— Why are you even here?! You already have a favorite daughter, the one you gave an apartment to!
Natalia stood by the window of her office on the twenty-third floor, looking down at the city spread out below like a chessboard. From here, everything seemed small and manageable.
Cars crawled along the avenues like toys, people were tiny dots, and problems… problems stayed somewhere down there, far below. But not today.
Today the problem had come up in the elevator and was now sitting in the reception, waiting for the secretary to show it into the office.
— Natalia Sergeyevna, your parents are here, — Alina’s voice sounded delicate, but with a hint of confusion. In three years of working here, she had never seen anyone’s relatives in the office.
— I know. Give me five minutes.
Natalia turned to her desk and, almost absentmindedly, straightened the folders, even though they were already perfectly aligned. Deep breath. Exhale. She had learned to control her emotions back in childhood when she realized that tears and resentment changed nothing. They only made you weaker.
Parents. Funny how that word still sent a slight tingle somewhere beneath her ribs, like a splinter that you just can’t pull out. Natalia had long stopped being angry with them. She understood that they had tried to do what seemed best at the time. But some things could not be forgotten.
Her misadventures had begun even before she was born.
Her mother rarely told the story, usually after two glasses of wine at some family celebration, when her tongue loosened and her control weakened. “Your father and I never planned to get married,” she would say, looking off to the side. “We were just seeing each other.
I was studying at university, wanted to become a literature teacher. He was working at a factory and wanted to go to university. And then it turned out I was pregnant. Your grandmother said it would be shameful if we didn’t get married. So we had a wedding at the registry office, about twenty guests, a cake, and champagne. I wouldn’t say we were happy at the time.”
Natalia remembered well the apartment where she had spent her childhood. A Khrushchyovka on the outskirts, two rooms, low ceilings, and perpetual crampedness. Her father worked two jobs, her mother as a tutor and cleaner. There was still never enough money. She remembered how they whispered to each other in the kitchen at night, how her mother sometimes cried, how her father slammed doors in irritation.
— Because of you, I didn’t finish university, — her mother had once said when Natalia was about nine. She didn’t say it with anger, just stating a fact, as one would report the weather. — I had to drop out in the third year. There was no money.
Natalia hadn’t understood back then why those words had burned so sharply. But she remembered them. Many years later, she realized: she had been an unplanned child, one who had drastically changed her parents’ lives. They didn’t love each other, but they had married when they found out there would be a child. Both of them had to work instead of getting an education.
It had been hard.
But over time, things got better. Her father got a promotion, her mother found a job at a factory. They exchanged their apartment for a three-room flat in a nicer district. Natalia was eleven then. And that was when Alisa appeared.
They were expecting a second daughter. Planned. Bought toys, set up a room, chose a name. When Alisa was born, her parents seemed to forget all their past hardships. Natalia remembered her father pushing the stroller around the park for hours, her mother singing lullabies, leaning over the crib. They looked at Alisa with the kind of adoration they had never shown to their eldest daughter.
— Let her have everything better than us, — her father said. — Let her study, become someone. We’ll do our best.
And they did. Alisa went to music school, English classes, dance lessons. They bought her beautiful clothes, toys, books. And Natalia was told:
— You’re older, you understand. There isn’t enough for both of you.
Natalia understood. And she stayed silent. She learned to be quiet, unnoticed, not to ask for anything. After school she cooked dinner, washed the floors, looked after Alisa while their parents worked. By the age of fourteen, she was running the household almost entirely on her own.
— Help your sister with her homework. Cook something to eat. Go to the store. — That was all the attention she ever got.
Alisa was spoiled. She got new dresses while Natalia wore hand-me-downs. Alisa could stay out late while Natalia had to be home by eight. Alisa grew up in love and attention, like a flower in a greenhouse.
In the elder daughter, anger toward the unfair world grew from early childhood. At first it was childish resentment: why can’t I do it, but my sister can? Why do parents smile at Alisa and look at me tired and demanding? Later, resentment turned into a quiet, cold rage. And that rage became the force that drove her forward.
“I’ll prove it to you,” Natalia thought, leaning over her textbooks past midnight while her parents read stories to Alisa in the next room. “I’ll prove it to all of you.”
She studied excellently. Not because she loved learning, but because it was her chance. Gold medal, government-funded university spot, honors diploma. She earned it all herself, without help, without support. Her parents came to her university graduation and proudly told acquaintances: “This is our eldest daughter, look how good she is.” Natalia forced a smile and thought, “Where were you when I was scared, when I stayed up nights before exams, when I needed words of support?”
