It wasn’t uncommon for Kira to do this — as she was falling asleep, she would drift back into childhood. Back to somewhere around when she was five years old, when her father was still around, and her mother used to smile. Why exactly five years old? That always puzzled Kira. Perhaps because that was when she first noticed the changes: how her mother’s smile became forced, how her father started staying late at work more often, and how muffled but angry quarrels could be heard at night from the parents’ bedroom.
And now, as she fell asleep next to her husband, Kira realized she was sinking into a sleep-memory. Her father holding her in his arms, walking through the park, gathering leaves for a herbarium. Her father telling her the name of every tree, explaining why leaves change color. His voice calm, warm. No falseness, no weariness from talking to her.
“My girl, you are the most precious thing I have.”
Her father always said that. Not “you and your mother,” but “you.” Only many years later did she understand why.
“Kirush, wake up.” Slava’s voice brought her back to reality. “Your phone is blowing up.”
Kira reluctantly opened her eyes. The sun was already shining brightly through the loosely drawn curtains. On the phone screen appeared the name “Mother.”
“I won’t answer,” Kira muttered and turned over on her side.
Slava quietly left the room, giving her space to decide. He was a good man after all. Understanding. When they first started dating, Kira warned him right away: her relationship with her mother was complicated. Very complicated. So complicated it was better not to ask about it at all.
The phone fell silent but rang again a minute later.
“Damn you,” Kira sighed and picked up. “Hello.”
“Finally!” Nina Pavlovna’s voice sounded unusually lively. “I thought you lost your phone.”
“No, I was just sleeping. Did something happen?”
“Why something immediately? Can’t a mother call her daughter just like that?”
“Maybe,” Kira thought. “But not you.”
In the past five years, her mother had called exactly twice. The first time — to announce her remarriage and demand Kira move out of the apartment. The second — when she found out about her daughter’s upcoming wedding, and only because Slava insisted on inviting her.
“Mom, let’s skip the preamble. What are you planning?”
“Kirochka, why so harsh? I just wanted to check how things are with you and Slava. Maybe we could drop by with Igor, have some tea?”
With the stepfather? Have tea? In the five years of their marriage, her mother had never once shown any desire to “just sit together.” Kira caught her husband’s worried glance at the door.
“Let’s be honest. Why do you want to come?”
A heavy sigh was heard on the other end.
“You’ve always been distrustful, just like your father. Fine. Igor Semenovich and I heard you’re going to the sea. We wanted to discuss…”
“How did you find out?” Kira interrupted.
Pause.
“Your mother-in-law told us.”
Of course. Natalia Sergeevna — an open-hearted soul. Trusting to a fault. Nina Pavlovna smiled sweetly once at the wedding, and the mother-in-law immediately thought they were best friends.
“Mom, if you want to ask us to look after the apartment, then…”
“What? Daughter!” her mother interrupted too quickly. “Igor and I just miss you. And we want to discuss something. We’ll be there in about an hour, alright?”
Without waiting for an answer, she hung up.
Kira slowly lowered the phone.
“What happened?” her husband sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Mom and stepfather are coming over. ‘We miss you,’” Kira said, making air quotes.
Slava chuckled.
“Are you going to tell them the truth?”
“Something about our trip. But I’m afraid to imagine what exactly.”
An hour and a half later, when Kira and Slava were finishing a late breakfast, the doorbell rang. Nina Pavlovna stood on the doorstep — still slender, with styled hair and makeup. Behind her lingered Igor Semenovich — a short, stout man with perpetually sweaty palms.
“Kirochka, darling!” her mother beamed and reached to hug her daughter.
Kira awkwardly allowed herself to be embraced. Her mother smelled of perfume, but that scent always made Kira uneasy rather than bring pleasant memories.
“Hello, Nina Pavlovna, Igor Semenovich,” Slava politely shook their hands. “Please come in, the tea is just ready.”
They settled in the living room. Kira silently poured tea, watching her mother examine the modest rented apartment with interest.
“Cozy here,” Nina Pavlovna said. “Although, of course, owning your own place is a whole different matter.”
