“When are we going to divide the inheritance?” the younger sister asked Lida, and their mother asked the same question.
“It’s unfair! I’m a daughter too, and I have the same rights as you!” Anya shouted, waving her arms and stamping her feet.
“You should have thought about that earlier, dear sister,” Lida calmly replied without lifting her eyes from the documents. “Go ask Mom about it. She’ll explain why things turned out this ‘serious’ way. Although… you know what? Don’t bother. We both know very well that justice is a relative concept.”
“Are you mocking me?!” Anya shrieked. “Do you think just because Father left everything to you, you can gloat?”
“Gloat?” Lida finally raised her head and looked at her sister with a slight smirk. “My dear, I’m simply stating facts. When Father was dying, you said he was ‘nothing to you.’ When you heard about the inheritance—you suddenly remembered family ties. Quite the metamorphosis, isn’t it?”
It was irony. Their mother had no intention of explaining anything; instead, she also stomped her feet and raged about Lida’s outrageous unfairness, greed, and cunning. What’s there to be surprised about? She’s always been on Anya’s side, thought Lida. Only now it makes no difference to me. I’m no longer that little girl they could boss around. I’ve grown up. And I’m independent—thanks to Father…
“You’ve forgotten how we grew up together, how we used to play!” Anya tried to appeal to her emotions.
“Play?” Lida leaned back in her chair. “Do you mean the games where you eavesdropped on my conversations and reported to Mother? Or when you ruined my things? Forgivable childish pranks, of course.”
At that moment, their neighbor Aunt Valya, who had come to borrow some salt, intervened:
“Girls, what’s with the shouting? They can hear you all over the stairwell!”
“Oh, Aunt Valya!” Anya brightened. “You came just in time. Tell me, is it fair that one daughter gets all the inheritance and the other gets nothing?”
“Well…” the neighbor hesitated, “I suppose the father knew best who to leave what to…”
“Exactly,” Lida nodded. “Father was a wise man. He remembered who visited him in the hospital, and who said: ‘I’m not going to the funeral, he means nothing to me.’”
Many years earlier.
“Lida! Were you eavesdropping?! You little sneak! Get over here!” shouted their mother, Lyudmila Petrovna, clutching the telephone receiver. “If you even try to tell your father—I’ll have your head!”
Little Lida, who had been hiding quietly in the hallway by the slightly open kitchen door, bolted to the nursery and slammed the door shut behind her. Her younger sister Anya, sitting at the table, looked at her in surprise.
Lida pressed against the door, her heart pounding loudly and her knees shaking with fear. After standing still for a moment and realizing her mother wasn’t coming after her, the girl carefully peeked into the hallway and immediately heard her mother’s sweet, chirping voice on the phone. She had gone back to her conversation.
“What happened?” Anya whispered.
“Nothing special,” Lida muttered. “Mom is just… busy with an important call.”
She didn’t tell her little sister any details, deciding she was too young for such things. She’s only seven, a silly child, thought Lida. What would she understand? But Lida herself understood.
She was five years older than her sister and realized their mother was speaking with a man. And not for the first time. She spoke to him as if they were very close. Very. Some of the phrases Lida overheard even made her cheeks burn…
Just then, Lyudmila Petrovna appeared in the doorway, clearly suspecting her conversation had been overheard.
“Lida, come here! Right now!”
“Mom, I didn’t hear anything,” the girl quickly said.
“That’s better! And remember this once and for all: whatever happens in this house—stays in this house. Understood?”
“Understood,” Lida nodded, but to herself she thought: Why can’t Father know?
The first time she had witnessed such a conversation was when she came home early from a walk, and her mother hadn’t heard the front door open. Anya had been at her drawing class then. At first, Lida didn’t realize her mother wasn’t talking to Father, but to some stranger.
Lida was a serious child, and her parents trusted her with the keys. She opened and locked the door herself, went to the store, and brought her first-grade sister home from school. Lida would warm up the food, and the two of them would have lunch together. Then they did their homework and helped around the house.
