Lidia had put her daughter Elsa to bed just a couple of minutes ago. She was about to lie down herself and enjoy the quiet of the cozy apartment.
But at that moment the doorbell rang. A melodious chime announced a visitor.
“Well, so much for that,” the young woman said wryly and went to open the door.
On the threshold stood a short girl with short fair hair and large brown eyes. She studied the hostess closely, clearly mulling something over.
“I’m listening?” Lidia asked, frowning slightly.
“Oh, sorry,” the girl started, snapping out of her reverie. “My name is Snezhana.”
“Very nice,” Lidia replied, folding her arms. “Are you here about something in particular?”
“Yes, yes,” the guest repeated several times. “My name is Snezhana.”
“That fact has been duly noted,” Lidia said dryly, irritation creeping into her voice. “So—get to the point?”
“And you’re Lidia?” the girl asked uncertainly.
“Correct. What did you want?”
“Oh, you see,” she began cheerfully, “I’m Artyom’s fiancée!”
Lidia raised her eyebrows in surprise, her eyes widening.
“Well, what do you know, my ladies’ man has acquired a new exhibit,” flashed through Lidia’s mind, and she gave Snezhana an appraising once-over. “Although honestly, why should I care about his collection?”
“You see, I wanted to talk to you about my husband… oh, I mean, my fiancé,” Snezhana went on, smiling nervously.
“I doubt my memories will be of any use to you; we broke up,” Lidia cut her off.
“Yes, I know. Artyom told me. I didn’t come to quarrel!”
Lidia snorted inwardly: “And why would I quarrel? I’m not his wife, and as for who you are—absolutely none of my concern.”
“I wanted to hear from you what he’s like—my Artyom,” Snezhana breathed.
“‘My’?” The word jabbed at Lidia’s consciousness. “He used to be mine…”
“All right, come in,” Lidia relented with a sigh.
She let the uninvited guest into the hallway. She herself was curious how her ex was doing. Lately he’d stopped calling altogether—aside from sending alimony regularly.
Lidia put the kettle on, steeped rose petals in a glass teapot, set two cups and some cookies on a tray, and carried it to the living room.
Snezhana strode briskly along the walls, peering at paintings and bookshelves, running her fingers along the spines. Everything intrigued her.
“It’s so beautiful here! Spacious, high ceilings… The windows are huge, and a park view! I’ve long dreamed of a place like this,” she exclaimed in admiration.
“So, what exactly did you want to know?” Lidia asked, setting the tray on the side table.
“Oh, pretty much everything,” Snezhana answered, distracted, and walked over to one of the doors. “And what’s in there?”
“Don’t open it!” Lidia warned sharply. “My daughter is asleep in there.”
“Oh right, Artyom mentioned he had a daughter. What’s her name?”
“Elsa,” came the terse reply.
“Right, Elsa!” Snezhana turned and headed toward another door. Without asking for permission, she opened it and stepped inside.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?!” the hostess protested, rushing after her.
“I want to inspect every room,” the guest tossed off carelessly.
“Listen, close the door and come out, please!”
“Why?” Snezhana objected. “This is my house, after all!”
“What?!” Lidia couldn’t believe her ears.
“Yes, my house. I’m marrying Artyom, and he’s giving it to me. So I…” Snezhana turned, fixing Lidia with a hard stare. “So, my dear, it’s time for you to vacate the premises.”
“Are you in your right mind?” Lidia ground out, barely restraining herself.
“I don’t give a damn what you think! I came to assess my fiancé’s gift. I don’t want to end up in some dump later. And this will do…” she began.
“That’s enough! Your little circus is over—leave my home. Now!” Lidia’s voice rang.
“Don’t you order me around!” Snezhana snapped and reached for the handle of the next door.
Lidia sprang forward and yanked the woman sharply by the sleeve. The girl staggered, barely keeping her balance, and lurched to the side. The hostess carefully closed the door.
“Get out!” Lidia hissed, feeling rage bubbling inside her.
“My, my, aren’t we feisty! Anyway, listen up, sweetheart: I’m giving you exactly two weeks, after which I’ll be moving in here. Got it?”
