“Just look at her—what a little princess! We came with nothing but good intentions, brought gifts, even homemade cured pork—and she turns her nose up at us! Vitya, who did you raise? Or is it her precious daddy’s genes showing?”
Galina—Viktor’s older sister—was shouting so hard in the kitchen that the glass in the old cabinet rattled. Elena pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to quiet the pounding in her head.
Old New Year’s. A holiday that was supposed to be a warm, cozy finale to the winter break had turned into a complete circus.
“Gala, please, lower your voice,” Viktor, Elena’s husband, said softly. “Olya’s just tired. Exams are coming up.”
“Tired?” the sister-in-law snapped, hacking the sausage into thick, sloppy slices. “And my Stasik isn’t tired? He’s been working like an ox all year—studying, helping around the house too! A golden boy. And your… your stepdaughter, God forgive me, all she does is hide in her room and take other people’s things!”
Elena froze with a towel in her hands.
There it was. Again.
For a whole year—ever since Stas, Viktor’s nephew, had moved into their three-room apartment “temporarily” to study at a Moscow institute—life had turned into hell. At first everything looked proper: a quiet village kid, grateful for a corner to sleep in. But within a month, the strange things began.
First, a thousand rubles vanished from Elena’s wallet. She told herself she must have misplaced it. Then her silver earrings disappeared. And then Viktor found them… in Olya’s school backpack.
Olya was sixteen—fragile, almost translucent, with graphite-smudged fingers from sketching. She lived for drawing and dreamed of becoming an architect. When her stepfather pulled the earrings out of her bag, she didn’t even cry. She just stared at her mother with huge, terrified eyes and whispered, “Mom, I didn’t take them…”
But Stas let out such a heavy, pained sigh and said:
“Uncle Vitya, don’t be too hard on her. Teen years, you know… she wants pretty things. I saw her trying them on when Aunt Lena wasn’t home.”
And Viktor believed him. He believed his nephew—“his own blood”—instead of the stepdaughter he’d raised since she was five.
That year split the family right down the middle. Olya shut down and became like a shadow. And Stas—Stas thrived: a new phone, brand-name sneakers—“Mom sent them,” he would shrug.
And now Galina and her husband had come to “check on their boy” and celebrate Old New Year’s together.
Elena stepped into the kitchen.
“Enough, Galya,” she said quietly, but with such firmness that her sister-in-law actually choked on a pickle. “Leave Olya alone.”
“I’m just telling the truth!” the woman screeched. “She’s a thief! Stasik told me himself—money kept going missing, the money we sent him! He stayed quiet because he felt sorry for her, the little criminal!”
Noise sounded in the hallway. Stas—rosy-cheeked and cheerful—had come back from a walk with the dog. Graf, their old, wise mutt—an all-purpose mixed breed Elena had picked up as a puppy ten years earlier—trailed behind with his head low.
“Oh! Mom, Dad! Happy holiday!” Stas tossed off his jacket, flashing a shiny new watch on his wrist. “Graf and I went out. Stupid dog, though—barely drags his paws, and he stinks…”
Graf didn’t wag his tail at hearing his name. He passed Stas without brushing his legs and sank heavily onto the mat near Olya’s door. The dog let out a soft whine.
“Why are you talking about the animal like that?” Stas’s father—an unsmiling man who smelled of tobacco and freezing air—frowned.
“Just saying,” Stas waved him off. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving!”
Dinner dragged like a burden. Galina dominated the table, praising her son and sliding the best pieces onto his plate. Viktor sat with his eyes down, drinking shot after shot. Elena barely touched her food, watching Stas. He was too relaxed, too bold—buoyed by his mother’s support.
Suddenly, Olya’s door creaked open. The girl came out holding a glass of water. She was pale.
“Look who finally decided to show her face,” Galina snorted. “Olya, you could at least make a toast. For the fact that you’re fed, watered, and tolerated with all your antics.”
“Galina!” Viktor barked unexpectedly—then immediately faltered under his sister’s heavy stare.
“And what about Galina?” she fired back. “Let her say thank you that we didn’t go to the police about her stealing from Stasik!”
Olya trembled; the glass in her hand clinked.
And then something happened that no one expected.
Graf, who had been dozing quietly in the corner, suddenly got up. The old dog, whose joints ached, walked slowly to the chair where Stas’s jacket hung. A low growl rumbled from his chest.
“Get lost, you flea bag!” Stas snapped, swinging his foot.
But Graf didn’t back away. He snapped his teeth, grabbed the hem of the stylish jacket, and yanked hard. The jacket slid off the chair. From an inner pocket—apparently poorly fastened—rolled out a small velvet box and… a thick bundle of five-thousand-ruble bills wrapped with an elastic band.
