Anna sank back into her business-class seat and closed her eyes. The plane was descending, and in half an hour she’d be in her hometown—somewhere she hadn’t seen in six months. Six months of grinding work, negotiations, endless reports, and sleepless nights spent hunched over balance sheets. But it had been worth it: last month she’d been promoted to lead economist, and now she supervised three major areas of the company.
Her phone buzzed—her mother: “Annushka, you didn’t forget, did you? We’re waiting for you for lunch. Dad bought your favorite fish.”
Anna smiled. How long had it been since she’d tasted her mother’s baked trout? In Moscow everything felt off—restaurants, delivery, corporate lunches. But at home… at home there was something real.
Or that’s what she believed.
The apartment welcomed her with a familiar smell—a blend of her mother’s perfume, her father’s tobacco, and that particular warmth only home seems to have. Her mother rushed in for a hug; her father appeared with a newspaper and gave her a restrained, “manly” smile.
“So, career woman—worked yourself into the ground?” he said, scanning her. “You’ve gotten thinner. You need to eat better.”
“Dad, I don’t have time for three meals a day,” Anna replied, taking off her coat and heading into the kitchen.
Her younger sister Liza was already setting the table. Twenty-two years old, blond hair to her shoulders, bright manicure, and that careless beauty that seemed to come to her without effort. Liza worked on and off—sales in a boutique, receptionist at a beauty salon, sometimes nowhere at all—“finding herself,” as she put it.
“Hi, business lady,” Liza smiled, but Anna caught something sharp behind it. “How’s your office-plankton life?”
“Fine,” Anna answered briefly and sat down.
Lunch drifted along with the usual talk. Her mother asked about work. Her father slipped in his favorite line—how a woman “should think about family already, not just money.” Liza gushed about her latest admirer, a guy named Maxim, “very promising” and “has his own business.”
Anna listened with half an ear, already imagining lying on her old bed afterward and sleeping without an alarm. But her parents were clearly building up to something—she could see it in the way they kept exchanging looks.
Finally, after tea was finished and the cake plates were cleared, her father cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table.
“Anya, we need to have a serious conversation.”
Her heart jolted. Health issues? Money? Automatically, Anna started calculating how much she could transfer this month without touching her savings.
“Your mother and I have been thinking,” her father continued, “and we’ve decided to put all the property in Liza’s name.”
It felt like the air vanished from Anna’s lungs.
“What… do you mean?” she asked, staring at them.
“The apartment, the dacha, the garage—everything goes to Liza,” her mother said softly, almost apologetically. “You see, Anya, you’re independent. You’re successful. You have your own life—you can buy yourself a place. But Liza needs support.”
“Support?” Anna’s voice came out duller than she intended. “For eight years I’ve sent you money every month. I paid utilities, bought Dad’s medicine, paid for Liza’s courses—the ones she quit after a week. I—”
“Anna, don’t talk like that,” her father frowned. “You know Liza needs to get established. She has to get married, and without a dowry, who will take her?”
“A dowry?!” Anna almost laughed at the absurdity. “Are we in the twenty-first century or the nineteenth?”
“Don’t be rude to your father,” her mother snapped. “You just don’t understand. Liza needs an apartment to find a decent husband. And you… well, you’ll manage anyway.”
“I’ll manage,” Anna repeated. “I always manage. And Liza can do nothing, but she still gets the apartment.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” her father cut in. “Liza works.”
“Where?” Anna turned to her sister, who was staring at her phone, pretending she wasn’t involved. “Liza—where do you work right now?”
“At a photo studio. Admin,” Liza said without looking up. “And for the record, it’s decent money.”
“Decent money,” Anna felt something dark and heavy start to rise inside her. “And who paid for the bathroom renovation last year? Who bought you a new fridge? Who sent money for your Crimea vacation?”
“We didn’t ask you to,” her mother said quietly.
That hurt more than anything else.
“Didn’t ask,” Anna repeated slowly. “Right. You just hinted. Complained. Said how hard things were. And I—like a fool—thought that’s what family is. That I was supposed to help.”
“You’re supposed to respect your parents,” her father slammed his fist on the table. “We gave you life, raised you, educated you—now you’re going to count money?”
“I’m not counting anything,” Anna stood up. “I’m not doing anything anymore. Do whatever you want. Sign everything over to Liza. Give her the moon while you’re at it.”
“Good, you understand,” her mother sighed in relief. “And one more thing, Anya… we wanted to ask… We need to renovate the apartment. The wallpaper is old, the linoleum is bubbling. Could you—”
“What?” Anna turned back. “Are you kidding?”
“Well, Liza has only just started working, she doesn’t have money,” her mother spoke faster now. “And the apartment will be hers, so it needs to be fixed up. We figured about 150,000 would cover it. You can handle that, right?”