Such brazen rudeness left Lidia dumbfounded. It had been a long time since she’d encountered a specimen like this.
“Get out,” Lidia said quietly, but with icy firmness.
“I’m already going. Didn’t finish taking photos, but fine. I’ve got the address. Bye!”
Snezhana darted to her shoes, slipped them on in a hurry, and, not waiting for any physical persuasion, bolted into the hallway.
“Two weeks!” she shouted once more and hurried down the stairs.
Lidia slammed the door and leaned her back against it, her knees treacherously shaking.
“What on earth was that?” she agonized. “Artyom wouldn’t do that—he promised… Or is this just some idiotic stunt by one of his fangirls?”
She looked at the clock. It was late, but she was no longer sleepy. She needed to call Artyom. First, though, Lidia peeked in on Elsa. The little one was sleeping peacefully, hugging a plush teddy bear. Lidia would not let anyone disturb their peace—especially some upstart who fancied herself mistress of the house.
The windows of the apartment blocks glowed with yellow dots. Streetlights flicked on outside, casting long shadows.
Lidia paced the living room. Her graceful hands nervously smoothed stray strands of hair. Her thoughts were tangled, her heart pounded furiously. Snezhana’s words—the new flame of her ex—echoed in her head.
The apartment where Lidia and Elsa lived breathed coziness. A soft sofa with colorful pillows, shelves of beloved books, photos on the walls—everything created the feeling of home. But now the idyll felt fragile, unreliable.
She remembered the arrangement with Artyom: they would stay here until Elsa finished school. The “fiancée’s” claim hit like a punch to the gut.
Unable to stand it, Lidia grabbed the phone, dialed her ex’s number, and pressed it to her ear. After a few rings—the familiar voice:
“What?” Artyom grunted without a greeting.
“How am I supposed to take this?” Lidia blurted, trying to keep her voice down so as not to wake Elsa. “Some harpy of yours showed up and ordered me to vacate the apartment. Is this your cheap prank or a new level of meanness?”
“Okay, I get it,” Artyom said. “The main thing—don’t get worked up.”
Lidia went into the kitchen. The small room with old but well-kept furniture had always been her refuge. Now it felt oppressive.
“Don’t get worked up?” she repeated, barely containing herself. “How considerate of you to send your hound first instead of bothering to call me yourself. Very tactful.”
“You knew the apartment isn’t yours,” Artyom went on, ignoring her sarcasm. “His mother gave it to me before the wedding. Remember?”
“I remember perfectly,” Lidia snapped. “Your mother gave it to us for our wedding. But you ran off, leaving me with our daughter. And if I’m not mistaken, you gave your word you wouldn’t bother us until Elsa finished school. Or do your promises have an expiration date?”
“Oh, stop with those moth-eaten vows—times have changed,” Artyom tried to dodge.
“Don’t wriggle. You promised,” Lidia insisted.
“Yes, I did. But I need the apartment now,” he said flatly.
“You… unprincipled bastard!” burst out of Lidia, but she immediately got a grip on herself. “Just vile.”
“So are we going to fight, or get to the point?” Artyom asked calmly.
“Tell your Snezhana not to—” Lidia began, but he cut her off.
“No,” he said sharply. “I need the apartment. Too bad she invited herself over first.”
“So you chickened out and sent your maidservant?” Lidia shot back acidly.
“Enough chatter. I’m asking you to move out within two weeks,” Artyom stated in an even, emotionless tone.
“And go where?” Lidia protested. “You know I don’t have any other place to live!”
“Rent something. I send alimony, and not a small amount. That’ll cover rent,” he said confidently.
“That’s not how this is done, Artyom. You gave your word,” Lidia’s voice slipped into a plea she immediately despised.
“Cut it out. I don’t have another apartment—at least not like this one. Two weeks is more than enough to look. Understood?”
“No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. Your daughter lives here. I repeat—your daughter, whom you don’t visit, whom you didn’t even congratulate on her birthday. Do you remember her at all?”
On the line—heavy silence, then a sigh. Artyom said nothing for a few seconds, then coldly threw out:
“Two weeks,” and hung up.
