“Auntie, when are you finally going to start buying normal food?” Vadim shoved the wide plate of pasta with seafood away from himself in disgust. “I’m not choking down this grass. Where’s the meat?”
The sharp clang of the fork he threw onto the table cut painfully through the room. Rita sat across from her twenty-five-year-old son, stroking his shoulder with exaggerated tenderness.
“Lyuba, honestly, have a conscience,” my sister-in-law drawled, sipping an expensive fruit drink. “The boy needs proper nutrition. He needs protein. You can afford it. You have your own big business. You’re not exactly short on money.”
I silently watched the scene unfold. A heavy irritation was slowly boiling inside me. Vadim wiped his lips with a paper napkin and tossed it straight into the half-eaten dish with shrimp.
“Rita, your son turned twenty-five this spring,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “He is perfectly capable of earning money for his own farm-fresh groceries. Nobody is stopping him from finding a normal job and paying for his needs himself.”
Vadim leaned lazily back in the soft chair. He pulled out a toothpick and began picking his teeth demonstratively, not even bothering to cover his mouth with his hand.
“I’m a creative person,” my nephew said lazily. “Working for some stranger for pennies is for losers. I need something bigger. I’m searching for myself in business.”
“But living off your aunt and emptying someone else’s refrigerator is clearly the direct road to incredible success,” I replied, looking straight into his shameless eyes.
Rita clicked her tongue in annoyance. She adjusted the collar of her loud patterned blouse, placed her elbows on my clean table, and looked at me with obvious superiority.
“Lyuba, stop with that possessive tone. We actually came here to discuss something important. It’s time to settle the main question. The housing question.”
I folded my arms across my chest. My sister-in-law had been circling this subject for a long time, testing the ground. But today she had clearly decided to attack head-on. The air in my spacious kitchen seemed to grow heavier.
“What question?” I asked. “I have no housing problems. My documents are in order, and the utilities are paid on time.”
“It’s time to transfer your apartment to Vadik,” Rita declared without the slightest hesitation. She looked around my kitchen as if she already owned it. “He is your only nephew. Your heir. And you live alone in all this space. I’m fifty, you’re already fifty-eight. At your age, you don’t need so many rooms. It’s only hard to clean.”
I looked at my kitchen cabinets, the built-in appliances, the fresh renovation. I had earned every bit of it myself. For years I had built my business, denied myself vacations, worked without weekends.
“And why exactly should I give my property to your son?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly as I studied her.
“Because we’re family!” Rita raised her voice, her face twisting with anger. “You never gave my brother any children. Vadik is the only blood relative you have left. Who else needs you? You’ll disappear here all alone. Who’s going to look after you when you’re bedridden? You should be thinking about the future and be grateful we haven’t turned our backs on you! Out of mercy, we’ll take care of you.”
“Your son certainly won’t be the one taking care of me,” I said with a dry smile. “He can’t even carry his own plate to the sink.”
“I’m a man, not a servant,” Vadim snapped arrogantly. “Come on, Auntie, stop dragging this out. Transfer the square meters to me, and I’ll be generous enough to let you live out your days in the small room. But the big room will need changes. We’ll knock down this wall and connect it to the hallway. I need a studio for my projects.”
My nephew got up and began strolling through my apartment, peering into corners and evaluating the space with the frightening, condescending confidence of someone who already considered himself the owner. He walked over to the plastic window and tapped his fingers against the windowsill.
“The frames need replacing too. Cheap stuff,” Vadim announced, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the sill.
That was the final straw.
I remembered the previous month. I had undergone a complicated vein surgery. I had called Rita and asked her to come help me during the difficult first days after I was discharged, when I couldn’t stand at the stove for long.
Back then, my sister-in-law said she had a hair appointment and, in general, many personal matters to deal with. Vadim simply blocked my number for a couple of days so I wouldn’t bother him with requests to go to the pharmacy for medicated ointment.
But Vika, the modest twenty-year-old neighbor from the same landing, came every evening. She worked as a paramedic on an ambulance team. She gave me injections, brought light chicken broth, and helped me change the tight bandages. She never asked for anything in return. She simply saw that a lonely person needed practical support.
“So, you want to take my apartment?” I shifted my gaze from the young man wandering around the room to his greedy mother.
Rita immediately leaned forward. Her eyes glittered with anticipation of easy prey. She sincerely believed she had finally broken me with her toxic pressure and manipulation.
“Of course we do. It’s only fair. Such wealth shouldn’t go to strangers. Everything should stay in the family.”
“You also opened a jar of expensive farm caviar yesterday, the one I bought for a holiday,” I said, pointing to the empty glass jar near the sink.
