“Well, sweetheart,” Polina Sergeyevna said, drawing herself up to her full, formidable height and folding her arms across her chest, “I’ve had enough of having you live off me. Kostya works himself ragged, while you and your little girl do nothing but eat my food.”
Nina stood frozen by the window, holding Katya asleep in her arms. The child had come home exhausted from kindergarten and was resting her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. Five years old—such a tender age, when a child still believes in fairy tales and cannot possibly understand what goes on between adults.
“Polina Sergeyevna, I don’t understand…” Nina began, but her mother-in-law cut her off with a sharp flick of her hand.
“There’s nothing to understand! I thought my son would come to his senses, but apparently not. He dragged another man’s child into this house, and now I’m supposed to put up with the two of you in my old age?”
Nina gently laid Katya on the couch and tucked a blanket around her. Then she turned back to her mother-in-law, trying to keep her composure. In two years of marriage to Kostya, she had gotten used to Polina Sergeyevna’s biting remarks, but today was different. Usually the woman limited herself to hints and veiled insults. Today she was attacking head-on.
“Kostya and I both work. I pay for groceries, for—”
“Quiet!” her mother-in-law snapped, stepping closer, and Nina felt herself tense all over. “He works for both of you just to feed your Katya! And what do you do? Twirl around in that salon for pennies!”
At that moment, their neighbor Shura appeared in the doorway, carrying a shopping bag, clearly drawn by the shouting through the thin walls. She paused at the threshold, but Polina Sergeyevna did not even notice her.
“I always knew this would end badly,” the older woman went on, pacing around the living room. “A divorced woman with a child! Kostya could have found anyone, but he picked you. Probably out of pity.”
Nina swallowed hard. Her hands began to shake, but she curled them into fists behind her back so no one would see. Do not let her break you. Do not let her see how much it hurts.
“Polina Sergeyevna, let’s talk calmly when Kostya gets home—”
“Don’t bother waiting!” the woman cut in. “Pack your things and get out. Right now. Take your little baggage with you.”
Shura gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. Nina felt an icy chill spread through her. Slowly, she walked over to the couch and looked down at her sleeping daughter. Katya was breathing softly, hugging her favorite stuffed rabbit.
“It’s winter outside,” Nina said quietly. “It’s minus fifteen.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” Polina Sergeyevna strode to the wardrobe, pulled out Nina’s old backpack, and threw it at her feet. “Here. Start packing. And make it quick, before I change my mind and throw you out myself.”
Nina crouched beside the backpack. Her hands moved on their own as she began stuffing in Katya’s things—jackets, pants, sweaters. They had brought all of it here two years earlier, when Kostya had asked her to move in. Back then, it had seemed like the beginning of a new life. A happy one. And his mother… well, surely she would adjust in time.
She never had.
“Shura, what are you still standing there for?” Polina Sergeyevna snapped, turning to the neighbor. “Go home. This doesn’t concern you.”
But Shura stayed put. She stepped fully inside and set her shopping bag down on the floor.
“Polya, maybe don’t do this,” she said softly. “The little girl is tiny. Where are they supposed to go now?”
“I told you it’s none of your business!” Polina Sergeyevna barked. “I’m sick of all of this! I had my own life, my own plans, and then suddenly—there’s some чужой ребёнок in my house!”
Nina zipped up the backpack, walked back to the couch, woke Katya, and began dressing her. The girl whimpered sleepily, not understanding what was happening.
“Mommy, I want to sleep…”
“In a minute, sweetheart, just a minute,” Nina whispered, pulling her daughter’s coat onto her and tying her hat. Her hands were trembling so badly that the shoelaces would not cooperate at first.
Polina Sergeyevna stood by the window with her back turned. Her shoulders were rigid, her jaw tight. Shura stepped over to Nina and asked quietly,
“Where will you go? Do you want to stay with me tonight?”
“No, Shura, thank you,” Nina said, pulling on her own coat, slinging the backpack over her shoulder, and lifting Katya into her arms. “I… have somewhere to go.”
It was not true. She had nowhere at all. Her friend Lena had gone to Tver to visit her parents a week earlier. Aunt Vera lived in a cramped one-room apartment with Grandma Klava; there was barely room for themselves. And calling Kostya… no, she didn’t want to. Let him come home and see what his mother had done.
Nina stepped onto the stairwell. The door slammed shut behind her with a dull click. Katya buried her face in Nina’s neck and sniffled softly.
“Mom, why was Grandma Polya yelling at us?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I really don’t know.”
They went downstairs and out into the street. The wind struck Nina’s face with sharp grains of snow. She adjusted Katya’s scarf and held her closer.
