“Enough, Polina Olegovna! The apartment doesn’t belong to you, and you won’t be running things here,” Zhanna lost her patience.
“How do you think, will this voile curtain suit the kitchen?” Polina Olegovna was turning a textile catalog in her hands — one she had brought with her. “Green, with embroidery. That shop on the corner has discounts right now.”
Zhanna lifted her eyes from her laptop and took a slow breath. In two weeks of living together, this was already the third conversation about curtains and fabrics.
“Polina Olegovna, Igor and I redid everything in the kitchen only six months ago. And besides, this is temporary, just while your apartment is being repaired,” Zhanna said as gently as she could.
“Temporary?” her mother-in-law pursed her lips. “But one still wants it to be cozy, even temporarily. And that voile you have hanging now — it doesn’t let in any light at all.”
Igor, sitting next to his phone, pretended to be absorbed in the news, although Zhanna could clearly see he had been scrolling the same feed for half an hour.
“Mom, we like it the way it is,” he finally said quietly.
“Well, as you wish,” Polina Olegovna snapped the catalog shut. “I only wanted the best. I always only want the best.”
Zhanna barely restrained her irritation. “Two weeks,” she reminded herself. “Just two weeks, then her neighbors who flooded her place will finish the repairs.”
Two weeks turned into a month. Polina Olegovna gradually settled in. First her favorite mug appeared in the cupboard. Then a few flower pots on the windowsill. Then a stack of books in the living room.
“Zhannochka, I’ll invite Valentina Sergeevna for tea tomorrow, you don’t mind, do you?” her mother-in-law asked one evening over dinner.
“Valentina Sergeevna?” Zhanna was surprised.
“Yes, my neighbor. We’ve lived in the same building for twenty years. Such a lovely woman, you’ll meet her and—”
“Polina Olegovna,” Zhanna tried to speak calmly, “Igor and I both work. And the apartment is small. I don’t think it’s very convenient to invite guests.”
“What guests?” Polina Olegovna spread her hands. “She’s my long-time friend! We’ll just have some tea. Don’t worry, I’ll prepare everything myself.”
Zhanna looked at her husband, but once again he pretended not to hear anything.
“Igor, say something,” Zhanna couldn’t hold back.
“What’s there to say?” he shrugged. “Mom’s right, it’s just for a little while. What difference does it make if her friend comes?”
And so Valentina Sergeevna appeared in their home — a stout woman with a lush hairstyle, a fan of discussing all the neighbors. She was followed by Nina Pavlovna — a thin, strict former colleague of Polina Olegovna. Then came Boris Petrovich, a “long-time acquaintance,” as the mother-in-law introduced him.
Zhanna would come home from work to find strangers in the kitchen. They drank tea, ate the chocolates she bought for herself, and talked as if they were in their own home.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I told my son,” Polina Olegovna’s voice would ring out as Zhanna opened the door. “Young people nowadays are so different. All those gadgets, the internet. They lack simple human communication.”
“Absolutely,” chimed in Valentina Sergeevna. “My daughter-in-law is always on her phone too. I tell her, ‘Lena, put that thing down and let’s talk like real people.’ And she just waves me off.”
Zhanna would pass them, mutter a stiff greeting, and go to the bedroom, trying not to listen. But the apartment’s walls were thin.
“Igor, this can’t go on,” Zhanna told her husband when they escaped to a café for lunch on Saturday — the only place where they could talk without his mother. “It’s been almost two months. Your mother’s renovations ended long ago.”
“I know,” Igor sighed. “But she’s lonely there. Since Dad passed, she’s been all by herself.”
“I understand, but that’s not what we agreed on. She’s turned our apartment into a train station. Yesterday that Boris Petrovich stayed until eleven! He turned the TV up full blast and watched some action movie.”
“He’s a normal guy, just a bit loud.”
“That’s not the point. The point is your mother behaves like this is her home. She rearranged all the furniture in the living room!”
“Well, it is more convenient that way…”
“Igor!” Zhanna raised her voice, and several café visitors turned around. “We spent two years choosing that furniture. We arranged everything the way we liked it. And she just came and changed it all without asking!”
Igor spread his hands helplessly.
“Zhannochka, she’s old. And besides, she’s… she’s my mother.”
“And I’m your wife. And this is our home, not a hotel.”