Kira barely held back rolling her eyes. Here we go.
“Mom, you said you wanted to discuss something.”
“Oh, you’re so impatient!” her mother laughed affectedly. “Well, alright. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our family, about how I was… not the most attentive mother.”
“Not the most attentive” was an understatement for someone who was nominally at home for years, leaving all the child care to her husband.
“I want to fix that, darling. Start over. Be closer.”
Her mother reached out and covered her daughter’s hand with her own. Kira instinctively pulled away.
“And how do you plan to do that?”
Her mother straightened up and looked triumphantly at the stepfather. He nodded importantly, confirming the unspoken plan.
“We’re coming to the sea with you!”
Silence fell. Kira glanced at Slava, who looked equally stunned.
“What, sorry?”
“Igor and I decided this is a great chance to spend time together as a family,” her mother smiled radiantly. “You’re going for two whole weeks! Imagine how much we can catch up on!”
Their long-awaited vacation, carefully planned and paid for, their time alone… and suddenly — mother and stepfather.
“Mom, we’re going with friends. This is not a family trip.”
“Oh, what’s the problem?” Igor Semenovich chimed in. “Friends or not! I love company too. It’ll be more fun!”
“No,” Kira tried to sound firm but polite. “First, we already booked everything specifically for four people. Second, we have our own plans.”
“Plans can be changed,” her mother waved off. “And about the booking — Igor Semenovich will sort it out, right dear?”
The stepfather nodded smugly.
“Besides,” her mother lowered her voice, “I raised you for so many years, took care of you. Is it really so hard to do this little thing for me?”
That brazen lie… But Kira held back. Taking a deep breath, she looked her mother straight in the eyes.
“Let’s be honest. We are not sponsoring your vacation.”
Nina Pavlovna’s face changed instantly. The smile vanished, her eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean ‘sponsoring’? We will pay for ourselves!”
“Really?” Kira raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Tickets, hotel, food? For two? That’s at least a hundred thousand each.”
“Well…” Nina Pavlovna hesitated. “Maybe you could help a little. After all, you both have jobs, and Igor and I only have a pension…”
Here it is. Kira smirked.
“A little — how much? Half? Three-quarters? Or just pay it all?”
“Oh, what are you starting!” her mother’s voice became offended. “I’m not asking for the impossible. I just want to be with my daughter.”
“After fifteen years of neglect?” Kira could no longer hold back. “After you practically kicked me out when your new man appeared? After you came to my wedding empty-handed?”
“How dare you!” her mother snapped. “I raised you!”
“No! Dad raised me. You just came home sometimes when the money ran out or another admirer was gone. Dad took me to school, cooked meals, helped with homework, nursed me when I was sick. And you were out somewhere with God knows who.”
“You’ve always been ungrateful!” Nina Pavlovna’s face twisted in anger. “Igor, do you hear how she talks to me?”
The stepfather cleared his throat importantly and straightened up, preparing to give a speech, but Slava intervened.
“I think it’s best if you leave,” he said calmly but firmly. “My wife has expressed her position, and I fully support it. We won’t take you with us, nor pay for your vacation.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do!” the mother shrieked. “She’s my daughter!”
“No, Mom,” Kira stood up, feeling a strange calm. “I haven’t been your daughter since Dad died. And you know what? I’m glad I no longer have such a useless mother like you.”
Nina Pavlovna went pale.
“If you treat me like this, you won’t have a mother at all!” she screamed.
“That’s exactly what I said,” Kira nodded. “And I’m more than fine with it.”
The stepfather also stood up, looking confused, shifting his gaze between his wife and stepdaughter.
“Nina, maybe don’t get so heated…”
“Shut up!” Nina Pavlovna yelled. “We’re leaving. And you,” she pointed at her daughter, “will regret this!”
When the door slammed behind them, Slava silently hugged Kira, and she gratefully pressed against her husband.
“Did I do the right thing?” she whispered.
“Absolutely,” Slava kissed the top of her head. “It was high time to put all the dots on the i.”
