I heard you’re in trouble,” the woman continued. “And you decided your sister should solve them by selling her apartment.”
“It’s not… I just…” Vitaly faltered, then waved his hand. “What choice do I have? I’m on the brink of bankruptcy. I’ve got a wife, responsibilities…”
“We’ve already agreed with the realtor,” Vitaly said, turning a cup in his hands and shooting his sister quick glances.
A ridiculous thought flashed through Karina’s mind—maybe her brother was joking? Or maybe she’d misheard?
“What are you talking about?”
Natasha, sitting next to her husband, sighed impatiently and leaned forward.
“We decided to sell your apartment. Vitalik found good buyers who are ready to move quickly and pay a fair price,” she said as if they were talking about an old sofa. “We thought there was no point in dragging it out.”
Karina carefully set the teapot back on its stand and sat down opposite her unexpected guests. The sense of unreality only grew with every passing second.
“That’s my apartment! What do you mean, ‘we decided to sell your apartment’? It was bought with money from Grandma’s inheritance!”
“Well, exactly!” Vitaly brightened, as though he’d been waiting for just those words. “That’s why we’re here. Karin, that apartment was bought with money from Grandma Ada’s inheritance. And it was supposed to go to both of us, you understand. I just didn’t pay attention to those formalities back then…”
“Formalities?” Karina struggled to keep her voice calm. “You call Grandma’s will a formality?”
“Mom and Grandma were unfair to me,” Vitaly’s face flushed. “You had the chance to influence them in recent years, and I… I was busy building my business! Who knew it would turn out like this?”
“So I should have abandoned them like you did? Then it would have been ‘fair’?”
“We’ve already paid the realtor a deposit,” Natasha cut in, wrinkling her nose as if the room smelled unpleasant. “Vitalik paid out of his own pocket. To a good realtor, I might add.”
Karina glanced at her brother’s wife and felt her blood boil.
“How foolish of me—not to know you were disposing of my property.”
After the guests left, Karina sank into her armchair, trying to make sense of what had happened. The whole affair seemed so absurd it felt like a bad dream.
Five years ago, Grandma Ada Leonidovna had passed away. Thin but resilient, she’d held on to the end despite her illness. Even in her hardest days, she asked about Karina’s work at customs, joking, “Do you catch real smugglers, or just perfume?” Karina, exhausted after a twelve-hour shift, would tell her stories about searching suitcases at the airport.
It had been a difficult time. After Karina’s mother, Veronika, died, Grandma was left all alone in her one-room apartment on the outskirts of town. Karina would visit almost every day after work and stay over on weekends. Vitaly showed up once a month, if that—always busy with his business.
When Grandma died, the will turned out to give the apartment and savings to Karina, and the summer house and some valuables to Vitaly. He hadn’t objected at the time, too preoccupied to care. He sold the summer house almost immediately and invested the money back into his business.
Karina decided to sell Grandma’s apartment herself. It was too far from her work, and after losing two loved ones, living there was painful. Adding her own savings to Grandma’s inheritance, she bought her current place—a modest two-room flat in a new neighborhood. Nothing luxurious, but a cozy nest for her and her son, Maxim.
The first year after moving was filled with renovations and decorating. She poured her soul—and every spare ruble—into making a home. Then life settled down. Maxim got into university, Karina got a promotion. And now, five years later, her brother suddenly claimed rights to her apartment…
A key turned in the lock, pulling Karina from her thoughts.
“Mom, why do you look so pale?” Maxim dropped his backpack by the hallway table and peered at her. “Did something happen?”
“I don’t understand how they thought you’d agree,” Maxim fumed, pacing the kitchen. At nineteen, he was a spitting image of his father—tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired—but fortunately, he’d inherited his mother’s temperament.
“Uncle Vitaly has really gone too far. And Aunt Natasha’s no saint!”
“Mind your language,” Karina said absently, stirring her cooling tea.
“They blew all their money, and now they’ve got their sights set on Grandma’s inheritance! Uncle Vitaly rarely visited Grandma when she was sick—twice a year at most!”
Karina sighed. Vitaly was four years older, and she’d adored him as a child. He used to protect her from bullies, teach her to ride a bike, help with math. When had everything changed? Perhaps when he met Natasha? Or earlier, when he left to study and stopped visiting home as often?
“Mom, you’re not actually going to help them, are you?” Maxim stood with his arms crossed.
“Of course not,” she rubbed her temples. “But I don’t want to feud with my brother.”
“Does he want that?” Maxim asked. “He barges in, demands your apartment, and you’re worried about offending him by refusing?”