The room went silent. Not a normal silence—an icy, dead, ringing silence.
The box popped open from the fall. Inside lay a gold chain with a pendant—Viktor’s anniversary gift to Elena for their tenth year of marriage. The same chain that had “gone missing” two months earlier. Elena had torn the apartment apart looking for it, while Stas had nodded sympathetically and hinted that he’d seen Olya hovering near the jewelry box.
“This… what is this?” Viktor whispered.
Stas went white. His smug grin slid off his face, leaving raw fear behind.
“That… that’s my mom’s!” he squealed, darting a look at Galina. “She gave it to me to keep safe!”
Galina, red as a boiled crab, opened her mouth to back him up—but Elena beat her to it. She stepped forward and picked up the chain.
“There’s an engraving,” she said in a voice like ice. “‘To my beloved Lena from Vitya. 10 years.’ Galya… do you also have an engraving with my name on it?”
Every eye turned to Stas.
“She planted it!” the boy screamed, pointing at Olya. “That crazy girl planted it while I was in the bathroom! She hates me!”
And then Graf—who had never bitten anyone in his life—took a step toward Stas and unleashed a deep, thunderous bark. The dog placed himself between Olya and the boy, shielding her with his body. The fur along his spine stood up. He bared his teeth, ready to lunge. There was such loyalty—and such fury—in his eyes that Stas stumbled backward and fell onto the sofa.
“You can’t fool a dog,” Olya said softly, resting her hand on Graf’s head.
Graf immediately stopped growling and licked her cold fingers, gazing at her with absolute devotion. Elena’s eyes burned with tears. That old dog had seen everything: Stas kicking him when no one was home, pushing Olya around, digging through their things. Graf had endured it because he was old—but now he had spoken.
“You… you little rat,” Viktor rasped, staring at his nephew. “You stole from us, ate our food, and framed the girl?”
“Vitya!” Galina shrieked, rushing to defend her son. “Don’t you dare! It’s a misunderstanding! The boy found it and meant to return it!”
“Enough!” Elena’s voice cracked like a gunshot.
She straightened. All her exhaustion vanished. Standing there wasn’t a tired hostess anymore—it was an enraged she-wolf.
“Here’s how it is,” she said, biting off each word. “This apartment is mine. I bought it before I married Viktor. Viktor is registered here, that’s all. And you, dear relatives, are nobody in this home.”
“Lena, you’re going to throw us out into the night?” Stas’s father gasped.
“I’m offering one option. One,” Elena walked to the front door and flung it open. “You pack your things, you take your thief of a son, and you leave right now. This minute. And I never want to see any of you in this apartment again.”
“How dare you!” Galina exploded. “Vitya, tell her! We’re family! On Old New Year’s!”
Viktor slowly lifted his head. He looked at Olya clutching the old dog, then at his wife, then at his nephew—red-faced, sweaty, terrified.
“Get out,” Viktor said dully.
“What?!” his sister choked.
“Out!” Viktor roared, slamming his fist on the table so hard the plates of aspic jumped. “Take your stealing brat and get back to your village! I don’t want to see you! You smeared that girl’s name… I almost threw my own daughter out because of you…”
They packed quickly—furious and messy. Galina cursed the “overfed city bourgeois,” yanking bags around. Stas kept his eyes down, too afraid to look up. Graf sat in the hallway and tracked every movement, ready to defend his people if needed.
When the door finally slammed behind them, the apartment fell into complete silence.
Elena leaned her back against the door. Her legs wouldn’t hold her.
“Lena…” Viktor stood in the wrecked entryway, shaken and crushed. “Forgive me. I’m an idiot. An old idiot.”
Elena lifted her eyes. Olya came over and sat beside her on the floor. From the other side Graf pressed his warm body against them, sighing heavily and laying his head on Elena’s knees.
“Mom,” Olya said quietly, “do you know the boomerang law? In physics it’s Newton’s third law—every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And in life… in life, what’s hidden always comes to light. Especially when there are people nearby who love you.”
Elena wrapped her arms around her daughter and buried her face in the dog’s rough fur. Tears poured down, washing away a year’s worth of hurt, rage, and fear.
“We’ll change the locks tomorrow,” she said, sniffling. “And Vitya… if you ever doubt Olya again…”
“I won’t,” Viktor dropped to his knees in front of them, hugging his two girls and the dog. “Never again.”
Outside, fireworks thundered, celebrating the arrival of Old New Year’s. The air in the apartment felt cleaner, as if something poisonous had finally lifted. The toxic fog had dispersed, and for the first time in a long while they could breathe freely. Graf closed his eyes and drifted off, knowing his pack was safe.