— Dana, do you have any idea what’s going on?! Why the hell didn’t you pick up the phone the first time? Are you sleeping like the dead while everything here is falling apart?! — her mother’s voice burst from the smartphone speaker so sharply it felt as if the bedroom window might start rattling.
— Mom, good morning. Please calm down, lower your voice. I’ve only just opened my eyes. Tell me properly what happened, — Dana said softly, trying with all her strength to hold on to that fragile patience, that faint hope of being understood, which she clung to every time the name “Alyona Andreevna” appeared on her screen.
— What good morning, for God’s sake?! Don’t play dumb with me! Get up right now and come here! I said urgently! — her mother’s short, barking phrases left no room for dialogue. This was not the panic of someone in real trouble. This was pure, concentrated, familiar rage.
Beside Dana, Grigory let out a heavy sigh. The shouting from the phone had mercilessly torn him out of a sweet Saturday sleep. He grimaced and rubbed his face with both hands. Grigory genuinely could not stand his wife’s mother. He hated her wild, uncontrollable temper with a grinding bitterness. She was not a domineering schemer, weaving complicated nets of control. No. Her weapon was volume. She was so loud that her shrill monologues seemed almost physically tangible.
Both Grigory and Dana knew the unbreakable rule: if Alyona Andreevna demanded that someone come over, they had to go. Otherwise, things would become a hundred times worse. She would come to their home herself, burst into the apartment, and then, as they say, no one would be able to drive her out. She could occupy their living room for an entire day, shouting, spraying spit, pacing from corner to corner until she poured out all her poison. Only then, exhausted but proud of herself, would she finally leave. It had happened more than once.
Dana lowered her eyes guiltily, covered the speaker with her palm, and whispered to her husband:
— Grisha, please forgive me for waking you. I have to go.
Grigory forced his eyes open. They were full of exhaustion from endless family drama.
— Do you want me to come with you? For support?
But Dana felt unbearably ashamed. Ashamed that her grown, strong husband would once again witness her own mother scolding her, a thirty-year-old woman, as if she were a naughty schoolgirl. It was too humiliating.
— No, no, don’t worry. Sleep, — she said, gently touching his shoulder. — It’s your day off. I’ll try to run there and back quickly. I think I’ll be home by eleven. Sleep a little more, darling.
Dana quietly slipped out from under the blanket and began dressing in a hurry. As she pulled on her jeans, she involuntarily sank into memories of her distant yet painfully vivid childhood. For as long as she could remember, her mother had always shouted. She had never hit Dana with her hands, never beaten her with a belt or a skipping rope, but that endless piercing ringing in her ears seemed to have eaten its way deep into her brain. The echo of those screams followed Dana into adulthood.
But whatever else could be said, Alyona Andreevna was still her mother. And next to her mother lived him — her beloved father, Pavel Andreevich.
It was strange, paradoxical, impossible to understand how a man like him had chosen such a woman as his life companion. Her father was calm. Almost too calm, like a deep, still lake. No, he was not the typical henpecked husband, weakly obeying every order of his hot-tempered wife. He had simply found his own way to survive. He did his own things, read newspapers, fixed the faucet, watched television, and completely ignored the hysterical shouting that shook the walls.
It was as if he had built an invisible, bulletproof dome around himself. As Dana stepped out of the apartment into the cool morning, she wondered once again how her father had managed to live like that for decades.
She got on a half-empty morning bus. Sleepy streets flashed past the window. Her phone vibrated in her purse. It was her friend Olya.
— Dana, hi! So, are our plans still on? The water park is waiting! — Olya’s cheerful voice rang in the receiver.
Dana sighed heavily.
— Olya, I’m sorry, we’ll have to move our swimming plans by a couple of hours. My mother has summoned me like a soldier on command. Something has happened again.
Her friend, who knew Alyona Andreevna’s character all too well, gave a sympathetic whistle.
— Oh, my condolences. Hang in there, girl. Don’t let her drain all your blood before breakfast. Call me in a couple of hours!
When Dana finally reached the familiar door of her parents’ apartment, out of breath, and pressed the bell, the door flew open instantly, as if someone had been lying in wait behind it. Alyona Andreevna did not even bother with a simple hello. She immediately poured a waterfall of shouting over her daughter.
— Where have you been wandering around?! I told you in plain Russian — urgently! Do you understand anything at all?! — her mother yelled, waving her arms in her dressing gown. Her face was blotched red with fury.
Words flew from her mouth in short bursts, mixed with street slang that she somehow seemed proud of.
