“I thought you’d be late. Andrey said you had meetings that would drag on all night,” Lidia Petrovna said without even turning from the window, still lazily stirring sugar into her tea. The spoon kept clinking against the china in a slow, maddening rhythm.
Kristina stopped in the kitchen doorway without even taking off her shoes. In one hand she carried a bag with a bottle of good red wine, and in the other, a ring of keys biting painfully into her palm. Only a minute ago, her mood had been soaring somewhere up near the towers of Moscow City. She had just landed the department head position she’d worked toward for three years, and the only thing she wanted now was quiet, a glass of wine, and the glorious steak waiting for her in the fridge drawer.
“Hello, Lidia Petrovna. I thought you weren’t coming until Saturday,” Kristina said as calmly as she could while walking to the refrigerator. “Andrey didn’t mention it.”
“I came as a surprise. Thought I’d stop by, see how the young people are living. Put the place in order. There’s always dust rolling around your corners, impossible to breathe.”
Kristina said nothing. She was far too tired to start another argument about the sterility of an apartment that was cleaned professionally twice a week. She pulled open the refrigerator door, already imagining the hiss of meat hitting a hot pan and the smell of rosemary rising into the air.
Her eyes dropped automatically to the second shelf from the bottom.
Empty.
Kristina blinked. Maybe Andrey had moved it? She checked the other shelves. Yogurt, cheese, vegetables, a jar of olives. No meat. The two enormous, beautifully marbled ribeyes she had paid an outrageous amount for at the farmer’s market were simply gone.
“Lidia Petrovna,” Kristina said slowly, not closing the refrigerator. Cold air slid over her feet, yet suddenly she felt overheated. “Where’s the meat? There was a vacuum-sealed package in here.”
Her mother-in-law took a loud sip of tea.
“Oh, that? I threw it away.”
Kristina turned around very slowly. For a second, she thought she must have heard wrong.
“You did what?”
“I said I threw it away. Are you deaf?” Lidia Petrovna finally looked at her. Her expression held the absolute, brick-solid calm of someone utterly convinced she was right. “I opened the fridge, saw it sitting there. Black all over, ugly, with some cloudy blood inside. So I thought, well, the girl must be run ragged, the food’s already rotting. Another day and the whole house would stink. I threw it out before something happened. You’d poison yourselves, and Andryusha has work tomorrow.”
A roaring filled Kristina’s ears. The blood drained from her face. It was dry-aged beef. It was supposed to look dark. It was a delicacy she had hunted down specially for tonight.
She yanked open the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out the trash can.
There they were, lying right on top of potato peels, soggy tea bags, and greasy scraps of paper. The vacuum package had been savagely slit open with a knife, and the fine meat was now pressed against a filthy tin from smoked fish. Her mother-in-law had not just thrown the sealed package away. She had opened it and dumped the contents directly into the garbage.
“You opened it…” Kristina whispered, feeling rage rise inside her, thick and black as crude oil. “You took it out of the package on purpose so it couldn’t be saved?”
“The bag itself was sturdy,” Lidia Petrovna said with a shrug. “I rinsed it out. It’ll be useful for Andrey’s sandwiches. As for that rotten junk, that’s exactly where it belongs. Kristina, you’re a terrible housekeeper. You don’t even know how to choose meat. They sold you spoiled goods at the market, and you swallowed it whole. Fresh meat should be pink. That thing looked like an old boot.”
Kristina stared at the ruined dinner. At the celebration that had been destroyed. At those pieces of meat that had cost as much as half the pension of the woman now sitting at the table. And it wasn’t even about the money. It was about the smugness. The invasion. The deliberate destruction of something Kristina loved, all under the mask of concern.
She straightened abruptly. The trash bin slammed back into place under the sink.
“Have you completely lost your mind, you old woman?! Those were marble steaks for my birthday! And you threw them out like scraps for stray dogs?! Get out of my kitchen before I shove you down the garbage chute myself!”
