Part 1. The Ultimatum in the Kitchen
Igor sat at the kitchen table with his elbows spread wide, as if trying to occupy every inch of available space. In front of him was a plate with the remains of dinner, though he was no longer eating. Instead, he lazily dragged his fork across the tablecloth, tracing meaningless patterns.
Marina stood by the sink, methodically washing a plate, trying to lose herself in the sound of running water so she would not have to hear the heavy breathing behind her. She had always valued silence, but in recent months the silence in their apartment had become thick, sticky, and full of warning.
“Where are the keys to your country house? My mother is going to live there,” her partner suddenly announced loudly, without even turning his head toward her.
Marina froze. The sponge in her hand stopped halfway to the drying rack. Slowly, she turned off the water. The faucet, which badly needed a new washer, let out a single drop, and in that moment the sound seemed deafening.
She turned around, dried her hands on a towel, and looked carefully at the man with whom she had shared a home for the past two years.
Igor did not look embarrassed. On the contrary, his face showed a mixture of boredom and entitlement, as if he were asking her to pass the salt rather than attempting to take control of someone else’s property. He was tall, slightly overweight — though he liked to call it “a man’s respectable build” — and wore a house T-shirt stained with ketchup across the chest.
“Excuse me,” Marina said calmly, though a dark wave of anger was already rising inside her. “I think I may have misheard you. You said your mother is going to live… where?”
“In your country house, Marina. The one in Ozerki. That estate of yours.” Igor finally raised his eyes to her. There was absolute certainty in them, as if he had every right to say what he was saying. “Mom is tired of squeezing into a two-room apartment with my sister. She needs air. Nature. And your house is just sitting there empty. I already told her to start packing. We’ll move her on Saturday.”
Marina leaned her hip against the counter and crossed her ankles. The situation was so absurd that she almost wanted to laugh.
“Igor, have you confused something?” Her voice grew colder. “My house is my property. And I don’t remember us discussing moving your relatives there. Especially Galina Petrovna, who calls me a ‘barren career woman’ every time she sees me.”
Igor clicked his tongue in irritation and leaned back in his chair. The wooden chair groaned under him.
“Oh, don’t start. Are we living together? We are. That means everything is shared. Your house is standing there doing nothing, collecting dust. And a person needs to improve her health. Greed doesn’t suit you, sweetheart. You said yourself you barely go there. So let Mom live there and keep an eye on the place.”
“Keep an eye on it?” Marina raised an eyebrow. “Igor, have you ever even been to that house?”
“Why would I need to go there? I saw the photos on your laptop. Beautiful. Expensive. Fireplace, terrace, forest all around. Mom will like it. Give me the keys.”
Marina felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward.
He had seen the photos. Of course.
The projects she worked on for clients.
Marina was an architect-restorer. She restored old estates and historical buildings. Her laptop contained hundreds of gigabytes of luxurious interiors, palaces, manors, parks, and reconstruction plans.
“So you’ve already promised her?” she asked.
“Obviously. Mom has already packed her china set. Don’t embarrass me. Don’t make me explain myself to an elderly woman.”
“Your mother…” Marina almost cursed out loud, but caught herself. “So you gave away my property without asking me, and now you’re demanding the keys?”
“I’m not demanding. I’m presenting you with a fact. Like a man.” Igor slapped his palm on the table. “Stop playing hard to get. You’re not a bad woman, but you’re selfish to the bone. Family is supposed to help each other. Or do you want me to pack my things and leave?”
That was his signature performance. Manipulation, polished over years.
Before, Marina would get scared. She would try to soften the conflict, smooth the edges, find a compromise. But today, looking at the ketchup stain rising and falling on his chest as he breathed, she realized something.
She was no longer afraid.
All that remained was disgusted surprise.
“Do you seriously think I’m going to give the keys to my private property to a woman who hates me?” she asked, looking straight at him.