Anna felt her world flip.
She looked at her parents—people she’d loved her entire life, people she’d worked herself to exhaustion for, sacrificed everything for—and all she saw was calculation in their eyes. Cold, cynical calculation.
“You’re leaving the apartment to my sister,” Anna said, her voice strangely calm, “so let her handle your problems.”
Silence fell. Her father’s face tightened; her mother opened her mouth, but Anna raised her hand.
“All these years I’ve been your cash cow. I sent money, helped, thought it was normal to take care of family. But you… you’ve been using me. And you didn’t even bother hiding it.”
“How can you say that!” her mother cried. “Ungrateful!”
“Ungrateful?” Anna let out a short, bitter laugh. “Me? The one who carried this family for eight years? Fine. Then let your ‘grateful’ daughter support you now. She has everything—apartment, dacha, garage.”
Liza finally looked up.
“Are you serious? You’re making this whole show over an apartment? God, you’re so money-obsessed. Always turning nothing into a disaster. And honestly, it’s embarrassing to bring a guy here—this place is pure Soviet grandma style. Flower wallpaper, linoleum… gross. It all needs to be redone.”
“Then redo it,” Anna said, walking to her room to pack. “With your money.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” her father stood up. “We’re not finished.”
“Oh, we’re finished,” Anna shoved clothes into her bag. “You’re not getting another cent from me. Want renovations? Ask Liza. She’s your heiress now.”
“Anna, don’t be a child,” her mother tried to grab her hand, but Anna pulled away. “We didn’t want to hurt you. It’s just that Liza truly needs it more…”
“Because I’m not pretty, right?” Anna turned around. “Because I won’t find a man with or without an apartment? That’s what you always hinted. Liza’s the beauty, and I’m the gray mouse. Men line up for her, and nobody wants me with my personality.”
“Well…” her mother faltered. “That’s not exactly what we meant…”
“It’s exactly what you meant,” Anna zipped the bag. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t need anyone. And I don’t need you anymore either. Live however you want—just not on my money.”
“Who do you think you are?” her father exploded. “We raised you, devoted our whole lives to you, and now you’re abandoning us over some apartment?”
“Over respect,” Anna said, lifting her bag. “Which you’ve never had for me—never.”
She left the room. Her parents and Liza stood in the hallway, blocking the door.
“If you leave, don’t come back,” her father said. “We don’t need a daughter like you.”
“Mutual,” Anna replied, pulling on her coat.
“You’ll regret this,” her mother sobbed. “You’ll be alone. Who needs you? Ugly, angry—no one will marry you, you’ll see. But Liza…”
“Liza is wonderful, I know,” Anna said, opening the door. “Good luck. And tell Liza hello—she can start earning for her own renovations.”
She stepped out and shut the door behind her. Only when she reached the first floor did she stop and exhale. Her hands were shaking, her vision blurred. But inside she felt a strange relief—like she’d finally dropped a heavy backpack she’d been carrying for years.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Dmitry, their company’s CFO:
“How was the trip? Were your parents happy to see you?”
Anna looked at the screen and suddenly smiled. Dmitry—smart, calm, reliable. They’d been together for four months, and with him everything was easy, straightforward. No drama, no games. Just two adults who felt good together.
A week ago, he’d proposed. Quietly, without theatrics, over a glass of wine at their favorite restaurant. “I want you with me—not because I have to, but because I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. Marry me.”
And she’d said yes. No calculations, no weighing pros and cons—just yes.
“Not great. I’ll tell you when we meet. I’m heading back.”
“Waiting. I love you.”
Anna pocketed the phone and walked out of the building. A cold wind slapped her face, but she didn’t even flinch. She called a taxi and went straight to the airport.
She wouldn’t return to that city again. Nothing there held her anymore.
They got married in December. A small ceremony at a country hotel, about thirty guests—colleagues, friends, Dmitry’s parents. Everything was elegant and expensive: a designer dress, bouquets of peonies (in December!), live music, champagne.
“You don’t want to invite your parents?” Dmitry asked a week before the wedding.
They were lying in bed, Anna curled against his shoulder.
“No,” she answered simply.
“Okay,” he kissed the top of her head. “I just don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I don’t,” Anna lifted her head and met his eyes. “You know, I used to think family was sacred—that parents are always right, that you have to endure, forgive, help. And then I realized: family isn’t the people who gave birth to you. Family is the people who love you. For real. Not for money, not for convenience—just love.”
“I love you,” Dmitry said seriously. “And I’ll love you when you’re successful, and when you’re exhausted, and when you’re angry at the whole world. I’ll love you always.”
