Vera pressed the doorbell. Heavy footsteps echoed behind the door, but no one came. She shifted from one foot to the other, feeling the weight of the bag, filled with jars of homemade lecho and her mother’s knitted socks, pulling her shoulders down.
Finally, the lock clicked. The door opened only a crack, letting in a thin strip of light and an unfamiliar scent—sweet, overpowering, masking the familiar smell of the wooden house.Andrei stood there, wearing only sweatpants, no shirt. He held an apple, which he was chewing.
— Oh, you’re back, — he said indifferently, not letting her in.— Andriusch… why did you lock the door? And why is the lock different? — Vera’s voice trembled. She forced a smile, though her heart felt shattered. — Let me in, I’m cold.
— There’s no place for you here anymore, Ver, — he crunched the apple between his teeth. — Other people live here now.A woman in a bathrobe slipped past in the background. Vera recognized the garment immediately—Andrei had given it to her last New Year’s. On this woman, it was so tight that the seams groaned.
— Darling, who’s there? — the young woman called sharply. — There’s a draft!— Andriusch… who is she? — Vera felt a lump form in her throat. — Why is she wearing my clothes?Andrei sighed, the way adults do when explaining a “simple truth” to a child.
Then he stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. The warmth disappeared instantly.— Listen, no scenes. Kristina and I love each other. And you… well, it’s your own fault. Boring, Ver. Lost in your pots.— What do the pots have to do with this? — her voice shook. — This is my house! Mine, my parents’!
— It was yours, — he lazily scratched his belly. — Remember the power of attorney for the gas line? So you wouldn’t have to run to the offices.Vera remembered: the notary, the stuffy office, his gentle voice: “Sign it, darling, I’ll handle everything myself.”— And?
— I sold the house. To my friend. Legally, I’m now the sole owner. Kristina is registered, you’ve been deregistered.Vera felt the ground sway beneath her. The sky suddenly seemed heavy, gray, and low.— You shouldn’t have… it was my grandmother’s inheritance… Andrei, we started here together…
— Thanks for taking me in, — he twisted his face. — But now things are different. Go out. Your stuff is in bags in the garage.Vera swallowed hard. — I can’t go to Mom… she’s sick…— Your problem. Audience over.He turned around. The door slammed. The click cut through Vera’s heart like a knife.
She stood on the porch, seeing Andrei and Kristina laughing through the kitchen window. Kristina drank from Vera’s favorite mug, big, with a drawn hedgehog. Vera couldn’t bear it. Silently, she went to the garage, taking only the essentials. A taxi took her into the city, as she deleted his number.
An eerie silence filled her mind.Vera spent the first week in a waiting room at the train station. Job hunting by day, the hard couch at night, smelling of chlorine. Money was tight—Andrei had emptied their shared account too.Then a spark of hope: in the bakery line, a woman approached her, complaining about the nursing home.
— I can cook broth. And warm pastries. Prepare diet menus, — Vera offered.The woman appraised her. — Health certificate?— Yes, freshly issued.— Alright, one-hour trial.The “Pine Forest” nursing home was strict, secluded, interrupted only by the rustling of centuries-old pines.
The owner, Konstantin Georgiyevich, was a perfectionist.Vera cooked, her hands moving instinctively. Forty minutes later, a bowl of golden broth with fine carrot slices and homemade noodles was in front of him. He tasted it, frozen, really looking at her for the first time.
— The second flavor doesn’t overpower the first, — he noted. — Just right. Noodles not overcooked. Set. Trial period: one month. Staff housing.Vera threw herself into work, cooked, organized, took responsibility. Six months later she was planning menus for guests, arguing with suppliers, managing everything.
The cold anger within her had become armor.— Vera Nikolaevna, — Konstantin called one day. — We’re expanding. New restaurant. I need a manager I can trust. Can you do it?— I can. On one condition.— Which?— I choose the contractors and check every estimate myself.
— Agreed.A year later, Vera sat in her office, looking over the pine forest, with construction bids on her desk. The door opened. Andrei walked in, smiling broadly, but tired and wrinkled.— Good day! — he began. — Our company offers…He froze. Vera turned in her chair, the sun blinding him.
He recognized her. And his smile vanished. The folder fell from his hands, papers scattering on the floor.— Vera? — he gasped.— Good day, Andrei Viktorovich, — she replied coldly. — Pick up the papers. You’re making a mess.He slumped in a chair, pale, helpless.
— Verka… incredible… risen, huh? — He tried a false smile. — Sign the estimate for me, percentages… Kristina devoured everything!— Cheap paint, linoleum instead of parquet… — she interrupted. — You never change. Fraud.— Come on! You want me to kick Kristina out? Come back to me!
— You never saw who I am. I survived, Andrei. Not because you took my house, but because you ignored me.She pressed the intercom. Two security guards led him out. Small, pitiful, he looked tiny next to the towering pines.Vera smiled. For the first time, bright and light. She picked up the phone:
“I’ll be there soon, Mom. And not alone. Konstantin Georgiyevich also wants to try your treats.”She tossed the estimate into the trash. Just like the past: over.
