Katya stood by the window, gripping a cup of coffee that had already gone cold. Behind her, pages rustled—Sergey was flipping through the newspaper, pretending not to notice how tense she was.
“We’ll move in with Mom, and we’ll give the apartment to my brother,” he finally said without looking up from the news. “He’s having a hard time.”
Katya slowly loosened her fingers. The cup clinked sharply against the windowsill.
“Then you move,” she said evenly. “Alone. With your things. And the apartment is mine.”
Sergey finally raised his head. His face was calm, but a tight, irritated crease trembled at the corners of his mouth.
“Max has nowhere to live, Katya. He’s in debt.”
“So now we’re supposed to save your forever-loser?” Katya snapped, turning toward him. “We’ve been living like strangers for ten years, and now you want to add your mother and your brother on top of it?”
“It’s temporary!”
“Temporary always becomes permanent.”
Silence. Sergey let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face with his hand.
“You’re not even trying to understand…”
“I understand everything,” Katya cut him off. “You’re choosing them again—not us.”
At that moment, the phone rang. Sergey reached for it, glanced at the screen, and froze.
“Max…” he muttered.
Katya saw his fingers squeeze the phone a little harder than necessary.
“Serge…” The voice on the line was hoarse, broken. “If you don’t help… I’m finished.”
Sergey went pale.
Katya felt a chill run down her spine.
Something was wrong.
Something—very wrong.
Katya wrapped herself in an old robe that Sergey couldn’t stand and buried her face in the pillow. Her husband’s phone call with his brother rang in her ears: “I’m finished”—some gangster drama she didn’t want to be part of. But now she couldn’t stay out of it.
Water ran in the bathroom. Sergey was washing away the traces of today’s fight, the way he always did after conflicts—silently, methodically. Katya closed her eyes, and another face rose before her: her father, drunk and guilty, standing in the doorway of a cramped rented Khrushchyovka thirty years ago.
“Well then, sweetheart, we’ll live at Aunt Lucy’s,” he’d said back then, “she’s got it the worst, alone with a child…”
Her mother hadn’t argued. And a month later Aunt Lucy “temporarily” moved in her new husband, and Katya’s family stayed in that hole with the leaking ceiling forever.
“Are you even listening to me?” A sharp voice yanked her out of the memory. Sergey stood in the doorway; water droplets slid down his bare torso onto the floor.
“I’m listening,” Katya sat up in bed. “Your gangster brother got himself in trouble again, and we’re supposed to clean it up?”
“He’s not a gangster!” Sergey slammed his fist into the doorframe. “He’s just…”
“Just what? Forty years old and still hasn’t learned to live within his means?” Katya jumped up, her robe falling open. “I won’t let the same scenario happen again!”
“What scenario?” Sergey grabbed her wrist. “What are you talking about?”
The front door slammed. They both flinched. A second later Max walked into the bedroom without knocking. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, and a bruise was blooming under his left eye.
“Sorry for showing up without calling,” he rasped, “but I’ve got… problems.”
Katya yanked her hand free from Sergey’s grip. Max nervously licked his lips, his gaze darting between them.
“Serge…” He stepped closer. “If you don’t give me the money…” His voice broke. “…I’ll tell Katya about that night in St. Petersburg.”
A heavy drop of water fell from Sergey’s hair to the floor with a dull plop.
The room froze. Katya felt goosebumps rise along her back.
“What night?” Her voice sounded чужим—too quiet, not quite hers.
Sergey spun toward his brother, blocking him as if trying to hide him from Katya.
“Max, shut up.”
“Oh, what—now you’re scared?” Max smirked, but animal panic was written in his eyes. “Then give me the money, and I’ll disappear.”
Katya stepped closer, slowly. Her hands curled into fists on their own.
“Sergey. What does he mean?”
Her husband didn’t answer. His jaw tightened; his gaze locked on the wall behind her. Max shifted nervously, as if realizing he’d gone too far.
“Fine, forget it,” he waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I just… I urgently need three hundred thousand.”
Katya let out a sharp laugh.