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s educating you. For your own good. Enough. Keys on the table. Either she moves in, or I leave, and you stay alone with your drawings and your cat. Choose.”
Marina looked at him and no longer saw a partner. She saw a strange, unpleasant man who had decided he had found a gold mine.
Contempt flooded through her, but outwardly she remained perfectly calm. In her mind, the pieces of a mad but flawless plan began falling into place like Tetris blocks.
“All right,” she suddenly smiled.
The smile did not reach her eyes, but Igor failed to notice.
“If you put it that way… family is family.”
Part 2. The Illusion of Luxury
Igor’s face spread into a satisfied grin. He knew he had pressed the right button. Marina, despite her independent appearance, was afraid of being alone.
At least, that was what he believed.
“That’s my girl. You should’ve agreed from the beginning instead of turning it into a debate.” He stood and went to the refrigerator in search of beer. “Where are the keys?”
“Don’t rush,” Marina said, gently stepping aside when he tried to pat her shoulder. “The house needs to be prepared. It has… certain specifics. The gas heating is complicated. I need to write instructions. And I have to remove some of my personal things so your mother won’t feel uncomfortable.”
“Oh, what things? Your clothes?” Igor said generously, opening the can. The hiss of gas sounded like a victory salute. “Leave them there. Mom can alter something for herself. She’s good with her hands.”
“No, Igor. These are my personal belongings. Besides, I need to check the wiring. Let’s do it this way: today is Wednesday. On Friday evening, I’ll prepare everything. On Saturday morning, you’ll go. Alone. You’ll meet your mother at the station and take her straight to the residence.”
The word “residence” pleased Igor’s ear.
He could already imagine himself grilling kebabs on a paved terrace while his mother tended roses, and Marina… Marina would come on weekends, bring groceries, and clean up after them.
“Fine. But no tricks. I’ll check,” he warned, taking a sip. “And make sure it’s clean, Marina. Mom can’t stand dust.”
“It will be perfectly clean,” Marina promised. “Sterile.”
The next two days passed in a strange atmosphere. Igor behaved like a sultan preparing to ascend the throne. He called his friends and spoke loudly enough for Marina to hear.
“Yes, we’re moving out of town. Fresh air, pine trees, you know. Big estate, enough room for everyone. Come over on the weekend, we’ll heat up the bathhouse.”
Good thing he never asked whether there was actually a bathhouse, Marina thought while packing her suitcases in the bedroom.
Igor did not see that. He was too busy choosing a new fishing rod online.
Marina really did own property in Ozerki. It was inherited from her grandfather, an old forest ranger. Igor, because of his laziness and complete lack of interest in Marina’s life beyond the household, had never been there.
When she had once suggested going, he grimaced.
“Ugh. Mosquitoes, traffic, and an outhouse.”
But one day, seeing a rendering on her screen of a restored nineteenth-century noble estate with columns and stucco, he had asked:
“What’s that?”
Marina, tired after work, had waved vaguely.
“My project.”
In his greedy mind, “my project” transformed into “my house.”
He had never clarified.
And Marina had never corrected him, assuming he understood the difference between an architectural project and personal property.
It turned out he did not.
Greed had blinded him completely.
On Thursday evening, Marina stayed late after work, though not because of drawings. She stopped by a hardware store and bought a huge padlock. Then she went to a pet store and bought a bag of the cheapest crow food.
When she came home, she found Igor packing.
He was packing her new blanket, her expensive knife set, and had even taken her favorite cezve for coffee.
“Igor, why do you need the coffee pot? Your mother drinks instant chicory.”
“She’ll get used to the good stuff. You’ll buy yourself a new one. You’re rich, after all. You’ve got an estate,” he chuckled.
“What the hell?!” Marina nearly snapped, then suddenly laughed.
The laugh was light, ringing, and freeing.
For the first time in a long while, she felt genuinely amused.
“What are you laughing at?” Igor asked suspiciously.
“I’m just imagining how happy your mother will be. She loves surprises so much.”
