After their father’s funeral, the children returned to his three-room apartment on Leninsky Prospect. It smelled of old books, medicine, and that very same “Chypre” cologne their father had been buying since Soviet times.
Valentina, the eldest sister, immediately sat down in the armchair by the window. That was always where Petr Semyonovich used to sit.
“By law, everything is divided equally,” she declared, surveying the room like an appraiser. “As the eldest daughter, I take this room with the balcony. You, Kolya,” she addressed her brother, “get the bedroom, and Lida,” Valentina nodded toward their youngest sister, “the small room next to the kitchen.”
Kolya, a fifty-year-old man worn down by life, always smelling of stale alcohol, even jumped up on the sofa:
“No one’s taking anything! We sell the flat and split the money three ways! Equally!”
Lida, the youngest of the children, sat silently in the corner on a kitchen chair, twirling their father’s Zippo lighter in her hands.
She didn’t react to her siblings’ conversation.
Her swollen, tear-red eyes and trembling lips showed she came here not to divide the apartment but to say goodbye.
“And what about memories?” she asked softly. “Dad lived here all his life… We took our first steps on this parquet floor. In this kitchen, he taught me how to make pancakes…”
“Memories are in photo albums,” Valentina sharply interrupted, adjusting her expensive scarf, “and this is square meters in the city center. Don’t be childish, Lida. Although… if you’re such a freeloader, give me your room. I wouldn’t say no.”
“Why you?!” Kolya exploded. “I have two kids! Lida, better give your room to me! Think about your nephews! Valya already has everything!”
Valentina paled in indignation. She stood up, clenching her fists, ready to put her insolent brother in his place, when suddenly the doorbell rang.
No one wanted to see strangers, so no one moved to open the door, as if silently agreeing.
The bell rang again — sharp and piercing.
Valentina, Lida, and Kolya exchanged glances but stayed in their places.
Then…
Someone opened the door with their own key…
Footsteps were heard in the hallway. The door to the room where the siblings sat flew open.
Standing in the doorway were a woman about thirty-five and a boy about ten.
The woman wore a worn-out down jacket; the child wore a sports jacket.
The visitors entered cautiously but confidently, leaving wet footprints from their autumn boots behind.
“Hello,” said the woman, pulling a red folder from her bag. “I’m Vera, from the neighboring building. Grandfather… well, Petr Semyonovich,” she paused to gather courage, then said finally, “gave me this apartment as a gift.”
A heavy silence hung…
“What did he do?!” Kolya exploded, jumping up so abruptly the old knitted throw flew off the sofa. “Who the hell are you?!”
“Here are the documents,” Vera said, hands trembling as she took out a notarized paper from the folder. “It was signed over more than a year ago…”
Petr Semyonovich and Vera met in a store.
The man had gone for groceries and suddenly felt unwell.
No one approached the elderly man leaning against the wall. He looked strange: swaying, staring with empty eyes.
Apparently, people assumed the pensioner had drunk too much.
Vera was passing by and, due to her profession (she worked as a nurse), immediately understood the man needed help.
She ran over, put a nitroglycerin tablet in his mouth (she always carried one), helped him reach a bench, and of course, sat down beside him.
The medicine worked quickly.
“Thank you, daughter,” the man said.
“Do you live far?” Vera asked. “Maybe a taxi?”
“No, no, I’m about two hundred meters from here. I’ll hobble somehow.”
“I’ll walk you home…”
“Thanks again,” the man stood up. “By the way, my name’s Petr Semyonovich. And you, savior?”
“I’m Vera…”
Near his entrance, Petr Semyonovich finally came to himself and invited Vera for tea.
At first, she refused, but hearing:
“Come on, dear, I have some jam, you know? Raspberry! Real stuff. Cheer up an old man…” she agreed.
Thus began their friendship.
Vera became a frequent visitor at Petr Semyonovich’s home. She helped with chores, brought groceries. She came just to talk.
Once she brought her son — Misha…
Petr Semyonovich already knew Vera was raising him alone. That her ex-husband didn’t help at all: he drank heavily. And that Misha struggled with school.
“Let’s do homework together,” Petr Semyonovich suggested, pouring tea for the boy and pushing a bowl of jam closer. “It’ll be easier for you, and I’ll remember things I’ve long forgotten.”
Misha agreed, of course.
The more he spent time with Grandpa Petya, the more he liked him.
Very soon, the old man and the boy became such good friends that Misha even stayed overnight at Petr Semyonovich’s.