Lidia Petrovna choked on her tea and slammed the cup down so hard some of it splashed across the tablecloth.
“How dare you talk to your husband’s mother like that?” she started, drawing in a furious breath. “I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful idiot!”
“Help?!” Kristina stepped toward the table, looming over her mother-in-law. Her hands clenched into fists. “You knew perfectly well what kind of meat it was! You saw the price sticker! You just wanted to ruin my evening because you can’t stand seeing us eat anything better than your frozen bread-filled cutlets!”
“Don’t you dare scream at me in my son’s apartment!” Lidia Petrovna shrieked, her face going blotchy red. “I’ll tell Andrey exactly what you were planning to feed him! Rotting meat for insane money! Spendthrift! I saved you from ending up in the hospital, and you—”
“Out,” Kristina said quietly.
“What?”
“Get out of my kitchen,” Kristina said, grabbing the dishcloth from the table and hurling it into the sink. “Out. Right now. Before I dump you down the garbage chute along with your precious ‘order.’”
Lidia Petrovna rose with exaggerated slowness. She straightened her blouse, pressed her lips together in offended dignity, and reached for the chair where her new leather handbag sat—a gift from Andrey for her last anniversary.
“I’m leaving,” she said through clenched teeth. “And I’ll never set foot here again. Let Andrey deal with his hysterical wife himself. She buys rotten food and then throws a tantrum. You need treatment, sweetheart. Your nerves are completely gone.”
She picked up the bag by the handles, radiating martyrdom, as though leaving this cursed place were a noble act of sacrifice. Kristina watched her—and her eyes landed on the half-open zipper of that expensive handbag. Inside, she could see the spotless lining, a wallet, a passport…
Her gaze flicked to the trash can.
Something clicked inside her head.
If her evening was ruined, then everyone’s would be.
“Oh, rotten food?” Kristina repeated with a chilling smile. “So the meat was bad? Dirty?”
“Disgusting,” Lidia Petrovna sniffed, turning toward the exit.
“Well then, I’m sure you won’t mind taking out the trash. Since you care so much about cleanliness.”
With one swift movement, Kristina flung open the cabinet door and grabbed the trash can.
Lidia Petrovna froze half-turned. Her face stretched with alarm when she saw Kristina standing there holding the bin. Something in her daughter-in-law’s eyes sent a shiver even through a veteran troublemaker like Lidia Petrovna, a woman hardened by Soviet queues and communal-apartment wars. But backing down was not in her nature. She gave a contemptuous snort and adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder.
“Have you gone completely insane? Put that down, you psycho. I’m not your maid. Take out your own trash.”
Kristina did not answer. She stepped closer. Something wet sloshed inside the bin. The steaks, now marinated in potato peels and coffee grounds, looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Grease, filth, scraps of tea bags—together they made the perfect instrument of revenge.
“You said the meat was bad,” Kristina said quietly, staring straight into her mother-in-law’s eyes. “You said I don’t know how to choose food. That I throw money away.”
“And I’ll say it again!” Lidia Petrovna shot back, lifting her chin. “You waste money and you’re useless in the house! Andrey works like a dog while you toss money into the wind. Rotten garbage! Any normal person would tell you the same—”
She never got to finish.
Without another word, Kristina lifted the trash can sharply. The motion was swift and precise, almost as if she’d been rehearsing it for years. She didn’t just dump the contents out—she tipped the entire bin directly over the open mouth of the expensive leather handbag her mother-in-law was foolishly holding against her side.
The heavy, wet mass slid down with a thick, sickening squelch. The greasy steaks dropped into the bottom of the bag with a dull smack, burying the passport, wallet, and phone underneath them. Then came the coffee sludge, potato skins, and the rest of the kitchen garbage. The room filled with the smell of rot, dampness, and utter despair.
The second of silence that followed was deafening.
Lidia Petrovna stared into her bag, unable to believe what she was seeing. Brown slime slowly soaked into the beige lining. Grease spread across the leather. Her favorite lipstick disappeared into the coffee muck.