— Why are you standing there like a statue?! Come here and look at this outrage!
Dana, trying to preserve the last remnants of hope for a constructive conversation, took off her shoes and followed her mother into the bedroom. With a theatrical gesture worthy of an ancient Greek tragedy, Alyona Andreevna pointed to the perfectly made, empty half of the huge double bed.
— Well?! What do you have to say?! — her mother screeched.
Dana blinked in confusion. She honestly did not understand where the catastrophe was.
— Mom, it’s a bed. It’s empty. Dad probably went to the store or to the garage.
— What garage, damn it?! — her mother slapped her own thighs. — He left! Sneaked away like a rat! Packed his things while I was asleep and ran off! My dear husband has lost his mind!
For one brief moment, somewhere deep in her soul, Dana felt a sharp, unbelievable stab of joy.
“Finally. Thank God,” flashed through her mind.
But there was no relief on her mother’s face. On the contrary, Alyona Andreevna began wailing and rushing around the room.
— How dare he?! Who needs him, that old fool?! How will that idiot even survive without me?! He can’t cook himself soup! Completely lost all fear, pulling a stunt like this in his old age!
Dana watched this one-woman performance and could do nothing. She glanced at the wall clock. It was almost eleven. Her patience was melting away.
— Mom, calm down. Drink some water. Dad is a grown, capable man. He’ll walk around, cool off, and come back. I’m leaving. I have plans.
Dana tried to end the meaningless conversation. As she walked away, she could still hear her mother behind her, no longer screaming with the same fury, but muttering monotonously and viciously, cursing everything in the world.
Once outside in the fresh air, Dana drew a deep breath. God, what happiness it was simply to be free of her company. She dialed her older sister Zhanna. Zhanna answered almost immediately.
— I already know, Dana, — Zhanna said tiredly. — Our dear mother threw a tantrum into my ear half an hour ago. She screamed so loudly I nearly went deaf.
Zhanna had long ago escaped to another city, building thousands of saving kilometers between herself and her mother. Though Dana herself had also once made an escape. She remembered that day clearly. Early morning. Silence in the apartment while her mother was on duty. Dana hurriedly packed her things into a sports bag, her hands trembling. She left a short note on the kitchen table:
“I’m going to live on my own. I’m renting an apartment.”
And she left.
Oh, what a scandal there had been then. Her mother had raged, threatened every punishment under heaven. If not for Grigory — back then they had only just started dating — Dana surely would not have endured it. She probably would have had a terrible nervous breakdown. But Grisha became her stone wall. He shielded her with his back, literally. He answered the phone and silently, with clenched teeth, listened for hours to the mad screams of that unhinged woman, never letting Dana anywhere near the receiver.
And now history was repeating itself. Screaming again. Running away again.
Zhanna did not know where their father was. His phone was out of network coverage. A sticky anxiety began twisting in Dana’s chest. What if he had become ill outside? What if it was his heart? Though, according to Zhanna, Alyona Andreevna had already managed to call the ambulance station and every morgue in the city. Their father was nowhere to be found. The conclusion was obvious: he was hiding.
Good for you, Dad.
At that very moment, the missing Pavel Andreevich was sitting on a sagging sofa in the tiny room of his old army friend Igor. Pavel Andreevich was not a drinking man. Somehow, since youth, he had never developed a taste for it. The same could not be said of his friend.
Igor liked to drink. He made his own strong homemade liquor, clear as a tear. But to give him credit, he had his own strict code: he drank only once a week, on Saturdays. But when he drank, he drank so much that by evening he simply collapsed wherever his legs gave out. His wife had long ago accepted this odd habit. Igor never became violent, never raised his hand. He simply drank shot after shot, stared at the flickering television screen, and ate chocolates.
Today was Saturday. The homemade liquor already stood on the table in a misted glass decanter. But Igor, who usually began his ritual first thing in the morning, sat in front of a full glass and had taken only one small, uncertain sip. He kept flinching as he listened to Pavel Andreevich quietly, in a broken voice, speak about his life. About decades of humiliation, about constant shouting that drained the soul, about the contempt with which his wife treated every word he said.
Igor’s wife, busy in the kitchen, involuntarily overheard the confession of the two old men. Her heart tightened with pity. She remembered Pavel very well — he had been a witness at their wedding, so many years ago it was frightening to think about.
She wiped her hands on her apron, entered the room, and said firmly:
— Pasha, stay with us. Better yet, Igor and I can offer you a real refuge. Go to the village, to my parents’ house.
