“Lizzie, where are you? We’re already here!”
Liza stopped short in the doorway of her own apartment, keys still in her hand. Her mother-in-law’s voice carried from the kitchen—brisk, loud, and possessive, the way someone sounds when they feel at home. Liza slowly slipped off her shoes and walked down the hallway.
At her table sat Vera Romanovna and Alyosha’s sister, Lena. Cups stood in front of them, and a plate of cookies—cookies taken straight from Liza’s cupboard—rested between them. Alyosha hovered by the stove, fussing with the kettle as it heated.
“Hi,” Liza said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Alyoshenka gave us a key,” Vera Romanovna said with a pleased smile. “I told you I wanted to bring you my signature semolina cake. It’s on the windowsill. You weren’t home, so we decided to wait.”
Liza looked at her husband. He gave a guilty little shrug.
“Mom asked yesterday. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
“A big deal?” Lena stretched her legs and crossed one over the other. “Liza, relax. We’re not strangers.”
Liza walked into the kitchen and poured herself water from the carafe. Her hands trembled faintly, so she tightened her grip around the glass. In her apartment. In the place she’d bought three years earlier—back when she worked twelve-hour shifts at a travel agency and saved every ruble. Long before she ever met Alyosha.
“You look kind of pale,” Vera Romanovna said, giving her an assessing once-over. “Working too much? Does your travel agency even have clients right now? There’s a crisis.”
“We do,” Liza replied, setting the glass in the sink. “I’m fine.”
“And your sofa is in a terrible spot,” her mother-in-law continued, scanning the room as if conducting an inspection. “You should move it closer to the window—more light that way. And that refrigerator is so old. Alyosha, didn’t you say you wanted to buy a new one?”
Alyosha nodded without meeting Liza’s eyes.
“Yeah… we thought maybe sometime…”
“Exactly,” Lena said, taking a sip from her tea. “In our family we’ve always kept everything in order. Mom makes sure things stay up to standard.”
Liza sat down across from them. Vera Romanovna slid a plate with the cake toward her.
“Try it. I made it especially for you. Alyoshenka always loved my cake.”
“Thank you,” Liza said, breaking off a piece. It was tasty—but a tight lump in her throat made it hard to swallow.
“And really, there’s a lot here you could redo,” the mother-in-law went on. “Look at these wallpapers—so dull. I’d pick something lighter. And the kitchen could use a renovation too. Alyosha, later show me where you keep the tools.”
“Mom, maybe not right now?” Alyosha finally looked up.
“Oh, I’m only mentioning it,” Vera Romanovna waved it off. “I just want to help. You’re young—you need someone to point things out.”
Lena smirked.
“Why are you so tense, Liza? Mom just wants what’s best.”
After they left, Liza shut the door and leaned her back against it. Alyosha came out of the room wearing a sheepish smile.
“Don’t be mad. Mom just wanted to treat us. She brought cake.”
“Alyosha,” Liza said, straightening, “you gave them the keys to my apartment. Without asking me.”
“To our apartment,” he corrected. “We’re married. Or am I missing something?”
“No, you understand,” Liza said, going into the kitchen and starting to clear the table. “But that doesn’t mean your mother can come whenever she feels like it.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you’re making a big fuss over nothing,” Alyosha snapped, raking a hand through his hair. “Is my mom some stranger to you? She’s not some villain—she was just trying to help.”
Liza silently stacked the dishes in the sink. She didn’t feel like arguing. And what was there to say? Alyosha still wouldn’t get it. To him, his mother was untouchable. And Liza was supposed to be grateful for the attention.
That evening she called Olga. Her friend understood instantly.
“Wait—so they just came in and sat in your apartment? While you weren’t even there?”
“Alyosha gave them keys,” Liza said, lying on the couch with her feet propped on the armrest. “He says he doesn’t see a problem.”
“Liza, did you tell him about the paperwork? That the apartment is legally yours?”
“Well… not exactly, straight out,” Liza admitted. “From the start, he’s told everyone it was his place. And I didn’t correct him. I thought—why embarrass him in front of his family?”
“Exactly,” Olga sighed. “You let it slide. Now they think they have the right to run the show. Listen—have a serious talk with him. Now. Before it gets worse.”
But the talk never happened. Alyosha went to shower, then parked himself in front of the news, yawning and flipping through channels. Liza didn’t push. She decided: tomorrow. Tomorrow they’d talk calmly, properly.
Only tomorrow never came.
