Anna had a special way of changing the bedsheet, just as the clinic nurse taught her. First, she’d roll her aunt onto one side, roll up the old sheet, spread out half of the fresh one, then gently shift her aunt to the other side.
“Anya, you should go home now,” Darya Petrovna said quietly as Anna fluffed up her pillow. “It’s almost ten. Anton is waiting.”
“He can wait, Aunt Dasha. I’ll make you some porridge for the morning, then I’ll leave.”
“Have you even eaten today?”
“I have.”
But Anna hadn’t eaten. She’d only had coffee in the morning, grabbed a pastry from the museum cafe at lunch, and after work went straight to her aunt’s place.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket for the third time.
“Anton: Where are you again?”
“Anton: I’m hungry, the fridge is empty.”
“Anton: Anya, how long is this going to keep happening?”
Anna slipped her phone back into her pocket and headed to the kitchen to cook oatmeal.
As she was putting on her coat in the hallway, her aunt called out from the room.
“Anya, Semyon Arkadyevich stopped by today. He helped me with some paperwork since I couldn’t get to the notary. We did a closed will, I entrusted it to him.”
“What paperwork, Aunt Dasha?”
“You’ll find out later. Go on, Anya. Go see your husband.”
Anna didn’t ask any more questions. She was just too tired.
Darya Petrovna was Anna’s mother’s older sister. She had no children of her own. When Anna was little, her aunt took her to the summer cottage near Zvenigorod every year, taught her how to make jam, read syllable by syllable, and play chess. Darya Petrovna spent forty years as a chief engineer at a design institute. She lived alone in a small municipal apartment on a quiet street, tidy and modest. Anna was almost like a daughter to her.
A year and a half ago, her aunt fell ill. At first she could still walk, then only move around the apartment, and eventually she could barely get up at all. Anna’s mother had long lived in another city; she had a weak heart and couldn’t travel. There were no other relatives left.
Anna started coming over every evening after work. She worked as a methodologist at the local history museum, her workday ending at six. By six-thirty, she was at her aunt’s. She washed her, fed her, did laundry, changed the bed, cleaned the apartment, and cooked meals for the next day. During the day, a social worker visited her aunt for two hours, but that wasn’t enough. Anna would return home at ten, eleven, sometimes even midnight.
Anton wasn’t happy about this.
“Off to your aunt’s again?” he’d ask when she called from work. “Anya, how long is this going to go on? It’s a pointless sacrifice. Are you the caregiver here? Just hire someone.”
“Anton, a caregiver costs sixty thousand a month. Auntie’s pension is only twenty-five. We don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then put her in a nursing home.”
“Anton…”
“What? There’s care there, doctors. And you could be home. With your husband. I need some attention too, you know.”
Anton worked as a system administrator for a small company and earned about seventy thousand. They lived in his apartment, which he’d inherited from his grandmother even before their marriage. Anna paid for utilities and groceries. Anton thought it wasn’t enough. He wanted his wife home by seven, making dinner, sitting next to him on the couch, listening to his day. He said no one appreciated him. That he was all alone. That Anna always had someone more important than him.
Natalya Valeryevna, Anton’s mother, was always on her son’s side. She called Anna once a week just to reprimand her.
“Anna, you’ve completely neglected your husband. Antosha complains to me. He’s hungry and his shirts aren’t even ironed. What kind of family is this supposed to be?”
“Natalya Valeryevna, my aunt is sick. There’s no one else who can help her.”
“Aunt, aunt. And who is your husband? Your husband should be more important than your aunt. You married Anton, not your aunt.”
“I’m just asking you to be a little patient. It’s only temporary.”
“Temporary,” her mother-in-law scoffed. “Everything with you is always temporary.”
One day, Anna asked Anton to stay with her aunt on a Saturday. Just for three hours, while she visited a museum for an unscheduled exhibit she was curating.
“Me? With your aunt?” Anton stared at her. “Are you serious, Anya? Have you lost your mind? I’m not a caregiver! I barely even know her.”
“Anton, you’ve known her for six years. You even went to her birthday.”
“Yeah, I was there. So what? Am I supposed to bathe her or something? No way.”
That Saturday, Anna had to call off going to the exhibit.
In a year and a half, Anton never once visited Darya Petrovna. He never asked how she was doing. He never offered to give Anna a ride, even though he had a car. Anna traveled on two buses, forty minutes each way.