Lidia sank into a chair, powerless. It was getting dark outside, and darkness was gathering in her soul.
The night was rough. Lidia barely closed her eyes, tormented by thoughts. The apartment really wasn’t hers. Artyom had the right to evict her. He paid alimony, but rent would swallow almost everything. She saw no way out.
Dim dawn light seeped through the thin curtains, filling the room with gray shadows. Lidia moved about the kitchen on autopilot, making breakfast for her daughter. The pallor of her face and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed the sleepless night.
After feeding her daughter and getting ready for a walk, Lidia heard the doorbell. On the threshold stood Valentina Vladimirovna, Artyom’s mother. Despite the divorce, the former mother-in-law visited them almost daily. She loved spending time with her granddaughter: walking, bathing her, teaching her to walk, and now—to draw and read.
Valentina Vladimirovna looked Lidia over carefully.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, staring intently at the shadows under Lidia’s eyes.
The young woman took a deep breath, gathered herself, and answered quietly:
“Artyom is evicting me.”
“I see… bring me up to speed,” said Valentina Vladimirovna, taking her granddaughter in her arms, kissing her cheek, and, going into the living room, settling into an armchair. “All right, give me the facts.”
Lidia told her everything: Snezhana’s appearance, her claim to the apartment, the call to her ex-husband, and his icy confirmation of his new darling’s words.
“Two weeks—only two weeks! Where am I supposed to go?” Lidia spread her hands, looking around at the furniture. “What am I supposed to do with all this stuff? Throw it out on the trash heap?”
Valentina Vladimirovna lowered her gaze. After a pause, she stood, went to the window, watching the children in the park. Returning, she said quietly:
“It’s my son’s right. It’s his apartment; he’s free to dispose of it as he wishes.”
“What about Elsa?” Lidia reminded her.
“I don’t know,” the woman answered in a strained voice. “I don’t know,” she repeated, going to her granddaughter and stroking her head.
“He promised,” Lidia pressed, reminding her of the former husband’s word.
“Dear, promises are as much a fiction as his tax reports,” she said, sitting down beside Elsa. She looked at the child’s drawing, picked up a pencil, and carefully adjusted something. “Let’s do this: don’t wind yourself up too much for now. I don’t know exactly what Artyom has decided. He stopped keeping me informed of his ‘brilliant’ financial schemes and personal intrigues a long time ago. But you know,” she stroked her granddaughter again gently, “I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you,” Lidia said, a timid hope in her voice.
“I’ll talk to him,” Valentina Vladimirovna said crisply and headed for the door.
“Leaving already?” the young woman asked, upset, seeing her out.
“Yes, I need to prepare the arguments for a conversation with our financial genius,” the former mother-in-law replied, putting on her shoes. Opening the door, she added, “You can’t face him without thorough preparation.”
The woman stepped into the hall, leaving Lidia with a mix of hope and anxiety. The heavy door slammed shut, and the young woman was left alone in the apartment that might soon cease to be her home.
Valentina Vladimirovna stepped outside. The autumn wind immediately ruffled her hair, making her shiver. She paused for a moment, watching the fallen leaves swirl in the cold air. It reminded her of the day her husband Andrei died.
The events were blurred in her memory; her son Artyom had just turned two. She felt again the confusion and helplessness of those days—the same feelings now tormenting her former daughter-in-law. Slowly she walked to the car and got behind the wheel. The scent of lavender—her favorite perfume—lingered in the cabin. Looking at the empty road, she recalled how her own mother had turned away from her in a hard moment. The only one who extended a helping hand was Yelena Olegovna, her mother-in-law. She allowed the young widow and child to live in her large apartment. After the elderly woman’s death, the property passed to Valentina Vladimirovna.
The woman buckled up, put the key in, and started the engine.
“Not good, son, not good,” her voice sounded, addressed to an invisible interlocutor, with an icy note of reproach. “It’s not manly to hide behind that… Snezhana. Cowardly, Artyom. Very.”
She pulled away smoothly. The streets were almost empty. Valentina Vladimirovna drove unhurriedly, lost in thought and memory, running through possible moves for the upcoming conversation.
