— Don’t get upset, Irene… you need to breastfeed. But… your things are no longer in the closet. Nor on the hanger. Mom said it would be better this way for everyone. She brought Alina. Remember her? The daughter of her friend. She says she is a “safe harbor,” not like you with your ambitions and your endless business trips…
Antonis’ voice on the phone sounded small, almost scared. Like a student apologizing to the teacher.I was sitting at the edge of the hospital bed. My son — only three days old — was sleeping in my arms. His tiny hand was clenched around my finger.
And inside me… everything froze.— Antonis… — I said slowly. — Repeat that. Where are my things? And who exactly is Alina?I tried to keep my voice calm, but my ears were ringing with blood.— Your things are in bags in the hallway.
Mom changed the lock. She thinks that since you “aren’t fulfilling the role of a wife,” you have no place in the apartment. And Alina… she’s just helping around the house. For now. Understand, Ira. Mom wants my happiness. She says that having a child isn’t a reason to ruin my life with an unsuitable woman.
I closed my eyes.— So… — I whispered — your mother threw your child’s mother out on the street three days after giving birth?Silence.— And you just stand there… watching Alina organize my underwear in my own dresser?
— Don’t put it that way… Alina is very tidy. She’s already changed the curtains. Those Scandinavian ones of yours… Mom called them rags for dusting.I felt something inside me break.— Ira, don’t call now. Mom is upset. We’ll decide when you’ll get the rest of your things.
The phone hung up.I stared at the screen for a long time.I didn’t feel pain.I felt something else.Something old. Primitive. An instinct to protect.And then I realized the irony of the situation.The “savior of the family,” my mother-in-law — Tamara Viktorovna
— in two years of marriage never bothered to check the apartment documents.She was absolutely sure that since her son was “the man of the house,” the home belonged to him by divine right.She had no idea.She didn’t know that my grandfather — Stepan Arkadievich,
a colonel of justice and a man who didn’t joke about the law — had given me an apartment as a wedding gift… without any involvement from the groom.I picked up the phone.— Grandpa… sorry for the time. There’s been a slight change. Tamara Viktorovna decided I’m unnecessary.
My things are in the hallway… and living in the apartment is a “proper girl.” Alina.Silence on the other end.— Ira… are you with the baby?— Yes.— How long until you come out?— Two hours.— Wait at the entrance. I’m coming with the Volga. And bring your passport.
He paused for a moment.— Today we’ll restore historical justice.Grandpa arrived right on time.Perfectly ironed shirt. Stern look. And a folder full of documents.More sacred than the Bible.When we got to the apartment… I saw them.
My bags.Black trash bags.Roughly tied and thrown in the hallway. One had torn, revealing my favorite cashmere sweater.Grandpa looked at the scene.His jaw tightened.He pressed the doorbell.Longly.— Who is it again? I said — no one is to enter!
The door opened.Tamara Viktorovna was standing in front of us… wearing my silk robe.Behind her, Antonis.And a colorless girl in an apron — Alina — dusting my books.— Good evening, — Grandpa said calmly. — I’m Stepan Arkadievich. The owner of this apartment.
My mother-in-law froze.— Whose apartment? It belongs to Antonis! He’s registered here!— Registration only gives the right of use. Not ownership.Grandpa opened the folder.— I am the owner. My granddaughter has lifetime residency rights.
Then he looked around.— And you… who are you?— I’m the mother! — she shouted. — I decide who lives here!— Alina, — Grandpa said calmly, looking at the girl, — you have three minutes to leave.Silence.— Otherwise, you will be charged with unlawful entry.
My mother-in-law screamed.— Antonis! Call the police!— I already did, — Grandpa said, checking his watch.At the same moment, footsteps were heard in the hallway.Two police officers entered the apartment.Grandpa silently handed them the documents.
The officer looked at them.Then he looked at my mother-in-law.Then at me with the baby.— Citizens… do you have documents proving your right to stay here?— I’m the husband! — Antonis said.I looked at him.— The ex-husband, — I said calmly. — I filed for divorce half an hour ago.
Tamara Viktorovna began frantically gathering Alina’s things.Alina… vanished within three minutes.Without goodbye.A month later… the apartment was mine again.My curtains hung on the windows again.My books were on the shelves.
And the apartment smelled of baby powder and fresh coffee.Antonis calls sometimes.Usually to say he can’t pay alimony because his mother… has high blood pressure.I don’t answer.Grandpa’s lawyer handles the rest.
Grandpa comes almost every day.Holding his great-grandson in his arms, reading… the Civil Code instead of fairy tales.One day he asked me:— Do you know why Alina left so quickly?— Why?He smiled.— Because smart women don’t build their happiness on other people’s bags.
I smiled.Life is a strange director.Sometimes it puts us on terrible stages… just to make us realize who the protagonist of our story really is.And who… is merely a passerby with a dust cloth.