On Anton’s birthday in November, his friends and Natalya Valeryevna came over. Anna set the table for everyone, but at nine in the evening, while the guests were still there, she got a call from her aunt’s neighbor.
“Anya, Dasha fell off the bed. I can’t lift her.”
Anna grabbed her jacket.
“Where are you going?” Anton stood up from the table. “It’s my birthday!”
“Anton, my aunt fell. I’ll be quick.”
She came back at one in the morning. The guests had left. Anton was asleep. In the morning, her mother-in-law called.
“Anna. What was that about? You left your husband alone on his birthday? In front of the guests? Antosha told me everything. How shameful.”
Anna didn’t say anything. She simply didn’t have the strength.
Darya Petrovna saw it all. She noticed how Anna came over pale with exhaustion. How she fell asleep sitting up while her aunt ate porridge. How she flinched at every call from her husband. One day in February, while Anna was sitting next to her bed, her aunt took her hand.
“Anya. I want to tell you something. I’m leaving you everything I have.”
“Aunt Dasha, don’t. That’s not why I’m doing this.”
“I know that’s not why. That’s exactly why I’m leaving it to you.”
Anna didn’t attach much importance to it. She knew her aunt had sold her old summer house near Zvenigorod a few years ago, but assumed the money was long gone—to living expenses and medical bills. She knew her aunt had a pension, a small state apartment, and an old chess set. What was there to inherit anyway?
Darya Petrovna passed away in mid-March.
Two weeks later, Anna got a call from a notary‘s office asking her to come in. The notary, an elderly woman in glasses, took a will out of a folder.
“Darya Petrovna left all her property to you. Bank accounts in two banks. The total sum is nine million two hundred thousand rubles.”
Anna sat on the chair and couldn’t understand what she was being told.
“Where did it come from?”
“As far as I know, your aunt sold a house near Zvenigorod three years ago. The land price went up a lot. Six million. The rest is her savings from many years. The will was written and notarized in February.”
Anna stepped out of the notary’s office and lingered for a long time on the porch. Nine million. She had never held that much money in her hands before.
There was no joy. Not a drop. Just emptiness. Nine million couldn’t bring her aunt back. Couldn’t bring back the summer house near Zvenigorod, the jars of jam, or evenings spent playing chess. Couldn’t bring back her laughter, or her calling out, “Anya, come home.” Anna stood on the porch, holding a copy of the will, and wept.
She didn’t say a word to Anton.
It wasn’t a secret or a lie. Anna simply couldn’t. She just wanted a few days to be alone with her grief. No conversations about money. No discussions about what to spend it on. No Anton—because she knew he’d immediately start making plans: a new car, home renovations, a trip to Turkey. Anna needed quiet. She planned to tell him herself, in a week or two, once she felt a little better.
A week later, on Saturday, the doorbell rang at eleven in the morning.
Anton went to answer it. Anna was in the kitchen, washing up after breakfast. She heard her mother-in-law’s voice, and another man’s—someone she didn’t recognize.
“Mom, what are you doing here without calling first?” Anton sounded surprised. “Come on in.”
Anna dried her hands with a towel and walked out to the hallway.
Standing at the doorway was Natalya Valeryevna in a smart coat, a shoulder bag slung across her body. Beside her was a man around forty-five, in a gray suit, holding a leather folder.
“Hello, Anna,” her mother-in-law said. “This is Kirill Sergeyevich. He’s a notary. We need to talk. Seriously.”
Anna didn’t understand.
“Talk about what, Natalya Valeryevna?”
“About the inheritance, Anna. About the nine million.”
Anna’s face went pale. She glanced at Anton. Anton stared back at her, wide-eyed.
“What nine million?” he asked. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
“You don’t know? Your wife didn’t tell you?” Natalya Valeryevna pursed her lips. “Well, Anton. Your wife got nine million from her aunt and didn’t say a word to you. Semyon Arkadyevich told me. We’ve worked together for twenty years at the plant. He lives in the same building as her aunt. Helped her with paperwork. He congratulated me at the store, can you believe it? Said, ‘Your daughter-in-law is lucky.’”
Anton turned to his wife.
“Anya, is this true?”
“It’s true, Anton. I was going to tell you.”
“Going to,” her mother-in-law scoffed. “You’ve been ‘going to’ for a week.”
Anton was silent for a moment. Then he stepped back against the wall, letting his mother into the room.
“Mom, please come in. Have a seat. Kirill Sergeyevich, you too.”
