Svetlana closed her laptop and let out a quiet breath. For another second, the grateful faces of her students remained on the screen, then disappeared one by one like lights going out in the windows of a distant building. Something shifted and creaked behind the wall, and she quickly turned up the soft background music.
“Thank you for the lecture, Svetlana Andreyevna,” someone managed to write in the chat before the session ended.
“Thank you for staying awake,” she replied with a smile to the empty room before taking off her formal jacket.
In the hallway, Anatoly was carrying in boxes, panting as though he were moving a grand piano.
“Diapers and medicine. Twenty-five thousand rubles, just so you know,” he announced proudly, as though presenting a trophy.
“And altogether, we spend almost fifty thousand a month,” Svetlana replied calmly. “But who’s counting, right?”
From the room at the far end of the apartment came a rattling voice, honed to perfection over the past three years.
“Shameless woman! I’ve been lying here like a log for two hours, and she couldn’t care less!”
“I was teaching a class, Tatyana Viktorovna,” Svetlana said, taking a glass and walking toward the voice.
Her mother-in-law watched her through narrowed, appraising eyes and accepted the water as though she were granting Svetlana an extraordinary favor.
“The moment my son brought you into this home, I became bedridden. You’re trying to put me in the grave, you lazy, useless creature.”
“Would you like more water, or should we move directly to the second round of curses?” Svetlana asked gently as she adjusted the pillow behind her.
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips and suddenly turned toward the wall—not angrily, but strangely, as though she were trying to hide something.
Svetlana barely noticed. Only one thought flashed through her mind: for the first time in three years, the woman had fallen silent instead of finishing her attack.
Svetlana returned to her room and began getting dressed.
“Where are you going?” Anatoly asked, blocking the doorway.
“I’ve been inside these walls since morning. Now it’s your turn to sit beside your mother’s bed. I need some air.”
He muttered something about how she was “never satisfied,” but Svetlana was already fastening her boots. She had always preferred resolving problems immediately rather than carrying them around for weeks.
Her mother’s house smelled of freshly baked pastries and familiar warmth, which somehow only made Svetlana feel sadder.
“Svetochka, my darling!” Irina Alexeyevna embraced her daughter tightly and sincerely. “Sit down. I’ll make you some tea.”
“Please do, Mom. At least someone is happy to see me without attaching conditions.”
Her younger sister, Vika, fluttered into the kitchen, threw her arms around Svetlana’s neck, and immediately began speaking in a sugary voice.
“Svet, you remember my birthday is coming up soon, don’t you?”
“I remember. And do you remember that last year I bought you a phone with enough storage for half the city?”
“It’s slow now,” Vika said, pouting. “Will you buy me a new one?”
“I’ll think about it,” Svetlana replied, taking a sip of tea. “And just so we’re clear, ‘I’ll think about it’ means exactly that. It does not mean I’m already running to the store.”
Irina Alexeyevna intervened in the particular tone both daughters had known since childhood.
“Svetlana, you need to help your sister. She has school and other expenses. You’re the older one.”
“Mom, I have a household to support, medicine to buy, and sometimes a caregiver to pay. There’s a bedridden woman in my home. That isn’t nothing.”
“Your mother-in-law isn’t your family,” her mother snapped. “Vika is your own blood.”
“So blood relations don’t slow down the way phones do,” Svetlana said with a humorless smile, although an emptiness was already spreading through her chest.
Vika hugged her again. She always did that when she wanted to wear Svetlana down.
“Oh, come on, Sve-e-et.”
“All right. We’ll talk about it. For now, let go of me. I’m not a cushion.”
Another long evening awaited her at home.
Anatoly was stretched out in front of the television with a bottle of beer, the volume blasting through the apartment.
“Tolya, have you lost your mind?” Svetlana lowered the volume. “The noise makes her feel worse. She’s in pain.”
“Mother’s still alive. Let her lie there,” he replied lazily, waving her away.
Svetlana opened the bedside cabinet and felt her blood run cold.
“You didn’t give her the injection. She missed her tablets too.”
“I’ll do it in a minute. Let me finish watching this.”
“Now, Tolya. Not ‘in a minute.’ Now.”
He rose reluctantly and went into his mother’s room. Svetlana remained in the hallway and unintentionally overheard their entire conversation.
“Mom, you should go into a hospice. There would be doctors, proper care, everything on schedule.”
