— I’m here!
As soon as Marina stepped over the threshold of the apartment, she immediately heard Polina Olegovna’s dissatisfied voice:
“— You took forever climbing the stairs.”
A stool creaked, and her mother-in-law, leaving the kitchen, went to look at her daughter-in-law.
“— Yes, yes, you took forever climbing up,” agreed Aunt Zina, who visited them very often.
The elderly woman entered the corridor and fixed her gaze on a grocery bag lying on the floor.
“— And where’s the second one? I saw you through the window—you were carrying two bags. What happened to the second one?”
Marguerita didn’t want to answer these antics; she was already tired of having to explain herself.
“— Did you visit that old hag again?”
“— She isn’t that old, and certainly not a hag,” the young woman replied, trying to contain her irritation.
“— You’re squandering the family’s money!”
“— And what did she do?” asked Aunt Zina.
“— You know, in apartment eighty-eight lives an old woman…”
“— That woman has a name—Svetlana Stepanovna,” explained Marguerita, and, taking the grocery bag, she carried it to the kitchen.
Her mother-in-law immediately came over and peeked into the bag:
“— And that’s it? Three buns?”
“— Yes, that’s it. I bought the main groceries yesterday: chicken legs, 2 kg of apples, potatoes, canned food, pasta, yogurt, and sausages. This will last us for three days.”
“— It’s already finished.”
“— Strange.” Marguerita couldn’t believe her mother-in-law’s words; she opened the refrigerator and saw that indeed, what she had bought yesterday was already gone.
“— Well then, there’s only buckwheat left.”
“— Buckwheat,” Polina Olegovna grumbled maliciously and looked at her friend Zinaida, who immediately began nodding.
The pot that had held yesterday’s soup was empty. Without saying a word, Marguerita filled it with water and put it on the stove.
“— When will you stop wasting the family’s money?”
“— And why are you interested in my money?” Marguerita asked as she left the kitchen.
“— Mother meant that you’re spending recklessly,” Boris’s voice, who had been sitting on the sofa flipping channels aimlessly on the TV, interjected.
“— How I spend my money is my decision. Didn’t we agree from the start that I contribute 30% of my salary, and I spend the rest on myself?”
“— How cheeky!” Polina Olegovna grumbled, but she didn’t continue her outburst and instead returned to her friend Zinaida, who immediately whispered something.
After Marguerita had signed the papers with Boris, they moved into his mother’s apartment. It was a good deal: they paid the utilities, bought groceries, and had their own room. This decision was meant to be temporary, though this “temporary” arrangement had somehow already dragged on. Marguerita had suggested several times to her husband that they move out; she even showed him calculations proving that the money they spent on his mother was no less than if they rented their own apartment. But every time, Boris persuaded her not to rush, and she agreed.
“— It’s unwise to squander money like that,” Boris said, coming into the bedroom after his wife. “We were going to save up for a mortgage, but you keep throwing it away.”
“— It’s not thrown away,” Marguerita said, removing her blouse and hanging it on a hanger. “It’s Svetlana Stepanovna.”
“— I know her name, that old codger, no one needs her.”
“— You don’t even know her, yet you’re insulting her. Yes, she’s old, yes, not pretty, lives alone, but that’s no reason to insult her.”
“— Sorry, I lost it. How much money do you have left?”
“— Boris,” the woman turned to her husband, “I’m not asking where you spend your money—whether on toys, on beer, or on new sneakers—that’s your right. And I have my right to use my money as I please.”
“— I spend it for our benefit,” Boris looked at his wife in hurt.
“— Let’s not talk about that now. I’m tired, I want to eat and relax a bit. And by the way, where did the groceries go? Next time I’ll go to the store only on Thursday.”
“— But today is Tuesday!”
“— I calculated that we’d have enough for three days, but it turns out they were eaten in one. So go and buy some.”
“— Who, me?”
“— You ate them, so you buy them.”
“— But we agreed that you would do the grocery shopping!”
“— I did buy them. Fine, that’s it—I’m going to the kitchen, and you, if you want, go to the store—it’s nearby.”
Marguerita didn’t want to go to the kitchen; Aunt Zina and her mother-in-law were still sitting there. But she didn’t want to wait until they left, so she went in, silently poured some buckwheat into the pot, stirred it, and headed to the bathroom.
“— She wanders here like a ghost, wasting money, feeding that old bat,” Polina Olegovna muttered.
“— And can’t your son keep her in check?” asked Aunt Zina.
“— I spoke with him, you see, he loves her.”
“— So you’re spending your entire pension on them?”