“Aaaaaah!” Her scream sounded like a saw blade hitting metal. “What have you done?! What have you done, you bitch?! This is Michael Kors! Andrey gave me this!”
She began frantically shaking the bag, trying to fling the trash back onto the floor, but the heavy pieces of meat were wedged in the bottom, caught in the inside pockets. Potato peels flew all over the kitchen, splattering the floor, the chairs, and Lidia Petrovna herself.
“Take it,” Kristina said coldly, tossing the empty plastic bin into the corner. It slammed into the wall and rolled away. “It’s yours now. You like saving things, don’t you? So take it home, wash it, fry it up. You’ll even make it in time for dinner.”
“You’ll pay for this!” Lidia Petrovna shrieked, trying to pull her phone out of the bag, though it now looked like a lump of mud. Her hands were instantly covered in grease and sludge. “I’ll sue you! I’ll call the police! Andrey will kill you!”
She lunged toward the sink, intending to dump the contents there and try to salvage her belongings. But Kristina moved faster. She stepped directly into her path, cutting her off from the water.
“No,” she said sharply. “You will not wash anything here. My kitchen is for clean people. And you are a walking trash heap now.”
“Move! I need to clean this!” Lidia Petrovna tried to shove her aside, jabbing a filthy hand into Kristina’s shoulder. A brown stain bloomed across Kristina’s pale blouse.
That was the last straw.
Kristina looked at the stain, then at her mother-in-law’s twisted, hate-filled face. Something inside her snapped for good. There were no brakes left. No “she’s my husband’s mother.” No manners. No restraint. Only raw, concentrated fury.
“Get out!” Kristina roared so loudly that Lidia Petrovna flinched. “Take your trash with you!”
Realizing she was not going to reach the sink, Lidia Petrovna began darting around the kitchen. Filthy liquid was already seeping through the seams of her handbag, dripping dark, foul-smelling drops onto the floor.
“I’m calling Andrey right now!” she shrieked hysterically, stabbing at the slippery screen of her phone. “He’ll come here and show you! You’ll be crawling on your knees to me!”
“Call whoever you want, just not in here!” Kristina snatched the napkin holder off the table and hurled it toward the hallway, pointing the way. White napkins burst into the air like a cloud. “Get out!”
“I’m not leaving!” Lidia Petrovna dug in. “Not until you buy me a new bag! Right now! Transfer the money! Fifty thousand!”
The nerve of this woman knew no limits. Standing there elbow-deep in garbage, she was demanding compensation. Kristina laughed—a short, shaky, frightening laugh.
“Money?” she repeated. “You threw my ten-thousand-ruble dinner into the trash, and now you want money? Fine. I’ll give you enough for a train ticket.”
Kristina took a step toward her. Frightened by the look in her daughter-in-law’s eyes, Lidia Petrovna backed away, clutching the ruined handbag to her chest like a baby. Filth smeared across her knitted sweater and her neck.
“Don’t come near me!” she shrieked. “You maniac!”
“I said out!” Kristina was done wasting words.
She didn’t wait for her mother-in-law to leave on her own. Kristina grabbed Lidia Petrovna firmly by the elbow of her free arm. Her grip was iron. Lidia Petrovna yelped in surprise and pain.
“How dare you touch me?! Let go!”
“Move your feet!” Kristina barked, yanking her toward the hallway.
Lidia Petrovna tried to brace herself, but on smooth laminate flooring—and in house slippers—it was useless. Kristina, flooded with adrenaline, dragged her like a rag doll.
“Help! She’s killing me!” her mother-in-law screamed, hoping to attract the neighbors. “Andrey! Somebody!”
They spilled into the entryway. Lidia Petrovna tried to grab the doorframe with her free hand—the one still clutching the bag. The purse swung, and one piece of marbled beef flew out, smacking directly into the mirrored wardrobe door. A greasy red streak slowly began sliding down the glass.
“You’ve trashed my apartment!” Kristina hissed when she saw it. She jerked her mother-in-law even harder, tearing her away from the frame.
