The darkness outside thickened, wrapping the city in a heavy blanket. Marina sat in the kitchen, staring as if hypnotized at the cold tea in her mug. The phone on the table buzzed for the third time, flashing a name she hated seeing. At last, she exhaled and slid her finger across the screen.
“Hello, Nadezhda Sergeyevna,” she said quietly.
“Marinochka? My dear girl?” Her former mother-in-law’s voice trembled, dripping with honeyed, unnatural tenderness. “You’re not asleep yet, are you? Forgive me for calling so late, but my heart is restless. How are you? How is little Sonya?”
Marina closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how many times she had heard that tone before. That softness in the older woman’s voice always had a way of disarming her, making old wounds seem less important than they were. Somewhere deep inside, a forgotten feeling stirred — pity for lonely old age.
“We’re fine. Sonya is sleeping. Did something happen?” Marina tried to keep her voice even, showing the kind of patience only she seemed capable of.
“It happened, Marinochka, oh, it happened,” the voice in the receiver wailed. “Roma is in a terrible state. He’s lost weight, gone dark in the face, walks around like a shadow. He needs family. He needs support. Come over, will you? Talk to him. He still remembers you. He still loves you. I can see it.”
Marina had thought that, after three years, her former mother-in-law might finally be calling just to ask about her granddaughter. But no. Once again, it was Roman. Once again, his needs came first.
“We are divorced. Roman has another wife. Galina, isn’t it? Let her support him.”
“What kind of wife is she?” the old woman’s voice hardened instantly, losing all its sweetness. “She was a mistake, a spell, nothing more. But you are one of us. You are family. You know how to endure, how to forgive. Come tomorrow, Marinochka. We’ll set the table.”
The next day, Marina stood in front of the familiar door. She had not come to reconcile. She had come to end this once and for all, to explain herself face-to-face.
The door flew open, and Nadezhda Sergeyevna appeared on the threshold — older, worn down, dressed in a greasy housecoat.
“You came!” she cried, grabbing her former daughter-in-law by the sleeve. “I knew you had a good heart. Come in, don’t stand there.”
The apartment smelled of stale air and unwashed laundry. In the living room, Roman sprawled on the sofa with his legs spread out. He looked crumpled and swollen-faced. Beside him, perched on the armrest, sat Galina — a woman with bright, vulgar makeup and empty eyes.
“Hello, Roma,” Marina said dryly, not taking a single step toward him.
He lifted his cloudy eyes and twisted his lips into something resembling a smirk.
“So you showed up after all. Mother said you would come running.”
“I didn’t ‘come running,’” Marina said, feeling disappointment beginning to boil inside her. “Your mother kept calling me. She said you were dying.”
“She almost got it right,” Galina rasped with a laugh, tossing her head. “He’s dying from longing. Longing for normal food and clean shirts. And I didn’t sign up for that.”
Nadezhda Sergeyevna began fussing around them, trying to push Marina into a chair.
“You see, girls, we can settle this peacefully. Galya is a creative soul. Housework is hard for her. But you, Marina, you’re practical, used to it. Taking care of a man is a joy for you.”
Marina looked at her former mother-in-law in open disbelief.
“You called me here so I could clean up after your son and his new wife?” she asked, feeling her calm turn into icy anger.
“Why put it so rudely?” Nadezhda Sergeyevna threw up her hands. “We are family, after all. Sonya needs a father. Roman needs care. And Galya… Galya is just from a different world. She needs inspiration. But you are simple. It wouldn’t be difficult for you.”
“Simple?” Marina repeated, taking a step forward. “So I’m supposed to come here after work, wash your floors, and feed your son while this ‘creative soul’ sits on the couch?”
Roman suddenly stood up, swaying. His face flushed red, and the old familiar aggression flared in his eyes.
“How dare you speak to my mother like that?” he barked, lunging toward his former wife. “Have you forgotten who pulled you out of the dirt? Who gave you a roof over your head when you dragged yourself here from the train station?”
“I pulled myself out!” Marina raised her voice, not retreating even an inch. “I worked two jobs while you lay on this very sofa!”
“Who needed you and your little baggage anyway?” the mother-in-law shrieked, stepping between them. “That dark-eyed Sonya of yours — nobody even knows whose child she is! We tolerated you. We fed you!”
The words struck hard, but this time, what rose inside Marina was not pain. It was fury. Pure, burning fury that demanded release. She was no longer the young woman who cried into her pillow.
