“Anya, why are you just standing there? Your tea’s getting cold,” Igor said, sliding the mug toward her as if that could somehow soften what was coming.
She calmly sat down across from him. On the table lay his leather folder, placed so neatly it almost seemed like the most important guest in the room. Anya smiled faintly.
“You look like a magician,” she said. “Any second now you’ll pull a rabbit out of your sleeve and tell me it’s all for the common good.”
“I came here seriously. No jokes,” he said, tapping the folder with his finger. “Let’s handle this like adults. No hysterics, no tears. We’ll make an agreement and separate like normal people.”
“I’m all for handling things like adults,” she nodded. “I even bought adult cookies, see? Not from the children’s aisle.”
“Listen, let’s do it this way,” he began in a businesslike tone. “The apartment stays with me. And Tyoma… well, you’re basically the one raising him anyway. He’s used to you. It makes sense. He stays with you.”
Anya slowly took a sip of tea. Tyoma, Igor’s seven-year-old son from his first marriage, was in the next room drawing spaceships. He called her by her name, but hugged her the way children hug the person closest to them.
“So you’re proposing a deal,” she said softly. “You get the walls, I get the child. Interesting arithmetic.”
“Normal arithmetic,” he muttered. “I’m not a monster. I’m thinking about the boy. He’s better off with you. What would I do with him? I have my life, my work, things going on.”
“How caring of you,” she tilted her head. “Father of the year. Such a pity they don’t give medals for that.”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” he grimaced. “I came here peacefully.”
“Igor, I heard you,” she said patiently. “But let’s clarify something. This apartment was gifted to me by my mother. Through a deed of gift. Before we were even married. You know that. I showed you the documents.”
“Yes, I remember your little paper,” he waved it off. “But we lived here together. I did repairs. I laid the tiles. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“The tiles are lovely,” she agreed. “I’ll even thank you for the tiles. But tiles are tiles, and ownership is ownership. Confusing wishes with facts is one of the most expensive mistakes in life.”
“There you go again with your quotes,” he snorted. “I’m talking about real life, and you’re quoting some clever people.”
“Clever people can be more useful than they seem,” she smiled. “Especially before someone signs any ‘little papers.’”
“Anya, don’t start with that,” he said, growing irritated. “I want to settle this peacefully. You take the boy, I take the apartment. Everyone’s happy.”
“Did you ask Tyoma?” she asked quietly. “Does he even know that his father is apparently trading him for an apartment?”
“He’s little. He doesn’t care,” Igor snapped. “As long as he’s fed and cartoons are on, he’s fine.”
“What a profound understanding of a child’s soul,” she nodded with fake admiration. “You should give lectures. You could call the course: ‘How to Exchange Your Son for Square Meters in Five Easy Steps.’”
“Enough,” he raised his voice. “Are you mocking me?”
“I hope so,” she said seriously. “I hope you were joking just now. I hope I misunderstood, and any moment you’ll say, ‘Anya, forgive me, I said something stupid.’”
He stayed silent and looked away. And that silence answered more clearly than any words could have.
“You know,” she stood up and collected the mugs, “let’s talk tomorrow somewhere else. Neutral ground. A café. No tiles of yours, no old wallpaper of ours.”
“Why a café?” he asked suspiciously. “So you can make a scene in public?”
“So you behave decently in public,” she corrected him. “Sometimes it works on you. Like a muzzle on a dog — maybe not necessary, but everyone feels safer.”
“Very funny,” he hissed.
“I do my best,” she replied. “Tomorrow at noon. My treat. As you can see, I already have adult cookies.”
The café was bright, with round tables and a large clock above the counter. Igor arrived early and chose the farthest corner, sitting with his back to the room.
“Hiding?” Anya asked as she sat across from him. “Or do you just enjoy staring at walls?”
“Don’t start,” he muttered. “I thought about our conversation.”
“Oh, that’s already progress,” she said, placing her bag on her lap. “Thinking is useful. As long as a person thinks, he isn’t completely lost.”
“I talked to some people,” he said, leaning forward. “Knowledgeable people. They said I can fight for the apartment. That your deed of gift isn’t as clear-cut as you think.”
