I pretended I was dying and called my children over to divide up my property. I had no idea they’d show up not with an ordinary notary, but with…

Klavdia Petrovna lay there, not breathing. The act had to be perfect. The heavy, cloying reek of camphor and valerian—poured into the pillows by her own hands—now felt less like props and more like something suffocatingly real. She was awkward in this part, but backing out was no longer an option. She had faked it. … Read more

— Pack your things, old hag! — my husband bellowed. But then my son played one video, and my husband slid under the table…

Oleg barged into the entryway long after midnight. He didn’t just smell of the usual—motor oil and metal shavings from his auto shops. Cutting through that ground-in, familiar stink was another scent: sweet, cloying, чужой. Cheap perfume. Svetlana silently raised her eyes from her book. She’d stopped asking where he’d been a long time ago. … Read more

“We’re splitting Mom’s millions!” the kids laughed. But the notary opened the envelope—and they went silent…

“We’re splitting Mom’s millions!” Yegor scoffed, eyes fixed on the closed living-room door. He and Sveta were in the kitchen. Their mother, Elena Sergeyevna, had shut herself in there with a notary half an hour ago. “Lower your voice,” Sveta hissed, nervously turning her phone over and over. “She’ll hear.” “Let her. Today everything gets … Read more

“My chubby wife can’t do anything!” the husband yelled to his buddies—only to regret those words an hour later.

“You don’t get it, guys! I’m the one feeding this whole city!” Oleg Grebenyuk’s voice—owner of the “GrenkI” bakery chain—thundered through his spacious, high-end kitchen. Andrey, his childhood friend, shifted a heavy glass awkwardly in his hands. Egor and Sergey, his billiards buddies, pretended to study the patterns in the oak tabletop. “Every bun I … Read more

“You’re such a dull little mouse,” my sister laughed. Then her husband walked straight up to that “mouse,” and every guest gasped…

The restaurant throbbed. A pricey, airless, self-important swell of hundreds of voices—glasses chiming, laughter ricocheting, and a saxophone that kept pushing its way into everything. Lena sat at the farthest table, tucked beside a column. The perfect place to dissolve into the shadows. She hadn’t wanted to come. She’d begged Yegor to let her skip … Read more

A year. A whole year Masha—my sister—kept feeding me stories about renovations.

A year. A full year my sister, Masha, kept feeding me renovation excuses. “Katya, how could you come over? There’s dust up to my knees—everything’s covered in plastic.” “No, not today—I’m waiting for the workers. I’m basically living out of suitcases.” “It stinks of paint so badly you can’t even breathe.” At first I believed … Read more

“What kind of circus is this? Your family decided pretty fast that my apartment is their backup plan!”

Nadezhda stood at the bedroom window, watching the May rain drum against the glass. Three years earlier, when her parents had gifted her this apartment a month before the wedding, she could barely believe her happiness. A three-room place right in the city center—with a fresh renovation, spacious rooms, and a view of the park. … Read more

“You took out a loan to help your mother, and now I’m supposed to pay it back? Honey, did you get something mixed up?” the wife smirked.

Inna came home after a long workday. Sergey was sitting at the table, staring at his phone. His face was tight, his brows knit together. Something was clearly wrong. “Hi,” Inna said, shrugging off her coat. “Why do you look like someone died?” Sergey lifted his eyes and hesitated for a moment. “Mom called,” he … Read more

“I’m moving my mother into your apartment,” my husband announced. “Retirees deserve to live in comfort.”

Elena was sitting on the couch with a book when Dmitry burst into the room, phone in hand. His face looked troubled, his brows pulled tight. “Lena—Mom called.” “And?” his wife asked, not lifting her eyes from the page. “She wants us to come this weekend. Says she needs help with canning. And there’s a … Read more

—I didn’t bust my back for ten years working two jobs just to end up living in your mother’s kitchen!—I said, staring my husband down.

Marina wiped the sweat off her forehead and lowered herself onto the front steps of her apartment building. Her legs pulsed with pain after a twelve-hour shift as a waitress. In three hours her second job—cleaning at an office complex—would begin. If she hurried, she might manage to eat something and rest a little. That … Read more