A week later, Liza got home early—she’d managed to finish all her work requests by lunchtime. In the entryway she ran into her neighbor, Tamara Lvovna. The older woman held a grocery bag and nodded warmly.
“Hello, Lizzie. How are you?”
“Fine, Tamara Lvovna,” Liza said, holding the elevator door.
“Listen,” the neighbor leaned in conspiratorially, “do your relatives come often? Because I’ve already seen that lady open your door with keys three times this week. Tall one, dark hair.”
“My mother-in-law,” Liza replied shortly.
“Ohhh,” Tamara Lvovna nodded with immediate understanding. “Mm-hm. I had one like that too—may she rest in peace. Hang in there, dear. If you need anything, knock—I’m always home.”
Liza stepped out on her floor. Her apartment door was slightly ajar. From inside came voices—and the unmistakable buzz of a drill.
She walked in and froze.
In the living room, Alyosha stood on a step ladder with a drill in his hands. Vera Romanovna directed him from below, pointing to the exact spot he should bore into. Lena was unpacking a large bag and pulling out… brand-new fabric roller blinds.
“Liza!” her mother-in-law turned with a bright smile. “You’re home! We decided to surprise you. Look how pretty—beige, to match the wallpaper. Your old ones were completely faded.”
“Hello,” Liza said slowly, shrugging off her coat. “But… did I ask for this?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Vera Romanovna waved it away. “It’s a gift! Lena spotted them yesterday—there was such a sale. We immediately thought of you.”
Lena held the fabric up so Liza could see.
“Aren’t they nice? I have the same ones at my place. Super practical.”
Alyosha climbed down from the ladder.
“Liza, don’t just stand there. Go to the store and get something for dinner. We can’t leave guests without food.”
Liza looked at him. He was smiling—completely unaware of what was happening. For him, it was normal: his mother and sister came over, brought things, changed things around in the apartment. His apartment, as he believed it was.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll go.”
She went outside and practically ran to the nearest store. She needed air. She needed to calm down. Olga’s words echoed in her head: You let it slide. Yes, she had. And now what? Start a fight? Throw her mother-in-law and sister-in-law out? And Alyosha—would he take her side? Unlikely.
When she returned with shopping bags, the apartment smelled delicious. Vera Romanovna was already in charge of the kitchen, frying something in a pan. Lena was setting the table.
“Perfect,” the mother-in-law said, taking the bags from Liza. “Did you get sour cream? Great. Sit down—I’ll finish up in a minute.”
Dinner unfolded in a strange, tilted atmosphere. Vera Romanovna talked about her job at the school. Lena complained about clients at the salon. Alyosha laughed and chimed in. Liza sat quietly, answering only when someone addressed her directly.
“You’re awfully quiet today, Lizzie,” her mother-in-law finally noted. “Tired, I bet. That’s fine—go to bed early. We’ll sit here a bit longer. I want to tell Alyosha about our cousin Uncle Pyotr—just the other day he…”
Liza stood.
“Excuse me. I have to get up early tomorrow. Good night.”
She went to the bedroom and closed the door. Sitting on the bed, she hugged her knees to her chest. From the kitchen came voices—Vera Romanovna talking, Alyosha laughing, Lena tossing in comments. Their family. And her… she was just the person living here. The daughter-in-law, on probation in her own home.
Alyosha came in an hour later. He sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“So what, you’re offended again? Mom tried. She wanted to help.”
“Alyosha, this is my apartment,” Liza said softly. “And I didn’t ask anyone to change anything.”
“Our apartment,” he corrected, already irritated. “Or are you going to keep reminding me? Like I’m living here on borrowed rights?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking it,” Alyosha snapped, standing up. “You know what? I’m sick of this. Mom is trying to help us, and you turn your nose up at it. Ungrateful.”
He went to the bathroom and slammed the door. Liza lay down, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Sleep wouldn’t come. Images kept flashing in her mind: how she’d saved for this place, how happy she’d been when she got the keys, how she’d built each corner with care. Her place. The first home she ever owned. And now…
The next day she stayed late at work. When she came home, Alyosha was gone—there was a note on the fridge saying he was at his parents’ place. Liza walked through the rooms. The new blinds did look nice. But they weren’t her blinds. She hadn’t chosen them.
On Friday, it happened again. Liza came in and found Vera Romanovna in the kitchen, pulling everything out of the cabinets.