“That she does. Mom knows how to live.”
Part 3. The Big Day
Saturday morning was sunny.
Igor woke up early, which was unusual for him. Marina was already sitting in the kitchen, fully dressed, drinking coffee from a plain mug. Her favorite cezve and porcelain cups were already lying in Igor’s bags.
Her partner came out scratching his stomach, glowing with anticipation.
“Well? Where are the keys? Mom arrives at the station in two hours.”
Marina took a heavy bunch of keys from her handbag. They were old, rusty, and enormous, as if they belonged to a medieval castle.
“Here. This one is for the gate, this one is for the front door, and this one is for the main hall,” she lied without blinking.
Igor accepted the weight of the metal with almost religious awe.
“Solid. Now that’s what I call proper. What about the coordinates?”
“I sent you the location in messenger. It’s about a three-hour drive. The road is… unusual. Dirt road for the last five kilometers. But you’ll manage in your beloved beast.”
Igor nodded. He had an old but sturdy SUV, which he was prouder of than he had ever been of Marina.
“And you’re not coming to see us off?”
“No,” Marina said firmly. “I have an urgent call to a site. The client is furious. Maybe I’ll come in a week. I’ll check how you’ve settled in.”
“Fine by me,” Igor said, even pleased. “Mom and I need time to get comfortable, tune the energy of the place.”
He began carrying the bags out.
Marina watched him through the window.
There he was, loading boxes of her dishes. There he was, stuffing her blanket inside. There he was, carefully placing his fishing rod.
When the car disappeared around the corner, Marina exhaled.
The air in the apartment immediately felt cleaner.
She took out her phone, blocked Igor’s number, then his mother’s, and opened a taxi app.
“Get out,” she said into the empty room, addressing the shadows of her past.
An hour later, movers arrived at the apartment.
Marina had sold the apartment three days earlier, right after the kitchen conversation. The new owner, a young woman, had agreed to wait a couple of days before moving in while Marina “settled some family matters.”
Now there were no matters left to settle.
Part 4. The Estate of Their Dreams
The road to Ozerki really was long.
At first, Igor whistled to himself, imagining his mother’s delight. Galina Petrovna, a stout woman with tightly pressed lips, sat in the passenger seat and criticized everything: the asphalt, the weather, the music, and, of course, Marina.
“She’s a sly little thing, Igor. You’ll see, she bought that house with stolen money. No honest person earns enough for an estate. But never mind. We’ll put things in order there. I’ll plant vegetable beds right in front of the entrance so she learns what real work is.”
“Yes, Mom, we’ll do everything properly. There’s probably a gazebo there too. We’ll drink tea outside,” Igor agreed.
The navigator confidently led them farther and farther away from civilization.
The asphalt turned into gravel. Then gravel turned into a broken track. The forest grew denser and darker.
“Where has she sent us?” Galina Petrovna grumbled, clutching the door handle as the car bounced over a rut. “A female Susanin, that’s what she is.”
“Patience, Mom. Rich people have their quirks. They like privacy, so commoners don’t stare at them,” Igor reassured her.
At last, the navigator cheerfully announced, “You have arrived.”
Igor stopped the car.
Before them stretched a clearing overgrown with nettles as tall as a person. In the middle of that green sea stood a black, crooked structure leaning to one side.
It was a log cabin.
A very old log cabin.
The shingle roof had collapsed in places, exposing rotten rafters to the sky. The window frames were boarded up crosswise. The door hung from a single hinge. Fallen branches and debris lay everywhere.
“What is this?” Galina Petrovna asked quietly.
“Some kind of mistake,” Igor muttered, feeling a chill creep down his spine. Fear began replacing confidence. “The location must be wrong.”
He got out of the car and tried to call Marina.
“The subscriber is temporarily unavailable.”
He checked the coordinates.
Exact match.
He walked closer to the ruin. On the rotten door hung a sign, nailed with a rusty nail:
Private Property. Danger to Life.
