I set up a camera to catch my thieving daughter-in-law, but when I saw the recording, the ground fell out from under me.
“Things go missing? Check your own.” My mother drilled that phrase into me long ago. So when my heirloom earrings vanished from my jewelry box, and a large sum disappeared from an envelope, I knew exactly whom to suspect. My daughter-in-law. Quiet, modest Katya, who lived with my son in a rented apartment, always looked at my belongings with far too much envy.
To expose her, I installed a hidden camera in the living room. I expected to catch her stealing on the footage, but when I watched the video, I realized the real thief was far more frightening. And all this time, she had been staring back at me from the mirror.
Anna Petrovna had always prided herself on the order in her two-room apartment. Every little doily on the polished dresser, every book on the shelf, every porcelain figurine—everything had its place.
This little island of stability and predictability was her fortress, her world, where she was the sole mistress. But recently, a crack had appeared in that fortress. A sticky, unpleasant anxiety had settled in her soul weeks ago, and today it took on a clear, terrifying shape.
The earrings were gone. Not just any earrings, but her mother’s—an heirloom set with tiny diamond drops like dew.
She rummaged through the jewelry box for the third time. The velvet lining was empty in the little niche where they had always rested. Her heart pounded so hard it roared in her ears. She checked every drawer in the dresser, shook out the laundry basket, looked under the bed. Nothing. It was as if the earrings had evaporated. And in her mind, against her will, a single image surfaced—Katya. Her daughter-in-law.
Katya had visited yesterday. Brought groceries and her perpetual cottage-cheese pie, which Anna Petrovna found bland but always praised out of politeness. She sat here in the living room, drinking tea, chattering away.
About her son Igor’s new job, about their vacation plans. Anna Petrovna had noticed the envy in Katya’s eyes as she looked around. She and Igor lived in a rented one-room apartment on the outskirts, and Katya, who grew up in a modest family, always examined Anna Petrovna’s crystal and antique furniture with barely concealed admiration.
“She even asked to try them on last week,” she remembered. “Said, ‘What beautiful earrings, Anna Petrovna, they suit you so well.’” And she’d stared at them so hungrily. Predatory.
Anna Petrovna sank onto the sofa. No, this was impossible. Katya wasn’t ideal, of course—too simple, too loud, not at all the daughter-in-law she dreamed of for Igor. But stealing? That was beyond the pale. Although… who knew what went on in the minds of these quiet provincial girls? Maybe they had debts? Igor would never admit it.
In the evening, her son called.
“Hi, Mom! How are you? Katya says you were kind of quiet when she stopped by. Everything okay?”
Anna Petrovna’s voice trembled. She wanted to blurt everything out, but something stopped her. Accusing without proof would only turn her son against her.
“I’m fine, Igor,” she ground out. “Just a headache. A bit tired.”
“You should rest, Mom. Maybe come over this weekend?”
“No,” she snapped. “I have… things to do here. Igor, tell me, are you two okay with money? No problems?”
A pause hung on the line.
“Mom, what are you talking about? Everything’s normal. We’re working. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing,” her voice slipped into a hysterical, petulant tone. “Just asking! Can’t I even show interest? Everything is always a secret with you!”
“What secrets, Mom? Calm down. Everything’s fine. If you need anything, just say so.”
“Say something?” she thought bitterly as she hung up. “Say that your Katya is rifling through my jewelry boxes? And what would you do? Defend her again, tell me I’m imagining things?”
She walked back to the dresser and ran her finger over the dusty top. Dust. Katya had dusted yesterday. She had been here. Alone, when Anna Petrovna went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. Just a couple of minutes. Enough to open the jewelry box and slip the earrings into her pocket.
The thought was so clear and precise that nearly all doubt vanished. Cold fury mixed with hurt—hurt at her son for not seeing the obvious, and at her daughter-in-law for stabbing her in the back so treacherously. “Well then,” she whispered into the empty apartment, “I’ll expose you. I definitely will.”
A week passed. The earrings were still missing. Anna Petrovna searched the apartment again and again, looking in the most impossible places, but it was useless. She started sleeping badly, waking at the slightest noise in the night. She felt as if someone was walking around the apartment, opening drawers, rummaging through her things.
Each time she turned on the light in fear, but the room was swallowed by thick, sticky silence. During the day she became suspicious and jumpy. She felt the neighbors staring at her with judgment, as if they knew about her “family disgrace.”
