Nastya fastened her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and looked at Anton the way you look at someone who has walked through the wrong door.
“Wonderful news. And who exactly is ‘we’? Because I certainly didn’t find myself included in that word.”
“Don’t start. Helping once a month—what is that, some heroic feat?”
He stood in the doorway, broad-shouldered and confident, spinning the car keys around one finger. Nastya carefully stepped around him and went out onto the landing. He followed, raising his voice.
“Where do you think you’re going? I told you Saturday is already taken.”
“You spoke for yourself. You still haven’t learned to speak for me, although you certainly practice hard.”
“Nastya, her windows haven’t been washed since winter! She’s all alone there!”
“She isn’t alone, Anton. Her daughter lives in the building next door, her sister is a five-minute walk away, and her mother lives one floor below. She has an entire delegation available. It’s simply more convenient for them when I come and do it.”
He slammed the door hard and tugged at the collar of his jacket.
“Is it really that difficult for you? Are you afraid of hurting your precious hands?”
“It’s not my hands I feel sorry for. I feel sorry for Sunday, which you’ve already mentally given away, and Saturday, which you sold wholesale without asking its owner.”
“What owner are you talking about?”
“The one standing in front of you holding the keys to the apartment where we live,” Nastya replied calmly. “Fine. Let’s go. Only I’m not going there to wash floors. I’m going there to listen.”
He looked confused for exactly one second. Then he snorted and hurried downstairs, skipping steps like a teenager who had just been insulted.
Larisa Petrovna’s apartment was crowded. Tamara Ilyinichna sat stiff-backed on the sofa, Zhanna was spreading printed papers across the table, and Vika, Anton’s sister, stood against the wall without looking up.
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“So you finally showed up,” Larisa Petrovna said instead of greeting them. “The bucket is in the bathroom, the rags are under the sink. Start with the big room. It’s so dirty in there I’m ashamed to invite people over.”
“Hello, Larisa Petrovna,” Nastya replied. “The word ‘hello’ is short but pleasant. You should try it. It would suit you.”
“Are you going to shut my mouth in my own home?”
“I’m helping you open it. In the right direction.”
Zhanna looked up and turned toward her nephew.
“Anton, how long are you going to tolerate this? That’s how she speaks to your mother.”
“Nastya!” he barked. “Grab a rag and get to work!”
Nastya sat down in an armchair, placed her bag on her lap, and crossed her legs.
“First tell me what those papers on the table are. You all have the faces of people who gathered here to divide something other than dirty windows.”
Tamara Ilyinichna pursed her lips.
“That’s none of your concern, dear. It’s a family matter.”
“According to the documents, I’m family too. Or am I invited only when buckets are involved, while paperwork is considered off-limits?”
Larisa Petrovna quickly swept the printed pages into a pile and pressed her palm over them.
“Fine. Since you’re so curious. We’ve decided to move in together. There’s a big house outside the city, enough room for everyone. I’ve already transferred Grandma’s apartment into my name. Zhanna is contributing her share. We’re just a little short.”
“How little?” Nastya asked.
“Exactly the amount your one-room apartment from your grandfather is worth,” Zhanna cut in. “It’s sitting empty. It serves no purpose. Sell it and add the money.”
“And naturally the new house will be registered in your name,” Nastya said with a nod. “So that you ‘won’t have to divide it among the children.’”
“Who else should it be registered to?” Larisa Petrovna snapped. “I’m the eldest! I hold everything together!”
“You hold on to other people’s property and call it order. Beautiful wording. I’ll have to remember that.”
Anton stepped forward. Angry red blotches had already appeared across his face.
“Do you understand what they’re offering us? A house! A real house! And you’re clinging to that little hole of yours as if it’s the last thing you have!”
“It isn’t the last thing, Anton. It’s mine. One small difference, but it changes the meaning of an entire life.”
“You’re greedy!”
“I’m careful. Greedy is someone who counts money in another person’s pocket and gets angry because the pocket won’t open.”