Even in the bathroom, Marguerita could hear them nitpicking at her. All these conversations reminded her of endless gossip.
About six months earlier, when Marguerita was climbing the stairs—the elevator wasn’t working—she saw an old lady, leaning on a cane, carrying a grocery bag.
“Let me help you,” without waiting for an answer, Marguerita took the bag from the frail hands.
“— Thank you.”
“— Which floor are you going to?”
“— The sixth. The elevator is broken, it’s heavy.”
“— Why don’t you ask one of your relatives to go shopping for you?”
“— I have no one.”
The old woman spoke haltingly, with a catch in her voice, clearly struggling, so Marguerita fell silent. When they reached her door, the woman waited until she inserted her key into the lock and went inside.
“— Come in, I’ll take you to the kitchen.”
The apartment was large, bright, even cozy, except that the decor was reminiscent of the medieval era of decaying socialism: old armchairs, a sagging sofa, a three-legged table, a dressing table, a mirror, curtains.
It seemed as though the entire room was saturated with mothballs.
Marguerita entered the kitchen, set down the grocery bag, and couldn’t help but peek inside.
“— Not much,” she whispered, taking out a bag of milk, a loaf, a pack of rice, and a kilogram of sugar.
“— Thank you,” came the frail voice, and an old lady shuffled into the kitchen.
“— If you need anything bought, just say so. I’ll go tomorrow, I can bring it in.”
“— Yes, I need something,” the lady replied, her voice labored. “I need my pills.”
“— Which ones?”
“— Right now.”
The old lady turned and left for another room, then returned, placing an empty pill packet on the table before taking out her wallet and counting loose change.
“Have we really come to this?” Marguerita thought, feeling an unexpected pity for the woman.
“— Not now; we’ll settle up later.”
“— Perhaps some tea?”
“— No, no, thank you, I have to run home. I’ll come by tomorrow with the pills, okay?”
“— Thank you,” the old lady said, grateful for the umpteenth time.
The next day, returning from work, Marguerita stopped by the pharmacy, bought the pills, and then decided to visit the store: she bought a bun, yogurt, several apples, and a pack of tea.
“Oh, dear!”—when Svetlana Stepanovna saw what Marguerita had brought, she bustled about and opened her wallet once again.
“No, no, you don’t have to.”
“How can that be?”
“If you need anything, call me. I’m in apartment seventy-six. Just knock and ask, and I’ll bring it to you.”
“— Thank you.”
From that day on, at least twice a week, Marguerita visited the old lady. She lived alone; she didn’t even have a television—the old one had burned out long ago, but the radio still worked, so she spent nearly the whole day sitting in an armchair by the window, listening to the announcer. Time had taken its toll: her legs ached, as did her back, indeed, her whole body ached.
“— Don’t you have anyone?” Marguerita once asked her.
“— Everyone’s gone.”
“— Did you have children?”
“— I did, two boys.”
“— And what happened?”
“— Vadim, he loved fishing. That was my husband—he took them along on his boat. They found the boat, but neither my husband nor the children—apparently they drowned, the wind was strong, a big wave.”
“What a horror!” Marguerita exclaimed and clutched her chest.
“It was long ago; I started to forget.”
“So, you really have no one now?”
“— There is someone somewhere,” the old lady said, rising and approaching a chest of drawers, rummaging through some papers. Retrieving a photograph, she showed it to Marguerita.
“— My sister died, my husband ran away, and she was left with three daughters: Angela, here she is,” and with a frail finger she pointed to the girl, “Verka and Galina. I adopted them—what else could I do? I had no relatives of my own, so I raised these. My father sent money, but it wasn’t enough; I even worked part-time in a store.”
The old woman fell silent. Verka even thought she had dozed off, but as if roused from a slumber, she continued:
“— Angela left first; she went to college. I’ve seen her only twice since. Verka got married and moved to Vladivostok with her husband, and Galina is somewhere in Kaliningrad.”
“And they don’t visit?”
“— They’re far away, and who needs me? Everyone has their own family, their own business, worries, and children,” Svetlana Stepanovna fell silent again.
Rising from the creaking sofa, Marguerita approached the chest of drawers and began examining old, yellowed photographs. “A person is born, learns to walk, laugh, rejoice, explores the world, falls in love, builds a family. And after…”
“— And afterward, they’re not needed by anyone,” Marguerita whispered softly and set the photograph aside.
“— Your pension is probably small?”
“It’s enough to live on. And why should I get a pension? While my girls were little, I stayed with them—garden, house, working part-time—but it wasn’t enough. And I don’t complain. The clinic sometimes sends free medicine. It’s just hard to go to the store.”