“Let’s give her a little more time,” Igor pleaded. “She’ll get used to being alone again and move back.”
But Polina Olegovna had no intention of returning home. In fact, she was feeling more and more like the mistress of the house.
One day, coming home from work, Zhanna discovered that several figurines and an old jewelry box were missing from the cabinet.
“Polina Olegovna,” she stepped into the kitchen, where her mother-in-law was cooking dinner, “have you seen the jewelry box that was in the cabinet? The wooden one with carving?”
“Oh, that old thing?” her mother-in-law stirred something in the pot. “I threw it out. And those awful figurines too. They didn’t match the interior at all.”
Zhanna felt something break inside her.
“You… threw away my box? The one my grandmother gave me?”
“Zhannochka, it was completely old. All worn out, the lock didn’t even work. Why keep that junk?”
Zhanna slowly sat down. Her grandmother had given her that box shortly before she passed away. Inside were letters, postcards, little keepsakes — all her memories of a loved one.
“You had no right,” she said quietly. “Those were my things. My memories.”
“What do you mean, no right?” the mother-in-law was genuinely puzzled. “I was just tidying up. You can’t live surrounded by old things, it creates bad energy in the house.”
Zhanna walked out of the kitchen without saying another word. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would either burst into tears or say something she would regret.
That evening, a serious conversation with Igor followed.
“This crosses every line,” Zhanna said, trying not to raise her voice so her mother-in-law wouldn’t hear them from the next room. “She threw out my grandmother’s box! Can you imagine? Didn’t even ask — just threw it out.”
“She didn’t mean anything bad,” Igor began.
“Stop defending her!” Zhanna snapped. “It was my thing! My memory of my grandmother!”
“All right, all right,” Igor raised his hands. “I’ll talk to her. That really is too much.”
The conversation with his mother took place the next day.
For a long time, Polina Olegovna couldn’t understand what the problem was, but eventually she apologized — insincerely, with the face of someone who feels unfairly accused.
For a few days, a tense truce settled over the home.
And then things got even more interesting. One evening, as Zhanna and Igor were having dinner, Polina Olegovna made an announcement.
“Children, I want to talk to you about the future,” she folded her hands on the table and looked at them with a serious expression. “I’ve been thinking for a long time and decided that we need to resolve the housing situation once and for all.”
“In what sense?” Zhanna asked warily…
“In the literal sense. My apartment is sitting empty. No one lives there. It’s cramped here for the three of us. I suggest we sell both apartments and buy one large, three-room one. We’ll all live together, happily.”
Zhanna almost choked.
“All together?” she repeated.
“Of course! You won’t have to pay the mortgage, and I won’t be lonely. I’ve already found a wonderful option not far from here, on Stroiteley Street. There’s a big kitchen, a spacious living room…”
“But we didn’t plan on moving,” Igor said cautiously.
“Plans change, son,” waved off Polina Olegovna. “I’ve even calculated how much we’ll get for both apartments. More than enough for the down payment.”
“Polina Olegovna, we are not selling our apartment,” Zhanna said firmly. “We bought it only two years ago. We have a fifteen-year mortgage.”
“You can pay off a mortgage early,” her mother-in-law shrugged. “And anyway, what’s so terrible about moving? New place — so what. But imagine the prospects! A three-room apartment! At your age that’s a great deal.”
“I don’t want to move,” Zhanna repeated. “And I especially don’t want to live…” She broke off, searching for the right words.
“With me, right?” narrowed her eyes Polina Olegovna. “There it is, modern youth. They don’t even want to live with their elders. In my time, that would have been unthinkable.”
“That’s not the point,” Igor intervened. “It’s just that we’ve only settled here.”
“Exactly!” Zhanna jumped in. “We chose this apartment, renovated it. Everything was done for us.”
“You can renovate a new apartment too,” shrugged the mother-in-law. “The main thing is to make the decision. Everything else will come.”
Zhanna suddenly realized with horror that Igor wasn’t saying a firm no. He stared into his plate, clearly thinking over his mother’s idea.
“Igor, you’re not seriously considering this, are you?” she asked later, when they were alone.
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Mom really is lonely. And financially, it could be beneficial.”
“We discussed this two years ago!” Zhanna reminded him. “When we chose the apartment. You yourself said you didn’t want to live with your parents.”
“Yes, but things have changed. Dad is gone. Mom is completely alone.”