Karina’s phone vibrated. A message from Lena, her colleague at customs:
“Hey! Vitaly’s telling everyone we’re selling your apartment—saying you’re moving closer to work. Is that true? If you need help, my nephew is a realtor and can find you a good deal.”
Karina showed the message to Maxim.
“See? He’s already telling everyone we’re selling! He announced it to my colleagues!” She felt a lump in her throat.
“Call Lena back, explain. And tell everyone else too,” Maxim said, sitting beside her and taking her hand. “I’ll drop by Uncle Vitaly’s tomorrow after class and talk to him.”
“Just no drama,” Karina said anxiously. “Promise?”
The next two weeks, Vitaly called almost daily—starting calmly but quickly raising his voice. Natasha sent long messages about “family duty” and how “ungrateful” Karina was to refuse to help her brother in a time of need.
Through mutual acquaintances Karina learned Vitaly’s business had indeed collapsed. He’d opened a chain of sports nutrition stores with a large loan, but the pandemic and economic crisis ruined him. Now creditors were threatening court and debt collectors.
“But what does that have to do with my apartment?” Karina thought as she walked home from work. She would have gladly helped him if he’d simply asked—but he’d come demanding.
Arriving at her building one evening, she saw Natasha’s familiar car parked outside. An older couple and a man in a suit with a folder were standing by the door.
“There she is!” Natasha called when she spotted Karina. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“What’s going on?” Karina asked, dread pooling in her stomach.
“Meet Sergey Anatolyevich, our realtor,” Natasha introduced the man with the folder. “And this is Alla Semyonovna and Pavel Ivanovich—they want to see the apartment.”
“Which apartment?” Karina’s breath caught.
“Yours, of course,” Natasha said with a smug smile. “I already told them all about the neighborhood and showed photos you posted.”
“I don’t sell my apartment!” Karina said, fighting for composure. “This must be a misunderstanding.”
“Oh, it’s for sale, just my sister-in-law is a bit shocked,” Natasha took Karina’s arm and dragged her aside. “Look, don’t make us look like idiots. Show them the flat, and we’ll sort it out later.”
“No,” Karina yanked her arm free. “There’s nothing to sort out. I’m not selling, and I won’t show it to anyone.”
“Now it’s clear,” the realtor said, closing his folder. “Sorry, but I don’t deal with problematic listings. You two should have agreed first before wasting people’s time.”
When the couple and realtor left, Natasha turned to Karina, irritation plain on her face.
“Do you realize what you’re doing? We owe the bank, Vitalik’s threatened, and you’re putting on a circus!”
“Natasha,” Karina said as calmly as she could, “I understand your problems. But you don’t solve them this way. That apartment is mine, and I’m not selling it.”
“You don’t need such a big place!” Natasha threw up her hands. “Planning to have more kids? Maxim will marry and move out soon—you’ll be alone. We need the money now!”
“This is my home,” Karina replied firmly. “Period.”
That evening Vitaly called. His voice sounded muffled, as though underwater.
“Karina, why did you upset Natasha? She meant well.”
“Did you have too much to drink?” Karina asked. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“No, I… I’m just exhausted,” he sighed, then snapped, “Do you know debt collectors call me every day? I can’t sleep! The bank’s taking my car! And you… you’re sitting in the apartment that was willed to you and you won’t help your own brother!”
“Vitaly, I sympathize with your troubles, but why does selling my apartment solve anything?” Karina pressed.
“Because it’s unfair! Grandma should have split everything evenly! We’re both her grandchildren!”
“That was her choice, and you didn’t object five years ago,” Karina said wearily. “Besides, you got the summer house and the valuables.”
“That’s far less than you got! I’ll sue,” Vitaly suddenly said. “I’ll contest the will and prove Grandma wasn’t of sound mind. That you pressured her.”
Karina felt dizzy. She knew he was bluffing—five years had passed, and no court would buy it—but the thought of him willing to besmirch Grandma’s memory for money was unbearable.
“Do as you please,” she said, hanging up.
On Saturday, while Karina was cleaning, the doorbell rang. An elderly woman with neatly styled gray hair stood on the doorstep.
“Lyudmila Nikitichna?” Karina recognized her as Grandma’s old friend. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, dear,” the woman said, leaning on her cane. “I’ve been meaning to visit, but my health hasn’t allowed it. But then I heard the rumors about what’s happening here, and I had to come.”
Over tea, Lyudmila Nikitichna listened to Karina’s story, shaking her head.
“Poor Vitaly is in a tough spot. But his methods…” she frowned. “Ada wouldn’t have approved.”
“What can I do?” Karina asked bitterly. “I want to help, but not like this!”
