Olga shut the front door, kicked off her shoes, and leaned against the wall with a tired sigh. The workday had been brutal, and she still had laundry to do, dinner to make, and stacks of unsorted papers waiting for her. All she wanted was silence. But she had barely managed to pour herself a cup of tea when an insistent ringing shattered the quiet.
“Who on earth shows up at this hour?” she muttered, glancing at the clock. 8:50 p.m.
On the doorstep stood Aunt Polina — tall, well-groomed, with carefully styled hair and lipstick far too bright for the evening. Behind her hovered Denis, her son, wearing a look of complete indifference.
“Olenka, darling, we were passing by and thought we’d stop in!” Polina said, stepping over the threshold without waiting for an invitation, her eyes sweeping across the apartment in an appraising way.
Olga frowned. They had not seen each other in months, and now suddenly they were just “passing by”?
“Come in,” she said through clenched teeth, moving aside.
Polina entered the living room as though she were inspecting it, making sure everything was still in place. Her fingers glided over the back of the sofa and paused on a vase — a gift from Olga’s late sister.
“You’ve made it… cozy in here,” she said, though criticism colored her voice.
Denis silently dropped onto the couch, pulled out his phone, and buried himself in the screen.
“You don’t mind if we have some tea, do you?” Polina asked, already heading for the kitchen before Olga had offered anything.
“Go ahead,” Olga replied, feeling irritation begin to boil inside her.
The moment Polina stepped into the kitchen, she started opening cabinets as though she were searching for something.
“Oh, where are your nice cups? Your mother’s porcelain set?” she asked with exaggerated surprise.
“They broke,” Olga lied. In truth, she had hidden them away, along with the rest of her mother’s things, far from prying eyes.
“What a shame. They were so expensive…” Polina sighed, but something cold flashed in her eyes.
Olga poured the tea, trying not to pay attention to the way Denis had already sprawled across the couch as though he owned the place.
“Olenka, you live here all by yourself,” Polina began suddenly, smiling sweetly. “Three rooms… isn’t that a bit much?”
Olga felt her fists tighten.
“It’s enough for me.”
“Well, we’re family,” Polina continued. “Maybe Denis could stay here for a while? The dormitory isn’t very comfortable for him…”
“No,” Olga said firmly.
An awkward silence filled the room. Denis looked up from his phone and smirked darkly.
“What, too stingy?”
Olga stood up abruptly.
“It’s time for you to leave. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
Polina pouted, but rose to her feet.
“All right, all right… We’ll come by again.”
When the door finally closed behind them, Olga let out a long breath. There had been something off about the visit. It had not been innocent.
She walked over to the window and saw Polina outside, speaking heatedly to Denis, waving her hands.
A knot of anxiety tightened in Olga’s chest.
They were planning something.
Three days passed, and Olga had almost managed to put the unpleasant visit out of her mind. She was coming home from work, dreaming of a hot shower and quiet. But when she reached her apartment, she heard loud voices from behind the door.
Her key caught in the lock — it had clearly been damaged. With dread rising inside her, Olga forced it harder and flung the door open.
A pair of expensive men’s shoes stood in the hallway. A stranger’s jacket hung from the coat rack. Laughter drifted in from the kitchen.
“What is going on here?” Olga called out as she stepped into the apartment.
At the kitchen table sat Polina and Denis. In front of them were pizza, an open bottle of wine, and several cans of beer.
“Oh, the hostess finally made an appearance!” Polina exclaimed cheerfully, as if nothing strange were happening. “We thought maybe you’d be staying overnight at work.”
Olga stared around the kitchen in disbelief. Her mug sat in the sink with unfinished coffee in it, and cigarette butts were still smoldering in the ashtray.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“Well, you did say, ‘Stop by sometime,’” Polina replied with a playful smile. “So we did. And we got so comfortable that we decided to stay a couple of days.”
“A couple of days?” A chill ran down Olga’s spine. “I never invited you.”
Denis stretched lazily and pulled another can of beer from the fridge.
“Come on, my mother’s basically like your own aunt. You’re not going to leave family out on the doorstep, are you?”
Olga strode to the table and snatched up the wine bottle.
“This is mine. It was expensive. I was saving it for a special occasion.”
Polina snorted.
“So what? We’re not strangers. Besides, the wine’s not even that good — too sour.”