On Thursday it was time to pay the utilities. Anna Petrovna always kept the necessary amount in cash in an envelope, in a drawer under a stack of old postcards. She pulled out the envelope, opened it, and froze. Instead of twelve thousand rubles, there were seven. Five thousand were gone.
Panic squeezed her throat. This couldn’t be. She remembered clearly counting the money after receiving her pension. Katya! Katya had come by on Tuesday. To “check in.” Brought her stupid pie again. Sat there talking about a friend who bought a car on credit. Hinting, probably! As if to say, “We need money too, and you have cash just lying around.”
Her hands trembled. Anna Petrovna grabbed the phone and dialed her son.
“Igor!” she practically screamed, not giving him a chance to speak. “My money is gone! Five thousand! From the drawer!”
“Mom, calm down,” Igor’s tired voice said. “Are you sure? Maybe you spent it and forgot? Or put it somewhere else?”
“I’m not crazy!” she shrieked, feeling tears of hurt and helplessness streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t spend anything and didn’t move anything! First the earrings, now the money! Don’t you understand what’s happening?! It’s your wife! She was here on Tuesday!…”
I installed a camera to catch my daughter-in-law thief — and when I watched the footage, the ground dropped out from under me.
“Things disappearing? Check your own people.” I’d learned that phrase from my mother. So when the family earrings vanished from my jewelry box, and a large sum disappeared from an envelope, I knew exactly whom to suspect. The daughter-in-law. Quiet, modest Katya, who lives with my son in a rented flat, looked at my things with far too much envy.
To catch her red-handed, I put a hidden camera in the living room. I expected to see her stealing on the recording, but when I watched the tape I realized the real thief was far worse. He had been looking at me from the mirror the whole time.
Anna Petrovna always took pride in the order of her two-room apartment. Every napkin on the polished dresser, every book on the shelf, every porcelain figurine — everything had its place.
That little island of stability and predictability was her fortress, her world where she ruled completely. But recently a breach had opened in that fortress. Anxiety, sticky and unpleasant, had settled in her soul a few weeks ago, and today it had taken on a clear, frightening shape.
The earrings were gone. Not just any earrings, but her mother’s — a family heirloom with diamonds as small as drops of dew.
She rummaged through the jewelry box for the third time. The velvet lining was empty in the little nest where they always lay. Her heart started pounding so hard her ears rang. She checked every drawer of the dresser, shook the laundry out of the basket, looked under the bed. In vain. The earrings had seemed to evaporate. And, against her will, a single image surfaced in her head — Katya. Her daughter-in-law.
Katya had come by yesterday. She’d brought groceries and her usual cottage-cheese pie, which Anna Petrovna thought bland but always praised out of politeness. She’d sat in the living room, drank tea, and chattered about something.
About her son Igor’s new job, about vacation plans. At the time Anna Petrovna had noticed how enviously Katya looked at her furnishings. After all, she and Igor lived in a rented one-room on the outskirts, and Katya, who’d grown up in a modest family, always, as it seemed to Anna Petrovna, inspected her crystal and antique furniture with poorly concealed admiration.
“She even asked to try them on just last week,” a memory floated up. “She said, ‘What a beauty, Anna Petrovna — they suit you so well.’” And yet her eyes had drilled into them. Predatory.
Anna Petrovna sat down on the sofa. No — this can’t be. Katya, of course, wasn’t an ideal daughter-in-law. Too simple, too loud, too… not the kind she’d imagined for her Igor. But theft? That was beyond the pale. Although… who knows what’s on the minds of these quiet provincial girls? Maybe they’re in debt? And Igor would never admit it.
That evening her son called.
“Hi, Mom! How are you? Katya said you were a bit quiet when she came by. Everything okay?”
Anna Petrovna’s voice trembled. She wanted to burst everything out at once, but something stopped her. To accuse without proof — that would set her son against her.
“I’m fine, Igorek,” she said through clenched teeth. “Just a headache. A bit tired.”
“You should rest, Mom. Maybe come visit this weekend?”
“No,” she snapped. “I’ve got… things here. Igor, tell me, are you all right with money? Any problems?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Mom, what are you talking about? Everything’s normal. We’re working. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” her voice turned hysterical and petulant. “I was just asking! Now you can’t even be asked about anything! You always keep everything secret!”