“You trashed it! You ruined my life!” Lidia Petrovna screamed back, spitting with fury. “Witch! I always knew you were a witch!”
Kristina dragged the struggling woman to the front door. All that remained was to unlock it and throw this nightmare out onto the landing. Her hands were shaking, but the goal was close.
“Keys… where are the keys…” Kristina muttered, fumbling over the little entry table with one hand while keeping hold of her writhing mother-in-law with the other.
Lidia Petrovna seized the moment and kicked her sharply in the shin.
“You—” Kristina gasped, but she didn’t loosen her grip. On the contrary, she squeezed harder, making Lidia Petrovna squeal for real.
At that exact moment, the front door lock clicked.
Someone was turning a key from the outside.
The door started to open.
Kristina froze. So did Lidia Petrovna, looking toward the opening door with the desperate hope of a drowning woman spotting a life ring.
Andrey stood on the threshold. In a suit, holding a briefcase, tired but composed. He lifted his eyes—and went still.
The scene before him looked like something from a nightmare painting. His wife, disheveled, with a stain on her blouse, had his mother locked in a dead grip. His mother looked like a vagrant—smeared with filth, clutching a foul-smelling bag, eyes wild. And on the mirrored closet door in the hallway, a piece of raw meat was slowly sliding downward.
“Mom? Kristina?” Andrey’s voice wavered. “What is going on here?”
He stood in the doorway, and his face slowly turned the same gray shade as the stairwell walls. The briefcase slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud, but he didn’t even blink. The smell—a thick, heavy reek of garbage mixed with his mother’s expensive perfume and raw meat—hit him hard enough to make him grimace.
“What… what are you doing?” he asked hoarsely, as if he had only just woken up. His eyes darted from the stain on Kristina’s blouse to his mother’s twisted face, streaked with coffee grounds.
Lidia Petrovna instantly recalculated. A second ago, she had been a furious banshee ready to claw her daughter-in-law’s eyes out. Now, at the sight of her son, she went limp. Her knees buckled and she sagged against Kristina’s arm with all her considerable weight, pretending she was half-fainting.
“Andryusha!” she wailed so pitifully that Kristina’s jaw tightened. “My son! Save me! She’s trying to kill me! Look! Look what she’s done to me!”
Andrey snapped out of it. He strode forward in two quick steps, kicking through his own shoes, and seized Kristina by the wrist with bruising force.
“Let her go!” he shouted right in his wife’s face. There was no question in his eyes, no attempt to understand. Only anger. “Have you completely lost it? Let go of my mother right now!”
Startled, Kristina’s fingers opened. Lidia Petrovna immediately darted behind her son like a beaten dog that had found its master. She pushed her ruined handbag forward for display, and a piece of potato peel slid out of it onto Andrey’s polished shoe.
“She dumped garbage on me!” his mother sobbed, grabbing his jacket sleeve with filthy fingers. “I only came to visit, and she… she went crazy! Attacked me, dumped the trash over me! Andryusha, I feel awful, my heart’s about to stop! Call an ambulance!”
Andrey turned to his mother, taking in the sight of the woman who had raised him—humiliated, greasy, covered in filth. The effect on him was instant. He turned slowly back to Kristina. His nostrils flared.
“Are you out of your mind?” he asked in a low voice so cold it rang louder than a scream. “What exactly have you done? Why did you put your hands on my mother? Look at yourself. You look like some wild animal.”
Kristina stood rubbing her reddened wrist. Suddenly, she almost wanted to laugh. Bitterly, horribly—but still. She looked at her husband and saw a complete stranger. He hadn’t even asked what happened. He hadn’t noticed the meat on the mirror. He saw only what he wanted to see: his injured mother.
“Do you even want to ask why I did it?” Kristina said, meeting his eyes. “Or do you not care? Is Mommy sacred, and I’m just the maid who’s supposed to put up with anything she does?”
