“Sorry, Galya, but after my death you’ll have to vacate this apartment,” Anatoly told his wife. “I’m leaving it to my son. I’ve already given the necessary instructions. I hope you won’t hold it against me. You have children—they’ll look after you.”
Life had knocked Galina around. She was raised in an orphanage and never knew her parents. She married young for great love, but never found happiness with her husband. Thirty-five years ago, then a young woman and the mother of two small children, she was widowed—her husband, Nikolai, died tragically. Galya lived alone for five years, working hard so her daughter and son would want for nothing, and then she met Anatoly. It was a good thing she had a place of her own—the apartment she’d inherited from her husband.
Galina’s chosen one was thirteen years older than she was, owned a three-room apartment, and earned a good living. They got together quickly, and Galina immediately accepted Anatoly’s proposal to move in and live together. He hit it off with her children right away. Galya’s elder daughter, Vasilisa, was wary of her stepfather at first, but Anatoly managed to earn her trust.
Her younger son, little Borya, practically started calling his stepfather “Dad” right away. Anatoly raised another man’s children as his own—he never hurt them and spared neither money, effort, nor time. Both Alyona and Boris were grateful to their stepfather for a happy childhood.
Both Boris and Vasilisa had long since been living on their own. Vasya married early and flew the nest. Borya, who dreamed of becoming a military man, had also not lived with his parents for many years. Ten years ago, Galina asked her children to come over. She wanted to discuss a very important matter.
“I want to sell our two-room apartment,” she told her children. “We need to do a major renovation here. It’s high time we replaced the furniture, and the bathroom pipes need changing. No one has lived in that two-room place for a long time anyway—it just stands empty. I wanted to ask your permission. Let’s sell that two-room flat and split the money?”
Vasilisa shrugged.
“I don’t mind. I’m not claiming that apartment, but I won’t lie, Mom, I wouldn’t refuse the money. You understand, my son needs treatment. We still hope to get him on his feet.”
Vasilisa’s eldest child had been born with health problems. The boy suffered from a congenital disease affecting the musculoskeletal system, so she really did need money. Constant rehabilitation, trips to the capital, and treatment at various private centers required major financial outlays. Boris backed his sister:
“I’m not against it either. Give my share to Vasya. Let her take Grishka to Moscow. I’m slowly paying off my mortgage; I’ve got a place of my own. My nephew’s health is more important.”
Galina sold the two-room apartment, gave half of the proceeds to Vasilisa, and used the rest to renovate her husband’s apartment. She changed everything—from wiring to plumbing. She bought the furniture and appliances with her own money. Back then, Galina had no idea she was pouring her resources into someone else’s property. She couldn’t have imagined that after thirty years of marriage her husband would treat her so meanly.
Anatoly’s health problems worsened four years ago. He constantly complained of severe knee pain—sometimes he couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning on his own. Galina insisted:
“Tolia, don’t be such a child. Go to the hospital, get checked, they’ll prescribe treatment and it’ll get easier! If you want, I’ll go with you. Tolia, stop being so fussy! Who’s going to take care of your health if you don’t?”
Anatoly groaned.
“Galya, I know perfectly well how a hospital visit will end! They’ll prescribe a pile of expensive medicines that won’t help! I’ve had knee problems since my youth—they ache from time to time. They used to hurt before too, though not this badly. Now I can’t even move my leg.”
Vasya had always treated her stepfather well, just like Borya—she called him her father—and she couldn’t remain on the sidelines. Together with her mother, she persuaded him to see a doctor. Galina went to the appointment with her husband. The doctor examined the patient and shook his head.
“It’s serious—your joints need urgent treatment. Tell me, how long have you been having this pain?”
“For quite a while,” Anatoly admitted. “Twenty-five years at least! My legs used to hurt after hard work, and now they even ache when the weather changes.”
“You’re carrying a lot of extra weight; you need to lose it, and then the load on your joints will decrease. You understand how risky your condition is, don’t you? You’ll have to go on a diet—and the sooner the better!”
Galina got serious about her husband’s health. After consulting a specialist, she drew up a menu for him. She cooked only healthy, low-calorie dishes from vegetables and grains, stopped buying chocolates, and replaced them with dried fruit. Anatoly flatly refused to follow the doctor’s advice.
“He filled your head with nonsense,” the man raged. “I’m not going on a diet! Over my dead body! I’ll kick the bucket in a month on this ‘grass,’ Galya! I’m not eating it, and my weight is fine. Nothing extra on me! And my legs hurt because I’m old—I’ll be seventy soon, so no surprise. Put that away! Pour me some tea. And buy some candy already! How long am I supposed to choke on this dried apricot?”
