Polina called on Thursday, toward the evening. Her voice was just as he remembered — gentle, a little apologetic, like when she used to ask her big brother for help with her homework as a child. Nikolai set his phone down on the table and turned on speaker mode.
“Kolya, I hate to ask, but I have no one else.”
“Go ahead,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “When you start with ‘I hate to ask,’ it means this is something serious.”
“Viktor wants to do a renovation. A major one. Everything in the apartment is falling apart, you’ve seen it yourself. The pipes are leaking, the walls are cracked, the floor creaks.”
“So what’s stopping you from hiring a crew?”
Polina fell silent. Nikolai already knew the answer, but waited for her to say it herself.
“We don’t have the money right now. Viktor says — maybe in a few months. He’s asking if you can work on credit. He’ll pay later — for both materials and labor.”
“Polina, you realize this isn’t just painting a shed at the dacha, right? A major renovation means six-figure sums.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking you and not a stranger. At least you won’t cheat us.”
Nikolai stood up and went over to the window. The yard below was empty, only the swings creaked in the wind. Money wasn’t really on his mind — it was his sister. How she’d started to smile less this past year.
“Alright. But I have one condition.”
“What is it?”
“A contract. An estimate. Completion certificates for every stage. I’m not just some odd-job man, Polina. I have a business, I have people I pay out of my own pocket. If Viktor agrees to official terms, I’m in.”
“He’ll agree. I’m sure.”
“Then tell him to come by tomorrow. We’ll check the apartment and put together an estimate. And, Polina… I’m doing this for you. Not for him.”
“Thank you, Kolya. Thank you.”
She hung up. Nikolai stood by the window for another minute. Something was bothering him — something vague and unsettling, like the smell of burning when you can’t find the source. He shook his head and went back to work.
*
Viktor showed up the next day, right at ten. Strong handshake, direct gaze, broad smile. Nikolai knew this type — people who knew how to make an impression. People who could push when they needed to, and even when they didn’t.
“Nikolai, great to meet you! Polina speaks so highly of you. Says you have golden hands and nerves of steel.”
“Let’s skip the compliments. Show me the apartment, then we’ll talk about the scope.”
The apartment looked worn out. The wallpaper in the hallway bubbled up, mold blackened the bathroom, and the kitchen ceiling sagged. Nikolai walked quietly from room to room, taking photos, jotting down notes. Viktor followed him, talking non-stop.
“I want it to look like something out of a magazine. You know those cover apartments — bright, open, modern. The kind that takes your breath away when you walk in.”
“The price will take your breath away,” Nikolai replied without turning around. “This is a few months’ worth of work. Pipes need replacing, the wiring too, new floor screed. Walls have to be leveled. This isn’t just hanging new wallpaper.”
“I understand. But the results will be worth it, right?”
Nikolai squatted down and tapped on the baseboard. Dust crumbled out. He took another picture.
“There will be results. The question is payment. Polina mentioned the money would come later.”
“Yes, in a few months. You know how life is. But I give you my word, every penny will be covered.”
“Alright. I’ll bring over the contract and the estimate. Read it carefully—there will be deadlines, amounts, late fees, penalties. Everything official.”
Viktor waved his hand dismissively.
“No problem at all. We’re not strangers, are we? You’re my wife’s brother.”
Nikolai straightened up and looked Viktor in the eye.
“That’s exactly why everything will be on paper. So later there won’t be any ‘but we’re family.'”
Viktor laughed. Easily, casually, like someone who thinks the whole world owes him and has never doubted it.
Three days later, Nikolai brought the documents. Twelve pages of contract, a detailed estimate with every item, a payment schedule. Viktor skimmed through them quickly and signed each page with a sweeping, confident signature.
“All done. When do we start?”
“On Monday.”
The work lasted four months. Nikolai came by every day—inspecting, taking photos, signing interim reports. Viktor signed them too, eagerly, barely glancing at the papers. Every step—demolition, electrical, plumbing, screed, plaster, finishing—was documented.
When the last worker carried out the final bucket of debris, the apartment truly looked picture-perfect. Bright walls, heated floors, built-in lighting, brand new plumbing. Viktor walked through the rooms, running his hands along the walls like a child touching a new present.