Tamara Ilyinichna stood up, supporting herself on the back of the sofa.
“In our day, daughters-in-law didn’t speak like that. They kept quiet and worked.”
“A lot of things kept quiet in your day, Tamara Ilyinichna. And silence didn’t always do anyone any good,” Nastya replied. “I’ve never endured things for years. I speak immediately. It ruins people’s mood, perhaps, but at least it doesn’t ruin my life.”
“Insolent,” Zhanna hissed.
“I’m polite. You’re simply not accustomed to politeness that brings you no benefit.”
Larisa Petrovna slapped her palm against the table.
“That’s enough! Anton, explain to your wife how things are going to be!”
And then Vika, who had been standing silently against the wall, lifted her head for the first time that evening.
“Nastya, can we step outside for a minute?”
On the landing, Vika pulled out her phone and held it with both hands as though it were heavy.
“Listen, I can’t keep quiet anymore. They’ve been discussing this for three weeks. In our family group chat. There are five of us in it. Mom forgot once that I was there too.”
“Voice messages?” Nastya asked calmly.
“Eighteen of them. I saved them. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I was afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid. Fear is their specialty. They’re very good at it. Play them.”
Vika pressed the screen. Larisa Petrovna’s voice came through the speaker, confident and casual, as though she were dictating a recipe.
“Anton, don’t ask her right away. Just present it as a fact. She’ll yell for a while and then agree. That’s always how it is with women like her. A woman without an apartment is much easier to control.”
Nastya didn’t move. Vika scrolled to the next recording.
Zhanna’s voice:
“The main thing is to register everything in Larisa’s name. You never know. Suppose they divorce—what then? Are we supposed to give her half the house? Absolutely not.”
Then Tamara Ilyinichna:
“Let her have a baby and sit quietly at home. Then she won’t be going anywhere.”
And finally Anton. Slowly, comfortably, with amusement in his voice:
“I’ve already contacted the realtor. I gave Mom the keys. She and Aunt Zhanna have been showing the apartment to buyers while Nastya is away on business. Once everything is signed, she won’t even have time to object. She’s been married long enough. She’ll get used to it.”
Vika stopped the recording.
“Nastya, forgive me. I’m a coward.”
“You’re not a coward. You just became the only normal person in that apartment,” Nastya said. “Come on. We still have dirty windows waiting.”
They returned to the room. Nastya placed Vika’s phone on the table, screen facing upward, and sat down.
“Let’s continue the family meeting. Only now we have a soundtrack.”
“What nonsense are you talking about?” Larisa Petrovna turned pale.
“Eighteen voice messages. ‘Present it as a fact.’ ‘Register everything in Larisa’s name, just in case.’ ‘Let her have a baby and sit quietly.’ Should I play them from the beginning, or go straight to my favorite part?”
The room became completely silent. Anton lunged toward the phone, but Nastya covered it with her hand.
“Don’t rush. The copy isn’t here anymore. You know, I haven’t been married for just one day either. I’ve learned a few things.”
“Vika!” Zhanna shrieked. “You betrayed your family!”
“She saved a family. Just not the one you were counting on,” Nastya said.
Anton started speaking quickly, stumbling over his words.
“It’s taken out of context! We were discussing possibilities! Nobody had decided anything!”
“Were the keys to my apartment also just a ‘possibility’? Did you give them to one possibility or two?”
“I’m your husband! I have a say in our property!”
“In our property, yes. In mine, no. My grandfather left those walls to me before you entered my life, Anton. You walked into them as a guest and somehow decided you’d been handed a crown.”
“You’re making me look like a thief in front of my own family!”
“I’m not making you look like anything. You walked onto the stage yourself. I merely held the door open.”
Larisa Petrovna jumped to her feet.
“How dare you! I raised him! I spent sleepless nights taking care of him! I have the right to live in a decent house in my old age!”
