Gennady Petrovich called Alisa on Wednesday, late in the afternoon. His voice was steady, but it carried that particular caution she had heard from him before whenever he was about to say something important. Alisa set the kettle on the stove and sat down on a kitchen stool, because conversations with her father-in-law were never short.
“Alisa, are you alone?”
“I’m alone. Polina is at Marina’s place. She and Ulyana are drawing. Anton went to Denis.”
“To Denis,” he repeated.
The pause lasted about five seconds.
“All right. Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a long time. Not over the phone. Can you come by tomorrow? Without Anton.”
“Gennady Petrovich, did something happen?”
“Nothing has happened. Not yet. But something might happen if I stay silent again.”
Alisa agreed. Refusing him was impossible, not because he pressured her, but because in six years he had never asked for anything unnecessary. In fact, he rarely asked for anything at all. More often, he gave. When Polina was born, he arrived with a stroller and three bags of baby clothes, placed everything in the hallway, and said, “For my granddaughter. Don’t argue.”
The next day, Alisa went to see him. Gennady Petrovich lived alone. His apartment was clean, though it was clear he did the cleaning himself — neat, masculine, without anything extra. On the table stood two cups, a plate of cookies, and a thin folder.
“Sit down. Will you have tea?”
“I will.”
He poured the tea, sat across from her, and looked at her as if he had spent a long time choosing his first words.
“Alisa, I respect you. You know that. When Anton brought you into this family, I was honestly happy. You are calm, patient, and you are raising my granddaughter the right way. The relatives accepted you. Katya adores you. After her divorce, you helped her more than the whole family put together.”
“Gennady Petrovich, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m not trying to scare you. I’m warning you. And I’m asking something of you.”
He opened the folder. There were documents inside. Alisa saw a familiar phrase: deed of gift. Gennady Petrovich pushed the first page toward her.
“This is the country house. That same one. Twenty hundred square meters of land, two floors, a bathhouse, the whole property. I want to transfer it to you as a gift. Not to Anton. To you.”
“To me? But why?”
“Because you have Polina. Because you deserve it. And because I know something you don’t know yet.”
Alisa put her cup down on the table. Gennady Petrovich looked directly into her eyes.
“What do you know?”
“Anton has another woman. Someone who isn’t you.”
Alisa said nothing. Gennady Petrovich did not rush her. He sat with his hands folded on the table and waited.
“How long?” she asked.
“About a year. Maybe more. I found out by accident. My friend Boris has a daughter, Nastya. Well, this woman is Nastya’s friend. A talkative one. She told Nastya, Nastya told her father, and Boris told me.”
“And you’re sure?”
“Boris would never make up something like that. We’ve been friends for forty years.”
Alisa sat upright, staring at the papers. It looked as though she was counting something inside herself — not money, not years, but perhaps all those moments when Anton had gone “to Denis” and come back later than promised.
“Denis covers for him?”
“Yes. Every time. Anton calls him, and Denis confirms it if you call back.”
“I never called back. I thought it would be humiliating.”
“Exactly, Alisa. You didn’t humiliate yourself. And he took advantage of that.”
She looked at the folder again.
“Gennady Petrovich, why are you telling me this and offering me the country house at the same time?”
“Because I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That when you find out — and sooner or later, you will — you’ll leave. And you’ll be right to do it. But if you leave, you should have something of your own. The apartment belongs to both of you. The car is his. But the country house… the country house is mine. And I want it to become yours.”
“Anton will be furious.”
“Anton won’t know. Not yet.”
“You want me to keep quiet?”
“I want you to be protected. You and Polina. The rest can wait until the time comes.”
Alisa ran her fingers along the edge of the paper.
The country house. That same place where everyone gathered every summer — Uncle Lyosha, Aunt Tamara, Katya with Ulyana, Anton’s cousins. Twenty hundred square meters of land, old apple trees, a second floor with a balcony overlooking the river. Alisa loved that place. Every weekend she cooked there, set the long table in the yard, and washed the tablecloths afterward. Her husband’s relatives accepted her, and she gave them the same warmth in return.