The next day they flew to the sea. Kira’s phone was blowing up with calls — her mother clearly wasn’t going to back down easily. Kira muted the sound and enjoyed the vacation until on the third day Slava handed her his smartphone:
“Your mother’s calling. From a third number already.”
Kira looked at the screen and grimaced. Indeed, an unknown number, but she had no doubt who it was.
“I’ll answer,” she sighed. “Otherwise, she’ll bother your parents too.”
“Hello.”
“Finally!” Nina Pavlovna began as usual, as if the recent scandal hadn’t happened.
“No, Mom. I just don’t want to talk to you.”
“Listen, darling,” her mother’s voice took on a pleading tone, “here’s the thing… Igor Semenovich has some financial difficulties. Temporary, of course. We need to stay with you for a bit…”
Kira closed her eyes. Same as always — no apologies, only demands.
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?!” her mother yelled immediately. “We haven’t paid utilities, and you…”
“That’s not my problem. I’m on a vacation I paid for myself. Don’t call us anymore.”
Not waiting for a response tirade, Kira hung up and handed the phone back to Slava.
“I’m blocking the number,” Slava said grimly, scrolling through settings.
An hour later, Kira’s stepfather contacted her. His tone was almost threatening:
“Girl, what do you think you’re doing? Your mother’s in tears, and you’re lounging on the beach! Send money immediately, or else…”
“Or else what, Igor Semenovich?” Kira didn’t even try to hide the contempt in her voice. “You’re not my father, nor even a close relative. You’re just a man living with my mother. So don’t lecture me on how to behave.”
This conversation finally convinced Kira: decisive action was needed.
Returning from vacation, she found three registered letters from her mother in the mailbox. Without opening them, Kira stacked them and sat at the computer. For two hours she drafted an official letter clearly and legally offering her mother to buy out her share in the parental apartment.
“Do you think she’ll agree?” Slava asked when Kira showed him the draft.
“No, but it’ll be the first step toward a forced sale. I already consulted a lawyer.”
The response came a week later — not from her mother, but from the stepfather. A photo where Igor Semenovich was demonstratively using Kira’s letter as toilet paper. The caption read: “This is what I think of your claims, girl.”
Kira silently showed the photo to Slava.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “your mother picks amazingly dumb men.”
“She just deserves no others,” Kira shrugged and dialed the lawyer’s number.
The court took place four months later. Kira did not attend — her interests were represented by a young but very capable lawyer. She sat at home, leaning against Slava, waiting for the call.
“We won,” the lawyer reported briefly. “The court ordered the apartment to be sold with proceeds divided proportionally.”
Kira cried with relief. Not because of money — because of the severing of the last tie to her past.
Mother and stepfather showed up suddenly — just rang the doorbell at the rented apartment a week after the court.
“Where is she?” Nina Pavlovna screamed, trying to get inside. “Where is that ungrateful brat?”
“Kira no longer lives here,” the neighbor calmly answered. The newlyweds had left him the keys to collect their last things. “They moved.”
“Where?!” the woman demanded. “Tell me where they moved!”
“I’m not allowed to disclose that information,” the neighbor shrugged and shut the door.
Six months later, the apartment was sold. Kira immediately put her share toward the down payment for a mortgage — a two-room apartment. By that time, she and Slava had another joy: an ultrasound showed they were having a girl.
“What shall we name her?” Slava asked, stroking his wife’s now noticeable belly.
“You know,” Kira answered thoughtfully, “I want to name her after Dad. His name was Valentin, and our little girl will be Valentina.”
“Beautiful name,” Slava agreed. “I hope she takes only the best from your father.”
Kira learned about her mother rarely and only by chance — through mutual acquaintances. Rumor had it the stepfather fled a few months after the apartment sale, taking nearly all the money. Nina Pavlovna was left with a minimal sum and now rented a room somewhere in a communal apartment.
Sometimes, while rocking little Valya, Kira thought about how different parents could be. And each time she promised herself her daughter would never know the pain of rejection she herself had suffered.
“She will have a real family,” Kira whispered, kissing the pink cheek. “And she won’t need the gift of denial.”
Kira had finally found what she had lacked all these years — a home filled with love.