“You do. Build one, buy one, save for one, sell something that belongs to you. You have a right to a house. You don’t have a right to mine. Those are two entirely different lines, and they will never cross.”
“Heartless!”
“Practical. I know how to count more than other people’s money.”
Tamara Ilyinichna threw up her hands.
“We’re family! Families share everything!”
“Families share what belongs to them, Tamara Ilyinichna. When people divide someone else’s property, it’s called something else, and it usually happens somewhere else,” Nastya replied. “And tell me, did you really say aloud, ‘Let her have a baby and sit quietly’? Is that what you think of me personally, or of women in general?”
The old woman looked away. Zhanna interrupted.
“You think far too highly of yourself. Who do you even think you are?”
“I’m a person who came here after being invited to wash windows and suddenly discovered that I’d also been invited to my own funeral. I think that gives me a good reason to look around.”
“You’re shameless!”
“Shameless is spending three weeks secretly trying to sell someone else’s home. At least everything I say is said openly and to your faces.”
Anton walked right up to her and lowered his voice to a hiss.
“Nastya, let’s go home. We’ll discuss this there. Stop humiliating me.”
“Humiliating you would be unnecessary work. You’re handling that perfectly well yourself. And as for ‘home,’ we now have different addresses.”
“You’re kicking me out?!” he shouted. “Because of some recordings?! Because I wanted us to have a house?!”
“You wanted a house where I would be furniture without paperwork. You weren’t bringing your wife into a new home. You were dragging in a dowry.”
“You greedy—” he began, then stopped.
“Finish the sentence. Don’t be shy,” Nastya nodded. “But first explain one thing. Who entered my apartment on Wednesday?”
Larisa Petrovna and Zhanna exchanged a glance much too quickly.
“Nobody,” Larisa Petrovna said.
“My neighbor Lyuda saw two women and a man carrying a folder. She thought it looked strange, so she took a photograph. Want to see it?”
Anton collapsed into a chair.
“You were spying on us?”
“I live in my own apartment, Anton. ‘Spying’ is as inappropriate a word here as ice skates on a beach.”
“We only looked around!” Zhanna finally blurted out. “We didn’t touch anything!”
“You put your hands all over somebody else’s life without even wearing gloves. That, you know, is dirtier than unwashed windows.”
Nastya stood and adjusted the strap of her bag.
“Now let’s get to the practical part. I’m changing the locks today. The locksmith is already waiting. By this evening, every key you handed out will be nothing but scrap metal. I’ll contact the realtor myself, and that conversation will be very short.”
“Nastya, wait!” Anton jumped up. “We’ll cancel everything! Do you hear me? Everything! Forget the house!”
“It’s too late to cancel. You can cancel a transaction. You can’t cancel the man who smiled at me over breakfast for two months and spent his evenings trying to sell my walls behind my back. That man already happened.”
“I’m your husband!”
“You were. From now on, we’ll see what you know how to be when there isn’t a family chorus singing behind you.”
Larisa Petrovna stepped toward her son and grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t you dare humiliate yourself in front of her! She’ll leave and come back! Where else is she going to go?”
“You can all live with that question together,” Nastya said. “It seems to have replaced your conscience for the last twenty years.”
Vika picked up her jacket and stood beside Nastya.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Vika!” Larisa Petrovna gasped. “You’re betraying your mother!”
“No,” Vika replied quietly. “I’m simply refusing to be convenient anymore. Those are different things. You’ve just confused them your whole life.”
Tamara Ilyinichna struck the armrest with her palm.
“Both of you are shameless!”
“Shame is a useful thing,” Nastya said from the doorway. “Unfortunately, yours works selectively. It switches on when someone else speaks boldly and switches off when you steal.”
On the landing, Anton caught up with them and grabbed Nastya by the arm.
“Wait. Give me one week. I’ll fix everything. I’ll talk to them. I’ll—”
“Will you speak to them the same way you spoke about me?” Nastya pulled her arm free. “Take your fingers off me. You’ve already touched enough things that don’t belong to you today.”