“What secrets, Mom? Calm down. Everything’s fine. If you need anything, just tell me.”
“Tell you?” Anna Petrovna thought angrily as she hung up. “Tell you that your Katya, it seems, has been rifling through my jewelry boxes? And what will you do? Protect her again, say I’m making things up.”
She went back to the dresser and ran her finger along the dusty lid. Dust. Katya had wiped the dust yesterday. She’d been here — alone — while Anna Petrovna went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. A couple of minutes. Enough to open the box and slip the earrings into a pocket.
The thought was so clear and precise that there was almost no doubt. Cold fury mixed with humiliation. Humiliation at her son, who didn’t see the obvious, and at the daughter-in-law, who had so treacherously driven a knife into her back. “All right,” she whispered into the silence of the empty apartment. “I’ll expose you. I will — I’ll make you confess.”
A week passed. The earrings were still missing. Anna Petrovna turned the whole apartment inside out several more times, peering into the most unlikely places, but it was all in vain. She began sleeping poorly, waking at the slightest rustle. It seemed to her that someone walked around the apartment, opened drawers, rummaged through her things.
Every time she switched on the light with fear, the room contained only dense, viscous silence. During the day she grew suspicious and nervous. She felt as if the neighbors looked at her with judgement, as if they knew of her “family shame.”
On Thursday it was time to pay the utilities. Anna Petrovna always kept the required amount in cash in an envelope in the desk drawer under a pile of old postcards. She took out the envelope, opened it, and froze. Instead of twelve thousand, there were seven. Five thousand rubles were gone.
Panic choked her throat. This couldn’t be. She remembered counting the money after she received her pension. Katya! Katya had come on Tuesday. To visit. She’d again brought her stupid pie. Sat and told stories about a friend who’d bought a car on credit. She’d been hinting, probably! As if to say, we need money too, and you’ve got a stash lying around.
Her hands began to shake. Anna Petrovna grabbed the phone and dialed her son.
“Igor!” she practically screamed into the receiver, not letting him speak. “My money’s gone! Five thousand! From the desk!”
“Mom, calm down,” Igor’s tired voice said. “Are you sure? Maybe you spent it and forgot? Or put it somewhere else?”
“I’m not crazy!” she shrieked, feeling tears of hurt and helplessness roll down her cheeks. “I didn’t spend anything and didn’t move it! First the earrings, now the money! Don’t you understand what’s happening?! It’s your wife! She was here on Tuesday!…”
— Mom, stop! — Igor’s voice hardened. — I don’t want to hear this. Katya would never do such a thing. You’re making things up. You know your memory’s not so good lately… you lose your keys, your glasses.
— Memory?! — she gasped with indignation. — You’re saying I’ve gone out of my mind?! I remember perfectly! But you’re blinded by love for your thief! You defend her, and you’d put your own mother in a madhouse!
— Mom, I didn’t say that. Just check again properly, please. They’ll turn up.
— Nothing will turn up! — she yelled and slammed the phone down.
She sobbed on the hallway floor. Her son didn’t believe her. He thought she was an old, sick woman with whims. All because of Katya. She’d turned him against his mother. She whispers to him about the unbearable mother-in-law who forgets everything and mixes things up. So that later, when she strips the whole apartment, Igor would say, “Well, Mom must have hidden it somewhere and forgotten.”
On Saturday they came together. Katya, as if nothing had happened, smiled and handed her a bag of oranges.
“Anna Petrovna, hello! We brought you some vitamins.”
Anna Petrovna recoiled from her as if from a leper.
“I don’t need anything,” she said through clenched teeth, looking at her daughter-in-law with undisguised hatred. “Leave back what you took.”
Katya froze. The smile slid off her face.
“What are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about?” hysterical notes crept back into her voice. “About the fact that things have started disappearing in this building! Valuable things! Money! Since certain people began dropping in!”
Igor stepped forward, shielding his wife.
“Mom, we agreed. Stop this conversation.”
“Oh, you agreed?!” Anna Petrovna laughed nervously, her laugh breaking. “You’re making deals behind my back on how to fleece me, right?! You think I’m an old fool who understands nothing?”
“Anna Petrovna, I swear, I didn’t take anything,” Katya said softly, tears in her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because!” Anna Petrovna snapped. “Because the truth can’t be hidden! You can go. I don’t want to see you. Either of you!”