“Three hundred? Have you lost your mind?”
“Katya,” Sergey finally looked at her. “Let’s talk about this later.”
“No, we’re talking about it now.” She stepped forward, her voice shaking with fury. “What happened in St. Petersburg?”
Silence. Max looked at his brother, waiting. Sergey breathed hard, as if choosing his words.
“Nothing. Just empty talk.”
“You’re lying.” Katya snatched Sergey’s phone off the table. “I’ll find out myself.”
“Give it back!” He lunged for her, but she jerked away, managing to glimpse the last message in the chat app: “Sergey, we need to meet. It’s urgent. Lena.”
Katya felt the ground drop out from under her.
“Who is Lena?”
Sergey went pale. Max coughed, as if choking on his own laughter.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “You still haven’t told her?”
Katya clenched the phone so hard the screen crackled.
“Told me what?”
Sergey shut his eyes.
“It’s not what you think…”
“Then explain!” Her scream tore the silence.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
All three flinched.
Katya turned slowly toward the front door.
“Who is it?”
Max suddenly went even whiter than Sergey.
“They’re already here,” he whispered.
Katya rushed to the door, beating Sergey to it. Her fingers trembled as she yanked the handle. On the threshold stood her mother—Lyudmila Petrovna in her signature leather coat, a boutique shopping bag in her hand.
“Mom? What are you—”
“What kind of circus is this?” Lyudmila cut in, stepping inside. Her sharp eyes immediately took in Max with the bruise and Sergey pale as chalk. “The whole building can hear you screaming.”
Max suddenly laughed—nervous, hysterical.
“Oh, great! Now Mommy’s joined the party too!”
Lyudmila turned to him slowly, looking him up and down.
“So this is your famous brother?” she asked Sergey with icy politeness. “The one you’re ready to throw your family out on the street for?”
Sergey clenched his fists.
“Lyudmila Petrovna, this is none of your business…”
“My daughter is my business,” she snapped. “And the apartment that belonged to my late mother—especially.”
Katya felt another scandal brewing, but then a hard bang hit the door—no doorbell, a fist. Everyone went silent.
“Open up, Maxim!” a hoarse voice shouted from the hallway. “We know you’re in there!”
Max’s face changed instantly; all bravado vanished. He darted to Sergey.
“Serge, it’s them… I told you…”
Lyudmila unexpectedly laughed.
“My God, you idiots… You brought creditors to your home?”
She strode to the door. Katya tried to stop her.
“Mom, no!”
But Lyudmila had already flung it open. Two men stood there: a stocky guy in a tracksuit and a tall one with tattoos on his neck.
“What do you want?” Lyudmila asked coldly, not even raising her voice.
The tattooed guy froze, clearly not expecting that reception.
“We’re here for Maxim… business.”
“There is no Maxim in this home,” Lyudmila said firmly. “And if you don’t leave right now, I’ll call someone who will find you very quickly—somewhere you don’t call your mother on weekends.”
Their eyes widened. They exchanged a glance, and the stocky one muttered uncertainly:
“Fine… we’ll… we’ll come back later.”
When the door closed, silence hung in the apartment. Max broke it first.
“Damn… who the hell are you?”
Lyudmila turned slowly, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bag.
“I’m the one who decides right now whether to toss you to those freaks or not. So, sweetheart, start telling the truth—about the debts, about St. Petersburg. And especially about this Lena.”
The silence shattered with the sound of breaking glass—Katya, in rage, hurled Sergey’s phone at the wall. Shards scattered across the floor like the fragments of their trust.
“Enough lies!” Her voice cracked into a scream. “Who is Lena? What ‘night in St. Petersburg’?”
Max shifted nervously, but Lyudmila clamped a steel grip on his shoulder.
“Talk. Now.”
“Well it’s…,” Max licked his dry lips, glancing at Sergey, “his ex. They… ran into each other on a work trip.”
Sergey straightened sharply.
“Nothing happened! We just—”
“You’re lying!” Katya trembled. “You didn’t answer your phone for three days back then. You said it was meetings…”
A sudden crash against the door made everyone jump. Wood creaked under the force.
