“Paint,” he said. “Warm gray. I noticed the walls in your hallway are pretty scuffed up. I thought maybe we could repaint them.”
“Right now?”
“When else? Life is short, and walls are long.”
Marina laughed.
“Come in.”
They started with the hallway and then moved on to the kitchen. Kostya helped too, carefully dragging a brush along the baseboards and leaving behind uneven but determined streaks of paint. Kirill never corrected him. He only said, “Excellent work, foreman.”
“Kirill,” Marina said after Kostya had fallen asleep on the sofa, his clothes and hands smudged with paint. “Why are you doing all this for us?”
“Because I care.”
“But you hardly know us.”
“I know enough. I see you taking him to the clinic all the time. I see you coming home in the evening carrying heavy bags without complaining. I see that you keep going no matter how difficult things become.”
“That isn’t bravery. It’s simply what I have to do.”
“Maybe. But not everyone handles necessity the way you do.”
They finished close to midnight. Marina stood in the freshly painted hallway, looking at the clean walls, the new lock Kirill had installed the week before, and the security camera mounted above the door.
“You know what I’ve realized?” she said quietly.
“What?”
“There are no outsiders here anymore. Only the people who truly belong.”
Kirill nodded but said nothing. He gathered the brushes, sealed the paint can, and was already heading toward the door when Marina called after him.
“Kirill.”
“Yes?”
“Kostya and I are going to the park tomorrow. Would you like to come with us?”
He turned around. For the first time that evening, his usually reserved expression gave way to a broad, genuine smile.
“I’d like that.”
Three days later, Marina discovered something that made her read Dmitry’s note all over again.
Natalia sent her a document revealing that Dmitry had not surrendered his share of the apartment out of generosity. He had accumulated a substantial debt to a former business partner, something Marina had never known about. His ownership stake in the apartment was the only asset creditors could have seized.
By transferring it to Kostya, Dmitry had hidden the last valuable thing he owned from them. In doing so, he lost both his share and any chance of using it as leverage. The apartment would remain with Marina for another reason as well: it was now the only home of a minor child and was therefore protected by law.
Valentina Petrovna called that same evening. Her voice was cold and restrained.
“Did you know?”
“No, Valentina Petrovna. I didn’t. But it changes nothing.”
“He has nothing left.”
“He left himself with nothing. He did it on his own, without any help from me.”
“You’re cruel, Marina.”
“I’m a mother. Good night.”
Marina ended the call and switched off her phone. Then she went to Kostya, adjusted the blanket over his sleeping body, and sat beside him.
The apartment next door was quiet. The floor above them was quiet too.
Only somewhere far away, beyond these walls, beyond this home, beyond the fragile but genuine new life they had begun to build, someone was finally facing the consequences of everything he had done.