’s past tense.”
Igor slapped his palm on the table. The waitress jumped and walked away. His face turned red, veins bulging on his neck.
“This is a rip-off! She screwed me over! Eight years of marriage—and this is how it ends?”
“And you wanted to stick her mother in a home—how would you call that?”
“That’s called being sensible! Rational decisions! The old lady alone in a three-room place, and we…”
“Stop. We? Who’s “we”? You never put a penny into that apartment.”
Igor fell silent. Denis finished his coffee and stood up.
“You know what, Igor? You dug your own hole. Vera’s a good woman. You’re just a greedy fool. Sorry, but I don’t want to hear any more of this.”
“You too?”
“Not against you. It’s just embarrassing to be near you right now.”
Denis left money for the coffee and walked out. Igor was left alone at the table. His espresso was cold. His phone was silent.
*
Apartment on Sadovaya. Two weeks later
Vera was arranging books on the shelf. Nina Pavlovna sat in an armchair, giving directions—move it to the left, to the right, no, that one should go on the top shelf. Tamara brought in a cherry pie and was pouring tea.
— Vera, has he stopped calling you?
— The last time he called was three days ago. He yelled into the phone, saying I stole everything. I told him, “You can’t steal what never belonged to you.” Then I hung up.
— And what did he do then?
— He sent me a message. Said I’d regret it. I blocked his number.
Nina Pavlovna smirked. She was looking better—her arm was healing, her cheeks had more color. She felt at peace next to her daughter.
— And the divorce?
— I filed the papers last week. The apartment we lived in was a rental. I don’t need anything from him.
— Nothing at all?
— Absolutely nothing. Greed is a sickness, Tamara. It’s contagious. I don’t even want a single ruble from him. I’ll be cleaner this way.
Tamara cut the pie and served a slice to Nina Pavlovna. She took a bite with her healthy hand. Vera stood by the bookshelf, smiling for the first time in the past month.
— Vera, do you have any regrets?
— About those eight years? Yes, I do. But not about my decision. The decision was the best thing I’ve done in all those eight years.
— And by far the quickest, — Tamara added.
— Exactly. When someone shows you who they are—believe them the first time. I believed him.
Her mother put down her plate and looked at her daughter. Her eyes were filled with pride—quiet, deep, and without any fuss.
— Daughter, you are the most important person in my life.
— And you’re mine. No Igor can ever change that. Not now, not ever.
Vera put the last book on the shelf. Next door, quiet music was playing. The tea was hot, the pie was sweet. Life was moving forward. Without a wedding ring—but with dignity.