She explained that her parents, because of their advanced age, had moved to the city to be closer to pharmacies and clinics. Their sturdy, good house with a stove now stood empty. They visited it very rarely.
— You don’t have to go to work anymore, your pension comes in. You’re not going back to that harpy so she can drive you into the grave once and for all! — Igor’s wife added.
Pavel Andreevich, exhausted from all he had endured, gratefully agreed. Only the next day, after he had safely reached the village, heated the stove, and settled into the new place, did he switch on his phone and call Dana.
When Dana heard her father’s calm, measured voice through the phone, she closed her eyes, and hot tears of relief rolled down her cheeks.
— Daddy, dear, how are you? Are you all right? Mother is turning the whole place upside down. She’s raging so hard the walls are shaking.
Her father let out a heavy breath into the receiver.
— Oh, my Dana… Don’t tell her where I am. I beg you in God’s name. I just want silence. Write down the village address. Come tomorrow with Grisha. I’ll heat the bathhouse, and we’ll sit together like normal people.
The next day, Dana and Grigory drove their car to the quiet village hidden among forests. The meeting was incredibly warm. Surprisingly, the fugitive did not say a single bad word about his tyrannical wife. Pavel Andreevich simply did not speak about Alyona Andreevna at all, as if he had cut her out of his reality.
They had a wonderful time. They steamed themselves in the hot bathhouse smelling of oak brooms, had dinner with potatoes and dill, and drank herbal tea. Late in the evening, Dana and her husband returned to the city feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from their shoulders.
But peace did not last long.
The day after the trip, the silence of Dana’s apartment was torn apart by an insistent, aggressive ringing at the door. Alyona Andreevna stood on the threshold. She was angrier than ever before. Her eyes threw lightning, and her chest rose and fell heavily. The moment she crossed the threshold, she attacked.
Something inside Dana trembled. Her hope for understanding crumbled to dust. The time had come for disappointment, swiftly turning into a dull, painful anger.
— Listen here, my clever girl! — her mother growled, advancing on her daughter. — You know where he is! Don’t you dare feed me lies! You’ve been suspiciously calm this whole time. You didn’t run to the police, didn’t call morgues. That means you know where that old bastard ran off to! Tell me right now where that rat is hiding!
She screamed so violently, spraying spit, that Grigory, who had been sitting in the kitchen until then, could no longer bear it. He stepped firmly into the hallway and stood between his wife and his enraged mother-in-law, shielding Dana with his broad chest.
— Alyona Andreevna, stop shouting in my home, — he said firmly, steel in his voice.
His remark affected her like gasoline poured onto an open flame. She erupted even harder.
— And you shut your mouth, you useless bastard! — she shrieked, jabbing a finger at him. — Don’t interfere when I’m talking to my daughter! Your job is to stand aside and keep quiet!
Grigory narrowed his eyes and answered in an icy voice:
— I don’t hear a conversation here. I only hear the barking of a rabid dog.
That was either a fatal mistake or a necessary catalyst. Dana understood: now it would explode.
And it did.
Having lost the last traces of human restraint, her mother hurled herself at the tall, strong Grigory with a hysterical scream. She swung her hand and slapped him across the face with all her strength. Once, then again. The sharp sounds of flesh striking flesh rang through the hallway.
Dana cried out in horror and pressed her back against the wall. Grigory’s jaw muscles tightened. His instinct for self-preservation demanded that he strike back, physically stop the attacker, but he could not hit a woman — especially his wife’s mother. He pushed her away forcefully with both hands. The shove was strong enough that Alyona Andreevna lost her balance, flailed her arms absurdly, and crashed down onto the floor, landing hard on her backside.
One would think that should have cooled her down.
But no.
Like a wound-up spring, like a woman possessed, she instantly jumped back to her feet and lunged into another insane attack.
Realizing that words were useless, Grigory acted harshly. He thrust out his powerful arm, grabbed the enraged woman firmly by the front of her expensive blouse, and held his arm straight, keeping her at a distance. Now his mother-in-law, furiously striking at the air, physically could not reach his face.
When she realized she had been blocked, she changed tactics. With a wild growl, she dug her long artificial nails into Grigory’s exposed forearm. She tore at his skin, scratching with the fury of a wild cat. Bright red lines immediately appeared on his arm, followed by drops of blood.
But even that was not enough for her. Twisting her body, she bent forward and, flashing her teeth, tried to bite Grigory on the wrist. And she succeeded. Her sharp teeth sank into his skin.