Olga took a deep breath, gripping the bottle tightly.
“You need to move out. Right now.”
A heavy silence settled over the room. Denis slowly rose, his gaze sharpening.
“Are you serious? Throwing us out like we’re homeless trash?”
“This is my apartment,” Olga said firmly. “And I never gave you permission to live here.”
Without warning, Polina burst into tears.
“So this is how you welcome us! Your mother would turn over in her grave! We came to support you, her lonely daughter, and this is how you treat us—”
“Enough!” Olga raised her voice. “You broke my lock, you’re eating my food, drinking my wine. This isn’t support. It’s arrogance.”
Denis hurled his empty can onto the floor.
“Shut up! Have you forgotten who left you this apartment? If it hadn’t been for my mother—”
“If it hadn’t been for my mother, you wouldn’t even have crossed the threshold when she was sick!” Olga was trembling with fury. “That’s it. Pack your things and get out.”
Polina stopped crying instantly. Her eyes turned cold.
“Fine, we’ll leave. But remember this, Olga — you don’t get to choose your family. You’ll regret treating us this way.”
Half an hour later, they had gathered their things. Olga stood by the door, too tense to relax until the last suitcase crossed the threshold.
“And the key,” she demanded.
With a sneer, Denis tossed it onto the floor.
“There. Cheap miser.”
When the door slammed shut, Olga slowly sank to the floor. The apartment smelled of чужих perfume, beer, and anger.
She knew this was only the beginning.
After her “guests” left, Olga spent three hours scrubbing the apartment clean. She wiped wine stains off the table, swept cigarette butts from beneath the couch, and aired out the rooms to drive away the heavy scent of someone else’s perfume. When the kitchen clock finally struck midnight, she allowed herself to collapse into an armchair with a mug of strong tea.
Almost without thinking, she reached for her mother’s old jewelry box on the bookshelf. Olga rarely opened it — the memories hurt too much. But tonight, something compelled her to take out the worn little key and turn it in the lock.
Among the photographs and keepsakes, her fingers found a thick envelope. On it, in her mother’s neat handwriting, were the words: For Olya. If things become difficult.
Her heart began to pound as she unfolded the letter inside.
My daughter, if you are reading this, it means Polina has started her games again. I knew that after my death she would try to take the apartment from you. So I am leaving you this letter as proof: I was of sound mind when I made my will, and you are my only heir. In the blue photo album, beneath the pictures, you will find copies of all the documents. Keep them safe. And remember — though we shared the same blood, my sister was never truly close to me. She hated me because Father left this apartment to me. Don’t believe her words, and don’t give in to pressure. If anything happens, find the lawyer Marina Semyonova. She will help you.
Olga swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Then she turned the page and found a final note, written in shakier handwriting:
Olya, if they try to prove you are “mentally unfit,” that is their usual method. In 2003, Polina used the same trick to take Aunt Galya’s dacha. Be smarter than she is. I love you. Mom.
Tears dripped onto the paper. Olga quickly wiped them away before the ink could blur.
She stood and crossed to the bookcase. The blue album, trimmed in gold, sat at the very top, dusty and forgotten. When she pulled it down, a folder stuffed with documents slipped from beneath the cover.
By the light of the desk lamp, Olga sorted through the papers and found:
— A copy of the will, complete with official seals
— A medical report confirming her mother’s mental competence
— A letter from the notary stating that no pressure had been used during the drafting of the documents
— An old bank statement showing a large transfer to Polina, marked in exchange for renouncing claims to the property
That final document froze Olga in place. So her mother had already paid her sister off once?
Suddenly the silence was broken by the doorbell.
Olga flinched. The clock showed 1:15 a.m.
She walked to the peephole. A man in a black coat stood in the hallway outside.
“Who is it?” she called without opening the door.
“Open up. Police officer. We received a complaint from the neighbors — apparently there was some sort of disturbance here, things were being thrown out.”
A cold foreboding gripped her chest.
“What things? I haven’t thrown anything out. Show me your badge.”
The man muttered something under his breath, and then Olga heard footsteps retreating down the hall.
She pressed her back against the door, her knees trembling. Too many coincidences had piled up in a single night.
Returning to the table, she picked up her phone and searched: Lawyer Marina Semyonova Moscow inheritance disputes.