“It’s beautiful. Nikolai, you’re a genius. This is a completely different apartment.”
“Glad you like it. Here’s the final clearance act. Total sum—two million one hundred thousand.”
Viktor didn’t even flinch.
“I’ll sign. And by the way—here’s the first payment. Five percent, just like we agreed.”
He handed over an envelope. Nikolai counted it—one hundred and five thousand. There was a receipt, a signature, everything by the book.
“The rest will follow the payment schedule,” said Nikolai.
“Of course, of course. Where else can I go?”
Nikolai left. In the car, he took out his phone and opened the folder with photos—three hundred forty-seven shots, each dated. Reports, signatures, the contract. Everything accounted for. Not because he didn’t trust, but because he had long since learned—trust and paperwork live in different rooms.
*
A month went by. Then another. The next payment didn’t come. Nikolai didn’t push, didn’t call Viktor. Instead, he called his sister.
“Polina, how are things?”
“Fine. Why? What’s up?”
“According to the schedule, the second payment should have come through. Nothing yet.”
There was a pause. Then a sigh.
“Kolya, I’ll talk to Viktor. Sorry, we’ve just been swamped.”
“Polina, I’m not pressuring you. Just a reminder—I’m not running a charity. I paid the workers out of pocket. I paid for the materials, too. Two million isn’t a dinner out.”
“I know, Kolya. I know.”
A week later, it wasn’t Polina who called. It was Galina—Viktor’s mother. Her voice was sweet, thick like syrup. Nikolai listened patiently.
“Nikolai, dear, you understand—family, shared struggles. It’s a tough time for Viktor, the expenses are huge. Maybe you could be considerate? Write off part of the debt? After all, we’re all one family.”
“Galina, I respect you. But there’s nothing to write off. There’s a contract, there’s a sum, and your son’s signature. The materials cost money. The workers did the job—I paid them. This isn’t a gift. This is work.”
— But Nikolay, are you really going to argue with your own family? Polina is your sister. Viktor is her husband. This is family, after all.
— That’s exactly why I agreed to do this renovation, because Polina is my sister. But I did it on the terms Viktor himself accepted. Voluntarily. He signed the deal.
— Is that what you told your sister?
— I’ve already said it to her.
Galina hung up the phone. Two days later, Polina came to Nikolay’s house. Her eyes were red, her hands cold. She sat in the kitchen, wrapping both hands around a cup of tea.
— Kolya, Viktor is making a scene. Every night. He says you’re putting pressure on us, that I have to talk to you.
— Polina, I’m not putting any pressure on him. I haven’t called him once. I’m waiting—patiently, silently, just like we agreed.
— I know. But he… he says something else. He says that since you’re my brother, it’s my problem. That I need to solve it.
— It’s not your problem. The contract is in his name. His signature is on it. He’s a grown man and knew exactly what he was signing up for.
Polina looked down.
— Kolya, yesterday he said he wanted a divorce.
Silence. The teapot was cooling on the stove. Outside, a crow cawed—boldly, insistently, almost as if demanding attention.
— Because of the renovation?
— I don’t know. Maybe because of everything. He’s changed. Or maybe he’s always been like this and I just didn’t notice.
— Polina, what about the apartment? What does he say about it?
— Nothing. He said, “The apartment is mine, there’s nothing to discuss.” He won’t even hear about it.
Nikolay placed his cup on the table. Slowly, carefully, as if afraid to break something. But inside, a heavy wave was building—cold and powerful, like the winter sea.
— I understand. Polina, listen to me carefully. I’m not interfering in your divorce. That’s your business. But the renovation debt—that’s mine. And I’m not writing a single ruble off.
— I understand.
— No, you don’t understand. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. That he can sign papers and then just forget about them. That he can get divorced and the debt will disappear. He’s wrong.
Polina looked up. There was something new in her eyes—not fear, not tears. Something like relief, the feeling you get when you finally stop hoping for a miracle.
— Kolya, I’ve told him a hundred times—”just pay.” He always replies, “It’s none of your business.” I’m ashamed in front of you. You’re my brother, you helped, and he…
— Polina, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You didn’t sign that contract. He did. And he will answer for it.
— What are you going to do?
— For now—nothing. I’ll wait. But not for long.