She got a good job at a large company. Worked twelve-hour days, took on extra projects, never refused business trips. She climbed upward persistently and methodically. At twenty-eight, she became a department head. At thirty-two, a branch director. At thirty-five, she headed a regional office.
And Alisa… Alisa grew up beautiful, spoiled, and completely unprepared for life. She entered university but dropped out after a year. Worked in a trendy store, then a beauty salon, then nowhere at all. She changed boyfriends like gloves, spent money on clothes and entertainment, and constantly came to her parents with yet another request.
— Mom, I need makeup classes, it’s only forty thousand. — Dad, I want to go to Turkey, all my friends are going. — I need a new coat, the old one is out of fashion.
And her parents gave. Denied themselves everything, but gave. Because Alisa was their hope, their favorite, their little princess who, for some reason, didn’t want to grow up.
Natalia watched all this from the sidelines. She had long moved out, bought her own apartment, built her career. She met her parents at family gatherings, gave expensive gifts, but kept her distance. Not cold, but not warm either. Polite. Formal.
She had forgiven them. But there had never been closeness between them.
And her parents continued to spoil their younger daughter. Alisa grew demanding, capricious, and selfish. She wanted more and more, grew up, yet continued to demand from her parents. Only the demands had become more expensive.
When Alisa turned twenty-eight, she announced that she wanted her own apartment.
— I can’t live with you forever, — she said at a family dinner. — I need my own space. My own home.
Natalia stayed silent but thought, “Twenty-eight, and she expects her parents to buy her an apartment? Seriously?”
But her parents took it for granted.
— Of course, darling, — her mother said. — We’ll figure something out.
And they did. They exchanged their three-room flat for two. The smaller, worse one — for themselves. A one-bedroom on the outskirts in an old building, where the elevator barely worked and the view was of the industrial zone. The bigger, better one — for their beloved daughter. Alisa got a one-bedroom apartment in the city center, renovated, with new furniture.
When Natalia found out, she just shook her head.
— Are you serious? — she asked her mother on the phone.
— What could we do? — her mother defended herself. — She asked. She needed the apartment.
— And you? What do you need?
— We’ll manage. We don’t have much time left anyway.
Natalia hung up and never returned to the subject. What was the point? They had made their choice themselves. As always.
Two years passed. Natalia heard from mutual acquaintances that Alisa was living well, often posting pictures from cafés and beauty salons. Whether she worked, nobody really knew. Her parents rarely saw her — it was inconvenient to travel across the city.
Then her father fell ill.
At first it was just weakness, then shortness of breath, then pain. Doctors couldn’t diagnose him for a long time. When they finally did, surgery was needed. Complicated, expensive. Paid, because waiting six months under the quota wasn’t an option.
Her parents gathered money however they could. Sold the dacha they had saved for ten years. Took out loans. Borrowed from acquaintances. Still not enough.
The surgery was done. Her father survived, but needed a long recovery. Rehabilitation, medicine, procedures. They ended up in debt. Pensions were small. Half went to medicine, a third to loan payments.
Natalia found out all this by chance from her mother’s neighbor.
— Why didn’t you tell me? — she asked when she arrived at her parents’ home.
They sat on the old sofa in their cramped apartment. Her father looked gaunt, aged ten years. Her mother looked exhausted.
— We didn’t want to bother you, — her mother said quietly. — You work so much already.
— And Alisa?
Her mother looked away.
— Alisa… she’s having difficulties too.
Natalia smirked.
— What difficulties? She lives in the center, in the apartment you gave her.
— She has her expenses, — her mother defended. — Utilities, groceries. She can’t manage.
Natalia remained silent. She wanted to scream, to ask, “And what about me? Was I supposed to?” But she stayed quiet. Instead, she opened her banking app.
— How much do you need?
— Natasha, don’t, we can’t…
— How much?
She paid off their debts. All of them. Left money for medicines for three months. Organized weekly grocery delivery. Hired a caregiver to help her father.
— Thank you, darling, — her mother cried, hugging her. — Thank you.
Natalia’s face was stone. She helped not out of love. Not even out of duty. Simply because she could. And because, no matter what, they were her parents.
But it didn’t bring peace.
Six months passed. Her father began to improve, started walking a little. Natalia called occasionally, asked how things were, transferred money. But there was no closeness. Only obligation.
And today, they had come to her office.
Natalia straightened up, smoothed her skirt, and nodded toward the door.
