“We’ll move in with my mom, and give the apartment to my brother—he’s having problems,” the husband mumbled.
“Then you move,” she replied. “Alone. With your things. The apartment is mine.”
Katya stood by the window, gripping a cup of already cold coffee. Behind her, pages rustled—Sergey was flipping through the newspaper, pretending not to notice her tension.
“We’ll move in with my mom, and give the apartment to my brother,” he finally said without looking up from the news. “He’s having problems.”
Katya slowly loosened her fingers. The cup clinked sharply against the windowsill.
“Then you move,” she said evenly. “Alone. With your things. The apartment is mine.”
Sergey finally raised his head. His face was calm, but an irritated crease trembled at the corners of his mouth.
“Max has nowhere to live, Katya. He’s in debt.”
“So what—now we’re supposed to save your perpetual loser?” Katya snapped, turning sharply toward him. “You and I have been living like strangers for ten years, and now your mother and your brother too?”
“It’s temporary!”
“Temporary always becomes permanent.”
Silence. Sergey sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face.
“You’re not even trying to understand…”
“I understand everything,” Katya cut in. “You’re choosing them again, not us.”
At that moment the phone rang. Sergey reached for it, glanced at the screen, and froze.
“Max…” he murmured.
Katya saw his fingers tighten around the phone more than necessary.
“Serge…” The voice on the line was hoarse, broken. “If you don’t help… I’m finished.”
Sergey went pale.
Katya felt a chill run down her spine.
Something was wrong.
Something—very wrong.
Katya wrapped herself in the old robe Sergey hated and buried her face in the pillow. Her husband’s phone conversation with his brother rang in her ears: “I’m finished”—some gangster drama she didn’t want to get involved in. But it was already impossible not to.
The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Sergey was washing away the traces of today’s argument, as he always did after conflicts—silently and methodically. Katya closed her eyes, and another face surfaced in her mind—her father, drunk and guilty, standing in the doorway of a rented Khrushchyovka thirty years ago.
“Well then, sweetheart, we’ll stay with Aunt Lucy,” he’d said back then. “She’s worse off than anyone—alone with a child…”
Her mother hadn’t argued then. And a month later Aunt Lucy “temporarily” moved in her new husband, and Katya’s family stayed forever in that hole with the leaking ceiling.
“Are you even listening to me?” A sharp voice yanked her out of her memories. Sergey stood in the doorway, water dripping from his bare torso onto the floor.
“I’m listening,” Katya sat up on the bed. “Your gangster brother got himself into trouble again, and we’re supposed to clean it up?”
“He’s not a gangster!” Sergey slammed his fist into the doorframe. “He’s just—”
“Just what? At forty he still hasn’t learned to live within his means?” Katya jumped up, her robe falling open. “I won’t let the same scenario repeat itself!”
“What scenario?” Sergey grabbed her wrist. “What are you talking about?”
The front door slammed. Both of them flinched. A second later Max walked into the bedroom without knocking. His shirt was torn at the shoulder; a bruise was blooming under his left eye.
“Sorry for coming without calling,” he said hoarsely, “but I’ve got… problems.”
Katya yanked her hand free from Sergey’s grip. Max nervously licked his lips, his gaze darting between them.
“Serge…” He took a step forward. “If you don’t give me the money…” His voice broke. “…I’ll tell Katya about that night in St. Petersburg.”
A heavy plop—water from Sergey’s hair hit the floor.
The room froze. Katya felt goosebumps crawl up her back.
“What night?” Her voice sounded чужим—foreign, too quiet.
Sergey spun toward his brother, blocking him as if trying to hide him from Katya.
“Max, shut up.”
“What, is it really that scary?” Max smirked, though animal fear showed in his eyes. “Then give me the money and I’ll disappear.”
Katya stepped closer. Her fingers clenched into fists on their own.
“Sergey. What does he mean?”
Her husband didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the wall behind her. Max shifted nervously, as if realizing he’d gone too far.
“Fine, forget it,” he waved a hand. “It’s not important. I just… urgently need three hundred thousand.”
Katya laughed sharply.
“Three hundred? Are you out of your mind?”