“Knowledgeable people,” Anya repeated. “Are those the ones smoking outside the building, or the ones writing comments under videos online?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he tensed. “What matters is that I can.”
“Of course you can,” she shrugged. “You can fight anything. The wind, your own shadow, the laws of physics. Usually the result is the same — bruises.”
“You underestimate me,” he hissed.
“I evaluate you precisely,” she said calmly. “No discounts, no markups. Like an item on a shelf.”
“Listen carefully,” he began speaking quickly, angrily. “I put my soul into that apartment. I lived there. I raised Tyoma there while you were messing around with your toys.”
“Dioramas,” she corrected him. “Little worlds made of cardboard and paint. And by the way, those ‘toys’ fed us for the past year while you were ‘moving around’ and ‘handling business.’”
“There you go counting money again,” he sneered. “You’ve become petty.”
“I’m not petty. I’m attentive,” she took a sip of water. “Those are different things. A petty person counts what belongs to others. An attentive person remembers who paid the electricity bill.”
“Who cares who paid?” he raised his voice, then glanced around the room and lowered it. “The important thing is that I’m registered there.”
“Registered,” she nodded. “You know, registration and ownership are like a neighbor and a landlord. A neighbor can play loud music, but the house still isn’t his.”
“Did you just call me a neighbor?” his eyes narrowed.
“I gave you an analogy,” she smiled. “If it hurts, then I hit the right spot.”
“Anya,” he struck the table with his fist hard enough to make the spoon rattle. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“God forbid,” she raised her palms. “I’ve never thought of you as an idiot. An idiot can be naive, even kind. This is something else.”
“What do you mean, ‘something else’?” he leaned forward.
“We’ll finish this in the park,” she said, standing up. “Tyoma is waiting. I promised him swings. Unlike some people, I keep my promises.”
“You’re running away from the conversation again!” he called after her.
“I’m not running away. I’m rescheduling,” she replied over her shoulder. “Feel the difference? Cowards run away. I simply value my schedule.”
He caught up to her at the exit and grabbed her elbow. She stopped and looked at his hand in such a way that he let go by himself.
“Never do that again,” she said quietly. “I mean it. That is my only request.”
“Fine, fine,” he stepped back. “Why are you acting like some wild cat?”
“Cats are actually very sensible creatures,” she remarked. “They don’t let just anyone grab them. Learn from them.”
In the park, Tyoma squealed happily on the swings while Anya and Igor sat on a bench a short distance away.
“See how happy he is?” Anya said quietly. “Right now, he doesn’t care who owns what or who belongs to whom. What matters to him is that someone pushes him higher.”
“So push him,” Igor muttered. “You’re the kind one, aren’t you?”
“I do push him,” she nodded. “I’ve been pushing him for a year. And where were you when he had a toothache at three in the morning?”
“Working,” he bristled. “Money doesn’t appear out of nowhere.”
“Money doesn’t,” she agreed. “But debts somehow do. Like magic.”
“You and your money again!” he half rose from the bench. “Why are you so obsessed with money?”
“I’m not the one obsessed,” she answered calmly. “You’re the one who owes it to someone. And now, it seems, you want to cover that debt with my apartment. Am I right?”
He fell silent. His head jerked slightly, and he looked away. From the swings, Tyoma shouted, “Anya, look how high I am!”
“Well done, kitten!” she called back, waving. Then she turned to Igor, and the smile disappeared from her face. “So? Am I right?”
“None of your business,” he hissed.
“It became my business,” she said. “The moment you decided to pay with something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Anya, be human,” he suddenly changed his tone, almost gentle now. “You’re kind. You love Tyoma. What’s an apartment to you? You’re young. You’ll earn another one. But they’re pressuring me, understand? Really pressuring me.”
“Now that sounds honest,” she nodded. “Much warmer. You’re being pressured, so you found a convenient solution: dump the child on me, take the walls, and close your hole.”
“What’s so wrong with that?” he spread his hands. “The boy means more to you than square meters. You said so yourself.”
“He does,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll give you both the child and the apartment, then pay for your mistakes on top of it. Kindness is not stupidity. Those are completely different things.”
“You’re playing with words again,” he clenched his jaw.
“Words are all we have left,” she shrugged. “So I might as well play beautifully.”