The very first result showed a photograph of a stern-looking woman in her fifties with piercing eyes. On the website, a bold line read: Twenty years of winning the most difficult inheritance cases.
Olga saved the number. Tomorrow was going to be hard.
She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Below, near the entrance to the building, stood a familiar figure in a light-colored coat. Polina was talking animatedly on the phone, gesturing with her free hand.
Olga let the curtain fall shut.
The game had begun.
Morning started with a persistent knock at the door. Olga, who had barely slept all night, dragged herself out of bed. Through the peephole she saw a familiar face — Anna Petrovna, the elderly neighbor from downstairs.
The moment Olga opened the door, she noticed the unusual anxiety in the old woman’s eyes.
“Olenka, may I come in for a minute?” the neighbor whispered, glancing nervously over her shoulder.
“Of course, come in,” Olga said, stepping aside.
Anna Petrovna twisted the edge of her scarf between her fingers as they walked into the kitchen.
“I saw your… guests leaving yesterday,” she began, lowering herself onto the offered chair. “And I need to tell you something.”
Olga automatically put the kettle on, feeling her pulse quicken.
“What happened, Anna Petrovna?”
The elderly woman leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“Your aunt, that Polina… she’s been coming here for a week already, whenever you’re not home. Yesterday I saw her enter the building with some man. He had a lot of camera equipment with him.”
Olga’s hands tightened sharply around the mug.
“They were photographing my apartment?”
“No, dear. Worse. They were inspecting your belongings. I accidentally overheard the man say, ‘The furniture is old, but the parquet can stay — we’ll redo the rest.’ And your aunt replied, ‘The main thing is to get it done quickly, before she realizes what’s happening.’”
An icy shiver ran down Olga’s spine. She reached instinctively for her phone.
“When was this?”
“Three days ago, Tuesday. You were at work until late. I thought you knew…” Anna Petrovna spread her hands helplessly.
Olga jumped to her feet and rushed into the bedroom. She yanked open the cabinet where she kept documents — everything was still there. But when she checked the drawer with her jewelry, she discovered that her mother’s sapphire brooch was missing.
When she returned to the kitchen, she saw Anna Petrovna rummaging in her handbag.
“Here,” the neighbor said, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. “I wrote down the license plate number of the car they left in. And I took a photo of that man while they were standing outside.”
Olga stared in surprise at the blurry image on the old woman’s phone. It showed a heavyset man in an expensive suit, clearly not a realtor.
“Thank you so much,” Olga said, squeezing the old woman’s hand. “You have no idea how important this is.”
As soon as the neighbor left, Olga dialed the lawyer’s number. After the third ring, a brisk female voice answered.
“Semyonova speaking.”
“Hello, my name is Olga Dmitrieva. My mother, Elena Vasilievna Dmitrieva, said you might be able to help…”
“Elena Vasilievna?” The woman’s tone changed immediately. “I thought it was only a matter of time before they started. When can you come?”
“As soon as possible. My things have already started disappearing.”
“Come today at four. Bring every document you can find. Especially the letter Elena Vasilievna mentioned.”
Olga hung up and stood frozen at the window. Down in the courtyard, a familiar black foreign car was parked. The same man from the photograph leaned against it, smoking and periodically glancing up at her windows.
She let the curtain drop from her hand.
The game really had begun, and the stakes were even higher than she had imagined.
Olga prepared carefully for her meeting with the lawyer. She packed every document she had found into her briefcase, along with her mother’s letter, and even printed out the photograph from Anna Petrovna’s phone. Before leaving, she checked the lock one more time — after last night’s visit from the supposed police officer, she no longer felt safe.
When she stepped out of the building, the black car was still parked outside. The suited man was now in the driver’s seat, talking on the phone. Olga walked past without turning her head, but from the corner of her eye she saw him abruptly end the call and start the engine.
She quickened her pace. The bus stop was two blocks away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the car moving slowly after her, keeping its distance. Her heart pounded wildly. At the nearest intersection she suddenly turned into a courtyard, ran past a playground, and came out onto the next street. She jumped into a minibus that had just arrived, and only then managed to breathe again.
At the lawyer’s office she was greeted by Marina Semyonova herself — a poised woman with short hair and an attentive gaze. She studied all the documents carefully, paying special attention to her mother’s letter.