Igor tried to insert the huge “main hall key” into the padlock hanging on the latch, but the lock was decorative, and the hinges practically fell apart at his touch.
The door opened with a creak that sounded like the groan of a dying animal.
Inside, it smelled of mold, mice, and damp earth. There was no floor — only dirt and rot. In the corner stood a rusted bed frame without a mesh and an old potbelly stove covered in soot.
“Igoryok!” his mother shrieked, making him flinch. “What kind of mockery is this? Where have you brought me?”
Galina Petrovna stood ankle-deep in mud — she had stepped out of the car in formal shoes — and pointed toward the “residence.”
Igor stood staring at the nightmare.
He remembered Marina’s sly smile.
He remembered her words about “specifics” and “instructions.”
“Damn it!” he roared, kicking the wheel of his SUV. “To hell with you, you blasted navigator!”
He called again.
Ringing.
Then the call dropped.
He opened the messenger, ready to write everything he thought of her, to curse her, to destroy her with words.
And then he saw a message from Marina that had arrived a minute earlier.
Apparently, she had unblocked him for just a moment.
There was a photo attached: a slide from a presentation — the very same palace with columns.
Under it was written:
Project: Golitsyn Estate, 2018. Client: Ministry of Culture.
And the keys you have are from my grandfather’s house. You asked for the keys to my country house, didn’t you? So enjoy it. The land is mine, the house is scheduled for demolition. I didn’t pay last year’s tax. The bill is on the windowsill — if the windowsill still exists. Happy housewarming, darling!
Part 5. The Laughter of Victory
Igor stood in the swamp, gripping his phone so tightly the case began to crack. Red blotches spread across his face.
“You witch!” he screamed so loudly that crows rose from the collapsed roof, cawing into the sky. “Betrayal! This is pure humiliation!”
Galina Petrovna, now understanding that there would be no palace, climbed back into the car and began wailing in a piercing voice.
“Oh, may she be cursed! May she be torn apart! Son, let’s go back to her! I’ll rip her hair out!”
But they could not leave.
The old SUV, after standing in the damp lowland, had sunk its heavy wheels into the swampy ground. When Igor, furious, slammed the gas, the car only sank deeper, settling onto its belly and spraying mud in every direction — including all over Galina Petrovna’s snow-white coat.
Meanwhile, two hundred kilometers away, Marina sat in a cozy train compartment headed toward the sea. She drank tea from a glass in a metal holder and watched the landscapes race past the window.
Her phone vibrated softly.
A notification from the bank appeared:
Funds received from apartment sale.
Then came a message from her neighbor at the old property, Uncle Misha, whom she had called in advance.
“Marishka, some city people arrived at your shed in a jeep. They’re yelling, swearing, stuck in the mud. They’re too proud to ask for a tractor. Should I call the police?”
Marina laughed.
Loudly, until tears came to her eyes, startling her fellow passenger — an intelligent-looking old man with a book.
“Forgive me,” she said, wiping away her tears. “I just imagined something.”
“Something funny?” the old man smiled.
“Oh, yes. Very educational. Justice does exist, you know.”
She typed a reply to her neighbor.
“Uncle Misha, don’t touch them. Let them breathe some fresh air. It’s nature, after all. Ecology. Good for their health.”
Marina turned off the phone and removed the SIM card.
The tiny plastic chip snapped in half between her fingers. She dropped the pieces into the trash container beneath the little table.
Ahead of her were a vacation, a new project in another city, and a life where there was no longer any room for parasites.
She felt unbelievably light.
It was not revenge.
It was the sanitary cleansing of her own fate.
Somewhere out there in the forest, Igor was trying to push the car out, slipping in the clay with his expensive shoes while his mother screamed curses at the sky.
And Marina ordered another tea and smiled as she looked at the sunset.
She knew one thing clearly now:
No one would ever dare decide what to do with her keys again.
“Go to the devil, Igoryok,” she whispered with a smile. “Actually… you’re already there.”