The cast on her leg looked huge and alien, like a chunk of marble column strapped to her ankle. Her right arm, locked in a brace after a dislocation, ached with a dull, dragging pain. Galina sat in an armchair, staring at the packed boxes, feeling a sticky wave of anxiety slowly rising inside her.
Vadim, her husband, rushed around with forced enthusiasm. He looked less like a caring spouse and more like a manager trying to hit his quarterly targets.
“Galya, just think about it. It’s the logical solution,” Vadim said, slamming shut the trunk of the taxi, where her monitors had already been loaded. “You’re going to be on medical leave for at least two months. Mom is sick and needs care. We solve two problems at once. We can rent out our apartment for a while and save money. And you’ll be there, in the house, getting fresh air… while keeping an eye on her. She can barely walk.”
“Vadim, I can barely walk myself,” Galina said quietly, trying to shift her tablet into her uninjured left hand. “How am I supposed to take care of her when it takes me ten minutes just to make it to the bathroom?”
“Oh, come on. The place has everything set up already. Ira said she’d come by and help. I’ll pitch in in the evenings. And meanwhile we won’t be bleeding money on rent. We wanted to replace the car, remember? Well, here’s our chance. Resource reallocation, so to speak.”
Galina was a data scientist. Her mind was trained to detect patterns, outliers, anomalies. And right now, her husband’s behavior looked like one giant anomaly. Until recently, they had lived in an upscale rental, enjoying their privacy and space. Now he was dragging her into his mother’s old Stalin-era apartment, where Larisa Timofeyevna had been diagnosed with progressive dementia caused by vascular problems.
“All right,” she exhaled, giving in under the pressure of the pain shooting through her arm. “We’ll try it. But if Irina doesn’t help, I’m hiring a caregiver.”
“Of course, of course,” Vadim said brightly. “Everything will work out, sweetheart.”
The move took the entire day.
The apartment, once grand with its tall ceilings and oak parquet floors, greeted them with the stale smell of dust and heart medicine. Larisa Timofeyevna, thin and frightened, sat in the living room with wide, uneasy eyes. She recognized her son, but looked at Galina with distrust.
The first week was hell.
Vadim, head of logistics at a large retail chain, left at seven in the morning and came home well after midnight.
“Vadim, your mother needs her diaper changed. I physically can’t turn her over, my arm is injured!” Galina said into the phone one evening.
“Galchonok, I’m in the middle of inventory. Total disaster here, the staff is useless, I can’t get away,” he said irritably. Loud music and clinking glasses sounded in the background. “Ask the neighbor or manage somehow. You’re strong, aren’t you? All right, kisses, bad connection.”
Galina stared at the dark screen of her phone.
She knew there was no inventory. He just didn’t want to be there, in a place that smelled like illness. She pulled herself up onto her crutches. She had to learn how to do everything with one hand—cook, change sheets, write code.
That evening, Irina, her sister-in-law, did stop by. She floated into the apartment trailing a sharp, sugary perfume and wrinkled her nose.
“Ugh, what a smell. Galya, why don’t you air the place out?”
“Because I broke my leg and injured my arm, Ira,” Galina snapped from behind her laptop. “You promised you’d help wash your mother.”
“Oh please, I just got my manicure done. I can’t be messing around in water. Anyway, I only came for money. Mom said she had some funeral cash stashed away. Vadik said I could take it and we’d return it later. I’m short on the fee for this feminine energy course.”
Irina went into her mother’s bedroom, rummaged through the dresser, ignored the old woman’s weak protests, found an envelope, waved it in front of Galina’s face, and floated right back out.
Galina stayed where she was.
Months passed.
The bones healed slowly, but Galina was finally able to move without crutches, though she still limped slightly. Her arm had healed, but her wrist still ached when the weather changed. She didn’t quit her job. On the contrary, she picked up a new remote contract with Western clients. At night she trained neural networks. During the day she cared for her mother-in-law.
Her relationship with Larisa Timofeyevna changed.
The elderly woman saw perfectly well that her son and daughter showed up only once a month, and only when they wanted something or had a complaint. Little by little, she began to lean on her daughter-in-law instead. In her lucid moments, she cried.
“Why are you doing all this for me, Galochka?” she whispered, stroking Galina’s hand with a dry palm. “Put me in a nursing home. They don’t care… They only want the apartment.”
“Enough of that nonsense, Mama,” Galina said firmly but gently. “No one is sending you anywhere. Eat your soup.”
Vadim started coming home as if he were checking into a hotel. He grimaced at the smell of medicine, demanded dinner and spotless rooms, and contributed almost nothing toward household expenses.
“You get paid in foreign currency, Galya, why are you making such a fuss? I’m saving for our vacation. We’ll go to the sea once all this…” He waved vaguely toward his mother’s room. “…is over.”
Galina could see the transactions on their shared bank card—the one he had “forgotten” at home, which she had linked to her banking app. Bars. Restaurants. Shopping trips. He wasn’t saving anything. He was living off her money while she lived inside the hell he had abandoned her to.