“Oh, Lizzie!” she turned. “I decided to organize things. Look at this chaos—grains all mixed together, jars not labeled. I’ll rearrange everything properly.”
“Vera Romanovna,” Liza said, trying to stay calm, “I don’t need help. I know where everything is.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” the mother-in-law didn’t even pause. “It’s nothing. You’ll see how convenient it is when I’m done. Alyosha has been complaining for ages that everything here is all over the place.”
“Alyosha complained?” Liza repeated.
“Of course. He’s a boy—he’s not used to disorder. In our house there was always perfect cleanliness.”
Liza turned and left the kitchen. She took out her phone and called Alyosha. He didn’t answer right away.
“Yeah?” he finally said.
“Your mom is here. Again. She’s going through the cabinets.”
“So what?” His voice was indifferent. “Let her help if she wants.”
“Alyosha, I don’t want her help!”
“Liza, stop with the hysteria,” he raised his voice. “Do you even realize how bad you’re behaving? My mother is trying for you, and you—”
“For me?” Something inside Liza snapped. “She doesn’t even ask whether I want any of this!”
“Because it’s obvious you do!” Alyosha barked. “You always have everything half-done, I just kept quiet so I wouldn’t hurt your feelings. Mom saw it and decided to fix it. That’s a normal reaction from a normal person!”
Liza muted the phone and set it down. Her hands were shaking. She went into the bedroom and locked the door. Vera Romanovna kept working in the kitchen; dishes clinked as she moved things around.
Half an hour later there was a knock.
“Lizzie, I’m finished! Come look how nice it is!”
Liza didn’t answer. Ten minutes later the front door slammed—the mother-in-law had left. Liza came out into the kitchen. Everything had been rearranged. Grains sorted by size, labels facing forward, plates grouped by color. Someone else’s hands had imposed someone else’s order on her home.
On Saturday Liza’s parents came over. Boris Petrovich noticed the changes immediately.
“What are these new things on the windows? You said you liked it the way it was.”
Liza told them everything. Her father listened without interrupting, his face hardening by the minute. Her mother, Svetlana Ivanovna, shook her head.
“Sweetheart, you should have set boundaries right away.”
“What boundaries?” Boris Petrovich stood up. “Liza—bring your purchase contract. Now.”
Liza pulled the folder of documents from the wardrobe. Her father spread the papers on the table and ran his finger along the lines.
“Look. The apartment is in your name. Purchased on March 8, 2022. That’s a year before your wedding. No prenup. Which means by law it’s your separate property, not marital property. Does Alyosha even know this?”
“I thought he understood,” Liza said. “But he tells everyone it’s his.”
“I see,” her father said, neatly stacking the papers. “And you stay silent and tolerate it. Liza, you’re a grown woman. Why are you letting people wipe their feet on you?”
“Dad, I didn’t want to hurt him…”
“Hurt him?” Boris Petrovich gave a short, humorless laugh. “And he isn’t hurting you? Bringing his mother here to command the place like it’s hers? Listen—I’m not letting this go. Where’s Alyosha?”
“At his parents’,” Liza said tightly. “Dad, no scandal. I’ll handle it.”
“When?” Svetlana Ivanovna took her daughter’s hand. “Liza, I get it—you love him. But love isn’t humiliation. If he doesn’t respect your space now, what happens later?”
They stayed until evening, talking about everything—work, neighbors, summer plans. But the weight in Liza’s chest didn’t lift. Her parents were right. She’d backed herself into a corner because she didn’t want to hurt her husband. And now what? How did she get out?
On Monday, the thing that finally overflowed the cup happened. Liza came home from work and couldn’t open the door. The key turned, but the lock jammed. She tugged the handle a few times—nothing.
She called Alyosha.
“Our lock is broken. I can’t get inside.”
“Really?” he sounded surprised. “That’s weird. Mom called today—said she hired a locksmith. The lock was old, so she decided to replace it.”
“She did what?” Liza felt heat surge through her.
“She replaced the lock. She said the old one stuck. She’ll come by soon with the new keys.”
“Alyosha,” Liza gripped the phone so hard her knuckles went white, “this is my apartment. No one has the right to change locks here without my permission!”
“Liza, stop,” he was irritated now. “What do you mean your apartment? Cut it out. We’re husband and wife—am I missing something?”
“You’re missing everything,” Liza heard her own voice crack. “Everything!”
She hung up. She stood in front of her own door—unable to enter her own home—because her mother-in-law had decided to change the lock. Without asking. In Liza’s apartment.
