“— And here we are!” Larisa’s voice sliced through the cozy silence of our hallway like a dull knife tearing open a tin can. “Happy New Year, dear family! Valera, don’t just stand there — welcome your guests! We came to rescue your salads before they go bad!”
I grimaced and slowly set my coffee cup down on the table. Outside, a gray January afternoon hung heavily over the city, damp and lifeless like melting snow. January third — that blessed day when the entire country lounges around in pajamas, eating leftover Olivier salad and trying to recover from the chaos of New Year’s Eve.
At least, that was what I had hoped to do.
Of course, fate had other plans.
The front door burst open, and icy air swept into the apartment along with the suffocating scent of Larisa’s cheap perfume — which she proudly considered “vintage elegance” — and the loud stomping of winter boots.
I tightened the belt of my robe and stepped into the hallway.
Larisa stood there like some provincial queen making a grand entrance. Her brand-new mink coat shimmered unnaturally beneath the hallway light, so obviously bought on credit that I wouldn’t have been surprised if the price tag was still hidden in the lining. Beside her shuffled her husband Tolik, clutching a plastic bag full of cheap beer. Their two sons, eight and nine years old, had already sprinted past us toward Artem’s room like a pair of unleashed puppies.
“Larisa,” I said coldly, “people usually warn others before showing up.”
“Oh, Katya, don’t be ridiculous! We’re family!” she laughed, tossing the fur coat into Valera’s arms as if he were a coat rack. “Do you still have any caviar left? Tolik’s been craving fish for days. Our fridge is completely empty — all our money went on presents.”
Without waiting for permission, they marched straight into the kitchen.
As always, Larisa behaved as though she owned the place. She yanked open the refrigerator, pulled out the cold cuts I had saved for dinner, and immediately started giving orders.
“Valera, slice some bread! Thick slices, not those tiny stingy ones!”
Tolik collapsed heavily into my chair, cracked open a beer, and foam immediately spilled across the tablecloth.
“Well then — cheers to the holidays!” he bellowed.
I sat down across from them slowly.
Valera hurried nervously around the kitchen, slicing bread and arranging plates. My husband was far too soft-hearted. He adored his sister, constantly pitied her, always repeating that “Larisa just has bad luck in life.” Conflict terrified him.
But he feared me even more.
And honestly, he should have.
“Things are really hard right now,” Larisa began her usual performance while spreading a layer of butter so thick it looked obscene. “Business is awful, clients count every penny. But people still want to live, don’t they?”
Then she nodded toward Artem’s room.
“By the way, Artem’s still sitting at the computer? Can’t he come entertain the kids? They’re bored. He could put cartoons on or play with them.”
“Artem is working,” I replied sharply. “He has a deadline.”
Larisa burst out laughing.
“Working? At fourteen? Oh please. He’s probably just playing games. Boys! Go hang out with Tyoma!”
And then it happened.
A deafening crash shook the apartment.
Then came the sound of splintering plastic.
Furniture scraping violently against the floor.
Valera went pale instantly.
“What was that?!”
I ran.
The moment I burst into Artem’s room, my breath caught in my throat.
Brightly colored Lego pieces were scattered across the floor.
Artem’s pride and joy.
The Lego Technic Bugatti Chiron.
Three and a half thousand pieces.
Three months of painstaking work.
Now it was nothing more than a crushed pile of plastic.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
Beside it lay Artem’s graphic tablet, face-down on the floor.
The professional drawing tablet we had bought him only a month ago for his birthday. The tool he used to design logos and earn money online.
I picked it up carefully.
The screen was shattered beyond repair.
Black stains spread beneath the broken glass like spilled ink.
Artem stood beside his desk, white as paper. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. His lips trembled.
His cousins huddled fearfully against the wall.
“We only wanted to look at it!” the older boy whined. “It fell by itself!”
At that moment Larisa appeared in the doorway, still chewing.
“Oh my God, what’s all this drama?” she said with an irritated sigh. “Kids were playing. Artem, why are you glaring like that? Are you really upset over toys?”
Artem raised his eyes.
They were filled with tears he was desperately trying not to let fall.