Where could they go?
She pulled out her phone. Three missed calls from Kostya. He had probably called from work to say he would be late, as usual. Nina checked the time—half past five. Winter nights came early, and the streetlamps were already glowing.
They could go to a café. Sit for a while. Get warm. Then… then she would figure something out.
Nina walked toward the town center. Katya stayed quiet in her arms, only sniffing now and then. People hurried along, wrapped in scarves, absorbed in their own lives. No one paid any attention to the woman carrying a child through the winter dusk.
When they reached Vkusno i Tochka, Nina stopped. She went inside, settled at a table in the far corner, and ordered tea and fries for Katya. Then she sat down and took off her hat. Her hair was full of static, sticking to her cheeks.
Her phone buzzed. Kostya again.
Nina rejected the call. Then she sent a short message: “Your mother threw us out. Deal with it.”
His response came almost immediately: “What??? Where are you? I’m coming right now!”
“No. I need to think about what to do next.”
Katya poked listlessly at her fries with a fork. Nina looked out the window at the snow swirling beneath the streetlights. And then she remembered—today was the day the letter from the notary was supposed to arrive.
She had almost forgotten the whole thing. Three months earlier, she had received a call informing her that a distant relative had died. Some third cousin from St. Petersburg, a woman Nina had met only once in her life, when she was still a teenager.
And that woman had left her an inheritance.
At the time, Nina had barely paid attention. She assumed it might be some old furniture, maybe a couple of books. The notary had said something about an apartment, but she had not listened closely. She had too much on her mind.
But now…
Nina opened her email and scrolled through her messages. There it was—from the notary’s office. It had arrived earlier that day.
She opened it.
She started reading.
And could not believe what she saw.
Eight million rubles.
Nina read the line again. Then once more. The figures did not change. An apartment in central St. Petersburg had been sold through an agency. The money had already been transferred to the account she had provided when handling the paperwork. All that remained was for her to go to the bank.
Eight million.
She slowly lowered the phone onto the table. Then she looked at Katya, who had already finished her fries and was tracing shapes with her finger on the steamed-up window.
“Mom, are we going home?” the girl asked without turning around.
“No, sunshine. We’re not.”
Katya turned and looked at her mother with wide eyes.
“Then where are we going?”
Nina took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it gently.
“We’re going to find a new home. Our own. A place where no one will ever shout at us.”
She opened the email again and read every detail carefully. She needed to go to the bank the next morning and sign the documents. Everything was prepared already, just waiting for her signature. The notary wrote that he had tried calling her several times, but she had not answered. The inheritance process had taken three months, and now it was finally complete.
Her phone buzzed once again. Kostya. Nina pressed decline and blocked his number. She needed time to think. Time to sort through her feelings and make sense of what had happened over the last two hours.
Polina Sergeyevna had thrown her out. She had called Katya a brat. And Kostya… where had he been while his mother was working herself into a frenzy? Why had he never stopped her before? Why had he never put an end to those endless jabs and humiliations?
Nina stood up, helped Katya get dressed, and stepped outside with her. The snow was still falling, but now Nina saw it differently. Not as the cold she had been cast into, but as the beginning of something new.
They made their way to the Central Hotel. It was small but clean. Nina rented a room for the two of them and took Katya upstairs to the third floor. The room was cozy—two beds, a television, an electric kettle. Katya immediately flopped onto one of the beds and hugged a pillow.
“Mom, it’s like a hotel! Are we on vacation?”
“You could say that,” Nina answered, taking off her shoes and walking over to the window. The city glittered below in scattered lights. Somewhere out there, only three blocks away, drama was probably unfolding in Polina Sergeyevna’s apartment. Kostya had come home from work and found out what had happened. Maybe he was yelling at his mother. Maybe he was searching the whole city for Nina.
Or maybe not.
Maybe he had simply shrugged and said, “Well, Mom was upset. You know how she is.”
Nina switched on the kettle, took out the packet of cookies she always carried for Katya, and sat down beside her daughter on the bed.
“Katya, I need to tell you something. Very soon, we’re going to have a lot of money.”
“How much is a lot?”
“Enough to buy an apartment. Enough to live wherever we want.”
Katya thought about that while nibbling on a cookie.
“And with Daddy Kostya?”
That was the hardest question.
“I don’t know yet,” Nina answered honestly. “I need to think.”
They drank tea and watched cartoons on television. Katya fell asleep around nine, nose buried in the pillow. Nina tucked the blanket around her and stroked her hair.
Then she took out her phone and unblocked Kostya’s number.