“I would rather die than go there,” Tatyana Viktorovna replied, her voice dry and firm.
“But it’s supposed to be good there…”
“If you send me away, you won’t get the apartment. Not a single square meter. Do you understand?”
In the next room, Svetlana slowly changed her clothes while listening as though the scene belonged to a play about strangers.
So that was what kept them beneath the same roof: four walls and Anatoly’s fear of losing them.
Then another thought stung her. Why was her mother-in-law so certain that the apartment could be used as leverage? It was almost as though she had already decided who would inherit it—and why.
A few days later, Vika arrived without warning and opened Svetlana’s refrigerator as though it belonged to her.
“Svet, have you decided about the phone?”
“I’m tired, Vika. Completely exhausted.”
“Yes, but what about the phone?”
Svetlana looked at her sister and suddenly smiled. A plan had formed in her mind.
“Let’s make a deal. Take care of Tatyana Viktorovna for two weeks, and I’ll buy you the phone. The newest model.”
“Two weeks?” Vika grimaced. “Injections, diapers…”
“One injection twice a day, tablets five times a day, and a sponge bath every other day. Nothing impossible. You’re an adult.”
“Well… are you definitely buying the phone?”
“Definitely. You have my word as an adult.”
Vika sighed as though she had agreed to carry sacks of cement.
“Fine. Two weeks.”
Svetlana went to her husband.
“Tolya, my university is on break. I want to go to a health resort with Zoya.”
“Where?” He jumped up. “What about Mother?”
“Vika will look after her for two weeks.”
Anatoly’s expression immediately softened.
“Oh. Well, if Vika is doing it, then of course you should go. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
He did not even attempt to hide his relief.
Before leaving, Svetlana handed him money and a detailed list.
“Diapers, wipes and medicine. Everything is written down.”
“I’ll buy it. Stop lecturing me.”
From the bedroom came a hoarse cry.
“You’re abandoning me, you shameless woman! Leaving me in the hands of strangers!”
“I’ll be back in two weeks,” Svetlana said, approaching her mother-in-law. “Vika will be here.”
Tatyana Viktorovna unexpectedly grabbed her sleeve with dry, bony fingers.
“Just make sure you come back,” she whispered, without the slightest trace of her usual hostility.
“I will,” Svetlana replied, confused.
The words did not fit with anything she knew about the woman.
Her mother called that evening.
“Have you lost your conscience? You forced your sister to look after a bedridden woman!”
“Mom, Vika is twenty years old. She agreed to do it in exchange for a phone.”
“You’re the older sister. You should be doing it yourself!”
“I should be doing it for whom? I’ve owed everyone everything for three years, Mom.”
The health resort welcomed Svetlana with silence and a long, uninterrupted sleep.
That evening, Zoya burst into her room, rosy-cheeked and full of energy.
“Get up, you hermit! We’re going to the lake. The water is warm.”
“I’m coming. Let me call Vika first.”
Vika answered cheerfully.
“Svet, everything is fine! I gave her the injection and the tablets. Enjoy yourself.”
“You’re definitely managing?”
“One hundred percent!”
Svetlana finally relaxed, and Zoya linked arms with her.
“Zoya, why did you come without your husband?”
“Sometimes it’s healthy to take a break from each other,” Zoya said with a smile. “Although I already miss him. I’d hug him right now if I could.”
Svetlana tried to imagine herself missing Anatoly.
She could not.
That surprised her more than all her mother-in-law’s curses.
On the third day, the smell of burning began hanging in the air.
“There are forest fires,” the receptionist informed them. “But they are far away, so there is no need to worry.”
“And what are we supposed to breathe?” the guests complained.
By morning, the smoke had become as thick as jelly.
“We’re evacuating everyone,” the administration announced. “You will receive full refunds.”
“I had only just started sleeping properly,” Svetlana said in disappointment.
“I’m glad,” Zoya admitted. “I’ll get to see my husband sooner.”
Svetlana returned to the city five days ahead of schedule, unaware that those five unexpected days would reveal more truth than the entire previous year.
An unfamiliar woman was sitting in an armchair inside the apartment.
“Who are you?” Svetlana asked in astonishment.
“Renata Gennadyevna. I’m Tatyana Viktorovna’s caregiver.”
“A caregiver?” Svetlana slowly removed her coat. “Where is Anatoly? Where is Vika?”