She slammed the door in their faces and leaned against it, breathing heavily. Her heart pounded like a mad thing. She had sent them away. But it was necessary. Now she was alone — alone against them. And she would have to prove her case alone as well. The thought that had previously seemed wild and foreign now took shape as a clear plan. If words didn’t help, she needed to show it. Show irrefutable proof.
The decision came suddenly, clear and cold as a winter morning. A camera. She needed a hidden camera. The idea that had recently seemed like something out of a cheap detective story now looked like the only way out. Anna Petrovna had never been particularly good with technology, but the internet worked wonders. With trembling fingers she typed into the search engine: “buy mini hidden home camera.”
The site offered dozens of options: cameras disguised as chargers, watches, pens, even buttons. She chose the most inconspicuous — a little black cube the size of a die that could be hidden anywhere. The description said: “High resolution, motion sensor, records to a memory card.” Exactly what she needed. She ordered it with delivery to a parcel locker so Igor and Katya wouldn’t accidentally find out about her purchase.
Two days of waiting felt like an eternity. She hardly left the house, jumping at every buzz of the intercom. When the SMS notification came, she threw on her coat and almost ran to the parcel locker. Holding the small box, she felt like a spy on a mission. Her heart hammered with a mix of fear and excitement.
At home, after locking the door with all the bolts, she unpacked the purchase. A tiny camera and a manual in several languages. With difficulty, spending nearly two hours and rebooting her old laptop several times, she managed to set it up. The image quality was surprisingly sharp. On the monitor she could see her own living room, her sofa, her polished dresser.
She chose the ambush spot right away. On the bookshelf, between porcelain elephants and souvenirs brought back from spa towns, the camera would be completely unnoticeable. She wedged it carefully between a plump gnome and a painted matryoshka, aiming the lens straight at the dresser where the jewelry box stood and the desk where the envelope lay.
Now she needed bait. Anna Petrovna took an old silver spoon from the china cabinet — a gift from her grandmother. It wasn’t as valuable as the earrings, but it was meaningful. She placed it in the most visible spot next to the jewelry box. And in the envelope on the desk she conspicuously laid a couple of large bills so they could be seen if the envelope was opened. The trap was set.
She called her son herself. Her voice was deliberately calm and even a little apologetic.
“Igorek, forgive me. I was hot-headed last time. I’m an old woman, nervous. Please come over — I miss you. I baked your favorite apple pie.”
Igor, happy for the reconciliation, agreed at once.
“Of course, Mom! We’ll come tomorrow after work. Katya was really upset too.”
“Of course she was,” Anna Petrovna thought bitterly. “Her plan is falling through.”
She spent the next day on pins and needles. She checked the camera dozens of times, made sure the viewing angle was good. She felt like the director of an ominous play in which her daughter-in-law played the villain. By evening a strange feeling crept over her. A slight shame at what she was doing.
After all, she was spying on people close to her. But then she remembered the empty spot in the jewelry box, the missing money from the envelope, her son’s condescending tone on the phone, and any pity evaporated. No, she was doing the right thing. She was protecting herself and her home. She simply wanted to know the truth. And the truth had to be fought for.
When the doorbell rang, she adjusted her hair, put on the mask of a welcoming hostess, and went to open the door.
The trap had sprung. Now she only had to wait.
The evening turned into a theater of the absurd. Anna Petrovna bustled in the kitchen, took the pie out of the oven, poured the tea — and all the while kept one eye glued to the living room. Every step Katya took, every gesture, echoed in Anna Petrovna’s mind like a dull thud.
There Katya adjusted a sofa cushion.
There she took a book from the shelf, flipped through it, and put it back.
“Mom, the pie is amazing!” Igor said, devouring his second slice with appetite.
“I try for you,” Anna Petrovna replied dryly, never taking her eyes off Katya.
Katya sat stiffly, tense; she felt the icy hostility of her mother-in-law. She tried to start a conversation, told a funny story from work, but her words sank into the heavy, sticky silence.
“Anna Petrovna, is your head hurting? You’re so quiet today,” she asked with genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” Anna Petrovna cut her off. “Better pay attention to yourself.”
Igor shot his mother a reproachful look.
“Mom!”
“What ‘Mom’? I’m giving useful advice. In life one must be very attentive. Especially with other people’s things.”