“Katya,” Sergey finally looked at her. “Let’s discuss this later.”
“No, we’ll discuss it now.” She stepped forward, her voice trembling with rage. “What happened in St. Petersburg?”
Silence. Max looked at his brother, waiting. Sergey breathed heavily, as if choosing his words.
“Nothing. Empty talk.”
“You’re lying.” Katya snatched Sergey’s phone from the table. “I’ll find out myself.”
“Give it back!” He lunged for her, but she jerked away, managing to see the last message in the messenger:
“Sergey, we need to meet. It’s urgent. Lena.”
The ground seemed to drop away beneath Katya’s feet.
“Who is Lena?”
Sergey went pale. Max coughed, as if choking on his own laughter.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “You still haven’t told her?”
Katya squeezed the phone so hard the screen crackled.
“Told me what?”
Sergey closed his eyes.
“It’s not what you think…”
“Then explain!” Her scream tore the silence apart.
At that moment, the doorbell rang in the hallway.
All three flinched.
Katya slowly turned toward the door.
“Who is it?”
Max suddenly went paler than Sergey.
“They’re already here,” he whispered.
Katya rushed to the door, beating Sergey to it. Her fingers trembled as she yanked the handle. On the threshold stood her mother—Lyudmila Petrovna in her ever-present leather coat, a boutique shopping bag in hand.
“Mom? What—”
“What kind of circus is this?” Lyudmila cut in, stepping inside. Her sharp gaze immediately locked onto Max with the bruise and Sergey pale as death. “The whole building can hear your yelling.”
Max suddenly laughed—nervously, hysterically.
“Oh, great! Now mommy’s joined in too!”
Lyudmila slowly turned to him, looking him over from head to toe.
“So this is your famous brother?” she asked Sergey with icy politeness. “The one you’re ready to throw your family out onto the street for?”
Sergey clenched his fists.
“Lyudmila Petrovna, this is none of your business—”
“My daughter is my business,” she snapped. “And my late mother’s apartment even more so.”
Katya felt another scandal brewing, but at that moment a sharp knock hit the door—not the bell, a fist pounding. Everyone fell silent.
“Open up, Maksim!” a hoarse voice barked from outside. “We know you’re in there!”
Max’s bravado vanished. He darted toward Sergey.
“Serge, it’s them… I told you…”
Lyudmila suddenly laughed.
“God, are you complete idiots? You led your creditors right to your home?”
She strode straight to the door. Katya rushed to stop her.
“Mom, no!”
But Lyudmila had already flung the door open. Two men stood on the threshold—a stocky man in a tracksuit and a tall guy with tattoos on his neck.
“What do you want?” Lyudmila asked coldly, without raising her voice.
The tattooed man froze, clearly not expecting such a reception.
“We’re here for Maksim… business.”
“There is no Maksim in this apartment,” Lyudmila said firmly. “And if you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call someone who will find you very quickly—in places from which people don’t call their mothers on weekends.”
The men’s eyes widened. They exchanged glances, and the stocky one muttered uncertainly:
“Alright… we’ll… come back later.”
When the door closed, silence settled over the apartment. Max broke it first.
“Damn… who are you, anyway?”
Lyudmila slowly turned to him, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bag.
“I’m the one who decides right now whether to hand you over to those thugs or not. So, dear, start telling the whole truth—about the debts, about St. Petersburg. And especially about this Lena.”
The silence was shattered by the sound of breaking glass—Katya, furious, hurled Sergey’s phone against the wall. Shards scattered across the floor like fragments of their trust.
“Enough lies!” Her voice broke into a scream. “Who is Lena? What ‘night in St. Petersburg’?”
Max shifted nervously, but Lyudmila gripped his shoulder with an iron hand.
“Talk. Now.”
“Well, it’s…” Max licked his dry lips, glancing at Sergey. “His ex. They… ran into each other on a business trip.”
Sergey straightened abruptly.
“Nothing happened! We just—”
“You’re lying!” Katya trembled. “You didn’t answer your phone for three days back then. Said you were in meetings…”
A sudden crash against the door made everyone flinch. The wood creaked under the impact.