“You know what infuriates me?” he almost spat. “You’re sitting here so calmly, as if everything is under control.”
“It is under control,” she said softly. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“Is that a threat?” he tensed.
“That’s a weather forecast,” she stood and called out, “Tyoma, let’s go home! The ice cream is getting cold! I mean melting. Anyway, we need to hurry!”
The boy jumped off the swing and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her leg. She stroked the top of his head, and that gesture held everything Igor had never given his son.
“We’ll finish tomorrow,” she told him. “Come to my workshop. I’ll show you where I make my ‘toys.’ Maybe then you’ll understand which one of us has really been working.”
The workshop was filled with tiny worlds: mountains made of papier-mâché, wooden bridges, figures no bigger than a fingernail. Igor stepped inside and looked around with a sour expression.
“People pay for this?” he scoffed. “For dollhouses?”
“For stories,” Anya corrected without looking up from her table. “People don’t buy cardboard. They buy the feeling that, in this little world, everything is where it belongs. They miss that in the big world.”
“Cheap philosophy,” he snorted.
“But it’s mine,” she replied. “Not borrowed.”
“I thought again,” he said, walking between the shelves. “Let’s do this. You give me the apartment, and I’ll officially leave Tyoma with you. I’ll sign the papers, everything properly. You love him, don’t you? There’s your happiness.”
Anya slowly set down her brush.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Someone promised you that if there’s ‘a paper,’ the debt problem will go away. And the boy in this scheme is just an extra burden. An attachment.”
“You twist everything,” he frowned.
“I put things where they belong,” she corrected him. “You call a child an attachment. I’m simply repeating it out loud so you can hear yourself.”
“Don’t cling to words!” he began losing control. “I’m offering this like a human being!”
“Like a human being means it’s good for both sides,” she said. “In your version, it’s good for you, and I’m supposed to say thank you.”
“What do you even understand?” he slashed the air with his hand. “I’ve been backed into a corner, and you’re sitting here with your little figures, breathing paint!”
“I understand more than you think,” she replied calmly. “For example, I understand that a person in a corner either asks for help or starts biting. You chose biting. A pity.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” he nearly shouted. “Go into the street?”
“Start by not placing your problems on someone else’s shoulders,” she said. “One writer once said: a coward looks for someone to cover his wound, while a brave man covers it himself. So far, you’re in the first category.”
“Did you just call me a coward?” he stepped closer.
“I quoted someone,” she did not move. “You’re drawing your own conclusions. Convenient, isn’t it? I’m not even to blame.”
“You really are poisonous,” he smiled bitterly. “You used to be quiet. What happened?”
“I opened my eyes,” she said briefly. “That happens. First you endure. You hope the person will come to his senses. Then you realize you could keep hoping until retirement, and he’ll still be the same.”
“So what now?” he crossed his arms.
“Now I’ve stopped hoping,” she looked directly into his eyes. “And you know what? Breathing became easier right away. Even with paint fumes.”
“So you don’t want to do this the easy way,” he pressed his lips together.
“I very much wanted the easy way,” she said. “For a whole week, I wanted the easy way. I poured you tea, bought adult cookies, took you to a café. And you decided my softness was weakness. That is your most expensive mistake.”
“Threat number two?” he scoffed.
“This is the final warning,” she answered calmly. “After this, there won’t be words. There will be documents.”
“What documents?” he asked, suddenly wary.
“Tomorrow,” she picked up her brush again. “Come to the entrance at six. And bring your pretty folder. You’ll need somewhere to put your disappointment.”
Evening. The entrance to her building. Igor stood with the folder tucked under his arm, tapping his foot impatiently. Anya came out exactly at six, holding a thin transparent file.
“Well?” he stepped toward her. “Did you bring what you’re handing over?”
“I did,” she nodded. “But first, let’s record your version. So later you don’t say, ‘I never said that.’”
“We agreed, didn’t we? The apartment goes to me, the child goes to you,” her ex reminded her sharply. “That’s how we’ll settle it.”
Anya nodded. Then she handed him documents where everything was exactly the opposite.
“What is this?” he snatched the papers and scanned the lines. “This… this is…”
“This is a copy of the deed of gift,” she calmly listed. “That same ‘little paper.’ The apartment was transferred to me by my mother long before us. You have no claim to it. Neither tiles nor registration matter here.”
