“Would you like some tea? Or do you prefer coffee?” Olga asked, limping. In one hand she held a plate of gingerbread cookies, and with the other, she lightly ran her fingers along the windowsill — as if that could hide the mess.
Igor, her husband, was sitting on the floor by the wall next to their son, Lesha. The little boy was flipping through a bright picture book, while his father quietly told him something, not interfering in the women’s conversation.
“Tea,” Sasha replied shortly, staying in his jacket. He smelled of tobacco and machine oil.
Olga nodded, slowly stood up, leaning on the table, and limping, headed to the kitchen. While pouring the water, she heard Tatiana walk across the room, then whisper to her husband:
“At least it’s clean… Not like at Mashka’s, your sister’s place.”
Olga carefully made her way back, holding cups in both hands, trying not to stumble. On her face was a practiced smile. She pretended not to notice the small barbs, although inside everything tightened.
“Here,” she said, placing a cup in front of the guest. “The gingerbreads are fresh, store-bought, with cinnamon.”
Tatiana took the cup, staring out the window. Sasha noisily sipped his tea.
“Listen, Ol,” Tatiana began without turning her head. “Since you’re home now, let Sasha work on your car. We’ll earn some money at least.”
Olga nearly spilled the tea in her hand.
“You mean… mine?”
“Well, you’re not going anywhere right now, with your leg in a cast. And Sasha needs to work. We need money. So why not?”
Her tone was confident, as if it wasn’t a request but an obvious decision.
“Tan…” Olga hesitated. “It’s a family car. And the cast will come off soon — I’ll need it myself. So… better not.”
“You’re at home!” Tatiana interrupted. “We barely make ends meet, and you treat the car like it’s gold.”
Igor, as if on cue, stood up, took Lesha in his arms, and silently went to another room. He quietly closed the door.
Olga’s face flushed with anxiety. Her throat tightened.
“I’m just… well, if it’s really necessary… Maybe for a couple of hours, for business. But carefully, okay? The car is registered to me, insurance without restrictions…”
“Oh, come on! Sasha drives fine, he’s experienced — right, Sash?”
Sasha muttered something indistinct and took another sip. Inside Olga, a feeling of unease grew. Something told her there was no turning back.
Two days later, Tatiana called. Her voice was sharp:
“Sasha is at his parents’. His mother is sick. Father asked to bring some things. He’ll take your car. Just for a short while?”
“Uh…” Olga began but didn’t finish.
“What, you’re stingy?” Tatiana snapped irritably. “People are in trouble!”
Olga was silent, then hesitantly agreed. They came at lunchtime: Sasha, without even looking at her, took the keys, Tatiana gave a brief smile and left. The car quickly disappeared around the corner.
In the evening, a message arrived:
“Sasha went on errands. Will return when he can. Don’t worry.”
But Olga was already worried. She called ten times — no one answered. Only cold rings. The night passed with an empty parking spot under the window. The morning also began with silence — no calls, no texts. No car, no keys.
They returned the next day. The tank was empty. The cabin smelled of cigarettes. The seat was burned through. A message from Tatiana:
“We didn’t get to stop by — they were waiting for us. The car was locked, we’ll bring the keys later.”
“Tan, I called my sister right away, you can’t do that…” Olga started.
“What’s wrong with you?!” Tatiana interrupted, not letting her finish. “Greed’s eating you up! That’s why no one ever helps you. You only care about yourselves! Stop throwing a tantrum…”
Olga said nothing. She just turned off her phone.
But this was only the beginning.
Later, her mother called — her voice tired but dry:
“Tatiana is raising three kids. Couldn’t you just help quietly, without all the fuss?”
“But they didn’t return the keys. It could be anywhere — in our car!”
“A man without a job — that’s trouble. You’d understand if it happened to Igor. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”
Igor heard everything but remained silent. He only said, going to the bathroom:
“Don’t quarrel with family. They’re not strangers.”
Olga sat on a stool, staring out the window. Then she got up, took her phone, and wrote to Tatiana:
“Where are the keys? Return them today. No excuses.”
Igor came out, wiping his hands on his pants, sat on the windowsill.
“Family is family after all. Don’t spoil relationships over this.”
Olga didn’t answer. She just turned away toward the window. The car was downstairs. Empty tank. Smell of tobacco. And that pissed her off.
On the third day, she couldn’t take it anymore. In the morning, she woke up to Lesha’s crying — teething, the child was fussy at night. She slept a couple of hours. Got up, feeling her way to the kitchen, took a sip of tea, and looked out the window — the car was gone.
“Igor,” she called. “Go check. Maybe it’s there?”
Five minutes later, he returned.
“No.”
Her heart tightened — the keys still hadn’t been returned.
“They took it again? Without warning?”
Igor shrugged.
“I didn’t call them. Why? It seems like before — they returned it as promised.”
“But the keys still aren’t back.” Olga’s voice trembled.