“— Then let me bring you the groceries. I pass the store on my way from work anyway; it’s no trouble.”
“— Thank you, but please don’t buy expensive items—I’ll give you a list.”
“— Don’t worry, I’m not asking for money. Just eat well.”
Last time, Marguerita noticed how the old lady economized on the groceries she brought: she would cut an apple into three pieces and split a bun in half.
However, the fact that Marguerita helped her neighbor did not at all please her mother-in-law.
“— Stop wasting money! You’d better save it for repairs. Look around: the wallpaper is old, the washing machine is broken, and the TV needs replacing. And now she’s doing charity! Maybe next you’ll start feeding stray dogs?”
“— Where does that anger come from? Svetlana Stepanovna has done nothing wrong, and I’m not spending that much.”
“— A little,” mimicked Polina Olegovna. “You’d better bring the groceries into the house—the fridge is empty.”
“— Ask Boris to go and buy them.”
After Marguerita became his wife, she and Boris agreed on how to manage their finances. And everyone was fine with that until her mother-in-law started counting her expenses.
“— Turn off the water—the meter makes it expensive! And turn off the light in the corridor; every penny counts! And stop doing laundry every day—you’re not working in a factory!”
These petty criticisms wore Marguerita down. She spoke with her husband a couple of times, but he just shrugged: after all, they were living in his mother’s apartment, and she had her own rules.
“— You earn well, and I have a good salary too. Let’s rent our own place.”
“— Mother will be hurt. We promised to live with her.”
“— But what if we moved out right away? What would change?”
“— Well, nothing really.”
“— Then let’s rent.”
“— Not now, but in the spring.”
“That’s another six months! I’m tired of hearing your mother’s reproaches every evening.”
“— If you don’t argue, there won’t be any reproaches.”
“— Easy for you to say,” replied Marguerita, looking at her husband with hurt.
Time passed, and day by day Polina Olegovna grew more and more incensed. She demanded that her daughter-in-law buy only red apples, kiwi, bananas, smoked fish, and low-calorie yogurt. All of these were expensive, and not cheap by any means. For a while, Marguerita tried to please Boris and complied with all of her mother-in-law’s requests, but then she noticed that her bank balance was dwindling.
“— Visiting that old hag again!” her mother-in-law fumed in yet another outburst.
Marguerita was not about to answer these accusations. Just yesterday she had given Boris an ultimatum: either they moved in together, or she would look for a place on her own.
Today, she again failed to buy groceries, which clearly enraged her mother-in-law.
“— Stingy! You bought yourself a nice suit, but you didn’t buy anything for the house! New shoes! And again you brought groceries to the old woman!”
Marguerita went to the bedroom, changed, and, heading to the bathroom, noticed her mother-in-law standing in the corridor, staring intently at her reflection in the mirror. Entering the bathroom, Marguerita closed the door behind her. “I’m so sick of you,” she thought, checking her phone. Boris was due to arrive soon, and she would speak with him one last time about moving out.
She heard the front door slam—it seemed her mother-in-law had left. Marguerita took a shower, did her hair, and threw on her bathrobe when her phone buzzed with an SMS: someone had paid with her bank card.
“Damn it!” Marguerita exclaimed in alarm, thinking she had misplaced her bank card. She quickly left the bathroom, grabbed the purse that was on the bedside table, opened it, and began checking. In that moment, her mind raced frantically.
“Where could I have left it?” But after replaying all her memories, she concluded that she had put the card in her purse—and now it was gone.
“Stolen!” Marguerita recalled how Polina Olegovna had stood in front of the mirror with her purse nearby. “That’s it…” Out of anger, the woman swore. Today, she had received her quarterly bonus and her vacation pay, which she planned to use to visit her mother who lived in another city.
“What the hell is this, she’s stealing now!” Marguerita grabbed her phone and quickly dialed her husband’s number:
“— Where’s your mother?”
“— At the store, what’s up?”
“— She took my bank card!”
“— She didn’t steal it; she just took it,” Boris replied calmly.
“— You knew this?”
“— We’re out of groceries. I’m with my mother at the store now; we’ll be there soon,” and the call dropped.
“Well, that’s just great! What a pathetic family!” Marguerita was truly furious. Those funds were very important to her. She had promised to visit her mother, but now she feared that all her money would be wiped out—her husband knew the PIN, and she hadn’t even hidden it.
“Alright, they had it coming,” she thought, and immediately called the bank’s hotline to report her lost bank card. The account was blocked.
Half an hour later, the door burst open, and an angry Boris entered:
“— Did you do that on purpose?”