“I wanted a snack, so I ate it,” Vadim muttered, examining the stretch ceiling. “Why are you making such a big deal over food? Your supplies were just sitting there anyway.”
“And two weeks ago, you broke my new expensive food processor. You stuffed unpeeled nuts into it, shells and all, and jammed the mechanism completely.”
“Oh, you’ll repair it or buy another one!” Rita waved me off with open irritation. “You have a business. You won’t go broke. Why are you picking on the boy over nonsense?”
“And a month ago, this boy broke my work tablet,” I continued quietly, pronouncing every word with precision. “He sat on it with all his weight because he didn’t look where he was dropping himself.”
“Auntie, are you going to remind me about that piece of plastic for the rest of my life?” Vadim rolled his eyes. “I told you it was an accident. You could have forgiven me.”
At that moment, the plan fully formed in my head. I was no longer going to tolerate these parasites in my home. I was done being their convenient feeding trough and free sponsor.
“Fine, Rita. You’ll have the apartment,” I said after a brief pause.
My sister-in-law clapped her hands joyfully, her face spreading into a wide, victorious smile. Vadim snorted smugly and reached for a large green apple from the tall glass bowl.
“Tomorrow at exactly ten in the morning, I’ll be waiting for you at the notary office on Mira Street,” I said, rising from the table with determination. “And now leave. I need to gather all the property documents and prepare for the transaction.”
Rita jumped up from her chair in a hurry. She quickly adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, clearly afraid I might change my mind and cancel everything.
“You see, son? I told you Aunt Lyuba was a wise woman! We’ll be there tomorrow on the dot. Don’t forget your passport! And dress decently.”
They went out into the hallway. Vadim didn’t even bother using the shoehorn. He simply crushed the backs of his expensive sneakers and walked out onto the stairwell. At last, the heavy metal door closed behind them.
I went into my home office. From the bottom drawer of my desk, I pulled out a thick plastic folder. I had carefully kept every receipt for household appliances and all service-center documents there.
I sat down at the desk and opened my laptop. I added up the cost of repairing the food processor: twenty-five thousand rubles. Replacing the broken screen on the tablet had cost forty thousand. Dry-cleaning the light-colored sofa after Vadim’s visits was another five thousand.
I prepared a proper pre-trial claim. I based it on Article 1064 of the Civil Code concerning compensation for damage caused to a citizen’s property. I printed the document in two copies and attached copies of all the receipts. The stack of papers turned out impressively heavy.
Then I picked up my smartphone and called my neighbor. She answered after only a few rings.
“Vika, hello. Tell me, do you have a morning shift tomorrow?”
“Hello, Lyubov Ivanovna,” came the girl’s soft voice. “No, tomorrow I’ll be sleeping after my night duty. Do you need help?”
“Yes, Vika. I really need you to come to the notary office on Mira Street tomorrow at quarter to ten. And make sure you bring your passport.”
“Has something happened?” she asked, instantly worried.
“I’ll explain everything tomorrow. It’s very important.”
The next morning, I arrived at the tall building of the notary office a little early. Rita and Vadim were already standing impatiently on the steps. My sister-in-law was loudly discussing with her son what furniture they would buy for the living room after throwing my outdated set into the dump.
I approached them completely calmly. My plan had been worked out down to the smallest detail.
“Oh, Lyuba!” Rita took a large step toward me. “We were getting tired of waiting. Well, shall we go formalize our future?”
“Let’s go,” I replied shortly and opened the massive wooden door.
We entered the bright waiting hall. On the visitors’ sofa, Vika was sitting modestly in a light summer dress. When she saw me, she stood up and greeted me shyly. Rita looked her over from head to toe with arrogant suspicion.
“And what is this girl from the neighboring apartment doing here?” my sister-in-law demanded loudly. “Why did you drag an outsider into a family transaction?”
“She’s here for business,” I said, walking past the outraged Rita straight to the door of the office we needed.
The assistant invited us inside. Behind a broad oak desk sat the notary, a serious man in a strict gray suit. We took the available chairs. Vadim sprawled lazily in an armchair and buried himself in the screen of his new smartphone.
“Good morning,” the notary said, looking at us over his thin-framed glasses. “Lyubov Ivanovna, the documents have been checked. Do you confirm your intentions regarding the transaction?”
“Yes, I confirm them in full.”
Rita fidgeted impatiently in her chair. She reached toward the desk, barely restraining her triumphant smile. In her mind, she was already arranging her furniture in my rooms.
“Well, give us the pen already! Where does my boy sign? We still need to go to the hardware store and choose wallpaper for the big room.”
The notary frowned and looked sternly at the insolent woman.
“This citizen has absolutely nothing to do with the transaction. There is nowhere for him to sign. Furthermore, I must ask all persons not participating in the transaction to leave the office.”
