Yulia was tidying up her apartment when her phone rang out of nowhere. The number on the screen meant nothing to her.
“Hello, Yulia?” a man’s voice said.
“Yes, this is Yulia,” she answered, puzzled.
“Don’t you recognize me?” he asked in a wounded tone. “It’s me… Petya. Your ex.”
“Petya? What Petya?” she said, completely thrown off.
“Come on, Petya! Your former husband. I’m in real trouble… Could you come over?”
Yulia froze. She had not seen Pyotr in seven years and had no idea what to think.
Pyotr himself had never imagined that, at forty-one, he would end up like this.
Things are really bad, he thought. I quit my job a long time ago, and I haven’t worked since. I’ve probably forgotten how to work altogether. I’m out of money. I can’t pay for the apartment. I can’t even buy food. What am I supposed to do now?
For the past year and a half, none of that had seemed important to him. He had been living comfortably on the money his mother left him after she died. In fact, that inheritance was exactly why he had quit his job.
Why should I work now? he had told himself back then. Mom’s money will last for years.
It lasted exactly eighteen months.
Then one day he opened the refrigerator and found it completely empty. Not even a pinch of salt remained. On the table lay a stack of unpaid utility bills.
“How did this even happen?” he muttered, lying in bed. “Not long ago I had nearly a million hryvnias… and now there’s nothing left. Maybe I shouldn’t even bother getting up…”
He rolled onto his other side. The thought of finding work crept into his mind, but he pushed it away immediately.
Anyone can go get a job, he told himself. Try surviving without one—that takes talent.
And then, suddenly, inspiration struck.
“My God, what am I doing lying here?” he blurted, springing up. “I have an ex-wife—Yulia! How could I forget?”
They had divorced seven years earlier, and since then he had never once cared about how she was doing. After the divorce, he had erased her from his life without a second thought. But now he remembered.
She’s kind. Soft-hearted, he reasoned. People like that don’t change. She’ll help me. She has to.
His spirits rose at once.
I’ll pretend I’m sick. Helpless. I’ll ask for support. Yulia won’t say no. I just need to be careful not to overdo it. Then I’ll see what she can offer…
Crossing himself for effect more than faith, Pyotr picked up the phone and dialed her number.
The next morning, Yulia came to see him.
“You see how far life has dragged me down…” Pyotr said weakly, swaying a little as he let her into the apartment. “They’re about to take this place because of my debts… All my money went to treatment. I owe everyone. I have no job. I don’t know how to go on…”
Yulia looked around carefully.
“How can I help?” she asked.
“Take me in,” he pleaded. “I don’t have long left… a year, maybe less. That’s what they told me. And I’m starving. I haven’t eaten properly in ages.”
“Why not?” Yulia asked, startled.
“Because there’s nothing to eat. No money to buy anything. I even thought about begging… but I don’t have the strength. Yulechka, let me lie down… it’s hard to stand.”
“Of course,” she said. “Go lie down. I’ll go to the store and get you something.”
The moment Yulia walked out, Pyotr jumped out of bed and hurried to the window.
Everything’s going exactly as planned, he thought, watching her leave. She believed me. Now she won’t refuse me anything. I know her too well…
But there was one thing he had not taken into account: Yulia had a new life now. She had a husband and two children. Bringing her ex-husband into that home was out of the question.
So she decided to call her mother, Olga Georgievna, and ask for advice.
Yulia told her everything.
“What should I do, Mom?” she asked. “I’ll buy him groceries, cook for him, clean up a bit… but you understand I can’t keep doing that every day…”
There was only one person Olga Georgievna had truly despised in her entire life, and that person was Pyotr. The moment she heard Yulia’s story, she became suspicious.
Something’s off, she thought. He’s up to something again.
“What should I do, Mom?” Yulia repeated. “I can’t just leave him like that… You should have seen him. I almost cried. They say he has only a year left. Yes, he treated me terribly… but I still feel sorry for him…”
“I’ll help you, sweetheart,” Olga Georgievna said calmly. “Bring him to me. I know exactly what to do. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You?” Yulia asked, stunned. “But you never liked him.”
Never liked him was putting it mildly.
“That was long ago,” Olga Georgievna said with a sigh. “Maybe he’s changed. And people shouldn’t be abandoned when they’re in trouble. Don’t bother going to the store—I have everything here. Just bring him to me.”
“What should I tell him?”
“Tell him he’ll have his own room, a television, and three meals a day.”
At that very moment, Pyotr was already picturing lunch and dinner in vivid detail, remembering Yulia’s cooking so clearly that his mouth watered.
“That’s all?” he asked pitifully, staring at the cup of coffee and the pastry Yulia had set before him.
“You can’t eat too much at once,” Yulia replied. “You said you hadn’t eaten in a long time.”
After his snack, he asked, “So when are we leaving?”
“Right now,” Yulia said. “But not to my place. To my mother’s.”
“Your mother’s?” he repeated, startled. “Why your mother’s?”
That was when he learned Yulia had long since remarried and had two children.
She told him about the separate room, the TV, and regular meals.
Not bad, he thought.
“Well, in that case…” he said weakly again, slipping back into character. “I suppose I agree. Let’s go.”
“Here, Pyotr, this will be your room,” Olga Georgievna said, instantly realizing he was nowhere near as sick as he claimed.
But she kept that to herself.
“This is where you’ll spend your final days…”
“My final days? Why?” he blurted, then quickly caught himself. “Ah, yes… final days… Thank you…”
“And now, lunch. Would you like me to bring it here?”
“If that’s all right. I should probably stay in bed more.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll bring it.”
After lunch, Pyotr resumed his performance.
“I can’t even pay for my apartment anymore…”
“I’ll cover the apartment,” Olga Georgievna said evenly. “And I’ll clean it up too. Yulia said the place is a mess.”
“I haven’t been feeling well…” he began defensively.
“Don’t worry about it. Just give me the keys.”
“Thank you… You’re so kind… I don’t even know how to repay you. If I live long enough to…”
“No need,” she said gently. “You’re not a stranger to me. Stay as long as you want. Just focus on getting better.”
Perfect, Pyotr thought.
A year passed.
Pyotr spent almost all of it lying down—eating, sleeping, watching television.
Now this is living, he thought. No worries, no responsibilities… I eat, I sleep, I do nothing. And she even pays for my apartment…
Another year went by, and he began to feel uneasy.
“Tell me honestly,” he said one day. “Why are you doing all this? Don’t you think I’m just a freeloader?”
“What are you talking about?” Olga Georgievna said, sounding genuinely surprised. “On the contrary, I’m glad you’re living longer because of me. The longer, the better.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe you’re hoping I’ll sign the apartment over to you?”
“Oh, please,” she said. “I don’t need your apartment. All I care about is that you keep living.”
Two more years passed.
“That’s it!” Pyotr finally snapped. “I’m leaving.”
“So you’ve recovered?” Olga Georgievna asked with mock surprise.
“You could say that.”
“What a shame. I’d grown used to you.”
“No, tell me the truth. What was all this for?”
“What do you mean, what for?” she said with a smile. “You’ve been paying for everything yourself all this time.”
“I what?” he said, stunned. “How?”
“Very simply. I’ve been renting out your apartment.”
“What?!” he shouted.
“Short-term rentals. Since the very first day. The neighbors help—find clients and keep things moving. You’ve got a nice place in the center, so there’s always demand. So really, you haven’t lost anything. In fact, thanks to that income, I even managed to build myself a little country house.”
She kept talking, but Pyotr was no longer listening.
Silently, he packed his things, mentally calculating how much his former mother-in-law had made off him over the years.