Galina held her ground. With pleading, threats, and even a bit of blackmail, she managed to get a positive result—Anatoly agreed to undergo treatment and lose weight at the same time. The medications the doctor prescribed didn’t help much; the pain would recede briefly, then return. Anatoly could barely move around the apartment; Galina led him by the hand to the bathroom and the toilet. On top of the joint problems, his heart started to ache and his blood pressure bothered him. Anatoly was fading fast, and Vasya and Borya, worried about their stepfather’s condition, tried to spend as much time by his side as possible.
For several years Anatoly fought for his life. The treatment had mixed results—periods of improvement were followed by flare-ups. Galina was always at her husband’s side; it never even crossed her mind to abandon a sick spouse. Six months ago, during yet another exacerbation, Anatoly was hospitalized. Galina practically lived at the hospital. One day, as she was packing fresh food into containers in the kitchen before visiting him, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. She opened the door and saw a young man on the landing. Something about his appearance seemed vaguely familiar.
“Hello! Could I see Anatoly Ivanovich?”
“Hello,” Galina replied, wiping her hands on her apron. “He’s not home right now. And you are…?”
“My name is Sergei. I’m Anatoly Ivanovich’s son.”
Galina was stunned: so that’s who this young man looked like—her husband in his youth! Noticing her confusion, Sergei asked:
“Could you tell me when he’ll be home? I’d like to talk to my father. We haven’t seen each other in a very long time, so I decided…”
“Well, why are we standing in the doorway,” Galina fussed. “Come in, Sergei. I’ll explain everything.”
Sergei listened to his father’s wife and remarked sadly:
“Dad was always like that… ‘Picky,’ as you rightly put it. It’s painful to realize how much power time has over a person. I remember my father young, healthy, and full of vigor. May I go with you? I can’t wait to see him!”
“Of course,” Galina smiled. “I think Tolia will be glad to see you too!”
Galya had known nothing about Sergei. Her husband had never told her he’d been married before. He had never said a word about a child; on the contrary, Anatoly always lamented that he had never become a father—despite their efforts, Galina had not been able to have a third child.
Anatoly didn’t acknowledge his son right away. Sergei didn’t stay long in the ward—he said he had things to do, said goodbye, and left. That was when Anatoly told his wife some details of his past life.
“Seryozha’s mother and I were together only four years. I left when my son turned three. I loved Masha very much; I couldn’t live without her, and she cheated on me with a distant relative! I caught them in the act. She later married my cousin and refused my help—told me to forget I had a son. I tried to see Seryozha—I waited for him near the school, lurked by the house. My dear cousin, Masha’s husband, even came at me with his fists a few times. I chased after them for two years and then got tired… Decided life would judge us all in the end. And that’s how it turned out. Almost thirty years passed, and Seryozha found me himself. You know, Galya, now I don’t know how to feel about him! On the one hand, he’s my own son; on the other, he’s a complete stranger to me. I don’t know him; I didn’t raise him! I don’t know how to behave with him.”
“Tolia, he’s your blood,” Galina said to her husband. “You can’t turn away from your children. He isn’t to blame for the way your wife treated you both. Try to let him into your heart so you won’t regret it later. Don’t reject him—help him get used to you.”
Anatoly took his wife’s advice and began to communicate with his son. Sergei often visited his father and even managed to meet Vasilisa and Boris. Galina’s children were friendly toward their stepfather’s son.
Galina was genuinely happy for her husband’s reunion with his child. Sergei came to see his father almost every week; the men would talk for a long time in the bedroom. Sergei always pulled the door to. Galina never tried to find out what they were discussing; she had no habit of eavesdropping or snooping.
Anatoly and Galina had savings. They had been building a financial cushion for several years—mostly topped up by Galina. She deposited the money left over from the sale of the two-room apartment into a bank account and added small amounts to it every month. She hadn’t retired yet; she worked as a remote accountant for several firms at once.
Galina had access to the account, but she wasn’t in the habit of checking the balance every day. A text message from the bank, which she saw purely by chance, made her uneasy.
“I didn’t withdraw any money,” she thought. “Tolik hasn’t gone anywhere. Who took out one hundred and fifty thousand? Where’s the card?!”
Galina ran to her husband.
“Tolia, where’s the bank card with our savings on it? The day before yesterday someone withdrew one hundred and fifty thousand from our account! I missed the SMS—I don’t know how that happened. We need to call the police—we’ve been robbed!”
Anatoly responded to his wife’s words with complete calm:
“Galya, no one robbed us. I gave the card to Seryozha. He needed money, so I helped my son out.”
Galina sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Tolia, why didn’t you tell me anything? Why didn’t you consult me? Why am I the last to find out? What kind of problem is so big that your son needs that much money?”