“Gennady Petrovich, I can’t just accept this. It’s your home. You built it.”
“I built it for family. You are my family. You and Polina. Anton is my son, and I love him. But loving someone and approving of what they do are two different things. If you agree, we’ll go to the notary right now.”
Alisa signed the documents.
A week later, everything was ready. She put the papers into her bag, and then placed the bag in the closet beneath a stack of winter clothes. After that, she continued living as before. She cooked dinners, picked up Polina, and greeted Anton when he returned from “Denis’s place.”
Only now, whenever she watched him leave, she knew.
Summer came early. By May, the weather had already turned hot. Alisa arranged with her friend Marina to come to the country house at the end of June for a visit. Marina lived modestly. She had no apartment of her own and no car. She rented a room and took her daughter Ulyana everywhere by bus. Alisa invited her every summer, and Marina always refused, saying it felt uncomfortable.
“Marina, come. Polina misses Ulyana. There’s plenty of space.”
“Anton won’t mind?”
“Anton will be in the city for two days. I’m inviting you myself.”
“Alisa, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.”
“You’re not. You’re coming as my guest.”
Marina agreed.
But three days before her arrival, the situation changed. Alisa’s mother, Vera Nikolaevna, called and said she was free for the weekend. Alisa was delighted.
“Come. You haven’t seen Polina in ages.”
“Is it convenient? It’s Anton’s parents’ country house, after all.”
“It’s convenient. Come and don’t worry.”
Vera Nikolaevna arrived on Saturday morning with strawberries. Polina ran to her grandmother and wrapped her arms around her knees. Alisa arranged plates on the veranda. The morning was warm and quiet. Marina sat in a rocking chair while Ulyana and Polina played on the lawn.
And then Anton arrived.
A day earlier than he had promised.
He got out of the car, noticed unfamiliar shoes on the porch, heard children squealing, walked around the house, and froze. His mother-in-law was sitting on the veranda. Beside her was a woman he barely knew. And his wife was pouring berry compote as if she were the mistress of the house.
“What is this?” he asked.
Quietly. For now.
“Hello, Anton,” Vera Nikolaevna said. “How was the drive?”
He did not answer. He looked at his wife.
“Can I speak to you for a minute?”
They went inside. Anton closed the door.
“You invited your mother here. To my parents’ country house.”
“Yes. I did.”
“Without my permission.”
“Do I need your permission to invite Polina’s grandmother to see her?”
“You need my permission to invite anyone to this country house. This is my father’s house. My family’s house. You are a guest here, Alisa.”
She set the jug down on the table. Slowly.
“A guest?”
“Exactly. A guest. I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a long time. You act as if this is your home.”
“And whose home is it, Anton?”
“Mine. My parents’ country house means it’s mine. You have nothing to do with it. Tell your mother to pack up. And take that Marina of yours with her.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“No. I won’t call her. I won’t ask her to leave. And I won’t ask Marina to leave either.”
Anton stepped closer. Not threateningly — more in surprise. He was not used to Alisa saying no. In six years, she had probably said it only four times.
“Alisa, I’m not asking. I’m telling you. They’re leaving.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you leave. You and the child. And take your mother with you.”
Alisa stood there, looking at him. Anton waited. He was certain she would lower her eyes, say, “All right, fine,” go out to the veranda, and gently explain to her mother that it was time to leave. That was how things usually went. Alisa did not argue. Alisa gave in. Alisa protected the peace.
But not today.
“Are you throwing me and my daughter out?”
“Our daughter.”
“Our daughter. You are throwing our daughter out of the house because her grandmother came to visit?”
“I’m throwing out the mother-in-law you dragged here without asking. And your friend along with her. This isn’t a shelter.”
“Marina is my friend. She has nowhere to rest. She has nothing, Anton. No country house, no apartment, no car. I invited her because I can.”
“You can’t. This isn’t yours.”