“This is more serious than I thought,” the lawyer finally said, setting the papers aside. “Your aunt is following a familiar scheme. First they create the impression that you are handling your property irrationally, then they file a petition to have you declared mentally incompetent. And this man…” She tapped the photograph. “Alexander Krotov. Well known in certain circles. He specializes in illegal real-estate operations.”
Olga felt her hands go cold.
“What should I do?”
“First, change the locks immediately. Second, tomorrow we file a report for attempted fraud. Third…” The lawyer took out a voice recorder. “From this moment on, you record every conversation with your relatives.”
They spent another hour developing a strategy. When Olga left the office, she felt slightly more secure. But when she approached her building, she saw that the entrance door was ajar and cigarette butts littered the stairwell.
As she climbed to her floor, she heard raised voices. The door to her apartment stood wide open. In the hallway were Polina and Denis, surrounded by suitcases. In the living room, an unfamiliar man in a tracksuit walked about, jotting something down in a notebook.
“What is going on here?” Olga shouted, stepping inside.
Polina turned with theatrical delight on her face.
“Olenka, finally! We were starting to worry.” She took a step toward her as though to embrace her, but Olga recoiled.
“I did not invite you. This is trespassing!”
Denis snorted, lounging on the couch.
“Oh, stop making such a fuss. We’re family.”
The stranger came closer, openly examining the apartment.
“Just as you described,” he said to Polina. “Unsanitary conditions, disorder. Clear signs of mental instability.”
Olga stared at him in disbelief.
“Who are you?”
“Doctor Smirnov,” the man introduced himself without really looking at her. “From the neuropsychiatric clinic. We received a report of unstable behavior.”
Olga felt the ground slip out from beneath her. Her hand tightened around the phone in her pocket as she remembered the lawyer’s warning about recording everything.
“This is a setup,” she said firmly. “You all know perfectly well that I am absolutely sane. Leave my apartment immediately, or I will call the police.”
Polina’s face changed at once. The sugary tone vanished, replaced by something sharp and vicious.
“Have you completely lost your mind? You’ve already moved your mother into my apartment?!” she snapped, taking a step forward and clenching her fists. “This is family property, and I have every right to be here!”
Denis rose from the couch, clearly ready to back his mother up physically. Doctor Smirnov stepped aside, taking out his phone.
Olga slowly backed toward the door, realizing she was outnumbered. At that moment her phone vibrated in her pocket. Automatically, she pulled it out. A message from Marina Semyonova flashed on the screen:
Do not engage. Get out and call the police. I am already on my way.
Olga looked up and met Polina’s gaze. There was such hatred in her aunt’s eyes that it made her afraid.
“I’m leaving,” Olga said quietly. “But this isn’t over.”
She spun around and ran onto the landing. Behind her, Polina shouted:
“You’ll never prove anything! The apartment will be mine!”
Olga raced down the stairs, gripping the phone that had recorded the entire exchange. A long fight lay ahead, but now she had a powerful ally.
Olga sat in the investigator’s office, clutching the phone that held the recording. Beside her, Marina Semyonova sat with perfect composure, a folder of documents spread neatly before her. Across from them, a grim police captain flipped through the complaint about unlawful entry.
“Explain once more,” the investigator said, setting the papers down. “Who exactly was in your apartment?”
“My aunt, Polina Sergeyevna Dmitrieva, her son Denis, and an unknown man posing as a doctor,” Olga answered clearly. “They entered my apartment without permission while I was meeting with my lawyer.”
Marina Semyonova smoothly joined in.
“We have an audio recording confirming the unlawful entry and the threats. I also ask that the court attach the report of an independent psychiatrist confirming my client’s full mental competence.”
The investigator took the document, skimmed it, and then gave an unexpected half-smile.
“You know, that’s an interesting coincidence. This morning we received a statement from your aunt. She claims that you suffer from a mental disorder and are handling your property irresponsibly.”
A chill ran down Olga’s spine. Marina Semyonova remained perfectly calm.
“That is a standard tactic in fraud schemes like this. We have evidence that Polina Dmitrieva used the same method in 2003 to take a dacha from another elderly relative. Copies of those court materials are attached.”
She pulled yet another document from her folder. The investigator studied it carefully, then leaned back in his chair.
“All right. We will conduct an inquiry. But understand — if your aunt has already filed a petition to have you declared incompetent, that will complicate matters.”