“What anything?!” Andrey exploded, the veins in his neck bulging. “What are you talking about? Look at her! She’s covered in garbage! What could she possibly have done to deserve this? Break a cup? Look at you the wrong way? You’re insane! I always knew you had a nasty temper, but to go this far—”
“She threw out my food!” Kristina cut him off, pointing toward the kitchen. “She threw out the steaks I bought for tonight! Ten thousand rubles straight into the trash because she thought they didn’t look fresh! She did it on purpose, Andrey! To humiliate me!”
For a second Andrey froze. He turned to his mother. Lidia Petrovna immediately began lamenting even louder.
“I was thinking about your health! That stuff was rotten! I saved you, and she… ungrateful girl! I only wanted what was best for her, and she covered me in filth! Andryusha, look at the bag! Your gift! Fifty thousand! She ruined it!”
Andrey looked back at his wife, and now disgust had joined the anger in his face.
“Meat?” he repeated, with utter contempt. “You attacked my mother over a piece of meat? Are you serious?”
“It wasn’t just a piece of meat! It was my dignity! My money, my home, and my rules!” Kristina was shaking, but there was no stopping now. “She went through my fridge, destroyed my dinner, insulted me! And yes, she got exactly what she deserved! She should be grateful I didn’t dump the whole bin over her head!”
“Shut up!” Andrey stepped toward her, looming like a wall. “Shut up right now! I don’t care about your steaks! I don’t care about your stupid principles! That’s my mother! Do you understand what you’ve done? You humiliated her! An older woman! Over food!”
“Food?” Kristina gave a hollow little laugh. “To you it’s just food. To me it’s how I’m treated in this house. Like I’m nothing. And right now you’re doing exactly the same thing. You’re not even trying to hear me.”
“All I hear is the ranting of a lunatic!” Andrey barked. He turned to his mother, pulled a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket, and tried to wipe the grime off her cheek. “Mom, calm down. It’s over. We’ll deal with this.”
Lidia Petrovna sniffled and shot Kristina a triumphant glance over her son’s shoulder. That look told Kristina everything. She had won. Once again she had cast herself as the victim and Kristina as the monster. And Andrey, thirty years old and still tied to his mother’s apron strings, had chosen her again.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Andrey said, turning back to his wife, his voice hard as steel. “Right now, you apologize. Loudly. Clearly. You ask my mother’s forgiveness for acting like trash. Then you get a cloth and clean up this mess. And you clean her bag too. Or you buy her a new one tomorrow.”
Kristina stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Where had the attentive man gone, the one she had married? The one who had promised to stand by her in joy and sorrow? In his place stood a domestic tyrant, completely certain he would get away with anything.
“I’m not apologizing,” she said quietly, but with absolute certainty.
“What did you say?” Andrey narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. Only half a meter separated them now.
“I said no. I’m not apologizing to a woman who hates me and spends her time poisoning my life. And I’m not buying her a new bag. Let her carry this one. It’s a perfect monument to her nerve.”
“Have you lost all fear?” Andrey grabbed her by the shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully. “I said apologize! Right now! You live in my house, on my money, so have the decency to respect my family!”
“Your money?” Kristina jerked her shoulder and threw off his hand. “I earn just as much as you do, Andrey. And today I got promoted. I came home to celebrate and found your mommy here conducting an inspection. And you—acting like…”
“Like what?” Andrey raised his hand as if to strike her, though he didn’t quite dare. Instead he jabbed a finger into the air in front of her face. “Finish that sentence!”
“Like a mama’s boy,” Kristina spat.
Silence dropped over the hallway, broken only by Lidia Petrovna’s sniffing. Even the mother-in-law froze, understanding that Kristina had just crossed the final line. Andrey went white.
“Out,” he hissed. “Mom, go into the room. I’ll deal with her.”
“No, Andryusha, I’m not leaving!” Lidia Petrovna clung to him even tighter. “She’s violent! She’ll hit you! Throw her out! Let her cool off outside!”