“Max, open up, you bastard!” a hoarse roar bellowed.
The door shuddered under a brutal kick. The tattooed guy burst into the apartment, and the stocky one followed, snapping the door chain.
“There you are, scum!” he lunged at Max.
Sergey stepped forward instinctively, shielding his brother.
“Get out! I’m calling the police!”
The stocky man laughed and slammed a punch into Sergey’s stomach. Sergey doubled over. Katya screamed.
“Sergey!”
Max transformed in an instant. His face twisted with fury as he charged.
“You touched him, you piece of trash!”
His fist crashed into the attacker. The man flew back, knocking over a vase on the side table. The other thug yanked something from his waistband—metal flashed.
Katya froze. Time slowed. She saw Lyudmila grab a heavy glass ashtray from the table. She saw Sergey, fighting through pain, rise from his knees. She saw the knife in the tattooed man’s hand glint beneath the chandelier.
Instinct moved faster than thought. Katya’s hand shot toward the kitchen block…
“That’s enough!” Katya seized a knife and swung it up in front of her, blocking the way into the living room. Her voice sounded чужим, raw with adrenaline. “The next person who takes a step gets this in the stomach!”
Everyone stopped. Even the thugs. In the sudden silence, only harsh breathing could be heard.
Sergey came to himself first. Slowly, clutching his bruised stomach, he raised his hands.
“Katya… put the knife down. Please.”
Her fingers trembled around the handle. Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“I… I won’t let…” Her voice broke. “I won’t let them destroy everything like back then…”
Lyudmila took a careful step forward.
“Sweetheart, give me the knife. They’re leaving.”
And they were—both men were backing toward the exit. The tattooed one still gripped his weapon, but fear showed in his eyes.
“Alright, calm down…” he muttered. “We… we’ll be back.”
When the door slammed, the knife slipped from Katya’s weakening fingers and thudded onto the parquet. At that moment, a small figure in pink pajamas appeared from around the corner.
“Mommy?” five-year-old Alina’s thin voice cut through the tense quiet. “Why are you yelling?”
The knife lay on the floor, reflecting the twisted faces of the adults. Alina stood in the doorway, clutching a worn plush bunny—Sergey’s gift for her third birthday.
Katya froze, feeling her rage give way to icy horror. The image burned in her mind—her daughter seeing her mother with a knife.
“Alinochka…” Katya’s voice wavered. She took a step, but the girl instinctively pressed herself to the doorframe.
Lyudmila was the first to recover.
“Sweetheart, come to me,” she said gently, dropping to her knees. “Grandma will show you a new cartoon.”
But Alina didn’t move. Her big eyes, so much like Sergey’s, flicked from one adult to another.
“Is Daddy crying?” she asked softly.
Sergey wiped his face quickly with his palm. Max coughed awkwardly, retreating into a corner. The shattered phone on the floor blinked with a dying screen.
Katya knelt slowly, meeting her daughter at eye level.
“Sunshine, it’s okay… We were just… talking about grown-up things.”
“You were fighting,” Alina stated with childlike bluntness. “I heard. You wanted Daddy to leave.”
Sergey flinched as if struck. Katya felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks.
“No, baby… nobody’s going anywhere…”
Max suddenly sniffed and headed for the door.
“That’s it, I’m out. Enough circus.”
“Stop!” Lyudmila caught him at the door. “You’ll tell me everything. But later.”
She turned to the others.
“And now you two,” she looked at Katya and Sergey, “need to finally talk. For real. I’m taking Alina with me.”
Katya wanted to protest, but the words stuck in her throat. Alina silently walked to her grandmother, squeezing her hand in her small palm.
When the door closed behind them, the apartment filled with a ringing silence. Sergey stood by the window, his back to Katya. His shoulders trembled slightly.
Katya picked up the broken phone. On the cracked screen, the last message was frozen: “Sergey, we need to meet. It’s urgent. Lena.”