Gravel crunched on the driveway. Alisa glanced outside. A dark blue car had pulled up, and Tamara, Anton’s aunt, got out — heavyset, confident, carrying a large bag. Behind her came Denis, Anton’s friend, wearing a light-colored shirt. A minute later, another car arrived. It was Katya, Anton’s niece, with her little daughter, Ulyana.
Apparently, Anton had called them before arriving. He had gathered reinforcements.
Tamara stepped onto the veranda, saw Vera Nikolaevna and Marina, and pressed her lips together.
“Anton, who do we have here?”
“Alisa’s mother and her friend. Uninvited guests.”
“At our country house? Without asking anyone? Alisa, have you completely lost your sense of boundaries?”
Vera Nikolaevna stood up.
“I think I should go. I don’t want to…”
“Sit down,” Alisa said quietly. “Please. You’re not going anywhere.”
Tamara looked at her with an expression Alisa knew by heart — condescension mixed with the habit of giving orders.
“My dear girl, you seem to have forgotten where you are. This is a family country house. It belongs to our family. Anton is the head of this family after his father. He decides who comes here and who doesn’t.”
“Tamara Petrovna, when was the last time you spoke to Gennady Petrovich?”
“What does my brother have to do with this?”
“Everything.”
Denis stood to the side with his hands in his pockets. That was how he always stood — slightly aside, ready to nod, confirm, and cover for someone. Anton looked at him as if he were a source of support. Denis gave a slight nod.
“Alisa, don’t make this complicated,” Denis said. “Anton is right. The country house belongs to his family. You’re staying here because he allows it. Tell your mother to pack up. Why make a scandal?”
Katya stood by the gate. She had come because Anton had texted her: “Come over. There are problems here.”
But now, watching what was happening, she stayed silent. She remembered how six months earlier, after her divorce, Alisa had come to her with groceries and sat with her until two in the morning, until Katya finally stopped shaking. She remembered how Alisa had taken little Ulyana to her activities when Katya could not even get out of bed.
“Katya, tell her,” Anton snapped.
Katya looked up at him.
“Tell her what?”
“That the country house is ours. A family property. That she has no right to act like she owns the place.”
“Anton, I’m not going to say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because Alisa was the only person who stood by me when I was in pain. And you didn’t even call.”
Anton flinched but said nothing.
Tamara stepped forward.
“Katerina, this is not the time for sentimentality. We are talking about property. About a house built by my father and finished by Gennady. Alisa is a wife. Wives come and go. The house remains.”
Alisa listened.
She stood near the table, beside the jug, and listened. Every word fell neatly into place, one after another, like bricks in a wall behind which they expected her to remain — quiet, obedient, grateful.
“Wives come and go,” Alisa repeated. “Interesting. Anton, would you like to tell Tamara Petrovna where you go when you say you’re at Denis’s place? Or should I tell her?”
Silence.
Denis looked away. Anton went pale.
“What are you talking about?”
“About Zhanna. Nastya’s friend. Boris Arkadyevich’s daughter’s friend. You know Zhanna, don’t you? She talks a lot. The whole town knows, except those who didn’t want to hear it.”
Anton stood motionless. Tamara turned toward him.
“Anton, what nonsense is she talking about?”
“Tamara Petrovna, it’s not nonsense,” Katya said quietly. “I heard about it too. From Nastya. A month ago. I thought it was a lie. Now I can see it isn’t.”
Anton swallowed.
“Alisa, we’ll discuss this later. Not in front of everyone.”
“No, Anton. We’ll discuss it now. In front of everyone. You wanted a public performance, and now you have one. You called your aunt. You called Denis. You called Katya. You wanted everyone to see you put your wife in her place. Fine. Let everyone see the truth.”
“What truth?” Tamara still did not understand the full scale of what was happening.
“This truth. For a year — a whole year — he has been going to another woman. Denis has covered for him every time. Every evening Anton said he was with his friend, he was not with his friend. Denis, will you confirm that? Or is that also something for ‘later’?”
Denis said nothing. He stared at the ground. Anton turned toward him, and in that movement there was no expectation of help anymore — only the realization that help would not come. Denis did not even lift his head.