A few days passed. Valentina Vladimirovna decided to visit her granddaughter Elsa. The door opened at once.
“Good to see you,” the hostess said, trying to hide her anxiety.
“Hello, dear,” the former mother-in-law replied calmly, brushing a light kiss against her cheek. “Where’s our princess?”
“In her room, packing things,” Lidia said quietly.
“Made a mess again?” asked Valentina Vladimirovna, taking off her shoes and walking into the living room.
The sight of the room surprised her: about a dozen half-filled boxes, scattered toys and clothes had turned the familiar space into chaos.
“Two weeks,” Lidia said lifelessly, taking a book from the shelf and mechanically putting it into a box.
“You know what,” the former mother-in-law came over, took the book, and firmly put it back on the shelf, “let’s tap the brakes for a couple of days, all right? Push the boxes into a corner. I haven’t spoken to my son yet. His ‘business’ trips turned out to be… unpredictably long.”
“Mmm,” Lidia murmured, at a loss, staring at the chaos.
“Well then, where’s my little one? Elsie!” the grandmother called, and a small figure ran out of the bedroom.
“Grandma!” the girl squealed, leaping into her arms.
“Oh, my beauty! My darling, my little amber sun!” cooed Valentina Vladimirovna, hugging her granddaughter tightly.
“Grandma, grandma, grandma!” the girl babbled, snuggling close.
“So, shall we go to the park? Show the leaves what an artist you are?” the former mother-in-law suggested, holding Elsa carefully.
“Ah… uh…” Lidia cast a look over the boxes, at a loss for words. Her gaze darted between the things and her former mother-in-law, full of a silent question.
“Until the end of the week,” said Valentina Vladimirovna gently but with unmistakable firmness. “Give me those days.”
“All right,” Lidia exhaled with relief and went to get dressed. Her movements showed uncertainty, but a brittle hope had appeared.
Several days passed. Golden autumn sunlight softly lit the hall of an upscale restaurant when Valentina Vladimirovna crossed the threshold. The elegant woman instantly spotted her son Artyom at a table by the window. Beside him sat a young girl.
Valentina Vladimirovna sat down, addressing Artyom:
“Artyom. I was counting on a private conversation,” her voice was quiet. “Explain the presence… of this person?”
“Mom, this is Snezhana. My fiancée,” her son replied, frowning slightly.
“How touching. However, my invitation was for you alone,” the mother said, displeased. “Not for showcasing momentary infatuations.”
Snezhana felt a chill of hostility.
“Maybe I should go?” the girl offered softly.
“No,” Artyom snapped, and, looking at his mother, added defiantly, “I keep no secrets from Snezhana. She’ll know anyway.”
“I see. Well then, let her stay. The sooner you see the full charm of your choice,” Valentina Vladimirovna said coolly, her gaze sliding over Snezhana as if appraising a cheap trinket.
Snezhana’s eyelids trembled. She felt the blood drain from her face.
“So, son,” Valentina Vladimirovna began, adjusting her pearl necklace with a practiced gesture, “the subject of our conversation is the apartment. Your… ambitious scheme to evict Lidia.”
“That’s a done deal,” Artyom leaned back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed, though tension showed in every muscle. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
“You’re mistaken, my dear,” she parried calmly. “It’s ‘done’ when all parties agree. And I do not.”
“I need that apartment. I’m marrying Snezhana, and we’ll live there,” the man insisted, his voice rising.
“No, you won’t. And here’s why,” Valentina Vladimirovna turned smoothly to Snezhana, her voice turning sweetly caustic. “You, dear, may want to plug your ears or powder your little nose. Otherwise you risk hearing something that could dampen your… naive rapture.”
“Sit,” Artyom said harshly, placing his hand on the girl’s shoulder more as a possessive gesture than a comforting one.
“I merely offered to spare the nerves of this youthful creature,” the mother retorted with mild puzzlement, as if her kindness had gone unappreciated.
“Lidia will move out,” Artyom exhaled, trying to regain control. “I already told her.”
“Let me remind you, young man,” his mother’s voice turned to steel, “the apartment where Lidia and my granddaughter now live is, legally, mine. As is the one I occupy.”