“And because of that we have to destroy our life?”
“Don’t dramatize,” Igor winced. “No one is destroying anything. We just need to consider all options.”
A few days later, Zhanna returned home earlier than usual — the archive had shortened working hours due to some inspection. Unlocking the door, she heard animated voices coming from the living room.
“…and we can knock down this wall,” an unfamiliar male voice was saying. “It’ll create a large open space. Modern, stylish.”
“And there won’t be issues with re-planning?” asked the voice of Boris Petrovich.
“Not if everything is properly registered. I know people in the BTI, we’ll do it right.”
Zhanna walked into the living room and froze in the doorway. At the table sat Polina Olegovna, Boris Petrovich, and an unfamiliar man with a tablet open to a blueprint.
“Zhannochka!” her mother-in-law said, surprised. “You’re early.”
“What is going on here?” Zhanna stared at the tablet — it looked suspiciously like the plan of their apartment.
“Oh, Sergey Andreevich stopped by,” answered Polina Olegovna casually. “He’s an architect who specializes in re-planning. We’re just looking at some options.”
“Options for what?” Zhanna came closer and saw that the tablet indeed displayed a plan of their apartment — only with new lines dividing the rooms.
“Well,” Boris Petrovich chimed in, “Polina Olegovna mentioned you’re considering expanding your living space. My friend can help with ideas for the new apartment. Or with re-planning this one, if you decide to stay.”
“We are not considering expanding our living space,” Zhanna said slowly. “And we definitely aren’t planning any re-planning here.”
“Zhannochka, don’t be so categorical,” her mother-in-law winced. “We’re just discussing options. Look,” she pointed at the screen, “if you put a partition here in your bedroom, you’ll get two small rooms — one for you and Igor, and one for me.”
Zhanna felt her vision darken with anger.
“Polina Olegovna,” she said, struggling to stay calm, “I don’t know what you’ve imagined, but we are not planning to move, or re-plan, or divide our bedroom into two.”
“Oh, don’t get so worked up,” the mother-in-law shook her head. “I told you — we’re just exploring ideas. Igor said yesterday that he likes the idea of a three-room apartment.”
“What?”
“Yes-yes, we spoke for a long time yesterday. He thinks it would make sense financially.”
Zhanna felt betrayed. Had Igor really discussed this behind her back?
“Excuse me,” she turned to the architect, “but I think you should go. We are not re-planning anything.”
“Zhanna!” gasped Polina Olegovna. “How can you speak so rudely to a guest?”
“He’s not a guest — he’s a stranger you brought into my home without informing me or asking permission.”
Feeling the tension, the architect began packing up.
“I think I’ll come another time,” he mumbled. “When you’ve discussed everything as a family.”
After the architect left, a scandal erupted.
Polina Olegovna accused Zhanna of disrespect, rudeness, and selfishness. Zhanna responded that her mother-in-law was crossing all boundaries.
“You behave as if this apartment belongs to you!” she burst out at last. “But it doesn’t!”
“And who does it belong to? To my son!” countered Polina Olegovna. “He bought this apartment with his own hard work!”
“We bought it together! And we pay the mortgage together!”
“Oh, don’t make me laugh. What do you pay with your tiny little archive salary? Pennies! If it weren’t for Igor, you’d still be renting a bed in a dormitory!”
That blow was below the belt. Zhanna really had lived in a dormitory before she met Igor, because she couldn’t afford to rent an apartment alone.
“You…” she gasped, breath catching in outrage. “How can you say something like that?”
“What’s so shocking? It’s true. You latched onto my son because he’s promising, with an apartment—”
“Polina Olegovna, Igor did not have any apartment when we met! We bought it together, two years after the wedding!”
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, he supports you now, and you don’t even want to show respect to his mother.”
At that moment the front door opened and Igor walked in. Behind him was a young woman holding a folder.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, seeing his wife’s and mother’s flushed faces. “Are you arguing?”
“Your wife threw Sergey Andreevich out!” complained Polina Olegovna immediately. “He came to help with the renovation plans, and she simply kicked him out!”
“What renovation?” Igor looked at Zhanna, bewildered.
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Zhanna folded her arms. “Your mother claims that you two discussed buying a three-room apartment to live together. Is that true?”
Igor hesitated.
“Well… we talked about it, yes. Just theoretically.”