Twenty minutes later Vera Romanovna appeared, walking with confident steps, keys in her hand.
“Lizzie, here!” she said cheerfully. “New keys. Look how shiny. Great locksmith—he did it in half an hour.”
“Vera Romanovna,” Liza took the keys, “you didn’t have the right.”
“What?” her mother-in-law frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t have the right to change the lock in my apartment.”
“In your apartment?” Vera Romanovna straightened. “Liza, what are you even saying? This is my son’s apartment. He lives here—he’s the man of the house. And I’m his mother, so I have every right to help him set up his home.”
“It’s not his apartment,” Liza said calmly. “It’s in my name. I bought it before we were married.”
Vera Romanovna froze. She stared as if Liza had suddenly started speaking Chinese.
“What nonsense is this? Alyosha himself said it was his apartment!”
“Alyosha lied.”
“You…” her mother-in-law pressed her lips together. “So you’ve been deceiving us? Pretending?”
“I didn’t deceive anyone,” Liza said, unlocking the door with the new key. “I simply didn’t correct your son when he introduced the apartment as his. Now I see that was a mistake.”
Vera Romanovna turned and walked away without even saying goodbye. Liza stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The new lock clicked softly, clean and final.
That evening the whole family stormed in. Alyosha came first, face flushed, eyes furious. Behind him were Vera Romanovna, Lena, and Lena’s husband Igor. The mother-in-law carried furniture catalogs and wallpaper samples.
“Sit,” Vera Romanovna pointed at a chair. “We need to talk.”
“I’m in my own home,” Liza stayed standing. “I can stand if I want.”
“Liza, don’t start,” Alyosha stepped forward. “Mom wants to discuss renovations. We decided to surprise you.”
“What renovations?” Liza looked at him.
“Here,” Vera Romanovna opened a catalog. “I picked wallpaper. New furniture. Alyosha already arranged the workers—they’ll start on Wednesday. You’ll stay with me while it’s happening.”
“No,” Liza said.
“What do you mean, no?” Lena leaned forward.
“There will be no renovation.”
“And why not?” Vera Romanovna raised her voice. “Alyosha is the owner here—he decided!” She turned sharply toward her son. “Why is your wife acting like she’s the boss? Is this even her apartment?”
“Alyosha isn’t the owner,” Liza said, walking to the cabinet and pulling out her folder of documents. “This apartment is mine. Bought with my money on March 8, 2022. A year before our wedding.”
She laid the purchase agreement on the table. Vera Romanovna snatched the papers and skimmed the lines. Her face went white, then flushed crimson.
“Alyosha! Did you know about this?”
Alyosha shifted awkwardly, stepping from foot to foot.
“Well… I thought… we’re married, so it’s all shared…”
“Shared?” Lena walked up and yanked the contract from her mother’s hands. “So she’s just using you! Living on her territory like—like some freeloader!”
“Lena, let’s go,” Igor said quietly, touching her elbow. “This isn’t our business.”
“How is it not?” Lena flung his hand off. “That’s my brother—”
“Your brother is a grown man,” Igor snapped, voice rising. “And it’s time he learns to deal with his own life.”
Vera Romanovna rose slowly. Her face had gone hard as stone.
“I always said you weren’t from our circle. You deceived us. You pretended.”
“I didn’t deceive anyone,” Liza met her gaze. “Your son told everyone the apartment was his. I didn’t correct him because I didn’t want to humiliate him in front of you.”
“Humiliate?” Vera Romanovna shrugged into her coat. “Alyosha, pack your things. You’re coming with me. You won’t live here out of pity.”
Alyosha stared—first at his mother, then at his wife. Silent.
“You’re coming?” Vera Romanovna asked, quiet and dangerous.
He dropped his head.
“Mom, I—”
“I see,” the mother-in-law turned toward the door. “Lena, let’s go. Let them enjoy themselves.”
Lena tossed the keys onto the table with a sharp clatter.
“Here. Take your keys. And your apartment. Congratulations.”
Igor turned back at the doorway and gave an awkward nod.
“I’m sorry about all this.”
The door slammed shut. Only Liza and Alyosha remained. The silence pressed down on them until Alyosha finally snapped.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Made a circus out of me in front of my whole family!”
“I defended my rights,” Liza said, picking up the keys. “And you lied to your mother. Why did you tell her the apartment was yours?”
“Because…” he stumbled. “Because that’s how it’s supposed to be! A man is supposed to be the owner!”