He pulled out a chair for his mother at the table and helped her out of her coat. Anna stood in the doorway, watching her husband fuss over his mother. He didn’t ask Anna if she wanted to have this conversation. He didn’t tell his mother she should have called first. He just moved the chair for her.
Natalya Valeryevna sat down. Kirill Sergeyevich stayed standing by the window, holding the folder in front of him.
“Here’s the thing, Anna.” Her mother-in-law began. “I believe this money is family money. You are my son’s wife. You’re family. That means the inheritance is family money, too. I want you to give me a share. As my part of the family. Three million. It’s fair. The rest is for you and Anton.”
She took a printed sheet out of her bag and handed it across the table to Anna.
“This is the draft agreement. I demand my share of the family money, Anna!”
Anna didn’t take the paper. She looked at her husband.
Anton stood by the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Anna waited. Just one word. “Mom, this inheritance belongs to Anya, what does it have to do with you?” “Mom, are you serious?” Anything at all.
Anton gave her a dark, brooding look.
“Anya, don’t embarrass us. Not in front of someone else. Just sign it, and that’s it.”
Anna felt short of breath. This was worse than her mother-in-law’s demands. Worse than the three million, worse than the notary standing in their apartment. Anton said “us.” He, his mother, their whole family. And Aunt Dasha was never part of that family. For a year and a half, not one of them remembered she existed. And now, suddenly, they called her money “family money.”
Anna remembered. The evenings when she washed her aunt while Anton texted, “Where are you again?” His birthday, when she had to rush off to her fallen aunt, and his mother called in the morning about how it was a disgrace. That Saturday when he said, “Am I a nurse?” “Pointless sacrifice.” “Send her to a nursing home.” “Your husband is more important than your aunt.” For a year and a half—no calls, no help, not even a “How is she?”
And now, at the mention of millions, suddenly they were all talking about family.
Kirill Sergeyevich coughed by the window.
“Excuse me. Natalya Valeryevna, I think there’s some misunderstanding here. On the phone, you told me this had all been agreed upon, that your daughter-in-law herself wanted to share. That’s why I came—to hear her wishes and handle the paperwork.”
“Well, that’s exactly what she wants. She’ll sign it now.”
“Wait,” the notary said, putting the folder on the windowsill. “Anna… forgive me, your patronymic?”
“Nikolaevna.”
“Anna Nikolaevna. I must explain: An inheritance received by one spouse is their personal property. Not joint. Neither your husband nor, especially, his mother has any rights to this money. A gift is only possible voluntarily. If you don’t want to give anything, no one can force you.”
Natalya Valeryevna turned bright red.
“Those are just formalities!”
“That’s the law, Natalya Valeryevna.”
Her mother-in-law turned to Anna.
“So what? You know this isn’t fair! Nine million! All for you! And what about the family? Antosha is your husband! Are you going to start again with how tough it was for you with your aunt? How you struggled? That’s a convenient excuse, Anna. Really convenient. Just so you don’t have to share.”
“Mom’s right, Anya,” Anton said from the wall. “You’re hiding behind your grief. Family should share.”
Anna was silent for a long time. Then she spoke, quietly and steadily.
“Where were you? Natalya Valeryevna. Anton. Where were you for a year and a half? When I took two buses every evening to see my aunt. When I washed her, fed her, changed her sheets. When she fell out of bed on your birthday, Anton. Where was your family respect? Your family help? Did you ever visit? Even give me a ride? Ever ask how she was?”
Anton stayed silent, staring at the floor.
“Natalya Valeryevna. You called me every week. Told me I was a bad wife. That my aunt didn’t matter. That a husband is more important. Did you ever once ask about Darya Petrovna’s health?”
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I took care of her alone. Alone. And now you call her money family money. Where were you when she needed family?”
No one answered. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Anna walked up to the door and opened it.
“Natalya Valeryevna. Kirill Sergeyevich. Please leave.”
“Are you kicking me out?” her mother-in-law stood up. “Antosha!”
“Mom,” Anton looked at his wife, confused.
Kirill Sergeyevich was the first to grab his folder and head to the door. He paused by the threshold.
“Anna Nikolaevna, forgive me. I was misled. If I had known, I wouldn’t have come. I offer my condolences.”
“Thank you, Kirill Sergeyevich.”
Natalya Valeryevna followed, putting on her coat as she left. On the stair landing, she turned back.
“You’ll regret this, Anna. Mark my words.”
Anna closed the door.