“Mom, that’s a fiction! A formality!” her son objected. “I put it in your name because—”
“Because you preferred to dodge taxes. That’s the root of all your current ‘problems,’” she cut in, making air quotes with elegant fingers. “And you bought Lidia’s apartment too. You signed it over to me, then later, when it suited you, asked me to transfer it back. But the gift tax? You forgot to pay. Convenient forgetfulness.”
“Mom, stay out of my finances,” Artyom’s voice turned sharp. “It’s none of your business.”
“Let me remind you, my dear son,” she said softly, as if doing him a favor, “that I am the sole founder of your two companies. On paper. The very paper you love to ignore when it’s inconvenient.”
“Mom, what?” Artyom’s eyes widened in genuine incomprehension. “That’s just a formality for—”
“I reviewed the documents. Thoroughly. I compared the declared income with the real cash flows. The discrepancy, Artyom,” she leaned forward, “is at least twentyfold. Twenty. That’s not a bookkeeper’s mistake. That’s a scheme.”
“You did the math?” Artyom’s face turned suddenly pale.
“As founder, I have full access to all the accounting. I can see where the money goes. What surprises me isn’t even the amounts,” she shook her head like a disappointed mentor, “but the gall with which you forge my signatures on payment orders. Rather clumsily, by the way.”
“The fact that you’re the founder—that’s all a fic—” he began, but the woman couldn’t take it and slapped her palm on the table so hard the dishes rattled.
“Silence!” Her voice cracked like a whip. “One more word about ‘fiction,’ and you’re fired. Effective today. Do you understand? Not ‘fictionally,’ but quite literally.”
“What?!” Artyom’s face turned crimson; the veins in his neck bulged, while Snezhana shrank, going even paler.
“My companies feed you. I know your real income, and the modest sum you pay Lidia to support my granddaughter. My proposal,” she enunciated each word, “is very simple: you immediately execute a deed of gift to transfer that apartment to Lidia. And starting next month, you quadruple the alimony. Real alimony, matching your real income. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” her son asked through clenched teeth.
“Option one,” said Valentina Vladimirovna with icy calm, “as sole founder I fire you without severance. With all the consequences for your image and credit history. Option two—this stack of your ‘creations’ goes to the tax authorities and the police. Your choice. You have… until tomorrow.”
Artyom leaned back in his chair. He suddenly realized the depth of the trap he had set for himself, counting on eternal maternal indulgence. His mother had never openly defied him before, preferring hints.
“Artyom,” Snezhana murmured in a trembling, almost inaudible voice.
“Be quiet,” he said curtly, pulling away.
Unhurriedly, Valentina Vladimirovna took a folded folder out of her purse, laid it on the table, and rested her hand on it, tapping her red nails on the cardboard.
“There’s enough here to arouse the keenest interest of the competent authorities,” she said, looking her son straight in the eye.
Artyom’s gaze became glassy, devoid of meaning. Betrayal? By his own mother? He hadn’t accounted for that in his calculations.
The woman put the folder away and stood.
“Thank you for the meeting, Artyom,” she said politely, as if concluding a business appointment. “And… good luck with the real estate.”
She left calmly.
A few days passed. By force of habit, Valentina Vladimirovna walked up to the familiar door and rang the bell. From deep inside the apartment came her granddaughter’s joyful cry.
“Little one!” A smile spread across the woman’s lips despite herself.
Her former daughter-in-law, Lidia, opened the door. Her face was tired, but she tried to smile as she let her in.
“Grandma! Grandma! Grandma!” The little girl with golden curls hurled herself at Valentina Vladimirovna’s neck like a whirlwind.
“My sweetie, my sunshine!” Taking Elsa in her arms, Valentina Vladimirovna covered her with kisses, inhaling the sweet, clean smell of a child’s hair. “Oh, how you’ve grown—you’re a regular warrior!”
“Shall we go for a walk, Grandma?” Elsa asked, already wriggling out of the embrace.
“But of course! That’s exactly why I came,” her grandmother confirmed. “Only first we need to dress for the weather, not like yesterday—in a little dress when the wind could blow you away.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” the girl shouted, jumping down and dashing to the hall.