No one said a word. Vadim finally looked up from his smartphone in confusion.
“What do you mean, nothing to do with it?” Rita’s voice cracked nervously. “We’re signing the deed of gift for my nephew! This is a family matter!”
“There is no deed of gift,” the specialist said firmly and clearly. “We are here to sign a lifetime maintenance agreement with dependent care. Lyubov Ivanovna is officially transferring ownership of the apartment to Viktoria Savelyeva.”
Rita blinked in bewilderment. Her furious gaze darted from me to the calm lawyer, then to frightened Vika. My sister-in-law nervously squeezed the strap of her handbag.
“What Viktoria?!” the woman shouted, jumping up from her chair. “Lyuba, have you lost your mind? You promised the apartment to my Vadik! He is your blood!”
“I promised that documents for the apartment would be signed today,” I said, looking directly into my relative’s hateful eyes and savoring the moment. “Vika genuinely cared for me after the hospital. You only demanded money, broke my things, and waited for me to vacate the living space for you.”
My nephew leapt up from the soft chair. His face twisted with real anger. He had understood that the free real estate had just slipped right through his fingers.
“You decided to cheat us?” he said, taking an aggressive step toward the desk, clenching his fists. “I’ll sue you! I’m the heir!”
The notary placed his hand warningly on the desk button used to call security.
“Young man, lower your voice, or you will leave this office with the police.”
I calmly opened my handbag and took out the plastic folder with the documents I had prepared.
“You will go to court, Vadim,” I said, dropping the heavy stack of papers right in front of him on the edge of the desk. “This is an official pre-trial claim. All the receipts from the service centers are attached. Article 1064 of the Civil Code. Deliberate damage to another person’s property.”
Vadim stared at the papers in disbelief. His arrogance began to evaporate rapidly under the weight of undeniable proof.
“What is this nonsense? Are you joking?”
“This is the bill for the ruined food processor, the broken work tablet, and the dry-cleaning of the furniture. If you don’t transfer the full amount to the bank details listed in the document by the end of this month, we really will meet in court. And my company has excellent lawyers. The legal costs will also fall on your shoulders.”
Rita began breathing heavily and loudly with outrage. She grabbed the handle of her bag so tightly that her fingers turned white.
“How can you even have the conscience? He is a creative person! He is searching for himself! He doesn’t have that kind of money! This is pure betrayal!”
“This overgrown boy is twenty-five years old. It’s time he learned financial responsibility,” I cut her off. “And now leave the office. You are interfering with lawful notarial actions. Go before I call security.”
Vadim backed away in fear. All his arrogant confidence as the supposed master of the situation disappeared the moment he saw real papers with service-center stamps and the final amount printed at the bottom. He knew perfectly well how firm I was when it came to business matters.
“Choke on your precious square meters!” he spat viciously. The young man grabbed his mother by the sleeve of her blouse and pulled her hard toward the exit.
“You are nothing to us anymore!” Rita hissed from the doorway, throwing me a look full of hatred. “We don’t want to know you!”
“That is exactly what I was aiming for,” I said, turning away from them with confidence.
The door slammed loudly. I turned back to the desk. Vika was sitting with wide, anxious eyes, her thin fingers trembling slightly on her knees.
“Lyubov Ivanovna,” the girl said quietly. “I can’t sign this. It’s too much. They are your family.”
“Real family is the people who bring you hot broth when you can’t get out of bed, Vika. Not the ones who divide your belongings while you are still alive. You deserve this security for your future.”
I took the ballpoint pen and signed all copies of the agreement. Vika wiped away the tears shining in her eyes and then signed the papers on her side with steady determination.
After visiting the lawyer, we went to a cozy café on the next street. I ordered fresh berry desserts and cranberry mors for both of us. We talked for a long time about our plans for the future. Vika spoke with enthusiasm about her work on the ambulance team, and I simply listened to her and smiled sincerely, feeling an incredible lightness in my soul.
That evening, I returned to my spacious apartment. I slowly walked through the bright rooms. I turned on soft instrumental music. The home smelled of freshness and perfect cleanliness.
No one was telling me how to live anymore. No one was rummaging through my things. No one was dirtying my home with muddy shoes. I took new fluffy towels from the cupboard and neatly arranged them on the bathroom shelf. Then I watered my favorite ficus in its beautiful ceramic pot. Ahead of me was a long and peaceful life, and now there was someone in it who was truly close, grateful, and reliable.
As for Vadim, he repaid the debt for the appliances a week and a half later. Apparently, Rita realized I was not joking about court and quickly found the necessary amount. That very same day, I transferred the money to the account of the district shelter for homeless animals. I didn’t need their petty cash.
But I would never again allow anyone to wipe their feet on me.