“Max, open up, you bastard!” a hoarse roar sounded.
The door shuddered from a powerful kick. The tattooed guy burst into the apartment, followed by the stocky one, snapping the door chain.
“There you are, scum!” he lunged at Max.
Sergey unexpectedly stepped forward, shielding his brother.
“Get out! I’m calling the police!”
The stocky man laughed and slammed a punch into Sergey’s stomach. He doubled over in pain. Katya screamed.
“Sergey!”
Max suddenly transformed. His face twisted with rage as he surged forward.
“You touched him, bastard!”
His fist crashed into the attacker with full force, sending him flying into a vase on the side table. The second thug pulled something from his waistband—metal flashed.
Katya froze. Time slowed. She saw Lyudmila grab a heavy glass ashtray from the table. Saw Sergey, fighting through the pain, rise from his knees. Saw the knife in the tattooed man’s hand glint in the chandelier light.
Instinct acted faster than thought. Her hand reached for the kitchen block…
“That’s it, enough!” Katya grabbed a knife and brandished it in front of her, blocking the way into the living room. Her voice sounded чужим—hoarse with adrenaline. “The next one who takes a step gets this in the stomach!”
Everyone froze. Even the thugs. In the ensuing silence, only heavy breathing could be heard.
Sergey was the first to come to. Slowly, clutching his bruised stomach, he raised his hands.
“Katya… put the knife down. Please…”
Her fingers trembled on the handle. Tears stood in her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall.
“I… I won’t let them…” Katya’s voice broke. “I won’t let them destroy everything, like back then…”
Lyudmila carefully took a step forward.
“Sweetheart, give me the knife. They’re already leaving.”
And it was true—the thugs were backing toward the exit. The tattooed one still gripped his weapon, but fear was written in his eyes.
“Alright, calm down…” he muttered. “We… we’ll be back.”
When the door slammed shut, the knife slipped from Katya’s weakened fingers and fell onto the parquet with a dull thud. At that moment, a small figure in pink pajamas appeared from around the corner.
“Mommy?” five-year-old Alina’s thin voice cut through the tense silence. “Why are you shouting?”
The knife lay on the floor, reflecting the distorted faces of the adults. Alina stood in the doorway, clutching a worn plush bunny in her hands—a gift from Sergey for her third birthday.
Katya froze, feeling her rage slowly give way to an icy horror. Before her eyes rose one image: her daughter seeing her mother with a knife in her hands.
“Alinochka…” Katya’s voice trembled. She took a step forward, but the girl instinctively pressed herself against the doorframe.
Lyudmila was the first to recover.
“Sweetheart, come to me,” she said gently, dropping to her knees. “Grandma will show you a new cartoon.”
But Alina didn’t move. Her big eyes—so much like Sergey’s—darted from one adult to another.
“Is Daddy crying?” she asked quietly.
Sergey quickly wiped his face with his palm. Max cleared his throat awkwardly, retreating into a corner. The shattered phone on the floor flickered with a fading screen.
Katya slowly knelt down, coming level with her daughter.
“Sunshine, everything’s fine… We were just… talking about grown-up things.”
“You were fighting,” Alina stated with childlike bluntness. “I heard you. You wanted Daddy to leave.”
Sergey flinched as if struck. Katya felt hot tears stream down her cheeks.
“No, sweetheart… no one is going anywhere…”
Max suddenly sniffed and headed abruptly for the door.
“That’s it, I’m out. Enough of this circus.”
“Stop!” Lyudmila intercepted him at the door. “You’ll tell me everything. But later.”
She turned to the others.
“And now the two of you,” she looked at Katya and Sergey, “finally need to talk. For real. I’ll take Alina with me.”
Katya wanted to object, but the words stuck in her throat. Alina silently walked over to her grandmother, tightly squeezing her hand with her small palm.
When the door closed behind them, a ringing silence filled the apartment. Sergey stood by the window with his back to Katya. His shoulders trembled slightly.
Katya picked up the broken phone. On the cracked screen, the last message was frozen:
“Sergey, we need to meet. It’s urgent. Lena.”