Katya went pale and lowered her eyes to her cup. She didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening. The atmosphere at the table grew suffocating. The only sounds were spoons clinking against cups and the ticking of the old wall clock.
Anna Petrovna felt a malicious satisfaction.
Let her be nervous. Let her feel the ground burning under her feet.
Finally, Igor stood up.
“Alright, Mom, we should get going. We have to wake up early tomorrow. Thanks for dinner.”
They began putting on their coats in the hallway. Anna Petrovna came out to see them off.
“Katya, could you help me?” she asked unexpectedly. “I need to get a jar of pickles from the storage room. It’s heavy, and my back is acting up.”
Igor wanted to go instead, but Anna Petrovna stopped him.
“You finish getting dressed, son, or you’ll catch a cold. Katya and I will be quick.”
That was her plan.
To leave Katya alone in the living room for at least a minute.
The storage room was at the far end of the corridor, next to the kitchen.
“Of course, Anna Petrovna,” Katya agreed quietly.
They walked down the hallway. Anna Petrovna deliberately fussed in the storage room, rearranging jars, pretending she couldn’t find the right one. Her heart thumped somewhere near her throat.
Go on, she urged silently. You have a minute. Long enough to grab the spoon.
When they returned, Igor was already tying his shoelaces. Katya silently put on her boots, and they left.
After closing the door behind them, Anna Petrovna didn’t run to check the “crime scene.”
No — she paused, like a seasoned hunter. She calmly cleared the table, washed the dishes. And only when the apartment had returned to its perfect silence did she, holding her breath, approach the dresser.
The silver spoon was still in its place.
Anna Petrovna froze. The disappointment was so sharp her knees buckled.
She didn’t take it.
Was she scared?
Or was Anna Petrovna wrong and Katya truly had nothing to do with it?
No — that couldn’t be.
“I didn’t give her enough time,” she decided. “Or maybe she noticed something suspicious.”
She barely slept that night. The plan had failed. She felt foolish and at the same time even angrier.
So she must wait.
Wait for the next visit.
Sooner or later Katya’s thieving nature would reveal itself. The camera was in place. The clock was ticking.
And the taut strings of that awful evening kept ringing in her ears, refusing to let her sleep. She was waiting for the denouement, never imagining how terrifying it would be.
The week after her son’s visit dragged on endlessly. Anna Petrovna felt like a hunter who had set snares and now waited, motionless. She hardly left the house, afraid to miss the “moment of truth.”
The memory card could store several days’ worth of footage, and she decided she should review everything recorded since installation to get the full picture.
One evening, when the anxiety became unbearable, she finally resolved to do it.
Drawing the curtains and locking the door, she sat down at the table with her laptop.
Her hands were cold and damp.
She inserted the memory card and opened the folder filled with video files — dozens of short clips automatically created whenever the camera detected movement.
She began from the very beginning — the day she had installed the camera.
The first files were boring: there she was walking through the room; there dusting the shelves.
Then appeared the Saturday file. The day they had visited.
She watched — the tense dinner, her own sarcastic remarks, Katya’s frightened face. Nothing new. No suspicious behavior from her daughter-in-law, neither during dinner nor in that one minute she’d been left alone.
Disappointment mixed with anger.
She moved on to recordings from the next day. Sunday. Daytime.
She appeared on the screen — Anna Petrovna entered the living room, looked around. Her movements were fussy, jerky. She went to the dresser, took her jewelry box, poured a handful of rings and brooches into her palm.
She turned them over, and then — to her horror on the screen — one of them slipped from her hand, fell to the floor, and rolled under the dresser. Her on-screen self didn’t even notice. She just poured the remaining jewelry back into the box and left.
Sitting before the laptop, Anna Petrovna covered her mouth with her hand in horror.
She had searched for that ring for two days! She had been sure Katya stole it too!
With trembling fingers, she opened the next file. Monday, around noon.
Again — her.
This time, her on-screen double approached the desk.
She took out the envelope where she kept the money for utilities.
Anna Petrovna tensed, peering at the screen.
In the recording, her double counted the bills, then removed one — the largest — and walked with it toward the kitchen. The camera couldn’t see what happened there, but a minute later she returned empty-handed.
Anna Petrovna’s heart skipped a beat.
She didn’t remember this.
At all.
She hadn’t taken money from the envelope.