“And this?” he pointed to the lower sheet, his voice trembling.
“That is about Tyoma,” she said. “He is your son. Biologically. By blood. I’m not his mother, and legally I’m no one to him. So the boy stays with his father. With you. According to every rule.”
“Wait…” he turned pale. “But you… you’re raising him. He’s used to you!”
“He is,” she nodded. “That is what makes this hardest for me. But you proposed arithmetic. I simply recalculated.”
“That won’t work!” he raised his voice. “What am I supposed to do with a kid? I have debts! I have things going on!”
“There it is,” she tilted her head. “The moment the child stopped being an ‘attachment to the apartment’ and became simply your son, without bonuses, he instantly became a problem. Thank you for confirming that out loud.”
“Anya, come on!” he started speaking quickly, pleading now. “Let’s do this like human beings. Take Tyoma. You love him!”
“I do,” she said quietly. “And exactly because I love him, I won’t let him grow up believing he can be exchanged. He needs a father who one day understands that a son is not a burden. Maybe that will be you, once you grow up.”
“And the apartment?” he almost choked. “I mean…”
“The apartment is mine,” she cut him off. “And it has always been mine. You were only occupying it temporarily, like someone who borrows another person’s umbrella in the rain and forgets to return it.”
“You can’t do this to me!” he grabbed the entrance door. “I’ll be left with nothing!”
“You’ll be left with your son,” she corrected him. “For a normal person, that is not ‘nothing.’ That is everything.”
“What am I supposed to do with him?” he shouted.
“Love him,” she said simply. “Feed him. Push the swings higher when he asks. You know, it’s not as difficult as paying someone else’s debts. And much cheaper.”
“You… you planned this!” he shook the papers. “You knew everything in advance!”
“Of course I knew,” she answered calmly.
“So that’s who you really are,” he hissed. “And you pretended to be kind.”
“I am kind,” she shrugged. “But kindness without boundaries has another name. Stupidity. And I’ve outgrown that age.”
“What do I do now?” he sat down on the step, clutching the folder like a life preserver.
“First, you take Tyoma,” she said. “He’s upstairs packing his backpack. I told him his father missed him very much. Don’t make me a liar.”
“You’re mocking me,” he breathed.
“I’m giving you a chance,” she corrected. “Not for your sake. For his.”
“And my things?” he looked up. “They’re in the apartment.”
“I’ll pack everything into boxes tomorrow,” she said calmly. “Neatly. I’m good at packing. Professional habit — putting little worlds into boxes. I’ll fit your world in, too. I think one box should be enough.”
“You really are poisonous,” he said with a crooked smile, but this time there was no anger in it, only defeat.
“I learned from good teachers,” she replied. “Thank you for the course called ‘How to Stop Being Convenient.’ It was expensive, but worth it.”
Footsteps sounded from above, and Tyoma appeared in the doorway with a backpack, spaceships sticking out of it.
“Anya, are Dad and I really going for a walk?” he asked, looking up at her.
“Really, kitten,” she crouched in front of him and adjusted his strap. “Dad is going to walk with you a lot now. Swings, ice cream — all on him. Deal?”
“And you?” he frowned.
“I’m always nearby,” she said. “Whenever you want to draw space, come to the workshop. I’ve saved a whole planet there just for you.”
The boy nodded, hugged her tightly, then went to his father and took his hand. Igor stood there, lost, unsure what to do with the small palm in his own.
“Hold it tighter,” Anya said quietly to him. “Don’t let go. It’s the only thing you truly have.”
“Anya,” he turned back at the exit. “Is this really the end?”
“It’s really the beginning,” she corrected him. “Yours. With your son. Without debts on someone else’s back. Someone once wrote: sometimes, taking away what is unnecessary gives back what matters most.”
“More quotes,” he smiled weakly.
“The last one, I promise,” she smiled. “From now on, you’ll have to think for yourself. Without ‘knowledgeable people’ from the smoking corner.”
He left, holding Tyoma by the hand. Anya closed the door behind them and went upstairs — into her walls, into her little world, where everything was finally in its place.
THE END