“I know,” Anna smiled. “That’s why I’m marrying you.”
The wedding felt like a fairy tale. Anna in a snow-white dress, Dmitry in a flawless suit, smiling guests, toasts, congratulations. His mother—kind, with gentle eyes—hugged Anna after the ceremony.
“Thank you for making my son happy,” she whispered. “I haven’t seen him like this in a long time.”
“He makes me happy,” Anna felt her throat tighten.
That evening, after the guests had left, they stood on their balcony, watching a snowy forest spread out below.
“What are you thinking about?” Dmitry asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“That I’m happy,” Anna leaned into him. “Truly happy. For the first time in my life.”
“Then my mission is complete,” he joked, kissing her temple.
Anna’s phone buzzed. She checked it and saw a message from an unknown number:
“Anna, it’s Liza. Mom’s in the hospital. Dad needs money for surgery. You have to help—you’re their daughter.”
Anna looked at the screen, then at Dmitry.
“Family?” he asked.
“Former,” Anna said, deleting the message and putting the phone away. “Now I have a different family. A real one.”
He pulled her closer without a word. Snow fell softly outside, covering the world in white. Somewhere, in another city, other people were trying again to dump their problems on her shoulders. But she wasn’t that naïve girl anymore, the one who thought it was her duty to solve everyone else’s life.
She had built her own life. Her own family. Her own happiness.
And she wouldn’t let anyone destroy it.
Six months passed. Anna sat in her new office—spacious, with panoramic windows and a view of the Moscow River. On her desk stood a framed photo: her and Dmitry at their wedding, happy and in love.
Her secretary peeked in.
“Anna Sergeyevna, you have a visitor. She says she’s your sister.”
Anna looked up. Her heart gave a small jump, but she steadied herself.
“Tell her I’m busy.”
“She says it’s urgent. About your parents.”
Anna paused, then nodded.
“Fine. Five minutes.”
Liza walked in—older now, eyes dull, wearing a cheap jacket. Almost nothing remained of her former beauty—only exhaustion, disappointment, something gray and lost.
“Hi,” Liza stopped in the doorway.
“Hello,” Anna didn’t stand. “What do you need?”
“Mom died,” Liza said in a flat, resigned voice. “Two months ago. Dad’s completely gone downhill. The apartment is in terrible shape, it needs repairs. We need money for—”
“Stop,” Anna raised a hand. “Why did you come here?”
“For help,” Liza lifted her eyes. “I know we were wrong. I know we hurt you. But you’re my sister. You can’t—”
“I can,” Anna leaned back. “You’re the heiress, aren’t you? You have the apartment, the dacha, the garage. So handle it.”
“I can’t,” Liza’s voice shook. “I don’t know how. I never truly worked. Maxim left me when he found out the apartment was under our parents’ mortgage, not mine. I… I’m alone. Dad can’t get out of bed. I’m scared.”
Anna looked at her sister and felt nothing. No pity. No anger. Just emptiness.
“You know, Liza,” she said at last, “I was scared too. When I came to Moscow with one suitcase and ten thousand rubles. When I worked fourteen-hour days just to rent a room. When I slept four hours a night to finish my degree and land a decent job. I was scared every day. But I managed—because I had no choice.”
“Then help me,” Liza took a step closer. “I’ll learn. I’ll try—”
“Too late,” Anna stood up. “You made your choice. You decided I was useful only as a source of money. And Liza—the beauty—would have everything fall into her lap. Well… here’s the result.”
“But we’re family…”
“No,” Anna said sharply. “We’re not. You proved that yourselves. My family is my husband. And our baby.”
Liza froze.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” Anna placed a hand on her still-flat stomach. “Three months. And that child will get everything from me—love, care, education. I’ll teach them to respect themselves and never let anyone use them. As for you… I’m sorry, but I have my own life, and I’m not spending it on people who only saw me as a wallet.”
“So you won’t help?” Liza asked in a lifeless voice.
“No,” Anna opened the door. “Goodbye, Liza. I hope you learn how to manage on your own. It’s a useful skill.”
Liza left. Anna closed the door, sat back at her desk, put both hands on the tabletop, and exhaled.
A message appeared from Dmitry:
“How are you, love? Want to have lunch together? I want to see you.”
Anna smiled and typed back:
“Yes. Come by. I’ve missed you.”
She looked out the window—at the city, the river, the endless sky. Somewhere in the past, a girl remained who believed she owed everyone everything, who thought love was measured in sacrifice.
But that girl had grown up. And she had learned to tell love from manipulation. Family from obligation. Happiness from duty.
Now she had everything—real love, a real family, a real life.
And the people who betrayed her once could learn to cope on their own.
Their choices. Their consequences.