Igor sighed irritably:
“I don’t want to get involved. You figure it out yourselves.”
She slowly sank back on the stool. At that moment, something became clear to her — something she had stubbornly avoided before.
She wrote to Tatiana:
“Where is the car? Return it today. Keys too. I won’t lend it anymore.”
There was no reply. Only an hour later came a voice message — quick, sharp:
“Sasha took a client to another city. The order was scheduled. He’s working a bit — that’s it. You understand how hard it is for us now. Why are you panicking? He’ll be back in the evening.”
No one came back that evening. No calls, no keys.
The next day Olga accidentally saw stories on social media. The feed scrolled by itself — and there they were: footage of her car, Sasha behind the wheel, upbeat music, caption: “Working.” On the map — the route of the trip. Inside her, everything tightened.
She took a screenshot immediately. Put the phone down, sat still for a long time. Then stood and wrote:
“If the car isn’t home within an hour, I’ll report it stolen.” Sent it. Sat back down. And nothing more.
A few minutes later, a call came.
“Are you crazy?” Tatiana’s voice trembled with irritation and offense. “These are family! We wanted to help! Over some car, you’ll rat us out? We’re not strangers!”
Olga listened silently. Didn’t interrupt. Just gripped the phone tightly so her fingers wouldn’t shake. Then simply pressed “End Call.”
By evening, the car was finally returned. She watched from the window as Sasha and Tatiana carefully parked, got out without slamming doors. No one came upstairs. No calls, no words. Only after a while came an SMS:
“Take your bucket.”
Olga stared at the screen, unable to believe her eyes. No apologies, no attempts to explain — only mockery. As if she should be grateful. Her hands trembled, but she typed calmly:
“This is the last straw. I don’t want to see you anymore. No calls, no visits. Forget the way here.”
Igor came out of the room with a cup in his hands. Looked at his wife, wanted to say something.
“Don’t,” she said quietly. “Just don’t say anything.”
He hesitated, then passed by and carefully closed the door behind him.
Olga stayed sitting in the dim light. Without thoughts. Only a slight tremor in her legs and an inner coldness, like liberation.
Morning came late. Lesha, exhausted from the night fussiness, was sleeping soundly, and Igor was already gone — didn’t even say goodbye. On the table lay a note: “I’ll be back by noon.” Next to it — half-finished coffee. Cold. Like their relationship.
Olga brewed herself tea, sat by the window. Her leg ached, her body was sore from fatigue, but inside it was strangely quiet. As if everything had happened before she even realized it.
Scrolling the feed mindlessly, she saw Tatiana’s story again. The same video, the same route, the same caption: “Working.” As if nothing had happened. As if her words were empty sound.
Olga didn’t cry. She just watched the screen until it went dark. Silently. For a long time. Then closed the app and went to the room. Took a box of documents from the closet. Under the papers, she found an old photo: she and Tatiana as little girls, wearing matching jackets, laughing in front of a winter hill. Olga lingered on the image, then carefully put the photo back and closed the box — as if sealing something important and personal forever.
“That’s it,” she said aloud. “No one will touch this anymore.”
The phone rang. It was her mother. Olga didn’t want to answer but picked up.
“Hello.”
“What have you done? Tatiana is in tears. Says you threatened to report the car stolen. That’s too much, Ol. Family doesn’t behave like that.”
“How does family behave when they take without asking?” Olga asked calmly.
Her mother was silent, then sighed:
“You’ve always been headstrong. Everything your way. Never met halfway.”
“I understand,” Olga replied, “I just kept quiet before. Now I don’t want to.”
“Over some car…”
“It’s not about the car. It’s about respect. About boundaries. About my right to my own life. Not to be a tool.”
“Well, look out for yourself. But don’t complain later if you end up alone.”
“Better alone than like this.”
She hung up slowly, without trembling. Went out to the balcony, opened the door slightly — fresh air touched her face. There was no pain, no anger. Only tiredness. And a deep, almost forgotten silence.
Igor came back closer to evening. Brought groceries, threw the bag on the table, muttering something about long lines. Olga listened — didn’t interrupt. Then said:
“You could have supported me. At least once. Not stayed silent, not walked away, but just been there.”
He looked at her like she was a stranger. Then looked away.
“You complicate everything.”
“No. I just stopped making it simple.”
Late at night, when Lesha fell asleep, Olga lay down next to him. For the first time in a long while, without anxiety. Without fear that someone would take something again without asking. That she would have to keep silent again.
And in the morning, she suddenly realized — she expected nothing anymore. And it felt like freedom.
When her son pressed his forehead to her neck, reached out with his hands — Olga couldn’t hold back. She silently cried. No sobs, no sound — as if something old, accumulated over the years, poured out. He couldn’t speak yet, but his touch said more than words. And she knew for sure: now she was no longer who she was. Neither for them, nor for him. And finally, for herself.