“Who is she?” Katya asked, and even her own voice sounded чужим. “Last time I’m asking.”
Sergey turned around. His face was wet with tears.
“She…” He swallowed. “She said she’s dying. That this is the last chance…”
Katya felt the floor drop away.
“What?”
Sergey sank to his knees in front of her, as if he couldn’t stand anymore.
“Lena is sick. Very. In St. Petersburg… I was with her in the hospital. She wanted to say goodbye.”
Katya clenched her fists, blood pounding in her temples.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid that…” He stopped, lowering his head.
“Afraid I wouldn’t understand?” Katya shot back. “Afraid I’d be jealous of a dying woman?”
She paced the room, struggling to process it—then stopped, realization hitting her.
“Max knew?”
Sergey nodded.
“He… borrowed money for her treatment. And now those bastards want it back with interest…”
Katya shut her eyes. Everything assembled into a monstrous picture.
“So you… wanted to sell our apartment to save your ex?”
Sergey looked up at her—pain, shame, and something else she couldn’t name in his eyes.
“I wanted to save my brother,” he whispered. “And Lena… she just asked that I bring Alina. Just once. Because…”
Katya stopped breathing.
“Because what, Sergey?”
He rose from his knees and looked her straight in the eyes.
“Because she’s her mother.”
The words hung in the air like a knife poised to fall. Katya staggered back into the couch.
“What… what did you say?” Her voice was hoarse, unnaturally quiet.
Sergey stood still, only his fingers spasming as they gripped and released the hem of his T-shirt.
“Lena gave birth to Alina. You knew you couldn’t have children after that accident. We used… her eggs.”
Katya felt the room begin to spin. Her hand reached for the table automatically so she wouldn’t fall.
“Five years. Five years you kept silent?” Her whisper was more terrifying than a shout. “And now, when she’s dying…”
“She signed away her parental rights immediately!” Sergey snapped, lifting his head. “No one was supposed to find out. But a month ago she called…”
Katya laughed—bitter, hysterical.
“And you ran right away? Took our money? Wanted to sell our apartment?”
“I didn’t know what to do!” He grabbed his head. “Max got into debt trying to help her. Those bastards threatened…”
“Don’t you dare change the subject!” Katya shot up, shaking with fury. “You lied to me all these years!”
Sergey dropped to his knees again.
“I’m sorry… I was afraid of losing you. Afraid that you…”
“Afraid that I what? That I couldn’t love someone else’s child?” Katya exhaled sharply. “From day one I couldn’t breathe without her!”
She fell silent as the terrible truth landed—every sleepless night, first steps, first words—all of it with a child who…
“Mommy?”
A thin voice from the hallway made them both flinch. Alina stood in the doorway, clutching her forgotten plush bunny. A mute question filled her eyes.
Katya froze. Sergey rose slowly.
“Sunshine… why are you—”
“Grandma forgot her pills,” the girl held up a small packet. “She said you were still talking.”
Katya felt something inside her break and rearrange. She crouched so she was level with Alina.
“Come to me.”
The girl hesitated, then took a small step forward. Katya cupped her little face in her hands, searching the familiar freckles and features.
“You know I love you very much?”
Alina nodded, then suddenly threw her arms around Katya’s neck, pressing her whole small body close.
“I love you too. Even when you’re yelling.”
Sergey let out a muffled sob. Katya closed her eyes, hot tears running down her cheeks.
“Everything will be okay,” she whispered—no longer sure whether she was promising her daughter, her husband, or herself.
They stood there together at the threshold—between a past built on lies and a future that suddenly felt fragile. But in that moment, Katya understood one simple thing: it didn’t matter whose blood ran through the child’s veins. What mattered was who held her when she was scared.
“Tomorrow,” Katya lifted her eyes to Sergey, “we’re all going to St. Petersburg together.”
He nodded silently, not daring to believe it. Alina squeezed Katya’s hand tighter.
Outside the window, evening slowly settled, turning their interwoven shadows gold. They didn’t yet know how they would survive this storm. But they knew one thing for sure—they would survive it together