“I haven’t seen the man of the house for a week,” the woman replied with a shrug. “A young woman stopped by a couple of times to bring money.”
Svetlana took the caregiver into the kitchen.
“A week? Are you certain?”
“How could I possibly be mistaken? I give her every injection and every dose of medicine myself.”
Svetlana called her sister and spoke calmly, pretending she was still relaxing at the resort.
“Vika, how is our patient doing?”
“Everything is wonderful, Svet! She’s had her injection and taken her tablets. Don’t worry.”
Svetlana slowly lowered the phone.
Her sister lied so smoothly that it was almost impressive.
The following day, Svetlana inspected the boxes of supplies. Most were nearly empty, and half the items on her list had never been purchased.
She called her husband, using the same relaxed holiday voice.
“Tolya, how is your mother?”
“Excellent! Better than ever.”
“And where are the diapers and medicine?”
“Everything is there.”
“There?” Svetlana said, looking through an empty box. “I’m staring directly into it, Tolya. There’s nothing here.”
“Oh. You’re home?” He hesitated for a second, then burst out excitedly, “Do you know the most important thing? Mother made a will in my favor! The apartment is mine now!”
“I asked you about the medicine.”
“I didn’t buy it,” he snorted. “She’s going to be gone soon anyway. Why waste money?”
“What kind of person are you?” Svetlana asked quietly.
“The owner, that’s what kind!” he replied before ending the call, clearly pleased with himself.
A demanding voice came from the next room.
“Daughter-in-law! Come here!”
Svetlana entered, prepared for another attack.
Then she pulled out her phone. Her calls were automatically recorded. She found the conversation with Anatoly, switched on the speaker, placed the phone on the bedside table and walked away.
Anatoly’s voice filled the room.
“I didn’t buy it… She’s going to be gone soon anyway… Why waste money?”
Standing outside the door, Svetlana listened as Tatyana Viktorovna’s beloved son placed a price on his own mother’s death.
Then everything became silent.
Too silent for a home usually filled with endless complaints.
Svetlana looked into the room.
Tatyana Viktorovna had turned toward the wall, and her shoulders were trembling.
“Leave me,” she said hoarsely.
“All right.”
Svetlana collected her phone and left.
The caregiver arrived the next morning, and Svetlana escaped to Zoya’s home to clear her head.
“Svetlana, you look terrible,” Zoya said, pouring her tea.
“Zoya, can you suddenly feel sorry for someone who has spent years draining every drop of blood from you?”
“Yes. It means you’re still human, and the other person isn’t.”
When Svetlana returned home, the caregiver had unexpected news.
“A notary came by. Tatyana Viktorovna called her herself.”
“She can do whatever she wants,” Svetlana replied wearily.
But the puzzle stirred in her mind again. Why would a dying woman who had supposedly already left the apartment to her son summon another notary?
That night, her mother-in-law called for her in a weak, almost inaudible voice.
“Don’t leave me… Don’t send me away…”
“I won’t,” Svetlana promised.
One look at the woman’s waxen face was enough. She immediately called an ambulance.
“Stay still. Don’t try to move.”
The emergency medical team arrived ten minutes later. Svetlana rode to the hospital with them, holding Tatyana Viktorovna’s dry hand throughout the journey.
By morning, Svetlana returned home alone.
Tatyana Viktorovna had died during the night.
Svetlana called her husband.
“Tolya. Your mother is dead.”
“How do you know?” was the first thing he asked.
“I’ve been back in the city for two days. I haven’t seen you or Vika once. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being, Tolya.”
“I’m coming!” he shouted before hanging up.
Svetlana entered the now-empty bedroom, opened the windows and began removing the bedding.
As she rolled up the mattress, her hand touched a folder hidden beneath it.
Inside was a legal document.
A deed of gift.
It had been signed the previous day.
The apartment had not been transferred to Anatoly.
Tatyana Viktorovna had given it to Svetlana.
She hurried to the notary’s office.
“Is this genuine?” she asked, handing over the document.
“Everything is valid. The gift was executed while Tatyana Viktorovna was alive, mentally competent and in the presence of witnesses. The apartment belongs to you. However, to complete the legal process, we need your formal acceptance. I’ll prepare the documents now. May I have your passport?”
Svetlana left the office unable to understand how a woman who had spent three years calling her useless could give everything she owned to her on the final day of her life.
The answer was simple and bitter.