“You heard that?” Andrey advanced on Kristina, forcing her backward toward the same front door she had never managed to close. “Apologize or get out. I won’t let you insult my mother in front of me. You’ve crossed every boundary. You’re filth, Kristina. Just a vulgar, screaming market woman.”
Kristina felt the cold metal of the door handle against her back. There was nowhere to go. Behind her was the landing. In front of her stood two people who had turned her life into hell in less than thirty minutes. She looked at her hands, still smelling of garbage. At the stain on her blouse. At her husband’s face twisted with malice.
“I’m not going anywhere, Andrey,” she said in a calm, icy voice that made his eye twitch. “This apartment is mine just as much as it is yours. We’re married. But your mother has no business being here.”
She suddenly lunged forward, trying to get past him and reach her mother-in-law again, to finish what had been started. Andrey, not expecting that speed, jerked sideways to block her and shoved her hard back against the door.
“Stay where you are!” he shouted. “Don’t you dare go near her!”
“Then get her out of here yourself!” Kristina screamed, finally snapping completely. “Get that stinking hypocrite out of my house!”
Andrey grabbed his mother by the elbow, but not to lead her away—to pull her closer and shield her. The narrow hallway became unbearable, packed tight with hatred.
“You’re the one who’s getting thrown out, got it?” Andrey seized Kristina by both shoulders and started shaking her. “Apologize! Now!”
Kristina saw only his face—flushed, warped with rage. And behind him, her mother-in-law’s expression: smug, satisfied. Lidia Petrovna was smiling with the corners of her mouth. She had gotten exactly what she wanted.
Kristina couldn’t bear it.
“Take your hands off me!” she shouted, struggling in her husband’s grip. His fingers dug so hard into her shoulders she knew bruises would bloom there by morning. But she felt no pain. Only one cold, crystal-clear realization: it was over. Right here. Right now. Looking at the sweaty, furious face of the man she had shared a bed with for three years.
“Apologize, you bitch!” Andrey screamed, spraying spit into her face. He was shaking her like he could rattle submission out of her. “Get on your knees in front of my mother!”
Behind him, Lidia Petrovna pressed her lips together in satisfaction, adjusting the strap of her garbage-soaked purse. She wasn’t pretending to faint anymore. She stood there like a general behind a loyal soldier, waiting for the enemy’s surrender. Her eyes gleamed with triumph. She had won. She had broken the upstart.
“Never,” Kristina rasped.
Andrey snarled, released one of her arms, and drew back his hand for a slap.
But he never landed it.
At that very moment, Lidia Petrovna, apparently wanting to add more drama and push her son toward even harsher action, stepped forward to wedge herself between them and start her pitiful sobbing again.
“Andryusha, don’t, she’s not right in the head…” she crooned in that syrupy voice, while at the same time nudging Kristina with her hip.
That was her mistake.
A fatal one.
Kristina saw the movement. She saw her mother-in-law lose balance, shifting her weight onto one leg while swinging that filthy bag. Inside Kristina, something coiled tight over years of passive-aggressive remarks, stupid advice, and scenes like this finally snapped loose.
Instead of recoiling from her husband’s raised hand, Kristina drove forward.
She poured all her fury, all the humiliation of her ruined celebration, all the indignity of the evening into one movement. With both hands, she shoved her mother-in-law hard in the chest.
“To hell with both of you!” she burst out.
Lidia Petrovna gasped. Her eyes went round as saucers. The force of the shove sent her flying backward straight into Andrey. He, off balance already with his arm half-raised and not expecting an attack from his wife, instinctively tried to catch his mother. But the momentum of her heavy body, combined with the slick hallway floor now smeared with grease and grime, turned everything against him.
His feet slid out from under him.
He tangled in his own shoes by the threshold and crashed backward through the open doorway.
“Mom, hold on!” he shouted, but it was too late.
They flew out onto the landing in one absurd, flailing heap. Lidia Petrovna landed directly on top of him with a shriek, crushing him under her weight against the dirty concrete outside. Her bag, unable to survive any more abuse, burst fully open, and the rest of its contents—potato peels, soaked receipts, and coffee sludge—sprayed across the landing, splattering Andrey’s suit and the neighbor’s doormat.