When they stepped out of the police building, Olga could not hold back any longer.
“Can they really take my apartment away?”
Marina Semyonova stopped and turned to face her.
“In theory, yes. In practice, they won’t have time. Tomorrow we file a counterclaim for fraud and a motion to freeze the apartment until the case is resolved.”
They agreed to meet at court the following morning. On her way home, Olga noticed that the black car was no longer parked outside her building. But that brought her no relief — too much depended now on the next day.
In the morning, before leaving, she prepared carefully. She put on a severe tailored suit and pulled her hair into a tight bun. She needed to look as composed and respectable as possible — today her future would be decided.
At the courthouse, Polina was already there with the same so-called Doctor Smirnov. At the sight of Olga, her aunt turned away dramatically.
“Don’t worry,” Marina Semyonova whispered. “We have a strong case.”
The judge — a stern woman in her fifties — opened the hearing by examining Polina Dmitrieva’s petition to have Olga declared mentally incompetent.
“Your Honor,” Polina began in a trembling voice, “after her mother’s death, my niece began behaving irrationally. She threw away family heirlooms, mistreated her relatives. Yesterday she even attacked me physically!”
Olga clenched her fists beneath the table. Marina Semyonova rose calmly.
“We have audio and video evidence disproving these accusations. I also ask that the court attach the report of a state psychiatrist confirming my client’s full competence.”
The judge reviewed the papers, then turned her gaze to Doctor Smirnov.
“Are you in fact a licensed psychiatrist? Show me your credentials.”
The man shifted uneasily.
“I… I am a private specialist…”
“So you have no license?” the judge asked. “My next question: how did you come to be inside the defendant’s apartment without her consent?”
A heavy silence filled the courtroom. Polina went pale. Marina Semyonova immediately pressed the advantage.
“Your Honor, we ask that this petition be dismissed as baseless and that criminal proceedings be opened on grounds of fraud and document falsification. We have evidence that Ms. Dmitrieva has previously attempted to seize relatives’ property by similar means.”
The judge withdrew to deliberate. Olga could not sit still and stepped out into the corridor. There another unpleasant surprise awaited her — Denis stood there with two broad-shouldered strangers.
“Well then, genius?” he hissed, coming closer. “You really think you can win? Even if the court rules for you, we’ll find another way to take what’s ours.”
Olga backed up until she felt the wall behind her. At that moment Marina Semyonova emerged from the courtroom with a bailiff at her side.
“Are you threatening my client?” the lawyer asked coldly. “Officer, did you hear that?”
Denis retreated at once.
Fifteen minutes later, the judge returned and announced the decision.
“Polina Sergeyevna Dmitrieva’s petition is denied. Materials concerning possible fraud are referred to investigative authorities. Olga Dmitrieva’s apartment shall remain frozen until the inquiry is complete.”
Polina sprang to her feet.
“This is unfair! She—”
“Silence in the courtroom!” the judge cut her off sharply. “You may speak next in the investigator’s office.”
As Olga walked out of the courthouse, she felt herself breathe freely for the first time in months. But Marina Semyonova warned her:
“This is only the first round. They won’t give up easily. Be careful.”
Olga nodded. The battle for the apartment had been won, but the battle for peace of mind had only just begun.
Two weeks passed after the court hearing. Olga was returning home from the law office, where she had signed the final papers to lift the freeze on the apartment. The investigation had confirmed Polina’s attempted fraud, and now her aunt was facing trial.
As Olga approached the building, she noticed a familiar figure near the entrance. Denis was leaning against the wall, smoking. The moment he saw her, he flicked away the cigarette and headed toward her.
“Well, look at you, the winner,” he said with a twisted smile. “My mother’s now laid up with a nervous breakdown because of you.”
Olga tried to walk past him, but he blocked her way.
“I said everything I had to say in court. Leave me alone.”
“Not so fast.” Denis grabbed her by the arm. “Mother has changed her mind about going to court. But we have an offer — we’ll withdraw all claims if you pay us compensation for moral damages. Let’s say three million. Or the equivalent in square meters.”
Olga yanked her arm free, her knees trembling.
“Are you insane? After everything you’ve done?”
“Think about it.” He leaned in close, and Olga caught the sharp smell of alcohol on his breath. “They won’t let you live peacefully here anyway. We’ll find a way.”