One evening, Vadim brought home a colleague named Stas. They sat in the kitchen drinking cognac while Galina changed Larisa Timofeyevna’s bedding in the other room.
“Well, you’ve got yourself quite the arrangement,” Stas laughed loudly. “A tech-wife with money, a free housekeeper, and sure, your mother’s a burden, but the apartment’s in the center. A three-room Stalin-era place must be worth what now, twenty million?”
“Twenty-five if it gets renovated,” Vadim replied lazily. “Ira will want her cut, of course, but I’ll deal with her. The important thing is making sure Galka doesn’t rebel too soon.”
Galina froze with a sheet in her hands.
At that moment, the final piece fell into place in her mind.
Emotion shut down. Cold calculation switched on.
She walked into the kitchen. The men fell silent.
“Vadim, I need money for medication. Fifty thousand. Tomorrow,” she said evenly.
“Are you insane?” he said, staring at her. “What kind of medicine costs that much?”
“No money, no care,” Galina said sharply, and went back into the room.
Vadim didn’t give her a cent.
Galina paid for everything herself.
But that same evening, while Vadim was at work, she called a notary and medical staff to the apartment for the first time.
A year later, just when it seemed life could not possibly get heavier, Zinaida Petrovna—Vadim’s paternal grandmother—fell ill. She lived alone in a small house outside the city, a hard old woman made of iron, who had outlived nearly everyone except her own illnesses. Now she was bedridden.
Vadim found out and merely shrugged.
“Well, that’s great. Let social services deal with it. I’m not driving back and forth out there. Gas is expensive.”
Galina said nothing.
She packed a bag, arranged paid transport for bedridden patients, and went to bring the old woman home.
That evening, when Vadim returned, he nearly tripped over a medical gurney in the hallway. The living room had been transformed. In place of the sofa stood a hospital bed, and on it lay Zinaida Petrovna. In the next room, Larisa Timofeyevna was coughing softly.
“What the hell have you done?” Vadim shouted. “What is this, some kind of poorhouse? Why did you drag that old crone in here?”
“Because she is your grandmother, Vadim!” Galina stood directly in front of him. “And she can’t get up. Who is supposed to bring her water? Your sister, who’s off on some sacred womb-breathing retreat? Or you, with your endless sauna meetings?”
“Get out!” he roared. “Either you get rid of her, or—”
“Or what?” Galina stepped closer. “You’ll throw out the woman who takes care of two of your relatives for free? Who pays the utilities? Who feeds you? Go ahead. Try.”
Vadim deflated.
Greed and laziness won over disgust.
“Do whatever you want,” he muttered with a wave of his hand. “Just keep it out of my sight, and out of my ears. And don’t let the place stink.”
Now the apartment truly became an infirmary.
Galina slept four hours a night. She hired a visiting nurse for the mornings so she could keep working. All her savings vanished into diapers, expensive medication, and special nutrition.
Vadim and Irina almost stopped showing up altogether. Irina called once a month.
“So, how are our old ladies? Still breathing? Listen, Galya, I’m short on money for a new iPhone, and Vadik said you got a quarterly bonus…”
Galina hung up.
She no longer spoke to either of them.
She spoke only to the notary.
Despite her harsh personality, Zinaida Petrovna came to respect her.
“You’re a fool, girl,” she rasped while Galina fed her with a spoon. “My grandson is scum, and you’re carrying everything on your back. Why?”
“Because I’m a human being, Zinaida Petrovna.”
Zinaida Petrovna lived with them for six months. During that time, Galina arranged legal guardianship over her, since no one else wanted the responsibility, and Vadim signed a waiver simply to avoid dealing with the paperwork.
Zinaida Petrovna died first.
Quietly, in her sleep.
Galina arranged the funeral. At the cemetery, Vadim stood there with a sorrowful face, accepting condolences from distant relatives, then leaned toward his colleague Stas and whispered:
“Well, one down. The house is decent, and the land’s valuable. Once the inheritance comes through, we’ll sell it. I’m getting myself a newer German car.”
Galina heard him.
She stood a little apart in a black headscarf, looking at her husband as if he were an insect.
A month later, Larisa Timofeyevna died as well. Her body had simply grown too tired to keep fighting. Before she passed, she was fully lucid, holding Galina’s hand and whispering something softly. Vadim wasn’t there. He was at a corporate event. Irina wasn’t there either. She was in Bali.
Two funerals so close together drained Galina completely.
After the memorial gathering, held in a restaurant and paid for, naturally, by Galina, the family returned to the apartment. Irina arrived tanned and chewing gum. Aunt Vera came too—Larisa’s sister, who had barely shown her face while Larisa was alive, but now came running to divide the spoils. Vadim poured vodka.