“Theoretically?” Zhanna felt a new wave of anger rise. “And this woman also came here ‘theoretically’?” She pointed at the stranger behind Igor.
“Oh, this is Karina,” Igor turned. “She’s a realtor. Mom asked her to appraise our apartment, just to understand what kind of amounts we’re talking about.”
“What?!” Zhanna could not believe her ears. “You brought a realtor here to evaluate our apartment without even discussing it with me?”
“Zhannochka, don’t exaggerate,” cut in Polina Olegovna. “It’s just an appraisal, nothing final. We wanted to make you a surprise.”
“A surprise?” Zhanna stared between her husband and his mother. “Do you seriously think selling our apartment can be a surprise?”
“No one is talking about selling,” Igor tried to calm her down. “We’re just gathering information.”
“Karina has already prepared the documents,” added Polina Olegovna. “She showed us options for three-room apartments in good areas. There are some very attractive offers.”
Zhanna looked at them in shock. They had gone so far with their plans without even telling her.
“Enough, Polina Olegovna! The apartment doesn’t belong to you, and you will not be making decisions here,” Zhanna snapped, losing her temper.
Silence fell.
Polina Olegovna stared at her daughter-in-law wide-eyed, as if unable to believe she dared raise her voice at her.
“How dare you talk to your elders like that?” she finally managed to say. “Igor, do you hear how your wife talks to me?”
Igor looked helplessly between his mother and his wife.
“I… I think we all need to calm down,” he mumbled.
“Calm down?” Zhanna shook her head. “You make plans behind my back to sell our apartment, you bring strangers into my home, and I need to calm down?”
“Zhannochka, you misunderstood everything,” began Polina Olegovna.
“I understood everything perfectly,” Zhanna cut her off. “You came for two weeks and have been living here for three months. You’re slowly taking over our space, inviting your friends, throwing away my things. And now you’re planning to sell our apartment!”
“Don’t exaggerate,” the mother-in-law grimaced. “No one is taking over anything. I only want what’s best for my son.”
“And are you sure he’s happy when you’re destroying his family?”
“I’m destroying it?” cried Polina Olegovna. “You just don’t want to live with me because you’re afraid I’ll see what a bad wife you are! You don’t cook, you don’t clean—”
“Mom!” Igor finally intervened. “That’s not true. Zhanna is a wonderful wife.”
“You’re just blinded,” waved off his mother. “All men are. They never see what’s in front of them.”
“Excuse me,” the realtor Karina finally spoke, still awkwardly standing in the doorway. “Maybe I should come back another time?”
“No,” said Zhanna firmly. “You shouldn’t come back at all. We are not selling the apartment.”
“Well actually,” Karina coughed lightly, “I already have preliminary documents. Polina Olegovna signed a power of attorney in Igor’s name…”
“What?!” Now Igor stared at his mother in shock. “You signed a power of attorney in my name?”
“So what?” shrugged Polina Olegovna. “I’m your mother. Who else should act in your interests if not me?”
“Mom, that’s forgery!” Igor shook his head. “That’s a criminal offense!”
“Oh stop it,” she brushed him off. “What offense? I simply sped things up. Karina said we needed a power of attorney for preliminary valuation, and you weren’t home. I signed so we wouldn’t waste time.”
“Polina Olegovna,” Zhanna said, trying to speak calmly despite boiling inside, “pack your things. It’s time for you to return to your apartment.”
“What?” her mother-in-law stared at her in outrage. “You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m asking you to leave. The renovation in your apartment has long been finished. You have your own place. And this is our home. And we do not want you living here.”
“Igor!” Polina Olegovna turned to her son. “Tell her! Tell her you won’t allow your own mother to be thrown out into the street!”
Igor looked completely lost. His eyes jumped from his wife to his mother and back again, clearly unsure whose side to take.
“Mom,” he finally said, “Zhanna’s right. It really is time for you to go home. And this power-of-attorney thing… it’s very serious. You had no right to sign documents for me.”
“You’re betraying your own mother?” tears appeared in Polina Olegovna’s eyes. “For the sake of this… this woman?”
“This woman is my wife,” Igor said firmly. “And I love her. And I’m asking you to respect our decision.”
“Fine,” Polina Olegovna straightened. “I’ll leave. But remember this: you chose this path. You chose her over your own mother, who raised you, who sacrificed everything for you.”