Anton stood in the middle of the room. He hadn’t left with his mother. He was still there.
“Anya. Come on. Sure, Mom went too far. Three million is a lot. But can’t we just give her a million? Just so she doesn’t feel offended. Out of nine, that’s not so much. Are you really that stingy?”
Anna looked at her husband. He was bargaining. Standing in the middle of the room, where just moments ago she was called greedy, and he was bargaining. Three million, how about at least a million. Like at a market.
“No, Anton.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my aunt’s money. She left it to me because I was there for her. You weren’t. Neither was your mom. I won’t bargain with my aunt’s money.”
“Anya, come on. Mom will be hurt.”
“Let her be hurt.”
He went into the bathroom and slammed the door loudly.
Anna didn’t sleep that night. She lay on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness. Anton slept next to her, facing away. She thought about how not once throughout the whole day did her husband ask how she was feeling. How she was coping with losing her aunt. Not once. All he cared about was those nine million. And “give it to mom.”
In the morning, she initiated divorce proceedings through the online government service and sent Anton the confirmation notification.
Anton found out in the evening when the notification arrived.
“What are you doing? You’re breaking up our family over money? Over something Mom asked for?”
“No, Anton. It’s not about the money.”
“Then what is it about?”
“That you weren’t there. For a year and a half. And not yesterday either.”
At first Anton protested, but after a few days, he confirmed the application.
Two days later, Natalya Valeryevna called.
“Anna. Since that’s how it is, I demand that you repay the wedding expenses. I paid for your wedding. The restaurant, your dress, the photographer. Three hundred twenty thousand. Now that you’re rich, it shouldn’t be hard for you.”
“Natalya Valeryevna, you gave us the wedding as a gift to your son. That was your present. Presents aren’t returned.”
“How dare you…”
Anna hung up.
A week later, she found an apartment. A one-room place in an old brick building, three bus stops away from the museum. Twenty-five thousand a month. The landlady, an elderly teacher, asked her a lot about her job and finally said museum workers make the best tenants—quiet people.
Anna moved her things in a single day. Clothes, books, documents. Anton sat on the couch watching her pack up the boxes. He didn’t help with a single one.
“You’ll regret this,” he said as she carried out the last box.
Anna didn’t reply. She placed the keys on the table by the door.
That same evening, she blocked both Anton’s and Natalya Valeryevna’s numbers.
A month later, they got divorced at the registry office. Anton showed up, signed the papers without looking at her, and left. There were no disputes over property: Anton had no claim to the inheritance, and the grandmother’s apartment remained his personal property.
In early June, Anna went back to her aunt’s building. The apartment had already been returned to the city, and new people were living there. She just wanted to sit for a while on the bench at the entrance where her aunt used to love sitting during the summer.
On the bench sat Semyon Arkadyevich. He was gray-haired, thin, wearing a plaid shirt. A chessboard was laid out on the bench in front of him.
When Semyon Arkadyevich saw Anna, he stood up.
“Anechka. Hello.”
“Hello, Semyon Arkadyevich.”
He was silent for a long time, nervously fiddling with a button on his shirt.
“Anechka, please forgive me. I let something slip to Natalia. I ran into her at the store, thought she’d be happy for you. Didn’t think it through. Dasha would have had my head for that.”
“It’s all right, Semyon Arkadyevich. It didn’t change anything. Or rather, it did, but for the better.”
He nodded, then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope folded into quarters.
“Here. Dasha left this with me. She said, ‘Give this to Anechka when everything settles down.’ I kept waiting for you to come.”
Anna opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet, covered with her aunt’s handwriting—uneven now, already weak.
“Anechka. This isn’t payment for staying with me. You can’t put a price on something like that. This is so you can choose. By yourself. Without looking back at anyone. Your Aunt Dasha.”
Anna held the letter for a long time, then folded it and put it in her bag.
“Semyon Arkadyevich, did you and Auntie play chess together?”
“Every Saturday. For forty years,” he smiled. “She almost always beat me.”
“Will you teach me? She tried when I was a kid, but I’ve forgotten everything.”
Semyon Arkadyevich looked at her, then at the chessboard. He sat back down and slid the white pieces toward Anna.
“Have a seat. White moves first.”
Anna sat down and moved a pawn two squares up. Semyon Arkadyevich shook his head and smiled in exactly the same way her aunt used to smile when Anna, at eight years old, made a silly move.
“Well, let’s say…” he said, and moved his own piece.