Her mother-in-law had insulted her out of habit, but she had trusted the only person who never abandoned her.
When Svetlana returned home, she nearly tripped over suitcases in the hallway.
Anatoly emerged from the room looking extremely pleased with himself.
“Don’t bother taking off your shoes. I packed your things. You’re free to go.”
“How thoughtful,” Svetlana said, glancing at the luggage. “Did you pack everything yourself, or did you make my sister do it?”
Vika was sitting in an armchair, staring at the floor.
“So while I trusted you to care for a dying woman, you climbed into my husband’s bed?” Svetlana asked her sister. “Well done. You’re growing up quickly.”
“Svet, I…” Vika squeaked.
“I keep my promises,” Svetlana said, pulling a new phone box from her bag. “Here is your present.”
She hurled it against the wall.
The screen cracked loudly.
Vika screamed.
“That’s enough! Get out!” Anatoly roared, spraying saliva as he shouted. “This is my apartment! Mine!”
“Your greed will be the end of you, Tolya,” Svetlana replied with a smirk. “You even removed your official registration from this address to qualify for a utility subsidy. Always chasing pennies.”
He pushed her toward the door.
“Go on! Get out!”
“I’m leaving,” Svetlana said as she picked up the suitcases. “But believe me, darling, this is nowhere near over.”
At her mother’s house, she was met not with an embrace but with an interrogation.
“What happened?” Irina Alexeyevna exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
“While I was at the resort, Vika was sleeping with my husband. Together, they abandoned a bedridden woman and went off to enjoy themselves.”
“It’s your own fault!” her mother shouted. “What kind of woman leaves her husband alone with a sick person?”
“I understand,” Svetlana said, turning toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere people don’t treat me like an idiot. And Tatyana Viktorovna died last night, Mom. Just so you know, I was the one beside her. Not any of you.”
She went to Zoya’s home.
Her friend embraced her tightly.
“Your mother-in-law died? Svetik, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m holding together,” Svetlana said through her tears.
She did not mention the suitcases. It was not the right time.
Over the next several days, Svetlana calmly completed the legal process and registered the apartment in her own name.
No delays. No vague promises to handle it “someday.”
“Congratulations, owner of a four-room apartment,” Zoya said with a smile.
“You know, this isn’t the kind of wealth I wanted,” Svetlana replied quietly. “I wanted a family. But considering what I’ve been given, a home is more honest than people.”
Then she returned to the apartment.
She rang the bell, but nobody opened the door.
She called a locksmith, and an hour later she was holding a new set of keys.
She carefully packed Anatoly’s and Vika’s belongings into suitcases, boxes and bags, then placed everything outside on the landing.
That evening, someone began pounding violently on the door.
“Open up!” Anatoly roared as he forced his way inside and shoved her aside. “What the hell have you done?”
“Good evening to you too,” Svetlana said, getting to her feet.
She took out a copy of the ownership documents.
“Read these when you have a moment.”
“What is this?” Anatoly snatched the papers and frantically scanned the text.
Vika appeared in the hallway.
“Svet, why are my things outside?”
“Because you no longer live here. Go away, Vika. Don’t humiliate yourself any further,” Svetlana said calmly.
Anatoly turned pale. His hands began to shake.
“Mother… Mother made the will in my name! Mine!”
“She changed her mind,” Svetlana replied with a shrug. “Apparently, on the final day of her life, she realized who was a human being and who was merely a consumer. She didn’t appreciate your little telephone conversation.”
Vika picked up a page Anatoly had dropped, read it and shrieked in fury.
“She gave all of it to you? To you?”
Then she spun around and rushed out of the apartment.
“Run after your princess, Tolya,” Svetlana advised. “Otherwise, you might end up with absolutely nothing.”
Anatoly raced after her, shouting threats.
Svetlana quietly closed the door behind them and turned the new key in the lock.
She understood perfectly well that he would try to challenge the transfer, divide the property and start a legal fight.
But at that moment, she felt astonishingly light.
She called Zoya.
“Zoya, I’m home. Alone. And it’s mine.”
“Give me five minutes!” her friend screamed excitedly.
Zoya burst through the door carrying two bottles of champagne.
“We’re drinking to freedom!”
“To freedom,” Svetlana replied.
Then she laughed—openly, loudly and effortlessly, the way she had not laughed in years.
And that laughter was the first sound that truly belonged to her home.