There were twenty-three messages and sixteen missed calls. The last text had arrived ten minutes earlier: “Nina, please answer. I had no idea Mom would do something like that. She’s crying now, saying she didn’t mean it. Come back and we’ll talk.”
Nina gave a dry little laugh. Crying. Of course. Now that she realized she had gone too far.
Nina typed: “I’ll come tomorrow. We’ll talk.”
His reply was instant: “Thank you! Where are you? I’ll come get you!”
“No need. I’ll come myself. Around eleven.”
She turned off the phone and lay down beside Katya. She closed her eyes, but sleep would not come. Her thoughts kept circling, each darker than the last. What if there had been no inheritance? What if she really had been left out in the cold with a child, no money, and no roof over her head?
Kostya probably would have taken them back, yes. But what would really have changed? Polina Sergeyevna would have offered some token apology, and then it would all begin again—sarcasm, taunts, cold looks from under lowered brows.
Nina ran a hand across her face. No. Enough. For two years she had tried to become part of that family. For two years she had endured everything. And where had it gotten her? Out on the street on a winter evening.
The inheritance felt like a sign. A chance to start over.
The next morning, Nina woke Katya, washed and dressed her. They had breakfast in the hotel café—pancakes with honey, Katya’s favorite. After that, Nina called a taxi and went to the bank.
A consultant greeted her with a smile and escorted her into the manager’s office. The documents were ready; all she needed to do was sign. Nina read every page carefully and put down her signature. The money was already in her account, ready to be used however she wanted.
“Would you like us to issue a card for you?” the manager asked.
“Yes. And please transfer two hundred thousand to another account,” Nina said, reciting the bank details. It was Aunt Vera’s account. The old woman had spent her whole life working as a teacher and lived on a tiny pension. Let her have at least a little happiness.
Half an hour later, everything was done. Nina walked out of the bank with a new card in her wallet and a strange feeling in her chest, as if a heavy burden had finally slipped from her shoulders.
Now it was time to see Kostya.
The taxi brought them to the familiar building in fifteen minutes. Nina went up to the fourth floor and rang the bell. Kostya opened the door. He looked disheveled, his eyes red, like a man who had not slept all night.
“Nina…” He stepped toward her, but she lifted a hand.
“Stop. I need to say something first.”
Kostya froze. Polina Sergeyevna came out of the room behind him. Her eyes were swollen, her face drawn. She looked at Nina, opened her mouth to speak, but Nina beat her to it.
“Yesterday you called my daughter a brat. You threw us out into the freezing cold. And you know what? Thank you for that, Polina Sergeyevna.”
Her mother-in-law flinched and grabbed the doorframe. Kostya stepped forward, trying to take Nina’s hand, but she pulled away.
“Nina, I’m sorry. Mom didn’t mean it… she was upset, her blood pressure was acting up,” he said quickly, stumbling over his words. “Please come back. We’ll forget everything and start over.”
“Start over?” Nina gave a bitter smile. “Kostya, in two years I’ve heard enough poison from your mother to fill an entire book. But yesterday she crossed the line.”
Polina Sergeyevna stepped forward, her face suddenly taking on a pitiful expression.
“Ninochka, dear, I was wrong. Forgive this foolish old woman,” she said, her voice trembling and her eyes filling with tears. “I was overwhelmed, I was tired… but you understand, I didn’t mean it out of cruelty. Let’s just forget this nightmare, shall we? You’re a sensible girl.”
Nina looked at her calmly, without emotion. It was remarkable how quickly people changed when they realized they had gone too far. Yesterday she had been screaming like a madwoman, and today it was “Ninochka, dear.”
“Do you know what’s funniest?” Nina turned to Kostya. “You never defended me. For two years I put up with the jabs, the hints, the accusations. And what did you do? Stayed silent, saying your mother was old and that there was nothing to be done.”
“I just didn’t want to fight with my mother!” Kostya ran a hand through his hair. “I thought things would get better with time…”
“Nothing got better. And it never would have.”
Katya tugged at Nina’s sleeve.
“Mom, let’s go. I’m bored here.”
“In a second, sweetheart,” Nina said, stroking her daughter’s hair before turning back to Kostya. “I came to tell you that I’m filing for divorce. I’ll come for my things in a few days.”
“What?!” Kostya went pale. “Nina, have you lost your mind? You’re going to destroy a family over one argument?”
“One argument?” Nina shook her head. “Kostya, your mother threw us into the street in the middle of winter. With a five-year-old child. That wasn’t an argument. That was betrayal.”
Suddenly Polina Sergeyevna changed. Her tears vanished, and her face hardened.