She recoiled and hurried into the building. Her heart thundered in her chest all the way up in the elevator.
As she pulled out her keys, Olga noticed that her apartment door was slightly ajar. She froze and listened. Voices came from inside, along with the sound of furniture being moved.
She pushed the door open carefully and saw Polina with two unfamiliar men, both inspecting the walls and tapping on them.
“What are you doing in here?!” Olga shouted, stepping inside.
Polina turned to her with a bright, artificial smile.
“Olenka! We were just waiting for you. We decided to check whether the roof had started leaking after the rain, so I brought in specialists.”
One of the so-called specialists knocked loudly on the wall.
“There’s been remodeling here,” he announced with false authority. “Illegal remodeling. Needs to be checked.”
Olga pulled out her phone.
“Leave right now, or I’m calling the police. I have a court order forbidding you from entering my apartment.”
Polina’s face changed instantly. The fake sweetness vanished, leaving only naked spite.
“You’ve gotten completely out of control!” she screamed. “I’ve helped you all my life, and you—”
“Get out,” Olga said firmly, dialing the local officer’s number. “This is your last warning.”
The men exchanged glances and started moving toward the door. Polina lingered for a moment.
“This still isn’t over,” she hissed. “I gave birth to you in this apartment while my sister was in the hospital. You don’t even know who your real father is.”
The door slammed shut behind her.
Olga sank onto the couch, feeling her legs go weak beneath her. Her aunt’s final words echoed in her ears. She had always believed she was born in a maternity hospital…
An hour later, the district officer arrived. After listening to her, he simply spread his hands.
“Without a formal statement from you, there’s not much I can do. But if they show up again, call immediately.”
After he left, Olga walked through the apartment, checking whether anything else was missing. In the bedroom, she noticed that the dresser drawer containing her documents had been forced open. But the worst discovery came when she checked the wardrobe — the box of her mother’s letters was gone, the only proof she had against Polina.
The next day, Olga and Marina Semyonova filed a theft report. The lawyer was grave.
“They’re trying to destroy the evidence. But we have copies. The most important thing now is to move the fraud case forward as fast as possible.”
The trial took place a week later. Polina was found guilty of attempted fraud and unlawful entry. The judge issued an order prohibiting her from coming within a hundred meters of Olga or the apartment.
When the bailiffs came to evict Polina and Denis from a nearby apartment — it turned out they had rented a place in the same building in order to keep watch on Olga — Denis shouted:
“You’ll regret this! The apartment will be ours one day anyway!”
But Olga was no longer afraid. She changed the locks, installed an alarm system, and knew that the worst was behind her. Even so, Polina’s words about Olga’s birth still would not let her rest.
Epilogue
A year passed. Olga ran into Polina by chance in a supermarket. Her aunt pretended not to recognize her. As Olga walked past, she heard a whisper:
“Ask Marya’s neighbor about 1991… if you dare.”
Olga froze, but she did not turn around. Maybe some secrets were better left in the past. What mattered was that now she had her own life. And her own apartment.
Olga stood by the window, sipping hot coffee and watching the first snow slowly blanket the courtyard. Exactly one year had passed since the court finally put an end to her fight for the apartment.
Now her home was peaceful. New locks, an alarm system, and above all, a sense of safety. Polina and Denis had vanished from her life as if they had never existed. Only sometimes, when passing their old house, Olga would notice herself instinctively quickening her pace.
One day she found an envelope in her mailbox with no return address. Inside was a yellowed photograph: a young woman who looked like her mother standing beside an unfamiliar man. On the back were only four digits: 1991.
Olga studied the photograph for a long time, then carefully tucked it away in the very same box that had miraculously found its way back to her a month after the trial. Someone had slipped it into the building’s mail area, almost as if ashamed of the theft.
She never did make herself search for the truth about that year. Some doors are better left closed.
But something new had entered her life — a tiny kitten she had found near the entrance to the building. The little gray ball of fur purred in her lap in the evenings while she reread her mother’s letters.
“It’s all right,” she would whisper, stroking the kitten. “You and I are family now. And that’s enough.”
Outside, the snow kept falling, turning the courtyard into a blank white page.
Just like her life now — without Polina, without Denis, without their lies.
Only silence. Only freedom.