*
The divorce happened three months later. It was quick, formal, almost routine. The property dispute was settled—Viktor kept the apartment. Polina moved in with a friend, taking her suitcase and the cat. Viktor was triumphant.
He called Nikolay himself. For the first time in six months.
— Nikolay, hi. Listen, I want to set things straight. Polina and I have split. The apartment is mine. And let’s be real—the renovation was done while Polina lived there. It was basically for her. So…
— So what?
— Well, basically… I think the matter’s closed. We’re even.
Nikolay was silent for three seconds. Four. Five.
— Viktor, are you serious?
— Absolutely. It’s not my fault things turned out this way. Life’s life.
— Viktor, you have a twelve-page contract in your hands. Your signature is on every page. There are completion certificates. Photos. The total is two million. You’ve paid five percent. The rest is your debt.
“Kolya, don’t be like this. Let’s keep it civil… Polina is your sister. She lived in that apartment too. Just think of it as if you renovated it for her.”
“Think of it,” Nikolai repeated. “That’s a good word. Let’s actually count. The contract is under your name. The signature is yours. The client—also you. Polina isn’t mentioned in any paperwork.”
“That’s just a formality!”
“No, Viktor. That’s the law.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just stating the facts. Calmly, without emotion. You owe me money. I will get it.”
“Go ahead and try. I’m not afraid of you.”
“I’ve noticed. You’re one of those people who think everyone else is an idiot.”
Viktor hung up. Nikolai put his phone away. His hands were steady. His heart wasn’t racing. He had already made his decision—long ago, back in the kitchen, when Polina sat with red eyes and cold hands.
That same evening, he called his representative. Explained the situation briefly, without unnecessary details. Handed over the folder with all the documents—the contract, work orders, photos, and the receipt for the first payment.
A week later, Viktor received a notification. He called back—but not to Nikolai, to Polina.
“Your brother is a bastard! Did you know he would do this?!”
“Viktor, I’m not your wife anymore. If you have questions, talk to Nikolai.”
“He filed a lawsuit against me! Do you get it?! Two million, plus all these penalties and fees! This is insane!”
“It’s not insane. It’s a contract you signed. You said yourself—’I’ll sign anything.'”
“I thought we were family!”
“So did I. Right up until you kicked me out of the apartment with just one suitcase.”
“Polina, talk to him! Tell him to drop the case!”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?!”
“It means ‘no.’ That’s it, Viktor. I don’t owe you anything. Nikolai doesn’t owe you anything either. But you—owe him.”
Polina hung up. She stood at the window in a stranger’s apartment, looking at the streetlights and realizing: this is what it feels like when you stop being afraid.
Two days later, Polina’s former mother-in-law showed up. No call, no warning—she just rang the doorbell.
“Polina, we need to talk.”
“Come in, Galina.”
They sat in the small kitchen. Her mother-in-law looked older, shadows under her eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. She was silent for a long time before she finally spoke.
“Polina, you have to talk to your brother. Viktor is desperate. The amount has nearly doubled—penalties, fees, it’s all in the contract. It’s monstrous.”
“Galina, it’s all in the contract, and your son signed it willingly.”
“But it was your family renovation! Both of you lived there!”
“No. It was the renovation Viktor ordered. In his name. He decided the apartment was his. He decided the renovation was free. He was wrong.”
“Polina, try to see it from his perspective!”
“And who saw it from mine? When he yelled at me every evening? When he said, ‘the apartment’s mine, end of discussion’? When he threw me out? Who looked out for me then?”
Silence. The clock on the wall ticked deafeningly.
“I can’t influence Nikolai,” Polina said calmly. “And I don’t want to. He did everything right. He worked. He paid people out of his own pocket. He waited—patiently, for a long time. And your son decided he didn’t have to pay. Because ‘we’re family.’ But family, Galina, means you don’t cheat each other.”
“You’re saying terrible things.”
“No. The truly awful things are when someone renovates at someone else’s expense, kicks out his wife, and expects everyone to just swallow it.”
Her mother-in-law stood up. Her hands were shaking, but she didn’t let it show—she held herself tall and dignified, even now. She stopped in the doorway.
“You could have asked your brother for help.”
“Maybe. But I won’t. If you have questions, talk to Nikolai. You know his number.”