Breathing heavily, she paused the video and, as if in a dream, walked over to the desk. Her hands would not obey her as she took out the envelope. She counted the money. Her vision dimmed.
So this wasn’t the product of her sick imagination, not paranoia. The money had really disappeared.
And she had just seen who took it.
She herself.
Where had she put it? There were no memories — only a ringing void. She wandered into the kitchen, mechanically peering into empty jars and sugar canisters. Nothing.
In despair, she slumped into the chair at the kitchen table, its old oilcloth covering worn and cracked. She ran her hand over it — and her fingers hit a small bump that hadn’t been there before. With a puzzled frown, she lifted the edge of the oilcloth.
And froze.
There, neatly pressed against the underside of the table, lay a familiar banknote folded in half.
The truth was far more terrifying than her suspicions.
It was one thing to find a forgotten stash and laugh at your absentmindedness.
It was entirely another to see undeniable proof that you were performing senseless, illogical actions — and that your brain immediately wiped them from memory.
She hadn’t simply forgotten.
She had lost control.
She reached the file recorded this very morning. Around ten o’clock.
The door opened quietly. Katya entered. She had her own key and sometimes stopped by to leave groceries if she knew her mother-in-law was at the clinic or the store. Katya set the bag on the floor, and in that moment her gaze fell on something shiny under the dresser. She bent down and picked up… a ring.
She did not slip it into her pocket.
She looked at it, then at the jewelry box, and her face reflected endless exhaustion. She approached and gently placed the ring in the box.
Then she walked into the living room. She didn’t look around — she moved with purpose to the glass cabinet where porcelain vases stood in a neat row, Anna Petrovna’s long-time collection. Katya began methodically lifting them one by one and looking inside.
Anna Petrovna, watching the screen, froze.
What was she doing?
In the third vase, something glinted. Katya carefully tapped the contents onto her palm.
It was the earrings.
Her mother’s earrings with tiny diamonds like dew drops — the very ones whose disappearance had started this entire nightmare.
Katya stared at them for a long time, and there was no joy on her face — only deep, boundless sorrow.
Without a word, she walked to the dresser, opened the jewelry box, and laid the earrings in their rightful velvet nest.
Anna Petrovna pressed pause, freezing the image.
Staggering, she rose from the table and approached the dresser. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t open the box at first. Finally she managed.
The earrings were there. They had been returned.
She went back to the laptop and resumed the video.
Katya on the screen moved calmly, routinely, as though it were an everyday duty — to follow after her mother-in-law and silently undo the consequences of her strange actions.
She had known.
And for a long time.
Anna Petrovna sat staring at the frozen image of Katya’s face.
The world had not simply collapsed — it had turned inside out.
There had been no thief.
No conspiracy.
Only a terrible, progressing illness that was devouring her mind day by day.
And a person she had hated and accused — who all this time had been her silent guardian angel, protecting her from herself and from disgrace.
Tears burned her eyes, but she did not cry.
She simply sat in deafening silence, crushed by the weight of shame and the icy terror of what lay ahead.
The next two days passed for Anna Petrovna as if in a fog.
She did not leave the apartment, did not answer the phone. Food wouldn’t go down, sleep wouldn’t come.
She sat in her chair, staring at one point, replaying that awful recording over and over in her mind.
Every harsh word she had thrown at Katya, every suspicious glance, every unfair accusation now burned inside her like red-hot iron.
She had accused of theft the very person who had understood long ago that something was wrong — and who had quietly, delicately tried to repair the consequences of her memory lapses.
The thought was unbearable.
The shame was so all-consuming she wanted to sink through the floor, disappear, anything not to face her daughter-in-law again.
Fear washed over her in icy waves.
What would happen next?
Today she hid earrings — tomorrow she would forget to turn off the gas.
And the day after?
Would she forget her own name?
Lose herself outside?
She had always been strong, independent, accustomed to controlling everything.
Now her own mind was betraying her, turning her into a helpless, pitiful person.
And the worst part was that she herself had pushed away the only people who could help her — her son, who had tried to hint at the problem; and her daughter-in-law, who had seen it all and stayed silent, protecting her peace.
How could she look them in the eyes now?
How could she ask for forgiveness?
The words stuck in her throat.
“Forgive me, Katya — I thought you were a thief, but I’m the one losing my mind.”
It sounded like the ravings of a lunatic.