“Mom, don’t dramatize,” Igor sighed. “No one is choosing anyone over anyone. I’m simply asking you to respect our boundaries. You went too far.”
Polina Olegovna pressed her lips together, staring at her son with deep resentment.
“In that case, I have no reason to stay here,” she said sharply and stood up. “Karina, let’s go. We’re not welcome here.”
The realtor shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, clutching her folder.
“I… I need to take back the signed papers. They’re invalid anyway, since…”
“Take whatever you want,” snapped Polina Olegovna, heading to the guest room. “I’ll pack my things.”
Zhanna and Igor exchanged a silent look.
When the realtor left and Polina Olegovna disappeared into the room, loudly yanking open drawers, Zhanna quietly asked:
“Did you really talk to her about selling the apartment?”
Igor ran a hand tiredly through his hair.
“She kept bringing it up. I just… didn’t want to upset her. I told her I’d think about it. I never imagined she’d go this far.”
“And that power-of-attorney… that’s serious, Igor.”
“I know,” he nodded. “I’ll talk to her when she calms down.”
An hour later, Polina Olegovna came out of the room with two large suitcases. Her face was stone-cold, her eyes — icy and dry.
“I called a taxi,” she announced. “Don’t bother seeing me off.”
“Mom, let me at least help with the bags,” Igor offered.
“No need,” she cut him off. “I can manage on my own. I always have.”
In tense silence, they waited until the intercom signaled the taxi’s arrival. Igor insisted on helping her with the suitcases.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said as she left.
“Don’t bother,” Polina Olegovna replied coldly, not looking at him. “My phone will be off.”
And she left, slamming the building’s door behind her.
The following days passed in stressful anticipation. Igor tried calling his mother several times, but she did not answer.
Zhanna felt a strange mix of relief and anxiety — on the one hand, their home belonged to them again; on the other, she saw how much her husband was hurting.
“Maybe we should visit her?” she suggested on the fourth day.
“No,” Igor shook his head. “She needs to calm down and realize she was wrong. This isn’t the first time she’s behaved like this.”
On the seventh day of silence, the phone finally rang. But it wasn’t Polina Olegovna — it was her neighbor, Valentina Sergeevna.
“Igor, you need to come,” she said. “Your mother isn’t letting anyone into her apartment, not even me. She asked me to tell you she’s preparing some documents against you.”
“What documents?” Igor asked, confused.
“I don’t know,” sighed the neighbor. “Something about dividing property, about her investing money in your apartment…”
“That’s not true!” Igor protested. “She didn’t invest anything!”
“I’m just passing along what she said,” the neighbor replied. “Come talk to her. She’s not herself.”
Igor and Zhanna exchanged a worried look.
“I’ll go alone,” he decided. “It’ll be better that way.”
Zhanna agreed, though dread tightened in her chest.
Two hours later Igor returned, and the look on his face told her the conversation had been difficult.
“She’s filing a lawsuit against us,” he said, removing his coat. “Or rather, preparing one. She claims she gave us money for the down payment and now wants her share of the apartment.”
“But that’s a lie!” Zhanna exclaimed. “We have all the documents proving where the money came from.”
“I know,” Igor said. “But she won’t listen. She says she found a lawyer who promised to help her.”
“And what do we do?”
“I spoke to a friend at a law firm. He advised drafting an official letter warning her about the consequences of filing a knowingly false claim. And to remind her about the forged power-of-attorney.”
“You think that will work?”
“I don’t know,” Igor admitted. “But we have to try to stop this crazy train before it picks up full speed.”
A week later, Polina Olegovna received an official letter from Igor and Zhanna’s lawyer. The letter detailed the legal consequences of forging a signature on official documents and filing a knowingly false lawsuit.
At the end was a dry line:
“Should these unlawful actions continue, my clients will have no choice but to contact law-enforcement authorities.”
No response followed.
A month passed, then another.
No lawsuit was filed.
Polina Olegovna did not call and did not come.
Zhanna and Igor slowly returned to normal life. They decided to renovate, completely updating the living room where his mother had stayed. They threw out the old sofa she slept on, bought new furniture, repainted the walls.
“What do you think — will she ever show up again?” Zhanna asked as they hung new paintings in the refreshed room.
“I don’t know,” Igor replied. “She’s stubborn. She can stay angry for years. Once, she didn’t speak to my father for six months because of some tiny thing.”