The door closed. Polina let out a long breath and shut her eyes. Deep inside, in that place where shame and pity live, something shifted.
Viktor tried to bargain. He called Nikolai—no answer. He sent messages—long, messy ones, full of exclamation marks and accusations.
“You did this on purpose! You waited for the divorce! You planned all of it!”
Nikolai read his messages but didn’t reply. He truly had waited—but not out of spite. He knew that while they were officially married, the expenses could be shared. He waited patiently. Coldly, calculated, like someone always three steps ahead.
The legal battle moved quickly. Viktor argued that the renovation was for Polina—she lived in the apartment, and her brother did the work. But his arguments fell apart one by one. The contract was in Viktor’s name. His signatures. His approvals. The first payment came from him. Polina was mentioned nowhere in the paperwork. The renovation wasn’t brought up in the divorce, and the property was already divided.
When the final amount was announced, Viktor turned pale. Two million and one hundred thousand, plus nine months’ worth of late fees and penalties. Nearly four million in total. That was half the value of the apartment.
Viktor called his mother.
“Mom, I’m finished. Four million. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Vitya, maybe you could sell the car?”
“The car is a drop in the bucket. The apartment is at stake. They’ll freeze it.”
“Oh God, Vitya… How could you not read the contract?”
“I thought he was bluffing! I thought he wouldn’t dare! He’s Polina’s brother!”
“He wasn’t bluffing. He just did exactly what he said he would do.”
The apartment was frozen. Viktor received an official notice—cold, stamped, and impersonal. He sat in the kitchen, in that very apartment with its designer renovation, running his hand along the artificial stone countertop, and couldn’t understand: how? How did he, the clever one, lose so badly?
He called Polina one last time.
“Polina, this is all your fault. You turned your brother against me.”
“Viktor, Nikolai is a grown man. He doesn’t need my instructions. He just protected what rightfully belongs to him.”
“It’s his right?! It’s my apartment!”
“It was your apartment. Until you decided other people’s work was free. Until you thought signatures were just a formality. Until you assumed everyone around you was a fool.”
“You’re happy, aren’t you? Happy that I’m losing everything?”
“No, Viktor. I’m not happy. I feel empty. Five years spent with someone who thinks everyone owes him everything. But I’m not afraid anymore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means goodbye.”
The apartment was put up for sale and went quickly—the renovation was gorgeous, and buyers lined up for a chance to buy it. The money from the sale paid off Nikolai, covered all expenses, every last penny. Viktor was left with a little—enough for a room in a dormitory, maybe. Enough to start a new life, one where he’d have to learn to live without anyone else’s money.
Nikolai came to see Polina on Saturday morning. He had a folder in his hand. He sat down across from her, placed the folder on the table, and opened it.
“Polina, I have something for you.”
“What is it?”
“These are the documents for an apartment. One-bedroom, brand new building, nice neighborhood. I want to put it in your name.”
Polina stared at the papers, not understanding.
“Kolya… What? How?”
“The first thing I did with the money was buy an apartment. You’re my sister. You spent five years living next to someone who didn’t respect you. You deserve your own home.”
“Kolya, this is a huge amount of money.”
“You can accept it. And you will. This isn’t up for discussion.”
“But…”
“Polina, look at me.”
She lifted her eyes. He smiled the way he used to in their childhood, when he helped her with her homework.
“You don’t owe anyone anything anymore. You have your own home. Yours. Just yours. Where no one will yell at you. Where no one will say, ‘This is mine, end of discussion.’ Tomorrow we’ll go take care of the paperwork.”
Polina covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders trembled, but she didn’t cry—there were no tears left. Instead, there was something else, warm and huge, rising from within and filling her chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. This is what family is, Polina. Real family.”
He stood up, walked over, and hugged her. She leaned into his shoulder, just like when they were kids and the world seemed simple and understandable. Outside the window, the April sun was shining. The cat on the windowsill stretched and yawned. Life went on—not easier, not simpler, but more honest. So much more honest.
Meanwhile, across town, Viktor sat alone in an empty room, dialing his mother’s number. The phone rang for a long time. No one answered. In that silence—cold and indifferent, like the world is to those who only know how to take and never give back—he heard his own emptiness for the first time. Heavy. Deafening. Final.