“Well then,” Vadim began, sprawling in the armchair where his mother had once sat, “this is sad, of course. But life goes on. Galina, where are the papers for Mom’s apartment and Grandma’s house? Tomorrow I’m going to the notary to open the inheritance case. Ira, I’m thinking we’ll put the dacha in your name, and we’ll sell the apartment and split the money.”
“And me?” Aunt Vera cut in. “I’m family too!”
“Oh, Aunt Vera, don’t start,” Vadim said dismissively. “We’re first-line heirs. You’re just an extra in this.”
Irina giggled.
“Oh, I’ve already found a studio in Moscow City. I need the down payment. Vadik, let’s get this done quickly. Galya, bring the folder from the cabinet—the one with the documents.”
Galina had been sitting silently against the wall.
Slowly, she got to her feet.
She did not walk to the cabinet.
Instead, she came to the table and dropped two thin folders onto it.
“You don’t need to go to the notary,” she said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Vadim frowned. “Galya, don’t be stupid. There are deadlines, six months, all that.”
“I mean exactly what I said. There’s nothing left to inherit.”
“What are you talking about?” Irina stopped chewing.
Galina laughed.
“You vultures,” she said, and suddenly her voice rang out, sharp and powerful. “For three years you waited for them to die. Did you ever once ask if they were in pain? Did you ever buy a single pack of painkillers? No!”
“All right, enough hysteria,” Vadim said, standing up, his face turning red. “Hand over the papers.”
“Here are your papers!” Galina snatched up the folders and hurled them into his face. The pages scattered across the floor.
Vadim bent down and picked one up.
“Deed of gift… Zinaida Petrovna… to Galina Sergeyevna…” he read, his lips turning white. “How? When?”
“Six months ago. Your grandmother was completely lucid. She signed the house and the land over to me. In gratitude for not dying in her own filth while her precious grandson was out shopping for a car. It was a legal transfer.”
“And this…” Irina picked up the second document. “The apartment… Mom… another transfer? Dated one week before her death? This is fraud! She wasn’t competent!”
“I have a psychiatrist’s evaluation from the day the papers were signed, darling,” Galina said with a cold smile. “And a video recording of her saying her children were scavengers, and that she didn’t want either of you to get so much as a crumb.”
“You bitch!” Vadim roared, clenching his fists. “You set all this up! You wormed your way into their trust! I’ll sue you! I’ll take everything back!”
And then Galina exploded.
Three years of pain, humiliation, sleepless nights, overwork, the smell of sickness, and crushing loneliness burst out of her all at once. It was not a woman’s hysterics. It was the fury of a titan.
“Shut up!” she thundered so loudly that Vadim actually stumbled backward into the doorframe. “You are nothing. You lived off my money, you ate my food, you abandoned your mother, you abandoned your grandmother! Did you really think I would keep enduring it in silence? Did you think I was convenient? I ran the numbers on you, Vadim. You’re as predictable as ‘Hello, World’ in programming.”
She stepped toward him and jabbed a finger into his chest.
“Listen to me carefully, parasite. This apartment is mine. That house is mine. We’re getting divorced. I’m filing tomorrow.”
“I’m not leaving!” Vadim shrieked. “This is my home! I’m registered here!”
“You’re registered here,” Galina said with a sudden calm nod. “But I’m the owner. So here’s the deal. Want to live here? Pay. Market rent for a three-room apartment in this neighborhood is eighty thousand plus utilities. First and last month upfront. Right now.”
“I don’t have that kind of money on me…” he muttered, suddenly lost.
“Then get out!” Galina shouted, pointing to the door. “Out. Both of you. And take your aunt with you. I don’t want the smell of any of you left here in five minutes!”
“Galya…” Vadim began, trying to switch to a softer, pleading tone. “Come on, we’re family, we just got carried away…”
“You have five minutes, Vadim. I have the ownership papers in my hands.”
Vadim stared at her and saw a stranger.
Not the obedient wife he had dragged there on a broken leg.
Standing before him now was a furious woman who had shattered his entire life with the stroke of a pen.
He could not believe it.
For three years he had waited for wealth.
What he got instead was thrown out on the street.
“You’ll regret this,” he hissed, snatching up his jacket.
“Leave the keys on the table,” Galina said coldly.
Vadim, Irina, and Aunt Vera stepped out onto the landing. The door slammed behind them, and the lock clicked shut.
Vadim stood in the stairwell where he had grown up, realizing he had nowhere to go. He could probably crash with friends for a day or two, but no longer than that. His pride, inflated beyond all reason, burst apart with a deafening crack.
Irina was crying, mascara smeared across her face.
“Vadik, what are we going to do? I can’t even make my loan payment! You promised!”
Vadim looked at his sister with pure hatred.
“Shut up, Ira. Just shut up.”
He walked slowly down the stairs, understanding that tomorrow he would be hunting for a hostel bed. The same “successful manager” who had planned to buy himself a German car now found himself out on the street with a shopping bag containing half a bottle of vodka and a pair of socks.
He had lost a game whose rules he had never even bothered to understand.