“Do you miss her?”
Igor paused before answering.
“I think I miss the mom she used to be. The one who made pancakes for me on Sundays and helped with homework. Not the one she became these last years.”
Zhanna hugged him, understanding that behind his calm exterior, there was pain.
“Maybe we should try to make peace?” she suggested gently. “Not for her, but for you.”
Igor shook his head.
“No. This time she went too far. I can’t forgive the way she treated you. And the forgery… She needs to admit she was wrong first. And knowing her, that could take years.”
Six months passed. Life settled into routine again. Igor occasionally heard news about his mother from mutual acquaintances — she was healthy, renovating her apartment, and often seen with Boris Petrovich. Igor even saw them once in the supermarket, but they didn’t notice him, and he didn’t approach.
Then, something unexpected happened. One weekend, the doorbell rang. At the door stood Nina Pavlovna, the former colleague of Polina Olegovna.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said nervously, fiddling with her bag strap. “Polina asked me to bring you something.”
She handed them a small box wrapped in plain paper.
“What is this?” Igor asked, puzzled.
“No idea,” Nina shrugged. “She just said it belongs to Zhanna, and she wants to return it.”
When the woman left, Zhanna unwrapped the paper. Inside was the very same jewelry box Polina had “thrown away.” Old, worn, carved wood. There was a fresh scratch on the lid, but otherwise it looked intact.
“She didn’t throw it out,” Zhanna whispered, opening it. “She kept it all this time.”
Inside was a note in Polina’s neat handwriting:
“Found at the bottom of the trash bin when I left. Thought it might be important. P.O.”
No apology. No warmth. Just a dry statement. But even that was, in its own way, a first tiny admission of guilt — the first in all the time they’d known her.
“What do we do?” Zhanna asked, showing Igor the note.
Igor stared at the familiar handwriting for a long while.
“Nothing,” he finally said. “That’s not an apology. It’s just a gesture. If she truly wants to make peace, she’ll say so directly.”
Zhanna nodded. She placed the box back on the shelf where it once stood. A small piece of the past had returned, but the large fracture that had split the family remained.
Nina Pavlovna came again a month later.
“Polina asked me to tell you that she and Boris Petrovich decided to get married,” she announced. “A small wedding, just close friends. She’d like to invite you, but didn’t know how to do it.”
“Please tell her we congratulate her,” Igor said after a pause. “And we wish her happiness.”
“And about the invitation?”
Igor glanced at Zhanna.
“We’ll think about it,” he replied carefully.
When Nina left, Zhanna asked:
“Do you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” Igor admitted. “Part of me wants to see her happy. But another part remembers how she treated you — treated us. How she tried to manipulate and control everything. I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive.”
“Maybe we should try?” Zhanna suggested softly. “Not for her — for you. So you can move forward.”
Igor thought for a moment.
“I’ll write her a letter,” he decided. “Say everything I feel. And if she’s ready to acknowledge her mistakes, we can start again. If not… at least I tried.”
He sat down at the table and began writing. Zhanna didn’t look over his shoulder — she wanted to give him space for an honest conversation with his mother. When he finished, he sealed the letter.
“I’ll send it tomorrow,” he said. “And then… we’ll see.”
The reply came a week later — not a letter, but a short text message:
“Received. Read it. I need time. — P.O.”
“At least she didn’t shut the door immediately,” Zhanna remarked.
“Yes,” Igor agreed. “It’s something.”
They didn’t go to the wedding — it still felt too soon. Instead, they sent a gift and a card. Polina didn’t respond, but through Nina, they learned she received it.
So a new stage began — distant, cautious, moving slowly toward possible reconciliation.
Polina no longer tried to invade their life, and they didn’t try to rebuild closeness at any cost.
They became like two planets orbiting separately — far enough not to collide, yet still bound by the invisible gravity of family ties.
“Do you think we’ll ever be a real family again?” Zhanna asked once as they drove past the neighborhood where Polina lived.
“We are a family,” Igor said, squeezing her hand. “And with Mom… time will tell. What matters is that now we set the rules. And no one can break them.”
They drove through the intersection, leaving Polina’s neighborhood behind — just like that difficult chapter of their lives, when they nearly lost each other because of someone else’s intrusion.
Ahead lay the road they had chosen themselves.