Lyudmila Petrovna came home from work early. She was employed in a hazardous industry, so her workday was shortened. But their father, Valery Ivanovich, finished work late, and their mother often complained that “you can’t go anywhere with him, can’t talk about anything, and his wages aren’t worth much either.”
“What good is he?” she would say irritably, when Father wasn’t home yet. “He drags himself in tired, eats, watches TV, and goes to sleep.
And tomorrow it’s the same thing again—back to that stupid job of his. And he doesn’t even want to quit—he likes it, ugh! But I want to live a cultured life. Go to the cinema, the theater, exhibitions. And he doesn’t want to go anywhere, even on weekends. Says he needs to rest! Well, if he doesn’t want to—then I’ll go out and enjoy myself alone!”
For the record, Lyudmila Petrovna didn’t earn more than her husband. But she was the one who ruled the house. She often reproached and humiliated him, not even ashamed to do it in front of the children.
“Mom, what about us? We want to go to the cinema too,” the girls would ask.
“You study, do your homework, and then go to bed. Evening shows aren’t for you—that’s for adults,” their mother would brush them off. “Children should have their own concerns, not all these entertainments.”
And more and more often, Lyudmila Petrovna arranged her leisure time without her husband. That’s when Lida began overhearing those “sweet” phone conversations. Her mother would chirp and laugh merrily, completely different from how she was with their father. Then she started disappearing for the entire evening, nearly every day. Father would come home from work, eat dinner silently, and go watch TV. At first, he asked where she was, but eventually, he stopped.
“Dad, where’s Mom?” Lida asked once.
“She’s… got important things to do,” Valery Ivanovich answered wearily. “Are you going to eat?”
A couple of times Lyudmila Petrovna picked fights with him, the essence of which boiled down to her insisting she didn’t have to account for her whereabouts. That the apartment was hers, that he had moved in as a hanger-on, and that his wages were pitiful—so he should just “keep his mouth shut.”
“You think I have to report to you about where I go?!” she screamed. “This apartment is mine, I make money, and you’re just a lodger here! So keep quiet!”
“Lyudmila, the children can hear,” the father said quietly.
“Let them hear! Let them know who the master of this house is!”
Little Anya laughed when she heard the bit about “keeping his mouth shut,” but Lida glared at her, finding nothing funny in it. She pitied her father, who couldn’t answer back to her mother. And already as a teenager, she understood where such quarrels might lead.
Divorce… Mom and Dad will surely get divorced, Lida thought and cried. She felt sorry for her father, for herself, for her sister, and she was very sad.
The girl was not wrong. One day, Lyudmila Petrovna started yet another huge fight with her husband, picking on him for buying the wrong thing at the store.
“I wrote it down, explained everything like for an idiot, and you still messed it up!” she screeched. “How can I live with you?! That’s it! I’m filing for divorce. You’re absolutely worthless. I don’t want to be under the same roof with you!”
“Mom, don’t,” Lida pleaded.
“Quiet! This is none of your business!” Lyudmila Petrovna snapped. “Your dear father has gotten too bold. Thinks that just because he’s married, he doesn’t have to do anything. He’s mistaken!”
Remembering this conversation many years later, Lida understood that her mother had simply needed a pretext to throw her father out. She had probably dreamed of building a life with the man she chirped with on the phone. But it hadn’t worked out. It seemed he was fine with her company as long as she was married, but he had no intention of marrying a woman with two children.
Father moved into a rented apartment, later met a lonely woman, and went to live with her. He paid child support for the girls conscientiously, but normal communication with them didn’t work out.
After her failed attempt at a new relationship, and probably realizing life had been more convenient with Valery, Lyudmila Petrovna “changed her tune” and tried to win her ex-husband back. But it was too late.
Valery Ivanovich flatly refused to discuss the matter with his ex-wife. He didn’t want to meet her and certainly not return to her.
“Valer, think about it rationally,” Lyudmila Petrovna coaxed him over the phone. “The children miss you. And I… I’ve realized my mistakes.”