Grigory groaned low from pain and disgust, trying to shake the fury off him. At that very moment, Dana, whose disappointment and anger had reached the peak of a cold decision, rushed into the kitchen. She grabbed a heavy glass pitcher of water from the table and returned to the hallway. With icy calm, without saying a single word, she threw all its contents straight into her mother’s rage-twisted face.
The water struck like a whip. The suffocating, wet shock forced Alyona Andreevna to unclench her jaws and stagger back. She froze, breathing heavily, icy streams running down her hair, her expensive blouse sticking to her body. For a second, confusion flickered in her eyes.
Without another sound, she turned around, yanked the front door open, and ran out onto the stairwell, slamming the door loudly behind her.
A ringing silence hung in the apartment, broken only by Grigory’s heavy breathing. Dana approached her husband, stared at his arm torn bloody, at the clear bite mark, and suddenly, with a nervous little laugh, said:
— Listen… maybe we should go to the emergency room now so they can give you a rabies shot? I’m serious.
Grigory stood in shock. He had never expected things to come to such an openly animal-like fight. He looked at his wife guiltily.
— Dana, forgive me. It was a reflex. I didn’t mean to push her.
But Dana was not angry at all. Arctic cold ruled inside her soul.
— Forget it. Come to the bathroom. We need to treat your wounds with peroxide, — she said firmly.
After that incident, a strange, shaky silence began. Her mother did not call and did not appear. Exhaling the tension, Dana naively began to hope that perhaps an ugly peace had arrived — or at least an armed neutrality.
But it was only the calm before the real storm, before the event that would cross out everything.
A month later, the phone rang. It was Igor, her father’s friend. His voice trembled so badly that Dana understood everything before he even said the terrible words.
Pavel Andreevich had died. A heart attack.
The heart that had endured monstrous tension for years had finally failed under the sudden weight of absolute, unfamiliar silence.
Dana and Grigory immediately rushed to the village, abandoning everything. Grief swallowed her whole. Igor, wiping tears from his stubbled cheeks, led Dana aside and asked in a hoarse voice:
— Dana, Pasha asked… He asked very much that if anything happened to him, we not tell that… Alyona Andreevna. He did not want her standing over his coffin.
Dana hesitated. Whatever had happened, legally and before God, she was still his wife. But her dead father’s wish was law. And Grigory supported her completely in this, especially since the scars on his arm had not yet fully healed.
The funeral was quiet and modest. Only Dana, Grigory, Zhanna — who had flown in urgently — Igor and his wife, and a couple of village neighbors whom her father had managed to befriend during his short time of freedom were there. The wind whispered softly through the tree crowns above the fresh mound of earth.
No shouting. No hysteria.
Dad had found his eternal peace.
But in the modern world, it is impossible to hide a person’s death. A couple of weeks later, the bureaucratic machine did its work, and her mother learned the truth through some pension fund documents. Her reaction was predictably monstrous. She came to Dana’s apartment again to settle scores.
That day, Grigory was ready for anything. As soon as the demanding ring of the doorbell began, as if it meant to break the button, he silently went to the kitchen, filled a pitcher with the coldest water possible, and placed it on the hallway cabinet beside him.
When Dana opened the door, her mother flew inside, ready to unleash curses. But her eyes immediately landed on Grigory’s tense muscles and the glass pitcher. Self-preservation kicked in. She did not attack her daughter or son-in-law. She stood a meter away from them, her face twisted with complete contempt.
— Beasts. Cold, heartless beasts, — she hissed through her teeth. — You hid a death from his own wife. Bastards. Don’t worry, the world is round.
She suddenly threw her head back and released a dry, terrifying, cawing laugh. Then she turned sharply and left, leaving behind a trail of heavy perfume and icy fear.
Six months passed. The proper legal time came to deal with inheritance matters. Zhanna returned to the city and stayed at Dana and Grigory’s apartment. They had to visit the notary, and everyone understood there would be a scandal.
In the lawyer’s office, an unbelievable detail came to light, one that struck like thunder from a clear sky. Their father, though quiet, had turned out to be a thorough man. During his lifetime, he had secretly made a will. His share in the huge multi-room apartment where Alyona Andreevna now lived like a queen had been divided equally between his two daughters, Dana and Zhanna. To the wife with whom he had lived in constant humiliation, he had not left a single square meter.
Alyona Andreevna listened as the notary read the document, and her face turned as white as chalk. She had already drawn air into her chest, ready to smash the office to pieces with her voice, ready to throw herself at her daughters right there, but the lawyer’s stern look and the security guard in the hallway forced her to restrain herself.