“Fine,” Anton said, his voice dull. “Fine. Let’s say you found out. That doesn’t change the main thing. The country house is mine. You will leave this place, take your mother and your friend, and we’ll talk at home. Like normal people.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Alisa, I’m serious.”
“So am I. The country house is not yours, Anton.”
A pause.
“What do you mean, not mine?”
“I mean exactly that. The country house is registered in my name. By a deed of gift. Notarized. With Gennady Petrovich’s consent. The documents are in order.”
Tamara’s face changed.
“That’s impossible. Gennady would never…”
“Tamara Petrovna, Gennady Petrovich knew about Anton and Zhanna before I did. He didn’t want his granddaughter to be left with nothing. He did what he believed was right. Call him if you don’t believe me. Right now.”
Anton took out his phone and dialed. Everyone heard the ringing. Then Gennady Petrovich’s calm voice answered.
“Anton.”
“Father, what is this story about the country house?”
“Which story exactly?”
“Alisa says the house is registered in her name.”
A pause.
Brief, but heavy.
“Yes. That’s true. I gave her the country house. For Polina. For the fact that she endured things for six years that she should never have had to endure. And because you, my son, did not deserve that home.”
“Father, you couldn’t…”
“I could. And I did. The house was mine. Now it is hers. Legally. If you want to check, then check. The papers are clean.”
Anton ended the call. He placed the phone on the railing. He looked at his wife. Then at Tamara. Then at his friend, who was already quietly walking toward his car.
“Denis, where are you going?”
“Home,” Denis answered without turning around. “There’s nothing for me to do here.”
Tamara sat down on the bench. She said nothing. For the first time in all the years Alisa had known her, Tamara Petrovna had no idea what to say. She opened and closed her bag, taking out a handkerchief and putting it back for no reason.
Katya approached Alisa. Quietly, without making a show of it.
“I’m with you. If you need me, I’ll be a witness. For anything.”
“Thank you, Katya.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You were there when I was scared. I remember.”
Marina came out of the house with Polina in her arms. The child squinted in the sunlight. Vera Nikolaevna stood on the porch, pale but upright. She did not fully understand what had happened, but she could see one thing clearly — her daughter was standing straight. She was not bending.
Anton took a step toward Alisa.
“You planned all of this.”
“No. You arranged it yourself, Anton. You brought Tamara. You brought Denis. You wanted me to fall silent in front of everyone. I didn’t. The difference is that I prepared for the worst, and you didn’t.”
“So what now?”
“Now you leave. Go wherever you want. To Denis, to Zhanna — I don’t care. The country house stays. And Polina stays.”
“You won’t stop me from seeing my daughter.”
“I’m not stopping you. Come and see her. But not as the owner. As a guest. For a couple of hours.”
Anton looked at her for a long time. Then he turned and walked to his car. Tamara stood up, grabbed her bag, and followed him. At the gate, she turned around.
“Gennady will answer for this.”
“Gennady Petrovich already answered for everything six months ago, when he signed the papers,” Alisa said. “You’re too late, Tamara Petrovna.”
The cars drove away one after another. The sound of gravel faded.
Polina asked to be put down. Marina let her go, and the girl ran toward the swings. Ulyana ran after her. Katya sat down on the porch step and closed her eyes.
Vera Nikolaevna came up to her daughter.
“Alisa, I don’t understand anything. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. Everything is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Sit down. The compote hasn’t even gone cold yet.”
Alisa sat at the table. Marina placed a glass in front of her. Katya opened her eyes and asked quietly:
“Alisa, how long have you known? About Zhanna?”
“Six months.”
“And you stayed silent?”
“I waited. Gennady Petrovich asked me to wait. He said, ‘Let the papers settle first, and then do as you decide.’ So I decided.”
Katya nodded.
“You made the right decision.”
Polina shouted from the swing, “Higher, higher!”
Ulyana pushed her, and both girls laughed. The sun stood high in the sky. The tablecloth on the table was white and clean. Alisa smoothed its edge and thought that next weekend she should finally fix the railing on the balcony. She had been meaning to do it for a long time.
Now she no longer had to ask for permission.