“The owner of someone else’s home?”
“You’re my wife! That means it’s all ours!”
“Not by law,” Liza said, dropping onto the couch, exhausted. “It’s my separate property. I bought it before we were married.”
Alyosha paced the room.
“So what now? You think I should pay you rent? Like a tenant?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you mean it!” he spun toward her. “You know what? Mom’s right. I’m not living here like some freeloader!”
He disappeared into the bedroom and slammed the door. Liza sat staring at nothing. Had she done the right thing? Or should she have swallowed it again—like she always did?
For three days they barely spoke. Alyosha came home late and left early. In the evenings he spent hours on the phone—judging by his tone, with his mother or sister. Liza didn’t interfere. She gave him space to think.
On the fourth day she came home from work and found him in the bedroom with a bag. He was packing.
“You’re leaving?” Liza asked from the doorway.
Alyosha nodded without looking up.
“Yes. Mom’s right. I can’t live in your apartment. It’s… humiliating.”
“Got it,” Liza leaned against the frame. “I’m not going to stop you.”
“Exactly,” he zipped the bag. “You don’t even care.”
“Alyosha, I do care,” Liza said quietly. “But I’m not going to apologize for protecting my home.”
He walked past her without answering. A minute later the front door slammed. Liza went to the window and watched him get into the car and drive away.
Olga showed up an hour after Liza called. She brought pizza and juice.
“Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Liza told her. Olga listened, nodding.
“And how do you feel?”
“Strange,” Liza said, looking around the apartment. “It feels like I did the right thing. So why does it still feel so awful?”
“Because you love him,” Olga took her hand. “Liza—real question. Is he really the person you want to spend your life with? He can’t say no to his mother. He lied about the apartment. And when the truth came out, he got angry at you instead of apologizing.”
“I don’t know,” Liza covered her face with her hands. “He’s not a bad person. He’s just… weak.”
“Weakness is still a character trait,” Olga said softly. “And you’d be the one living with it.”
The week crawled by. Alyosha didn’t call. Liza didn’t either. She went to work, came home to an empty apartment, cooked dinner for one. In the evenings she sat by the window, watching city lights, thinking.
On the eighth day, coming home from work, she found Alyosha on the stairwell. He sat on a step hugging a backpack. He looked worn out—red eyes, stubble, a wrinkled jacket.
“Hi,” he lifted his head. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”
Liza opened the door and let him in without a word. Alyosha went to the kitchen, sat down, and put the backpack beside him.
“A week at my mom’s was a test,” he began, not meeting her eyes. “Every day she talked about you—how calculating you are, how you tricked everyone. Lena keeps pouring gasoline on it. They’re telling me to file for divorce.”
“And?” Liza sat across from him.
“And I realized,” Alyosha said, voice rising, “that Mom will never let us live peacefully. She thinks I should only listen to her. And you… you’re a competitor to her.”
“Alyosha…”
“Let me finish,” he cut in. “I was an idiot. It was convenient for me that you didn’t correct me when I said the apartment was mine. It fed my ego—around friends, around relatives. ‘Look how great I am, I bought my wife an apartment.’”
“You didn’t buy me an apartment,” Liza said quietly. “I bought it myself.”
“I know!” Alyosha slammed his fist lightly on the table. “I know now. And I’m ashamed. I stole your achievement. I lied to everyone. And worst of all—I lied to myself.”
Liza stayed silent, waiting.
“I want everything to be honest,” Alyosha said, pulling an envelope from his backpack. “Here—your bank details. This is my share for living here. I’ll pay every month. Half the utilities too. And groceries. I have no right to act like you’re obligated to support me.”
Liza took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a sheet with bank details and a calculation—half the market rent.
“Alyosha, I don’t need rent from you.”
“I do,” he said stubbornly, jaw tight. “Otherwise I’ll feel like a parasite. Do you understand? I want to be your husband, not a freeloader.”
“Okay,” Liza said, setting the envelope aside. “Let’s do it differently. You cover all the utilities. And groceries. But no rent—because this is our home. Mine legally, but ours in real life.”
Alyosha nodded slowly.
“Deal. And I want you to know—I called Mom. I told her the truth about the apartment. She exploded, screaming that you fooled me. I told her it was me who lied. And that I’m choosing you. If she wants a relationship with me, she’ll have to accept it and respect my wife.”
“What did she say?” Liza asked.