“Do not dare speak about my daughter!” Marina shouted, her voice ringing through the cramped room. “You old hypocrite! You drank my blood for years, and now that your ‘new prize’ has turned your life into hell, you suddenly remembered me?”
Galina burst out laughing and clapped her hands.
“Well, well, what passion! And the old witch told me you were a gray little mouse.”
“SHUT UP!” Marina snapped, turning sharply toward her. “You parasite! You sit on an old woman’s neck and enjoy it?”
Roman, clearly not expecting such resistance, grabbed Marina by the shoulder and tried to shake her.
“Keep your mouth shut! You are nobody here!”
Marina reacted instantly. She caught his hand, twisted it hard, and shoved him in the chest. Roman lost his balance and collapsed heavily back onto the sofa, dragging the tablecloth from the small table down with him.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, standing over him. “Never dare touch me again. I am not your maid, and I am not your property.”
Nadezhda Sergeyevna clutched at her chest, theatrically rolling her eyes.
“Get out!” she screamed. “Get out of here! Ungrateful creature! I don’t ever want to see you in this house again!”
“With pleasure,” Marina said coldly, straightening her jacket. “But first, you will listen. Do you think I don’t know how you live? The whole neighborhood knows. You are drowning in filth and debt.”
She swept her eyes around the room, taking in the dust and empty bottles.
“You wanted a ‘respectable’ daughter-in-law, Nadezhda Sergeyevna? Congratulations. Enjoy every minute with this alcoholic and your useless son.”
“Galya is not an alcoholic!” the old woman squealed, though her voice faltered. “Her mother is a respected woman!”
“Galina’s mother gave up on her long ago,” Marina said sharply, heading toward the door. “She called me. She was looking for somewhere to dump her ‘talented’ daughter. Congratulations. She found the perfect trash heap.”
“You’re lying!” Roman tried to get up, but his legs would not obey him. “You’re just jealous!”
Marina stopped in the doorway. Her face was completely calm now, as if carved from stone. The decision had been made — final and irreversible.
“Jealous?” she gave a small, bitter laugh. “Of what? This swamp? I live in a clean apartment. My daughter studies at the best gymnasium. And Zinaida Fyodorovna has become more family to us than you ever were. As far as we are concerned, you are dead.”
She pulled the front door open, letting the fresh air from the stairwell rush into the stuffy apartment.
“And remember this: if you come anywhere near Sonya even once, I will destroy you. Legally or not — I don’t care. I am not a victim anymore.”
The door slammed behind Marina so loudly that the walls seemed to tremble. A heavy silence settled over the apartment. Nadezhda Sergeyevna sank onto a chair, staring at the closed door.
“Never mind,” she muttered. “She’ll crawl back. Hunger is no joke.”
At that moment, a key turned in the lock.
The door opened again — but it was not Marina standing there.
A heavyset woman in an expensive coat stepped into the apartment. She was Galina’s mother. Behind her stood two sturdy men in work overalls.
“Well, hello, dear relatives,” she boomed, looking around the room with open disgust.
“Lyudochka?” Nadezhda Sergeyevna jumped up, trying to force a smile for her friend. “What brings you here? We were just about to have tea.”
“What tea, Nadya?” Lyudmila grimaced. “Galina wrote to me. She said you transferred the apartment to her. Signed a deed of gift to keep your precious son settled. Is that right?”
Nadezhda Sergeyevna went pale, gripping the edge of the table.
“Well… we are family… I thought it would be safer that way… so Galya wouldn’t worry.”
“Excellent,” Galina’s mother said, nodding to the men. “Take the furniture out. The apartment belongs to Galya now, and Galya is going to a clinic for compulsory treatment. I’m renting this place out to pay the bills. And you, my dears, will vacate the premises.”
“Vacate?” Roman mumbled from the sofa. “We have nowhere to go! This is Mom’s home!”
“It used to be Mom’s. Now it’s my daughter’s,” Lyudmila said with a smirk. “The documents are signed. You have one hour. Otherwise, the boys will help your belongings fly out the window.”
Nadezhda Sergeyevna dropped to the floor, covering her face with her hands. Her plan to tie a wealthy daughter-in-law to them with an apartment had turned into disaster. She had placed the weapon directly into the hands of her own executioner.
Somewhere far away, in her bright kitchen, Marina was hugging dark-eyed Sonya, not thinking at all about those who had stayed behind in the past.
And the boomerang launched by greed and stupidity had completed its deadly flight.