“Too late, Lyuda,” he answered calmly. “I have a different life now.”
“So some woman is more important to you than your own children?!…”
“I will not allow such talk. This conversation is over.”
At that, Lyudmila Petrovna grew angry and began turning the children against him.
“See, girls, what your father is like? He left us for the first woman he met!” she said venomously. “And here we are, struggling, and he doesn’t even care!”
By then, Lida had turned fifteen and had become quite independent. Nothing could influence her decision to see her father—unlike Anya, who easily adopted their mother’s position and blamed him for everything.
“Dad, why does Mom say you abandoned us?” Lida asked during a visit.
“Because it’s more convenient for her that way, my dear,” Valery Ivanovich replied sadly. “I didn’t abandon you. I just can’t live with your mother anymore.”
“Can I still come visit you?”
“Of course. Always.”
But when she came home, her mother would ask:
“Well? What did your dear father feed you this time? Watery soup or burnt potatoes? He’s never known how to cook! Or is someone else cooking for him now?” her mother would often sneer. “You’re a traitor, Lida. Maybe you’d like to go live with your father? What? He hasn’t invited you? Exactly! You’re not needed there. Your mother feeds you, clothes you, takes care of you, and you keep running to him, you ungrateful girl…”
“Mom, I’m just visiting Dad. That’s normal,” Lida would answer quietly.
“Normal? I’m telling you, he abandoned us! And you run to him like some loyal dog!” Lyudmila Petrovna would flare up. “And what does he give you? A few miserable pennies and empty promises!”
Lida stayed silent, realizing it was useless to argue. Her mother had already turned her younger sister Anya against her.
“Lida went to see Dad again,” Anya would report to their mother after every one of Lida’s absences. “Yesterday I saw her getting on the bus. And today she came back all cheerful.”
“That snake!” Lyudmila Petrovna hissed. “They pamper her there, and here she turns her nose up at everything!”
Lida began to hide her visits to her father, but her younger sister often eavesdropped and spied, then reported everything to their mother. Together they fumed and gossiped about Lida. Gradually, the elder daughter became an outcast in the family. She was treated the same way her father once had been.
“Lida, why have you become so secretive?” Anya asked once, when they were alone. “We’re sisters.”
“Sisters don’t snitch on each other,” Lida replied calmly.
“I just tell Mom what I see.”
“Exactly. And you only see what you want to see,” Lida looked at her sister with sadness. “That’s a pity…”
Living with her father really wasn’t an option, though she had considered it. But his new wife—he had married officially—was firmly against it.
“Valera, I don’t mind you meeting with your daughter, but she cannot live with us,” his new wife declared firmly. “I can’t handle these family dramas.”
“Zina, she’s still just a child,” Valery Ivanovich tried to reason with her.
“A child with her mother’s character! No thank you. Meet her wherever you like, but not at home.”
Besides, their one-room apartment was indeed cramped.
Father gave Lida gifts, which were sometimes hard to hide from her sister and mother. She managed for a while to keep a tiny silver ring with an amethyst secret, but the pretty jacket he gave her for her birthday was hard to conceal—and she didn’t want to. It was simply too beautiful.
“Well, well, look at the fashionista!” Lyudmila Petrovna sneered when Lida appeared in her new jacket. “Daddy must have given you that little gift, eh? And what does he spend such money on? He complains about alimony, yet he finds the means to spoil his darling daughter!”
“It’s a nice jacket,” Anya admitted, but immediately added enviously: “And what about me? Don’t I get anything? I’m his daughter too!”
“If you want, you can see him as well,” Lida offered.
“No way! Mom forbade it,” Anya dismissed.
Lida marveled at how her father had guessed the size—the jacket fit perfectly and suited her so well. Her mother and sister ground their teeth at the sight of it and made cutting remarks about Valery Ivanovich. Later, when Lida had been wearing the jacket for a while, she discovered that the inside pockets had been cut through. A small but very spiteful act. Whether it was her mother or her sister, she didn’t try to find out. She just quietly sewed up the lining and hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
“Why aren’t you wearing the jacket?” her father asked once.