“You know I witnessed Grandma’s will,” Lyudmila Nikitichna said. “She asked me to be there so someone else would know her true wishes.”
“And what were they?” Karina asked softly.
“She said, ‘I’ve decided to leave most to Karina—the apartment and the savings. She cared for us all those years and never abandoned us when Veronika was ill. As for Vitaly…’” The old woman sighed. “Grandma willed him the summer house and some jewelry. She said he rarely visited and she wasn’t sure he’d even come to her funeral.”
The doorbell rang again. Karina opened the door to find Vitaly—disheveled, his eyes red with sleepless nights.
“We need to talk,” he said, stepping inside. Seeing Lyudmila Nikitichna, he froze. “Hello. You… you’re Grandma’s friend?”
“Hello, Vitalik,” Lyudmila Nikitichna greeted him. “It’s been about ten years since you last visited Ada regularly.”
Vitaly cast his eyes down in shame.
“I heard you’re in trouble,” the woman said. “And you decided your sister should solve it by selling her apartment.”
“That’s not… I just…” Vitaly stammered. “What else could I do? I’m almost bankrupt. I have a wife, responsibilities…”
“Responsibilities,” she repeated. “What an interesting word. Grandma and Mom never thought ‘responsibility’ meant someone else had to bail you out just because you claimed to care. Where was your responsibility when they were sick? Or did you expect someone else to do it for you?”
“What does that have to do with this?” Vitaly snapped. “This is about money.”
“It’s not about money, Vitalik, it’s about care and attention,” Lyudmila Nikitichna replied quietly. “Ada saw how Karina struggled between work and caring for them—how she’d come after shifts, cook, clean, give medicine, even take leave when things got bad. And where were you? If it’s so easy, I can help you find money—just sign a rental contract with some elderly person in need of care. I’ll find you one. You can ‘share tea’ for years, change diapers, clean the flat. Easy money, right?”
Vitaly was silent, teeth clenched.
“Your grandma believed in rewarding people according to their deeds,” the old woman continued. “She arranged her estate fairly, thanking the one who truly cared for her. If you think it was unjust, maybe ask yourself: what did you do to deserve more?”
After Lyudmila Nikitichna left, brother and sister sat in silence. Finally Vitaly looked up at Karina.
“I… I don’t know what came over me,” he said, rubbing his temples. “The debts, the threats, Natasha nagging me day and night… I just snapped.”
“Why didn’t you just ask for help?” Karina asked softly. “Why assume you had the right to my apartment?”
“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “Pride, I guess. Or stupidity. I couldn’t bear to ask my little sister for money.”
“But demanding her apartment was okay?”
“I convinced myself it was fair,” he said bitterly. “That I wasn’t asking, but restoring justice. That you… that you owed me.”
They fell silent again.
“Okay, let’s be honest,” Karina said at last. “Yes, I have this apartment. But I earned it. You know that. I can’t and won’t sell it—especially now, with Maxim studying.”
“I understand,” Vitaly nodded. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“But I can help you in another way,” Karina continued. “There’s an opening in the security service at customs. You’d have to start from scratch, but it’s a stable job with benefits…”
“Me? For the government?” Vitaly raised an eyebrow.
“So what? You’re smart and organized—you’d manage,” Karina shrugged. “At least it’s a way out of debt.”
“And what about Natasha? She wouldn’t agree to that salary.”
“That’s your relationship, Vitalik. I can offer you a job, not a new wife,” Karina smiled.
For the first time that day, Vitaly laughed sincerely.
“You really are like Grandma,” he said, still chuckling. “That straightforwardness. And… thanks for the offer. I’ll think about it.”
A month later, Vitaly started working at customs. His business experience paid off—he quickly learned the system and procedures. Natasha threw a fit when she heard, then went to her parents’ house, taking her things with her.
“We should have done this long ago,” Vitaly admitted to his sister over dinner at her place. “Last few years, Natasha and I only talked about money.”
The three of them—Karina, Maxim, and Vitaly—sat in the kitchen. On the table stood Grandma’s porcelain teapot, which Karina had treasured all these years.
“I was looking through an old photo album,” Karina said, pulling a large leather-bound book from a shelf. “Remember this picture? Your graduation.”
In the photo, young Vitaly stood surrounded by their parents, Grandma Ada, and little Karina. All of them were smiling.
“So much time has passed,” Vitaly sighed, tracing the photograph with his finger. “Back then I thought the world was at my feet—that I could do and have everything.”
“And you still can,” Karina said, laying her hand over his. “The most important thing is we’re together again.”
“Yes,” Vitaly nodded. “That’s worth more than any inheritance.”