Valentina Vladimirovna turned to Lidia. Her attentive gaze immediately noted the deep shadows under the young woman’s eyes and the unnatural pallor.
“Well, Lidochka? Is your mood on the rise or still in ‘Monday survival mode’?” she asked gently, with a light, barely perceptible irony.
“Lousy,” Lidia answered, spreading her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Honestly, closer to ‘the bottom of the Mariana Trench.’”
“Whoa,” the former mother-in-law drawled, stepping into the living room behind Lidia. The sight was disheartening. Almost all the cabinets yawned empty; boxes and bags were stacked along the walls; heaps of things lay chaotically on the floor. Dusty rays of light leaking through gaps in the curtains only emphasized the scale of the devastation. “Quite the sweep! I hope this isn’t a collection of empty hopes for a happy family life? I expected a mess, but not to this extent.”
“I’m shocked myself,” Lidia sighed, running a hand across her forehead. “It’s as if I didn’t live here for seven years, but amassed junk for a museum of the absurd. Every corner a witness to someone’s stupidity.”
“Whose stupidity in particular?” asked the former mother-in-law, her voice calm but with an unmistakable subtext.
“Oh, don’t make me say the obvious out loud,” Lidia waved a hand. “But am I doing well to be sorting it out? I don’t even know. I feel like Sisyphus, only the boulder is his old ties and my illusions.”
“Sisyphus, dear, at least knew what he was rolling it for,” the former mother-in-law observed dryly. “You, on the other hand, are making room for something new—or at least for air. That’s already an achievement.”
“I’ll dress Elsa now, or she’ll put her boots on her hands by mistake,” Lidia bustled, heading for the hallway.
“Hold on a minute, Lida,” Valentina Vladimirovna stopped her gently but firmly. She opened a stylish handbag and took out neatly folded sheets of paper. “Here. I think it’s time you saw this. So your illusions finally evaporate and make room for common sense.”
She handed the documents to her former daughter-in-law and went to help her granddaughter, leaving Lidia alone with the papers.
Lidia took the sheets mechanically. At first her eyes slid over the text without understanding. Then they stopped. She read again. The blood drained from her face. Her fingers clenched the paper until it crumpled. Despite all her efforts to hold back, tears ran down her cheeks. Silently, as if in a dream, she walked over to her former mother-in-law, who was just fastening Elsa’s jacket. She hugged her tightly, pressing her face to her shoulder, and whispered in broken phrases:
“Mom… Thank you… Thank you so much… I… I didn’t know… I was blind…”
“Mom?” Elsa asked, lifting her big brown eyes in surprise, looking from her mother to her grandmother. “Grandma is Mom?”
“Yes, my clever girl,” Lidia replied, wiping her tears with the back of her hand and clinging to her former mother-in-law more tightly. “Grandma is a mom too. The most reliable one.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt my granddaughter,” Valentina Vladimirovna said quietly but very distinctly, gently stroking her former daughter-in-law’s back. “Nor her mother—especially not. No one has the right to wreck your lives with their meanness. These papers are just proof. Now you’re armed.”
“Thank you,” Lidia took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. “Just… thank you. For everything.”
“So, is the liberation team ready for an outing?” the former mother-in-law asked briskly, dispelling the heavy atmosphere. “The sun is shining, the breeze is fresh—perfect conditions for a strategic walk and tactical ice cream?”
Elsa immediately shouted:
“Hooray! Ice cream!”
Smiling through her tears, Lidia nodded. She went to one of the boxes, opened it, and took out a shabby but clean plush bear—Elsa’s faithful friend who had weathered every storm. Looking at him, she suddenly said with a slightly bitter smile:
“You know, Mom, this bear is the only ‘man’ in the house who has never betrayed me or lied. A reliable plush cavalier.”
“A valuable fellow,” the former mother-in-law retorted with light sarcasm. “Hold on to him tight. Experience shows plush fidelity is worth more than some people’s.”
Lidia set the bear on an empty shelf. A sunbeam piercing the lace curtain fell right on his kind muzzle, lighting it up as if to emphasize: here it is—the symbol of genuine, unfeigned warmth.