“Who is she?” Katya asked, and her own voice sounded foreign to her. “Last time I’m asking.”
Sergey turned around. His face was wet with tears.
“She…” he swallowed. “She said she’s dying. That this is the last chance…”
Katya felt the floor slip away beneath her feet.
“What?”
Sergey slowly sank to his knees in front of her, as if he could no longer stand.
“Lena is sick. Very. In St. Petersburg… I was with her in the hospital. She wanted to say goodbye.”
Katya clenched her fists, feeling blood pounding in her temples.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid that…” He trailed off, lowering his head.
“That I wouldn’t understand?” Katya shot up. “That I’d be jealous of a dying woman?”
She paced the room, struggling to process it all. Then she stopped, realizing something.
“Did Max know?”
Sergey nodded.
“He… lent money for her treatment. Now those bastards are demanding it back with interest…”
Katya closed her eyes. Everything was falling into a monstrous picture.
“And you… wanted to sell our apartment to save your ex?”
Sergey looked up at her—his eyes held pain, shame, and something else Katya couldn’t name.
“I wanted to save my brother,” he whispered. “And Lena… she just asked me to bring Alina. At least once. Because…”
Katya stopped breathing.
“Because what, Sergey?”
He rose from his knees and looked her straight in the eyes.
“Because she’s her mother.”
The words hung in the air like a knife before it falls. Katya staggered back, bumping into the couch.
“What… what did you say?” Her voice sounded hoarse, unnaturally quiet.
Sergey stood motionless, only his fingers spasmodically gripping and releasing the hem of his T-shirt.
“Lena gave birth to Alina. You knew she couldn’t have children after that accident. We used… her eggs.”
Katya felt the room begin to spin slowly. She instinctively reached for the table so she wouldn’t fall.
“Five years. Five years you kept silent?” Her whisper was more frightening than a scream. “And now, when she’s dying…”
“She gave up her parental rights immediately!” Sergey jerked his head up. “No one was supposed to find out. But a month ago she called…”
Katya laughed—bitterly, hysterically.
“And you ran to her right away? Took our shared money? Wanted to sell our apartment?”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” He grabbed his head. “Max got into debt trying to help her. Those bastards threatened—”
“Don’t change the subject!” Katya sprang up, shaking with rage. “You lied to me all these years!”
Sergey suddenly dropped to his knees before her.
“Forgive me… I was afraid of losing you. Afraid that you…”
“That I what? That I wouldn’t be able to love someone else’s child?” Katya exhaled sharply. “From the first day I couldn’t breathe without her!”
She suddenly fell silent, grasping the terrifying truth—all her motherly love, all the sleepless nights, the first steps and first words—everything had been with a child who…
“Mommy?”
The thin voice from the hallway made them both flinch. Alina stood in the doorway, clutching the forgotten plush bunny. A silent question lingered in her eyes.
Katya froze. Sergey slowly stood.
“Sunshine… why are you—”
“Grandma forgot her pills,” the girl showed a small packet. “She said you were still talking.”
Katya felt something inside her break. She squatted down to be at Alina’s level.
“Come to me.”
The girl hesitated, then stepped closer. Katya cupped her small face in her palms, studying features she knew down to every freckle.
“You know that I love you very much, right?”
Alina nodded, then suddenly wrapped her arms around Katya’s neck, pressing her whole little body against her.
“I love you too. Even when you shout.”
Sergey sobbed softly. Katya closed her eyes, feeling hot tears run down her cheeks.
“Everything will be okay,” she whispered, not knowing who she was really promising—to her daughter, her husband, or herself.
They stood there together at the threshold—between a past full of lies and a future that now seemed so fragile. But in that moment Katya understood one simple thing: it doesn’t matter whose blood flows in a child’s veins. What matters is who holds her when she’s afraid.
“Tomorrow,” Katya looked up at Sergey, “we’re all going to St. Petersburg together.”
He nodded silently, hardly daring to believe it. Alina squeezed her hand tighter.
Outside the window, evening slowly descended, painting their intertwined shadows in a golden hue. They didn’t yet know how they would weather this storm. But they knew one thing for certain—they would weather it together.