She only hissed:
— We’ll talk at your place.
And she kept her word.
That same evening, while Dana, Grisha, and Zhanna were sitting in the living room, a crushing blow landed on the door. On the threshold stood their mother, and with her was her close friend Raisa — an equally loud, scandalous, spiteful woman who loved interfering in other people’s conflicts. This was her support group, her heavy artillery.
They barged into the apartment without invitation, pushing Dana deeper into the room.
— You jackals! You vultures! — her mother screamed, and Raisa immediately joined in, pouring out a stream of filthy words.
— Decided to throw your mother out onto the street?! I’ll grind you into dust! You’ll wash yourselves in blood because of me! — Alyona Andreevna shrieked, advancing on her stunned daughters.
Raisa, sensing her own impunity, suddenly shoved Dana sharply in the shoulder.
— Listen here, you insolent little thing, sign everything over to your mother before we rip your hair out! You drove your father into the grave, and now you’re after the apartment, you rats!
That physical shove, that vile insult to the memory of their beloved father, became the spark that blew up the powder keg.
Dana and Grigory, who had always tried to remain civilized, gentle, patient people, suddenly broke. Or rather, the shell of decency around them broke, and a wild, primal, uncontrollable rage burst out.
— SHUT YOUR MOUTHS, BOTH OF YOU!!! — The roar that tore from Grigory’s chest was so monstrous that the windowpanes truly seemed to tremble. He stepped forward, no longer afraid to shout, no longer afraid to use his body as a weapon.
Their enemies had not expected such resistance. Alyona Andreevna froze, her eyes widening. She was used to being the only person in the family who shouted. She was used to obedience.
Grigory roughly grabbed Raisa by the collar of her jacket and yanked her toward himself, then threw her toward the front door with such force that she crashed against the wall.
— Get out of my house, you filthy creature! — he roared.
Raisa, realizing that people here were not merely shouting but might actually kill her with their bare hands, squealed in terror, grabbed her bag, and abandoned her friend to fate, fleeing through the door as fast as she could.
Alyona Andreevna was left alone, cornered. But her pride would not allow her to surrender. She tried to swing at her son-in-law again, but this time Dana intervened.
Fragile, patient Dana flew at her mother like a hawk. She had no intention of inventing complicated revenge plans. She simply needed to throw this poison out of her life right now.
Dana seized the lapels of her mother’s expensive cardigan in a dead grip. Her mother tried to pull away. The fabric strained and tore loudly at the seam.
— Don’t you dare come into my home! Don’t you dare talk about Father! — Dana screamed straight into her mother’s fear-twisted face.
Dana shook her so hard her teeth clicked together. The older woman, the unbeatable scandal-maker, was now completely paralyzed by terror before the daughter who had gone mad with pain.
Grigory stood beside his wife, towering over his mother-in-law like a cliff.
Then Zhanna stepped forward. Her voice was cold as a medical scalpel.
— Listen carefully. If you dare touch Dana even once, if you call her even once and start tearing at her nerves, I will put my share of your apartment up for sale the very next day. And I’ll sell it to a Roma family or ten migrants.
Dana, breathing heavily, released her mother’s torn cardigan and added in an icy tone:
— And I won’t stay silent either. If you harass Zhanna, I’ll sell my share to the first person who wants it. Then you’ll be left with your miserable quarter. They’ll force you out of your own den in a month. And with the money you get, you’ll be lucky to buy yourself a bed in some shabby boarding house.
The ultimatum was harsh and final.
Alyona Andreevna stood defeated, her clothes torn, abandoned by her cowardly friend, shrinking in on herself. Her lifelong attempt to control people through shouting, guilt, and pressure had ended in complete and absolute collapse. Her husband had run away from her and chosen death over returning. Her children had turned away from her and become ruthless judges.
She stood there silently, humiliated, broken by the very weapon she had spent her whole life using — now turned against her with tenfold force. Grigory simply opened the front door and pointed to the exit.
Alyona Andreevna, hunched like an old woman, slowly stepped out onto the stairwell.
Her era of absolute power was over forever.
A few days later, her birthday arrived.
She sat alone in the huge, echoing apartment, knowing she owned only a quarter of it. On the beautifully set table stood a cake with candles, but no one rang the doorbell. Her phone made only two short beeps — dry, empty text messages from her daughters with formal birthday wishes.
She was left to meet old age in an apartment that now felt foreign to her.
Completely alone.