“Mom… I have to submit a logo tomorrow. I… I won’t finish now.”
“Oh, stop exaggerating,” Larisa scoffed. “We’ll buy another one! Katya, say something! You make good money. Why turn a little plastic accident into a tragedy?”
I stared at her.
At her greasy lips.
At the crumbs stuck to her chin.
At that eternal expression of someone convinced the entire world owed her something.
And in that moment, every ounce of politeness inside me burned away.
“Valera,” I said calmly, “take the children into the kitchen.”
My husband flinched.
“And you, Larisa… stay here.”
Two days earlier, on December thirtieth, my former boss had called me.
Pyotr Ilyich.
A tough businessman from the nineties who now owned a chain of auto repair shops.
“Katya,” he had said, “your sister-in-law owes me three hundred thousand rubles. Deadline was yesterday. She stopped answering my calls.”
Ice spread through my chest instantly.
I already knew exactly how it would end.
If he sued her, my mother-in-law would collapse from stress. Valera would rush to “save” his sister by taking out another loan, and eventually our family would end up paying for Larisa’s irresponsibility.
So I bought the debt myself.
With my own savings.
The money I had been putting aside for a new car.
Back then, I still believed I could speak to Larisa calmly after the holidays.
How stupid I had been.
Now she stood before me in Artem’s destroyed room.
“The tablet cost forty thousand rubles,” I said slowly. “The Lego cost fifteen. Today you transfer fifty-five thousand to me.”
Larisa laughed sharply.
“Are you insane? Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? Besides, it was an accident!”
I nodded.
“No money? Then what about the three hundred thousand you owe Pyotr Ilyich?”
All the color drained from her face.
“How… how do you know about that?”
I pulled a blue folder from Artem’s desk drawer.
“Because your debt belongs to me now.”
She staggered backward.
“No…”
“Yes. Three hundred thousand rubles. Plus late fees. Plus the damage here. Total: three hundred sixty thousand.”
Valera entered the room looking completely confused.
“Katya… what’s happening?”
“Sit down.”
The tone of my voice was enough. He sat immediately on Artem’s tiny chair.
“Larisa just informed us she has no money,” I continued calmly. “But she does own a Hyundai Solaris.”
“You’re not taking my car!” Larisa shrieked. “I need it for work!”
“Then we’ll settle it in court.”
My voice remained frighteningly steady.
“The lawsuit is already prepared. Including a request to freeze assets.”
Larisa rushed toward her brother.
“Valera! Please! Do something! Take out a loan! Help me!”
But I cut in before he could speak.
“Valera isn’t helping you.”
I turned toward my husband.
“Because Valera is already drowning in debt.”
His head dropped immediately.
“You really thought I didn’t know about the two-hundred-thousand-ruble loan? The one you took out for Larisa’s ‘business’? The one you’ve been secretly repaying for months?”
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
And for the first time, Larisa understood that her safety net was gone.
“Write,” I said, placing paper and a pen in front of her. “You’re transferring the car as collateral against your debt. Keys and registration papers on the table.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“Katya… you’re cruel…”
I looked at her for a long moment.
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m a mother. And a wife. That’s different.”
Her hands shook so violently she nearly tore the paper while signing.
The car keys hit the table with a metallic clink.
Five minutes later they left the apartment on foot.
For the first time in years, without arrogance.
The kitchen fell silent.
Only the soft rustling of Lego pieces came from Artem’s room.
Valera sat slumped at the table, clutching his head in his hands.
“Katya… you really paid him three hundred thousand? Your own money?”
I poured myself fresh coffee.
“Yes,” I answered calmly. “But trust me — I’ll get back much more.”
Then I looked directly at my husband.
“And you, Valera, are officially on financial probation. Your bank card stays with me. If I ever find out you secretly gave your sister another ruble, I’ll file for divorce.”
He nodded silently.
I took a sip of coffee.
It was bitter.
But somehow delicious.
Then Artem suddenly shouted from his room:
“Mom! I found my old tablet! It still works! I can finish the order!”
And for the first time that day, I genuinely smiled.
“Good job, son,” I said softly. “And we’ll buy the new tablet using your aunt’s interest payments.”