She imagined that conversation — and flushed with horror.
She would see pity in their eyes.
And that was what she feared most.
Not hatred.
Not reproach.
Pity.
Pity for a senile old woman.
The phone rang insistently.
“Igorek” flashed on the screen.
She stared at it until it stopped ringing.
Then came the text:
“Mom, are you okay? We’re worried. Katya can’t reach you. We’ll come by this evening.”
Evening. They were coming this evening.
Panic squeezed her chest again.
She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t.
She rushed to the door and locked the extra bolt.
She’d hide. Pretend she wasn’t home.
But that was cowardice.
Running from the inevitable.
She sat on the sofa.
The recording.
The camera still stood on the shelf, its small black eye staring at her.
It was her curse — and her only salvation.
She couldn’t explain everything in words. She didn’t have the strength.
But she could show them.
Show them the terrible truth she had learned about herself.
This would be her confession.
Her plea for forgiveness and help.
Gathering the remnants of her will, she took the memory card and inserted it into the laptop again.
She would wait for them — with this proof of her guilt and her illness.
At exactly seven in the evening, the doorbell rang — urgent, anxious.
Anna Petrovna sat in the armchair opposite the laptop, the recording cued to the right moments.
Her heart hammered wildly.
She took a deep breath and went to open the door.
Igor and Katya stood on the threshold, both visibly worried.
“Mom, what happened? Why didn’t you answer? We were going crazy!” Igor blurted.
Katya looked at her in silence — and in her eyes there was no resentment, only deep concern.
Anna Petrovna couldn’t utter a word.
She stepped aside, letting them in, and silently motioned toward the living room.
They entered, exchanging confused glances.
“Sit down, please,” she whispered with dry lips.
They sat on the sofa.
Anna Petrovna remained standing, leaning on the armchair so she wouldn’t collapse.
“I… I have to show you something,” she forced out. “I can’t explain it. Just… watch.”
She pressed play.
For the first few minutes they watched in silence — the tense dinner, her biting remarks, Katya’s frightened face.
Igor frowned; Katya lowered her head.
Then the footage showed Anna Petrovna herself, wandering through the room like a ghost.
Igor leaned forward.
“Mom? What is this?”
She stayed silent, fingers digging into the armchair.
They watched her hide the money, hide the earrings.
Shock and confusion dawned on Igor’s face.
He turned toward his mother, but saw only her stony profile.
And then Katya appeared in the recording.
They watched her find the money and return it to the envelope.
How she found the earrings — and the tear sliding down her cheek.
How she placed them back in the jewelry box.
A dead silence filled the room.
Only the faint hum of the laptop could be heard.
Igor slowly turned to his wife.
Katya sat with her head bowed, her shoulders trembling.
He looked at her, then at the screen, then at his mother — and realization slowly washed over him.
Horrible, crushing realization.
Anna Petrovna could no longer stand.
Her legs gave way, and she sank to her knees on the floor.
“Forgive me…” she sobbed. “Katya, forgive me… I… I didn’t know…”
She wept uncontrollably, like a child, shaking all over.
It was the crying of shame, of fear, of despair.
“I thought it was you… I was so cruel… And I… I’m sick… I’m losing my mind…”
Katya raised her head.
Her face was wet with tears.
She stood, walked over to her mother-in-law, and knelt beside her.
She didn’t say, “I told you so” or “Why did you treat me like this?”
She simply hugged her.
Tightly — the way one hugs a terrified child.
“Mom…” she said softly — and there was not a trace of falseness in that word.
“Hush, Mom. It’s all right. We’re here.”
Igor came over and crouched beside them, placing his hands on the shoulders of both women.
He looked at his mother, and in his eyes there was not pity — but deep pain and love.
“We’ll get through this, Mom,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me? We’ll get through it. All of us. Together.”
Anna Petrovna sobbed in her daughter-in-law’s arms, feeling the icy shell of fear and loneliness that had gripped her in recent weeks begin to melt under the warmth of their hands.
She didn’t know what awaited her — the struggle with the illness, doctor visits, the slow fading of her mind.
That future terrified her to death.
But now, in this moment, she knew one thing:
She was not alone.
The trap she had set for another had caught her instead —
but it had also led her to salvation.
A bitter, frightening, but nevertheless real salvation
in the arms of the family she had nearly destroyed.