“I do, Dad. It’s just warm today,” Lida lied, not wanting to upset him by telling him about the damage.
The years went by. The girls grew up. Lida finished her education, got a job, and married. She moved in with her husband, and soon their daughter Masha was born.
“Finally we’ve gotten rid of that little viper!” Lyudmila Petrovna gloated to Anya after her elder daughter left. “Now she can torment her husband with her tricks!”
“What if she ends up happy?” Anya asked uncertainly.
“Ha! With her character? She’ll suffer yet, you’ll see.”
Later, Anya also married and left home, but her marriage quickly collapsed. She returned to her mother with two tiny sons born a year apart.
“Well, what did I tell you!” was how Lyudmila Petrovna greeted her. “Modern men are all bastards! And you didn’t listen to me—you rushed to get married!”
“Mom, where am I supposed to live now?” Anya asked plaintively, rocking her crying son in her arms.
“Where else? Live here. Just make sure those brats of yours don’t drive me crazy with their screaming!” Lyudmila Petrovna wasn’t thrilled and often lost her temper.
She never managed to build a personal life of her own and turned into a perpetually grumbling, dissatisfied woman. Although she loved Anya, she had no desire to live under the same roof with her and constantly reproached her at every opportunity.
“Those brats of yours were bawling all night again!” she fumed in the mornings. “Now I have to go to work without any sleep!”
“Mom, they’re just little kids, what can I do?” Anya defended herself.
“You should’ve thought about that earlier! Having babies is no joke!”
Anya’s children made noise and mischief, and nobody wanted to spend time with them: Lyudmila Petrovna worked, while Anya tried to earn a living from home while also caring for the toddlers. In short, the household atmosphere was heavy.
Lida occasionally spoke with her sister and mother, keeping up with what was happening there.
“How are you, Anya? How are the little ones?” she asked during rare phone calls.
“Oh, you know… It’s hard. Mother’s constantly dissatisfied, the kids are sick all the time, and there’s never enough money,” Anya complained.
“Maybe you could try reconnecting with Dad? He’s a grandfather now, after all.”
“Are you crazy? Mother would kill me and throw me out of the house! Don’t even suggest it,” Anya said, frightened.
Lida passed such news on to her father when they met—she kept in touch with him. Valery Ivanovich’s second wife had been taken by a serious illness, and as a widower he now lived completely alone, owning outright his two-room apartment.
“Dad, don’t you get lonely?” Lida asked during one of her visits.
“I’m used to it. At least it’s peaceful now,” Valery Ivanovich answered. “And how’s your sister? She must be all grown up by now?”
“She got married, but then divorced. Now she’s living with Mom, raising two sons.”
“Grandchildren… And I’ve never seen them once,” Father sighed sadly.
Lida continued to visit her father, now bringing her daughter along. Valery Ivanovich adored his granddaughter.
“Grandpa, why do I only have one grandpa?” little Masha asked. “Katya at kindergarten has two grandpas.”
“That happens, sweetheart. But I love you for both,” Valery Ivanovich said, hugging his granddaughter.
“And where does Aunt Anya live? Why don’t we ever go to see her?”
“She lives far away,” her mother would answer evasively.
She never came with her husband Denis, since he refused to deal with her side of the family, keeping ties only with his own.
“Why should I bother meeting your father?” Denis said irritably. “I’ve got enough relatives of my own. And besides, didn’t he abandon you when you were kids?”
“He didn’t abandon us, he and Mom divorced,” Lida tried to explain.
“What difference does it make? I don’t need that circus.”
And one day, by sheer circumstance, contact with her husband’s relatives became too close. So close that Denis’s mother and sister actually moved in with them. His family had suffered a disaster: flooding had damaged their house. While it was being repaired, Denis’s mother and sister, who lived together, needed a temporary place to stay.
“Lida, you understand this is only temporary,” Denis said as he announced their arrival. “Where else can they go?”
“Of course, I understand. They’re in trouble,” Lida agreed, not realizing what this new living arrangement would turn into.