“She hung up,” Alyosha gave a bleak half-smile. “Then Lena texted. Called me weak. Said I’m whipped. But I… I don’t care. I’m tired of being Mommy’s little boy. I want to be just your husband.”
Liza reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.
“Alyosha, I don’t need a perfect husband. I need an honest one. One who isn’t afraid to tell the truth. And one who’s on my side when it matters.”
“I’ll try,” he squeezed her fingers. “Just give me a chance.”
They sat in silence, holding hands. Outside, dusk thickened. A car hummed somewhere, a dog barked somewhere else. Ordinary life went on.
“Liza,” Alyosha said finally, “can I stay?”
“You can,” she smiled faintly. “This is your home too.”
A month passed.
On a Saturday morning Liza walked into the kitchen and found Alyosha at the table with a notebook, writing something with a concentrated frown.
“What’s that?” she asked, peering over his shoulder.
“A grocery list. And I’m calculating utilities—our bills came yesterday.”
Liza sat beside him and poured herself juice.
“Alyosha, listen. Mom called.”
“Your mom?” he looked up. “Sure, we’ll go.”
“No,” Liza shook her head. “Your mom. Vera Romanovna called. She said she wants to talk. And she wants me to come too.”
Alyosha set down his pen.
“Seriously? First time in a month she reaches out—and she invites us over?”
“Yeah. I don’t know if we should go.”
“We’ll go,” Alyosha said, taking her hand. “Together. If it turns ugly, we just leave.”
On Sunday they drove to Vera Romanovna’s. Liza was nervous, though she tried not to show it. Alyosha held her hand the whole way.
His mother opened the door. She looked tense, but nodded politely.
“Come in.”
In the living room Lena and Igor were waiting. The atmosphere felt tight—everyone sat upright, like they were about to take an exam.
“Sit,” Vera Romanovna indicated the sofa.
They sat. An awkward pause hung in the air.
“I wanted to apologize,” the mother-in-law began, and Liza almost slid off the couch in shock. “Alyosha explained everything. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have come without being invited. And I definitely shouldn’t have changed the lock.”
“Mom,” Alyosha started, but she lifted a hand.
“Let me finish. I’m used to controlling things. It’s always been that way—my home, my rules. I thought you needed it that way too. But that was wrong. Liza is right—this is her apartment. And I had no right to command her space.”
Lena scoffed… then exhaled and turned toward the window. Igor nudged her elbow. She folded her arms but stayed quiet.
“Vera Romanovna,” Liza managed, “I’m not against you visiting. Truly. But I want you to warn us first. And not change anything without asking.”
“Agreed,” the mother-in-law nodded. “I’ll call in advance.”
“And one more thing,” Alyosha added firmly. “Mom, I love you. But Liza is my wife. And if there’s ever a choice, I’ll choose her. I’m sorry.”
Vera Romanovna pressed her lips together, then nodded.
“I understand.”
Lunch passed in an odd way—polite, restrained. Lena barely spoke, only throwing sharp glances now and then. Igor tried to soften the mood with funny stories from his taxi work.
As they were leaving, they ran into Tamara Lvovna in the stairwell. She had a grocery bag and waved happily.
“Oh, Lizzie! How are you?”
“Hello, Tamara Lvovna,” Liza smiled. “I’m doing well.”
“Good, good. You know, this reminds me of a story,” the neighbor set her bag down by the door. “About my own mother-in-law, may she rest in peace. She loved to give orders too. Once she came without warning, called a handyman, and told him to repaint our walls. Pink! I put up with it and put up with it, and then I said, ‘Anna Semyonovna, this is my home. I don’t like pink. Please ask next time.’ She sulked and didn’t come for three months. But after that—she always called ahead.”
Vera Romanovna tightened her mouth, but said nothing. Tamara Lvovna continued, cheerful as ever:
“So, girls, learn to speak up right away. Otherwise it gets harder later.”
Igor coughed into his fist. Lena looked away. And Liza suddenly laughed—for the first time all day. Alyosha looked at her and smiled too.
They stepped outside, and Liza drew in a deep breath of fresh air.
“Well. First step done.”
“Yeah,” Alyosha slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“Thank you for not being afraid of the truth,” she said, leaning into him.
They walked toward the car, and for the first time in a long while, Liza felt lightness. Not everything was solved. Not all problems were behind them. But the main thing had happened—they had learned to tell the truth. To each other, and to everyone else.
And that, as it turned out, was worth a lot.