By that time, Marguerita was already dressed. She looked at her mother-in-law and, pointing a finger at her, shouted:
“— Thief!”
“— What do you think you’re doing, girl! You spend money on yourself, and forget about the family! How dare you! We planned for you to go buy groceries. And what have you done? You’ve made a mockery of us!”
“— Do you have any idea how ridiculous it looked? We were standing at the checkout, and the card wasn’t working!”
“— I blocked it because it’s mine, and your mother swiped it. And moreover, you knew about it—and I think you even suggested it. Disgusting, I never expected such treachery from you!”
“— Go to hell!” Boris roared, and his mother immediately backed him up:
“— If you don’t like it—get lost! There are plenty of girls; you’ll find someone smarter.”
“— Or more agreeable,” Marguerita added. “I don’t understand how you could do this, Boris—it’s really despicable! Not only did nearly all of my salary go to maintain this apartment, but you also decided to steal!”
“— Don’t start…”
“So, according to you, it’s normal to rummage through my purse, take my card, and swipe money? Is that normal for you?”
“— Don’t be upset, you’d go to the store anyway, and they were trying to do you a favor.”
“— Thief,” Marguerita said bitterly. She stepped around her husband, looked coldly at her mother-in-law, who silently waited to see how it would all end.
“— Are you leaving?” asked Polina Olegovna, seeing that her daughter-in-law had put on her shoes.
“— I don’t want to be in this house, where I’m being used, where no one respects me, where I’m humiliated every time—and yet so much is said about love and some damned respect!”
“— Go, go,” huffed her mother-in-law.
“— Wait, Marguerita, don’t be so angry that you don’t see what’s really going on…”
“— I’m disappointed in you. I believed you, loved you, trusted you, but you took advantage of me.”
Grabbing her coat, Marguerita opened the door. She still hoped that Boris would hug her, apologize, and beg her not to leave, but he was silent, profoundly silent, with only his mother’s chewing sounds filling the air, as if savoring every second of this drama.
Stepping out onto the landing, Marguerita closed the door behind her.
“— To hell with you!” she muttered, and slowly began descending the stairs. That night she ended up crashing at her friend Oksana’s place, who, instead of giving her some rest or even a bit of sympathy, kept pestering her as if Marguerita were to blame for what had happened at home.
The next day she went to the bank and received a new card, but she couldn’t immediately find a new rental. She had to go back to work, and in the evening Nina, with whom she had graduated from college and now worked together, took her in.
“— Don’t be upset, maybe it’s for the best,” Nina said.
“— How can it be for the best?” Marguerita asked bitterly.
“— And if you got pregnant and had a child, what would you do then?”
“— Yes, in that case you’d be right—it would be for the best. You see, I never expected such treachery from Boris. He never considered my money; he even suggested that I contribute only 30% of my salary. I think it’s all his mother’s fault—she decided to economize, but I was mistaken.”
“— I hope you won’t go back to him; it’s unlikely he’ll understand his mistake if he didn’t apologize in person. By the way, did he call?”
“— No.”
“— See, he doesn’t give a damn about you. He thinks you’ll go back to him anyway; right now, he’s standing at the window watching to see if you come home.”
“No, I won’t go—I don’t want to be humiliated like that anymore.”
“And that’s right, don’t rush; at least don’t decide right away.”
“I took tomorrow off; I need to sort out the rental.”
“I’m not rushing you—live as long as you need.”
“— Yes, thank you, but I will find an apartment.”
Marguerita decided not to tell her mother about any of this for now; she still hoped Boris would call, apologize, and beg her to stay. Yes, he did call. But with accusations.
“— When will you come back? Mother has a headache; she can’t cook in the kitchen.”
“— Strange, I never noticed before that your mother had a headache when she ate my groceries.”
“— Stop your whining, enough already—it won’t work like that.”
“I’m not coming back.”
“What do you mean you’re not coming back? Have you already rented an apartment?”
“Yes.”
“That place costs a fortune! Why waste money when you can have a room at your mother’s?”
“You just don’t understand, Boris. I’m not going back to your mother, not to you. That’s it, period. I don’t want to argue, but tomorrow I’m filing for divorce.”
“— And all because we wanted to buy groceries?”
Marguerita didn’t want to listen to this nonsense, so she simply hung up the phone.
The next day, she remembered that she hadn’t bought groceries for Svetlana Stepanovna. “Surely she’s sitting at home waiting for them,” Marguerita thought, so immediately after work she went to the store, bought everything necessary, and went to her neighbor’s. She knocked, but no one answered; she knocked again, and there was silence. Finally, the neighboring door opened, and a man peered out.