“Then get out!” she shouted. “Do you think I don’t know you sneak around with men behind corners? My Kostya works himself to death while you wag your tail around!”
“Mom!” Kostya grabbed her shoulder, but she jerked free.
“Oh, leave me alone! I told you from the start not to get involved with a divorced woman! But you wouldn’t listen! And this is the result!”
Nina smiled. There she was—the real Polina Sergeyevna. No mask, no performance.
“And do you know what else is funny?” Nina pulled her phone out of her bag, opened the email from the notary, and held the screen toward them. “Yesterday, while you were throwing me out into the cold, I received an inheritance. Eight million rubles.”
Silence filled the hallway. Kostya stared at the phone. Polina Sergeyevna opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“So don’t worry about me,” Nina said. “Katya and I will do just fine. I’ll buy an apartment, maybe a car. I’ll put my daughter in a good school. And you two… carry on as you always have.”
She turned toward the door, but Kostya grabbed her arm.
“Wait! Nina, wait!” Something flashed in his eyes—greed, panic, desperation. “Let’s talk calmly. You’re right, Mom went too far. But we’re a family! That money… it could help all of us! We could buy a bigger apartment, move out from Mom’s place, start living on our own!”
Nina pulled her arm free.
“We are not a family, Kostya. Family means protection. And you stayed silent.”
“I’ll change! I swear!” He caught her by the shoulders and searched her face. “Give me one chance! We’ll start from scratch, I’ll be different!”
Polina Sergeyevna stirred too and seized Nina by the elbow.
“Ninochka, darling, forgive this foolish old woman! I truly was wrong!” Her voice rang with false sweetness, like a cracked bell. “Let’s forget everything! You’ll buy an apartment, we’ll all move there together, and I’ll help you—help with little Katya too!”
Nina stepped away and moved back.
“Yesterday she was a brat. Today she’s ‘little Katya,’” Nina said, looking at both of them, and not a trace of warmth remained in her eyes. “You know, I’ve always been amazed by how quickly people change when money enters the conversation.”
“Nina, don’t be like this!” Kostya tried to put his arms around her, but she moved away again. “We’re husband and wife! By law, half of your inheritance is mine!”
There it was. That was what truly mattered to him.
Nina laughed, short and sharp.
“Actually, by law, an inheritance received during marriage is not divided in a divorce. It belongs to the person who inherited it. So don’t get your hopes up.”
Kostya’s face twisted. He stepped closer, his voice rising.
“You can’t just walk away! I supported you for two years! I fed your daughter!”
“Supported me?” Nina arched an eyebrow. “Kostya, I worked just as much as you did. I paid for half the groceries. I paid Katya’s kindergarten fees. So don’t try to paint yourself as some great benefactor.”
Polina Sergeyevna clutched at Nina’s sleeve.
“You’re ungrateful! We took you in, gave you a home, and now you’re acting high and mighty! You think money makes you a princess?”
Nina calmly freed her sleeve and smoothed out the wrinkled fabric.
“I already am a princess. For my daughter. And I wish the two of you many happy years exactly as you are. Together.”
She took Katya’s hand and opened the door.
“Wait!” Kostya shouted. “You’ll regret this! Without me, you’re nothing! You’ll come crawling back, and then we’ll see!”
Nina turned on the threshold and looked at him one last time. This man she had once loved now felt like a stranger—small, bitter, greedy.
“No, Kostya. I won’t come back. Ever.”
The door closed behind them. Nina and Katya went down the stairs and out into the street. The snow had stopped, and the sun had come out. The frost bit at Nina’s cheeks, but she did not feel cold. Inside, warmth was spreading through her, along with a lightness, an almost weightless joy.
“Mom, are we really never going back to Grandma Polya’s?” Katya asked.
“That’s right, sweetheart.”
“And not to Daddy Kostya either?”
“Not to Daddy Kostya either.”
Katya thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Good. I was bored there anyway.”
They walked to the trolleybus stop and climbed aboard. Nina looked out the window at the city drifting by and imagined what their new apartment would be like. Bright. Spacious. Big windows. A place where Katya could run and laugh without ever fearing that someone would shout at her.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Aunt Vera: “Ninochka, thank you so much! Can you believe it? Money just appeared on my card! Two hundred thousand! Is it a mistake?”
Nina smiled and typed back: “No mistake, Aunt Vera. It’s from me. Please spend it on yourself and your health.”
The reply came at once: “Oh, my dear girl! Thank you! Come visit us with little Katya, and let’s talk!”
Nina slipped the phone back into her bag. A new life was waiting ahead of her. Her own life. And no one would ever dare call her daughter a brat again.