“Galya, that’s none of your business,” Anatoly snapped. “My son asked me for help, and I helped him. What’s the problem? What is it you don’t like?”
Lately Anatoly often allowed himself to be rude; Galina tried not to react to such outbursts. Taking a deep breath, she asked evenly:
“And where is the card?”
“With Seryozha,” her husband explained. “I just told you I gave it to him! Why are you asking stupid questions? Are you not listening to me?”
“Tolia, call your son and ask him to return the card immediately! That’s our rainy-day money, and I don’t want anyone but you and me having access to the account!”
“He’s my son!” Anatoly roared. “A close relative! What are you accusing Seryozha of? I told him he could use the card; he won’t be returning anything!”
Normally calm and level-headed, Galina lost her temper.
“Why should your son be using my money, Tolia? Forgive me, but have you put even a ruble into that account? How many years have you not worked now? I’m the one setting aside money from my salary every month! Have your son return the card—I don’t want to spoil my relationship with him.”
Anatoly shouted at his wife, and Galina called the bank and blocked the card. Sergei came to his father that same evening.
“Dad, the card doesn’t work anymore! I couldn’t withdraw money!”
“That’s right, it doesn’t,” Galina nodded, “because I blocked it. You needed help—we helped you. But no one said you could spend all our savings. You can throw that card away now.”
“Dad,” Sergei protested, “why did she do that? We had an agreement! You said I could spend as much as needed! Dear Galina, would you please give me an active card? People are waiting on me—I need to pay for furniture. They promised to deliver today!”
“You were going to pay for your furniture with my money?” Galina couldn’t hold back. “Why on earth? Seryozha, if it comes to that, your father has no claim on my savings whatsoever! That money is mine alone—got it? From this day on, all financial matters go through me. Your father’s pension isn’t that big; it doesn’t allow him to throw around such large sums.”
Sergei took offense and left, and Anatoly again attacked his wife with accusations. The couple quarreled, and for the first time in many years Galina thought she was tired of her husband. She had done so much good for him and hadn’t even been thanked.
A few days passed after the quarrel, and Sergei didn’t come by once. Galina found her husband’s silence oppressive—whenever Anatoly was offended, he would “punish” her by ignoring her. To clear her head, Galina grabbed her work laptop and went to her daughter’s.
“Let Tolik think about his behavior,” the woman decided. “We probably need a break from each other. Our relationship has really gone off the rails lately!”
Galina left in the morning and returned late in the evening. Her husband was in an excellent mood. She was even glad—she decided Tolia was no longer angry at her. She started the conversation.
“How was your day? What did you do while I was gone?”
“Oh, you know,” Anatoly drawled. “Seryozhka dropped by, and we had to run a few errands. I only just got back myself, about an hour before you came. Had to walk a lot today—I’m tired.”
Galina said nothing. After a moment’s pause, Anatoly suddenly added:
“I hope you won’t be mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?” Galina asked in surprise.
“I was at the notary’s today. In short, I gifted this apartment to my son.”
Galina narrowed her eyes.
“Interesting—for what services rendered?”
“Sergei is my son, my only heir; I have no other children by blood,” her husband declared. “When I’m gone, he’ll own this property. By the way, Galya, if I were you, I’d start thinking about your future now. Where will you go—to your daughter or your son?”
Galina suddenly felt hurt. Yes, perhaps by law she had no claim to a share of this apartment, but by conscience she deserved at least half. Everything here—from the furniture to the shower curtain—had been bought by her. She did the renovation, chose the furniture, replaced the door and all the meters. And now everything she had done with her own hands was to go to who-knows-whom.
“Thank you very much, Tolia,” Galina said quietly. “You’re probably right. It’s time I took care of my own future. Call your son and ask him to move in with you. Someone has to wait on you.”
“I don’t understand,” Anatoly scowled. “Why would Seryozha move in here?”
“I don’t know,” Galina shrugged, pulling a suitcase from the wardrobe. “You don’t like being alone—let your son entertain you in the evenings.”
“And where are you going?” Anatoly was completely confused. “Galya, what’s going on? Explain yourself at once!”
“There’s nothing to explain, Tolia,” Galina sighed. “I’m leaving you. I’m getting a divorce and becoming completely free. I’ll just pack my things and call the kids. We’ll make plans for my immediate future.”
Galina moved in with her son. Borya lived alone in a three-room apartment, and he had space for his mother. Vasya was also willing to take her in, but Galina didn’t want to crowd her daughter. Anatoly showed up for the court hearing; he didn’t want to grant his wife a divorce. The judge gave the spouses time to reconcile, but later Galina succeeded in having the marriage dissolved—left, in her ex-husband’s and his son’s eyes, as a mercenary gold-digger after someone else’s real estate.