“— For the old lady?”
“Yes, she isn’t answering the door.”
“— She won’t answer,” the man said sadly. “She was taken to the hospital—yesterday morning, she went outside and fell right by the entrance. An ambulance arrived.”
“— Is she alright?”
“— I don’t know, but at least I haven’t seen her. I think… Well, these are my gloomy thoughts. If you need her, it’s better to go to the hospital. I just don’t know which one.”
“— Alright, thank you.”
Marguerita looked sadly at the closed door. “It’s my fault for not coming to her and not bringing groceries,” she thought, then turned and began to descend the stairs.
The next day, Boris called her repeatedly—threatening, pleading, or simply suggesting that she listen to reason and stop being angry. But Marguerita wasn’t thinking of him; she was thinking of that old lady who now lay in some hospital. She couldn’t take it and started calling one hospital after another.
“— Who are you to her?” a male voice asked on the other end of the line.
“— A neighbor; I used to bring her groceries.”
“— I see. Don’t you know if she has any relatives?”
“— She has no relatives, only adopted daughters. But I don’t have their contact information.”
“— That’s not good.”
“— And how is Svetlana Stepanovna feeling? Can we visit her?”
“— I’m afraid not. She died last night.”
“— What…”
“— Accept my condolences.”
Marguerita didn’t even notice when she hung up the phone. A cold, empty loneliness filled her heart. Perhaps, in that house where she once lived, this was the only person with whom she could speak honestly. She hardly knew her, and the old lady hadn’t revealed much about herself—who was she, anyway? Just a neighbor, a casual acquaintance—and yet it was so sad, so unbearably sad that she felt like crying.
Time passed. Marguerita had to think about her career to pay not only for her rented apartment—which swallowed most of her salary—but also to live decently.
Finally, she received a document confirming the divorce. Perhaps this was exactly what Polina Olegovna had been waiting for—she immediately called her former daughter-in-law.
“— So, are you happy? You left my son? Or perhaps you did it on purpose—did you have another man on the side? And what have you achieved? Now you’re a lonely old bag, you…”
Marguerita pressed the “end call” button, and only brief beeps came through the line. She wasn’t about to listen to these shrieks. However, almost immediately the phone rang again. Out of habit, Marguerita ignored the call, but someone rang again.
“— That’s enough,” she muttered softly and answered.
It turned out it was a notary, asking her to come by soon to look over an inheritance.
“— Inheritance? What inheritance?” Marguerita inquired curiously.
“— Come on in; I’ll explain.”
That very day she went to the notary and learned that Svetlana Stepanovna had left a will naming her as the beneficiary—and now the three-room apartment in which the old lady had lived belonged to her. Marguerita didn’t tell anyone about it until she received the document proving that the apartment was hers.
“— Thank you,” the young woman said as she approached the door of her new apartment.
“— What are you doing here?” came the creaky voice of Polina Olegovna from behind. “Have you been to that old witch again? They say she’s left this world, so now there’s no one for you to feed. Why are you silent?”
Marguerita took the keys out of her purse—just yesterday, in the presence of the local officer, the door had been forced open, and a repairman had changed the lock.
“— I came to my apartment,” Marguerita answered calmly and, stepping over the threshold, closed the door behind her.
“What?!” screeched the mother-in-law. “You went to her place just for the apartment! You sly woman, you did everything behind our backs! I’ll tell Boris everything; he’ll take it from you, he…”
“— Mom,” Nina said from the landing, “we can hear your yelling even on the first floor. Please come in?” The girl approached the door, knocked, and when Marguerita opened it, she quickly slipped inside.
“— Trying to set up a bordello here!” came Polina Olegovna’s indignant voice.
“— Who’s that?” Nina glanced toward the door where the angry voice still echoed.
“— The ex-mother-in-law, of course.”
“— I think she’s trying very hard—it’s clear now.”
“— Come on in. And what did you bring?”
“— What do you mean? Champagne and candies—it’s time to celebrate your housewarming. And it’s cozy here.”
“— Yes,” Marguerita agreed, approaching the chest of drawers and rummaging through the photographs. “This is Svetlana Stepanovna.”
“— She’s something, a lovely old lady.”
At that moment, something rustled in Nina’s bag. Marguerita recoiled in fright.
“— Don’t be afraid; it’s your roommate.”
“— What roommate?”
“— What, what,” her friend said, sitting down and, opening the bag, moved aside. For a moment nothing happened, then a soft “meow” was heard, and a little kitten’s face appeared.