The crash echoed up and down the stairwell. Andrey groaned as his elbow slammed into the iron railing. Lidia Petrovna flailed on top of him like an overturned beetle, trying to get up while at the same time shaking garbage off herself.
Kristina stood in the doorway, breathing hard. Her chest heaved, her hair was wild, but she felt as though a concrete slab had just been lifted from her shoulders. She looked down at the writhing family knot in the dirt at her feet. At Andrey, face contorted with pain and humiliation as he tried to push his mother off. At her mother-in-law, howling and smearing mascara across her cheeks.
“You’re dead!” Andrey roared, lifting his head. His eyes promised revenge. “Do you hear me?! I’ll destroy you! I’ll grind you into dust!”
“Try it,” Kristina said coldly.
“Let me up! Let me up!” Lidia Petrovna shrieked, finally getting onto all fours. “Call the police! She’s killing us! Help!”
A neighbor’s door cracked open and old Valya’s curious nose poked into the gap, but Kristina didn’t even glance that way. Her eyes stayed on her husband.
“You’ve got your keys,” she said, her voice hard as steel. “But you won’t be needing them anymore.”
“What?” Andrey froze on the floor among the peels. “What are you babbling about? Move away from the door! I’m getting up and—”
“You’re not getting up and you’re not coming back in,” Kristina cut him off. “You chose your family, Andrey. Well, there it is. Sitting on top of you. Enjoy it.”
She took a step backward into the apartment. Andrey realized what she was about to do.
“No! Stop!” He lunged, trying to get to his feet, shoving his mother aside so hard she dropped back onto the concrete again. “Don’t you dare close that door! This is my apartment!”
“I’m changing the locks right now,” Kristina said loudly enough for the neighbors, and for the pathetic man sprawled on the floor, to hear every word. “I’m calling a locksmith. And if you try to break the door down, I’ll call the police. And believe me, Andrey, I’ll file such a statement that you’ll spend the rest of your life paying lawyers. I’m documenting the bruises.”
“Whore!” Lidia Petrovna screeched, dragging herself up with the help of the railing. “Slut! Andryusha, hit her!”
Andrey lunged toward the doorway—but he was too late.
Kristina slammed the heavy metal door shut right in front of his face. The bang cut off the screaming, the curses, and the stench.
Click.
One turn of the top lock.
Click.
A second turn.
Then the bottom lock.
Then the night latch.
A heavy blow hit the other side of the door. Then another. Andrey was pounding it with his fist, maybe his shoulder.
“Open up, you bitch! Open the damn door!” his voice came through muffled. “I’ll rip your head off!”
Kristina leaned her back against the cool metal. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her hands were shaking, but there was no fear left in her. Only emptiness. A scorched, sterile emptiness where there was no longer room for Lidia Petrovna and her “care,” or for Andrey and his betrayal.
She slid slowly down the door until she was sitting on the laminate floor. Outside, they kept hammering at the metal. Her mother-in-law’s shrill voice shrieked curses through the door, condemning her for seven generations, while Andrey kept pounding.
Kristina lifted her eyes to the piece of meat still slowly sliding down the mirrored wardrobe door, leaving a bloody streak behind it.
She pulled out her phone. The screen was intact. Her fingers quickly searched: “Emergency lock replacement. 24/7. Urgent service.”
She hit call.
“Hello?” came a brisk male voice. “Lock service, how can I help you?”
“Good evening,” Kristina said, staring at the trembling door handle as someone yanked it from the other side. “I need all the locks changed immediately. Every single one. And I want the strongest locks you’ve got. Right now. I’ll pay triple.”
She listened to the operator’s voice, to the pounding on the door, and for the first time that evening, a faint, bitter smile touched her lips.
The celebration had been ruined.
But at least she had finally taken out the trash. Every last bit of it.