At first, Vera objected but then shrugged. Besides, it really helped her out.
The woman worked two jobs to feed herself and her son. Plus, she paid rent for a one-room apartment since after the divorce, they were left homeless.
On days when Vera worked, Misha was often alone. And Vera didn’t always manage to take him to school. And especially to pick him up…
Eventually, Petr Semyonovich took on this role.
Every morning he would come for Misha and take him to classes. In the evening, he would pick him up. And when they stayed overnight together, after breakfast they would head straight to school.
Vera was very grateful for the help and reciprocated in kind. She wanted this attentive, smart, and kind man not to feel lonely.
And although Petr Semyonovich never complained about loneliness, Vera saw he suffered.
He suffered and waited for his adult children Valentina, Nikolai, and Lida to remember him, to visit…
“Let’s call them,” Vera once suggested, “maybe something happened?”
“Of course something happened,” Petr Semyonovich replied bitterly, “they lost their conscience, that’s what. And I won’t call them. While I was raising, feeding, teaching them, I was needed. Now… they forgot. Good thing my wife didn’t live to see this… Well, since they don’t have a father, I have no children either. And what children? The youngest is almost forty…”
Vera didn’t bring up such conversations again.
Especially since Petr Semyonovich soon fell ill. He was treated for a long time.
When he returned from the hospital, Vera took full care of the old man. Misha helped as best he could.
Very soon Petr Semyonovich recovered and even started walking outside!
One day he asked Vera to go with him to the notary.
“Okay, let’s go,” Vera agreed without asking why.
When she understood, she was frightened:
“What are you doing, Petr Semyonovich? I’m not here for that! You’re like family to me…”
“Why ‘like’?” he joked, then seriously added, “You and Misha are the closest and dearest people to me now. So I decided to take care of you before the crows come…”
A few months later, Petr Semyonovich ended up in the hospital again. This time Vera took him in bedridden…
She cared for him for almost a year.
She wanted to inform the children, but Petr Semyonovich asked her not to:
“Why? They didn’t need me when I was healthy, and even less when I’m sick,” a single tear rolled down his cheek…
The day Petr Semyonovich passed away, Vera called his distant relative (she only had that number), who then informed the children…
Valentina rushed up to Vera and snatched the folder.
She skimmed through the text and tore the document up.
“That’s it?! No more gifts?!” she shouted with glee, “Get out of here!”
Vera did not move.
“You wasted your effort,” she said calmly. “That was a copy. The original is with the notary.”
“Scammer!” Kolya jumped at Vera. “You planned everything?!”
“No, I wouldn’t have thought of it myself,” Vera retorted. “Petr Semyonovich suggested it. He knew you well, as I see.”
“What did he know?! He lost his mind long ago!” Valentina screamed. “And he didn’t sign that paper in his right mind! You won’t get anything!”
“Petr Semyonovich covered himself on that too,” Vera said calmly, without mockery. “The documents include a medical evaluation from the day of the transaction. So don’t worry. I came in because I saw you arrived. I want to say you can take whatever you want from the apartment. I want to move in as soon as possible.”
“Move in?!” Kolya’s eyes widened.
Apparently, he was beginning to understand that the inheritance in the form of their father’s apartment was not his. “But this isn’t fair! You’re not even family! How could he?!”
Vera paled slightly:
“And how could you abandon an elderly father to fate? How could you not even care for years how he was living? How could you live calmly knowing he was completely alone?!”
“Not alone, as it turns out,” the youngest sister Lida stepped up to Vera, looked her in the eye, “and thank you for that…”
She turned and silently walked toward the exit. At the door she looked back:
“Valya, Kolya,” she glanced slyly at her brother and sister, “and I’m even glad it turned out this way…”
When Lida’s door closed, Vera muttered:
“Glad, huh… found something to be glad about… Such money…”
Kolya said nothing. He pulled a flask from his pocket and drained it in one gulp.
A minute later he said to Vera:
“It’s easy for you to judge. You didn’t live with him… and didn’t run hundreds of kilometers from home to avoid seeing him…”
“I’m not judging anyone,” Vera was surprised by her own calm and courage. “You asked, I answered. I hope a week will be enough time for you to vacate the apartment… And yes, don’t worry about a monument to your father or his grave. There are people who will take care of that.”
“Worry?!” Valentina shouted, rising from their father’s chair. “I don’t give a damn what happens there! Especially now…”