Lida couldn’t get along with her husband’s relatives. Quarrels broke out constantly.
“Lida, why is this house such a mess?” mother-in-law Tamara Nikolaevna demanded the moment she walked in. “You’ve got a little child, and toys are scattered everywhere!”
“Masha was playing, I just haven’t had time to tidy up yet,” Lida explained.
“You’re home all day!” her sister-in-law Sveta chimed in. “When my kids were small, my house always sparkled!”
“And who’s going to cook?” Tamara Nikolaevna pressed on. “Denis will come home from work hungry, and the pots are empty!”
“But I work too,” Lida said timidly.
“Work is work, but family comes first!” the mother-in-law cut her off. “A woman should create comfort in the home!”
Denis’s mother bombarded her daughter-in-law with complaints, while his sister egged her on. Worst of all, Denis didn’t defend Lida—instead, he joined his mother in criticizing her.
“Mom’s right, Lida,” Denis said. “You really have become disorganized. It wasn’t like this before.”
“It wasn’t like this before because we didn’t have strangers living with us!” Lida snapped one day.
“These aren’t strangers! They’re my mother and sister!” Denis bristled. “You should respect them!”
“I do respect them, but I also have the right to my own opinion in my own home!”
“Our home! And my family lives here too, so watch your tongue!” her husband barked.
It became unbearable, and Lida fled with her daughter to Valery Ivanovich.
“Dad, can we stay with you for a while?” she asked, appearing at the door with a suitcase and a tearful Masha.
“Of course, sweetheart! Come in,” Valery Ivanovich said warmly. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. I’m just so tired.”
During their marriage, Lida’s husband had shown his worst side more than once. While she was on maternity leave with their newborn daughter Masha, she endured his constant reproaches—that she spent too much, didn’t cook enough, and kept the house poorly.
The fact that the baby required her time and attention around the clock did not convince him. He firmly believed that maternity leave was a vacation for women.
“What do you even have to do?!” Denis raged, pacing the room. “The kid’s small—she eats and sleeps. Then sleeps, then eats again. Going out for a walk—pure entertainment! You just sit there on a bench with the stroller, staring at your phone.
And what, are you running a marathon? Why can’t you manage anything? And where does all the money go?! What do you spend it on?!”
“On diapers, formula, medicine for Masha,” Lida answered quietly, rocking her fussy daughter. “You see how much a baby needs…”
“Oh, come off it!” Denis waved her off. “What, are the diapers made of gold? Is the formula made from truffles? You just don’t know how to economize! My mother raised two children and never complained!”
“Your mother lived in a different time,” Lida dared to object. “And your grandmother helped her. I’m alone with the baby…”
“Alone?!” Denis exploded. “What am I, a ghost? I work from morning till night to provide for you, and you sit here like some lady of leisure and still complain!”
Lida was hurt, cried, tried to explain, but she had little to argue with. She lived on her husband’s territory and, with an infant in her arms, was entirely dependent on his moods and his wallet.
“Maybe we could move in with my parents for a while?” she once suggested. “Dad could help with fixing up the nursery, or maybe we could try living with Mom…”
“I don’t need your relatives shoved at me!” Denis cut her off. “You live here and be grateful. Not everyone’s so lucky.”
Before Lida went on maternity leave, there had been almost no reproaches—she had a good salary and contributed to the family budget equally with her husband. But as soon as Denis became the sole breadwinner, a real reign of terror began. Every pack of cookies she bought became grounds for a quarrel, every toy left lying around proof of her laziness.
“You know what your problem is?” Denis declared one evening, glaring at the scattered baby things. “You’re spoiled. You got used to everything being done for you. And now reality is showing who you really are.”
More and more often, Lida thought she had made a mistake in choosing her life partner. After maternity leave, things became somewhat easier: she returned to work, little Masha went to kindergarten, and family life more or less stabilized. But Lida never forgot her husband’s constant reproaches, and her resentment did not fade. They quarreled often and had long since stopped sharing a bed.
