“You really want to translate for her again? Seriously, Andrej?” – Vera’s voice cut through the kitchen like a sharp November wind that, since morning, knew only one direction: straight into the face.“Don’t start,” muttered Andrej, phone in hand, fingers clenching the screen.
“She asked me. She needs it.”“She always needs everything!” – Vera slammed her flat hand on the table, making the porcelain clink. “And us? Who thinks about us?” Andrej abruptly looked up.
“She’s my sister. Mine. Can’t you understand that just once?”
At that moment, Vera felt her chest tighten. Everything she felt seemed unnecessary. The smell of the damp November morning – cheap tea, wet stairwell, thawing street air – merged with the argument in the small kitchen.Andrej stepped toward her, as if to hug her, but stopped.
His gaze fell back on the phone.“All done. I translated it. No more drama.”“No drama?” Vera smiled bitterly. “Of course. You only talk to her. Not to me.”He stayed silent, placing the phone on the table, as if the point of contention wasn’t the words, but the gesture.
November in the city was sticky, gray, and impenetrable. People flitted through the subway like shadows, guards stared out from supermarket entrances as if the world had personally betrayed them. Vera sat on the bus, listening to two women talk about debts and rent.
Everything was the same, yet today it cut deeper into her skin.“We can barely make it through the month. And he… again…” she thought, staring at the dreary window where someone had written “Stupid” and drawn a crown. She wiped it away with her hand, as if it concerned her own life.
That evening, Alina showed up unannounced. As always.“Hi, Verotschka!” – she stormed in, shaking rain from her hair. “Where’s Andrej?”“In the kitchen,” Vera said dryly.Heels clattered across the linoleum, and Vera was left alone in the room, every sound clearly audible.
“Andrej, you wouldn’t believe how my mother annoyed me!” – Alina groaned, as if already in therapy. “I can’t live there! The pressure is unbearable; I have no strength!”“Hang in there a little longer,” Andrej replied gently, but his voice barely reached Vera.
“And I also need medication. Two thousand. You’ll help, as always.”“Of course. I’ll transfer it tomorrow.”Something in Vera quietly cracked, like old wallpaper peeling off her soul layer by layer. She left the room, unable to endure it any longer.
Weeks passed on repeat: work, bus, queues, monotonous dinners. Always the feeling that someone was slowly draining her money, her strength, her right to be heard.Then came the call. Strange. Almost surreal.“Vera Mikhailovna? Congratulations. You are the heir.”
She almost dropped the phone.An hour later, she and Andrej stood in their new apartment, laughing, hugging – and for the first time in years, Andrej looked at her like he used to.A large apartment in the center. Real. Hers.
“We’ll live like normal people! Do you understand?!” – Andrej shouted, twirling around the room.“I understand,” Vera laughed. “God… I can hardly believe it…”But deep inside her, the thought already flashed: “And Alina?”
The new apartment smelled of fresh paint, old stories, and possibilities. Vera walked through the rooms, whispering where the bedroom, the table, the cozy corner would be.Neighbors greeted her kindly. Pasha, the “jack-of-all-trades,” constantly chewed sunflower seeds, always ready to help.
Vera laughed, measured corners, sketched crooked drawings in her notebook. Every day the apartment grew – and so did Vera.Then Alina came. First calm, then sharp as a knife.
“You’re lucky,” she said. “Everything just comes to you.”
Vera smiled politely, but something stabbed inside.“And this room?” – Alina pointed to the small, future children’s room.“For a child, when the time comes.”Alina’s gaze turned icy, assessing.The renovation was nearing its end. Vera invited Andrej and Alina to see the result.
Alina wandered through the rooms, eyes alert, like a thief surveying territory.“I have a proposal… about the apartment,” Alina began, while the tea on the table grew cold.“I mean it seriously. Vera’s apartment – that’s the solution. For all of us.”Vera sat like a shadow, but inside she boiled.
“So… you’re suggesting I give my apartment to her?”“Yes. And what’s wrong with that?” – said Alina. “You just want everyone to be okay, right?”The sentence hit Vera like a blow. She felt the betrayal in every breath. Andrej nodded without resistance, as if he had long awaited this.
“And us? Have you ever thought about us?” Vera asked quietly. “We’ve been saving every month, we’re struggling. And you? You send her money, you forget us.”“Don’t dramatize,” hemuttered.But Vera didn’t stay silent. Four years – four years in which she always came second, always felt unnecessary.
Alina left; Andrej stared into the void as if he had nothing left to say.A week later, only brief exchanges were possible. Dry. Distant. Every glance toward the phone. Every sentence a cut.Then, at breakfast, the sentence that sealed everything came:
“Maybe… Alina could pay a little… for the apartment.”Vera put down her fork.“You want to give her my apartment?”He went pale.“Options…” he muttered.“Andrej,” she looked at him calmly, without tears, only truth. “I’m divorcing you.”Three days later, everything was packed. Silent. Dry. Fast.
“Goodbye, Andrej,” she said. And she left.The November wind blew through the streets, but in her new apartment, she felt alive. Quiet, warm, real. For the first time in years, she breathed freely.A week later, she bought a cat – Grant. A symbol of her fresh start.
She ignored calls from Andrej. Messages from Alina went unanswered. Margarita Semionovna brought jam, Wladimir Petrovich brought useful things – all hers. Real. Alive.Vera sat by the window, Grant on her lap. The city glowed yellow at dusk, and inside her, there was calm. Silence that wasn’t threatening but free.
Finally – she was herself again.