— Show them in.
Her parents entered hesitantly, as if afraid they would be thrown out. Her father leaned on a cane, her mother held a bag in her hands. They looked small and lost in the spacious office with glass walls and modern furniture.
— Sit down, — Natalia gestured to the visitor chairs.
— Natasha, we know you’re busy, — her mother began, clutching the handle of her bag. — It will only take a moment.
— Go on.
— You see… — her mother hesitated. — We have a problem again.
Natalia folded her hands on the desk and waited.
— Your father needs another surgery. The doctors say that without it… well, it’s necessary. It’s expensive. Very. We tried to find the money, but… the bank won’t give us a loan anymore.
— How much?
— Almost five hundred thousand, — her mother’s voice trembled. — We understand it’s a lot. We’ll try to pay it back, somehow…
— And Alisa?
A silence fell.
— Alisa… — her mother looked at her father. — We asked her for help.
— And?
— She said she doesn’t have that kind of money. That it’s hard for her too. She recently took out a car loan…
— A car, — Natalia repeated slowly. — I see.
She stood and walked to the window. The city below lived its life, indifferent to other people’s dramas. Five hundred thousand. For her, it was an amount she earned in less than two months. She could simply transfer it. Solve the problem with a single gesture.
But something inside her tightened into a knot.
— Tell me honestly, — she turned to her parents. — Why did you come to me?
— Natasha, you’re… you’re so successful, you can…
— Why did you come to me specifically? — she repeated louder. — You have a favorite daughter, the one you gave an apartment to! The one you spoiled her whole life, cherished, gave up everything for! Why didn’t you go to her?
— Natasha, please…
— No! — she felt years of restraint, silent endurance, suppressed pain erupting all at once. — No, I want to hear it! Why are you here with me?! You have a favorite daughter, the one you gave an apartment to! The one you bought everything she wanted! The one who, by the way, lives in YOUR apartment while you squeeze into a one-room flat on the outskirts! The one with a new car she can sell if she wants!
— Calm down, darling…
— I am not your darling! — Natalia’s voice rang with rage. — Darling is Alisa! I was the girl who cooked dinner and washed the floors! I was the one you remembered when you needed help! And where were you when I struggled? When I studied for exams alone, searched for jobs alone, fought to get ahead alone?
Her mother cried. Her father sat with his head down.
— We… we thought you were strong, — he said quietly. — That you’d manage on your own. And Alisa… she’s so sensitive, so…
— Spoiled? Selfish? Unable to take care of herself?
— We meant well, — her mother whispered. — We tried…
— Tried? — Natalia laughed bitterly. — You tried to raise one daughter as a servant and the other as an infantile princess. Congratulations, you succeeded. And now, when the princess refused to help, you came to the servant.
— Natasha, we understand we were wrong, — her father tried to stand, but lacked the strength. — We understand. Forgive us. But I… I need this surgery. Without it, I won’t make it to spring.
A heavy, ringing silence fell. Natalia stood, feeling two forces struggle inside her: the anger that had built up for years, and something else. Not love. Not pity. Perhaps just the realization that these two elderly, broken people were all she had left of her family. And that after them there would only be Alisa, with whom she had nothing in common.
She returned to the desk, took out her phone. Entered the amount, pressed “Send.”
— This is for the surgery and post-operative care. Don’t come again.
— Natasha…
— I said — don’t come again. I’ll help your father because I don’t want his death on my conscience. But I don’t want to see you. Neither you nor Alisa. I’m tired of being the backup option. Tired of being the one people come to when there’s nowhere else to turn.
— We’ll pay it back, — her father looked down. — We will, definitely.
— Don’t, — Natalia turned back to the window. — Alina will show you out.
When the door closed behind them, Natalia sank into her chair. Her hands trembled. Her chest felt empty and heavy at the same time.
She had done the right thing, she told herself. She had helped because she could. Because she had the strength to earn that money. Because she was not like Alisa, who takes and gives nothing in return.
But why did it hurt so much?
Her phone vibrated. A message from her mother: “Thank you, darling. Forgive us. We love you.”
Natalia stared at the screen for a long time. The city below continued to live. Cars crawled along the avenues, people hurried about their business.
She had forgiven her parents. Long ago. But some things cannot be forgotten. And cannot be returned.
Natalia brushed her hand across her face, straightened up, and opened her laptop. She had a meeting in an hour, and a presentation for a new project in the evening. Life went on. As always. She would manage. She always had.
Alone.