“Nastya, I love you!”
“Love is when my keys stay where I left them. Everything else is a creative interpretation.”
He lowered his hands.
“So what happens now? I’m left with nothing?”
“You’re left with what you chose. You chose them and the numbers. Numbers are cold, but at least they don’t argue.”
Downstairs by the entrance, Vika finally exhaled.
“Nastya, aren’t you scared?”
“What would scare me is keeping quiet and waking up a year from now without my walls and without my identity. This is just one loud evening.”
“They won’t leave you alone. Aunt Zhanna will keep calling, Grandma will pressure you, and Mom will suddenly start getting sick on schedule.”
“Let them. I said ‘hello’ and addressed everyone in that family respectfully for all the years I knew them. I give everyone respect the first time. The second time, they have to earn it.”
Vika nodded and looked up at the illuminated fourth-floor window. Voices could be heard behind the glass, and someone was loudly trying to convince someone else that the daughter-in-law was to blame for everything.
The locksmith arrived forty minutes later. Nastya stood in the doorway with her hands folded behind her back and watched him remove the old lock cylinder.
“One set of keys,” she said. “I don’t need any more.”
“People usually order three or four,” the locksmith remarked.
“People usually have more people they want to let inside. My list has been reduced to one.”
Vika was standing nearby, typing a message to someone, when she suddenly gasped softly.
“Nastya. Mom says the house has already been taken off the market and they lost the deposit. Zhanna is demanding her money back from Anton. Grandma is screaming that she’ll transfer her share to Zhanna.”
“Well, there you go,” Nastya said. “Remove one person’s wallet from the middle of the structure, and the whole thing collapses. And it looked so impressive when it was standing.”
The phone rang late that night. Anton spoke quietly, without shouting, and somehow that made his voice sound completely unfamiliar.
“They tore me apart. Zhanna is screaming that I made promises. Grandma says I’m useless. Mom won’t speak to me.”
“Makes sense. They needed you as a translator between my property and their wishes. Once the translator stopped working, they lost interest.”
“Nastya, I understand everything now. I really do.”
“Understanding is only the first step. There are eight more ahead, and all of them are uphill against the wind.”
“Will you forgive me?”
“I don’t curse you, Anton. But forgiving you and letting you back inside are two different things. Forgiveness is free. Keys are not.”
He was silent for a moment.
“So that’s it?”
“That means that today, for the first time in many years, you’ll have to make a decision on your own, without the family chorus. Consider it a gift. An expensive one.”
In the morning, Vika made herself coffee, sat on the windowsill, and looked at Nastya.
“Don’t you feel sorry for him?”
“I do. He isn’t a terrible person. He was simply taught that taking from family isn’t stealing—it’s tradition. But traditions sometimes need their locks changed too.”
“What if he comes here?”
“If he comes, we’ll talk on the landing. I have a nice landing. Bright, too. It’s a wonderful place for hearing who is telling the truth.”
Vika smiled.
“You’re made of iron.”
“I’m alive. I simply never agreed to be convenient. Convenient people, Vika, are usually thanked first—and thrown away afterward.”
By evening, the phone calls had become less frequent. By the end of the week, only two remained: Vika’s and Lyuda’s. Lyuda proudly reported that “those three” had stopped appearing near the building.
Nastya placed the documents concerning the apartment her grandfather had left her into a separate box and put it on the highest shelf.
A month later, Larisa Petrovna came to see her. She stood on the landing holding the railing and talked about her bad heart and “words that had been misunderstood.”
“I heard you,” Nastya said. “Take care of your heart. Judging by everything else, it seems to be the only thing left that you haven’t transferred into your own name at somebody else’s expense.”
“You’re cruel.”
“I’m honest. Your family has always confused honesty with cruelty because honesty is the one thing you can’t buy off with a pie.”
The door closed smoothly, without being slammed.
The lock clicked once—new, stiff, and reliable.