The sound of the doorbell shattered the quiet of the Saturday morning. Alina jumped, almost spilling her coffee across the table.
Who could be visiting at nine in the morning? Her friends always gave a heads-up before coming, and delivery people usually called first.
She opened the door and froze for a moment, unable to recognize who stood there. An elderly couple—the woman in a faded coat, the man with a worn expression—looked at her patiently.
Something familiar lit up in the woman’s face, in the heavy gaze that immediately caught Alina’s attention.
— Alina? — the voice was hoarse and uncertain.
Suddenly, everything fell into place. Her mother. Her father. It had been ten years since she last saw them, when, pregnant and carrying two suitcases, she had left her childhood home.
— May we come in? — asked her father, shuffling his feet as if he were at a public office, not on his daughter’s doorstep.
Alina stepped aside silently. What could she do? Slam the door in their faces? Maybe they deserved it, but her hands wouldn’t move.
She remembered sitting as a child in her mother’s lap and her father teaching her to ride a bicycle in the yard of the old house.
The parents stepped inside the living room and looked around. Alina saw her mother examining the new furniture, the paintings on the walls, and the expensive appliances with an evaluative gaze.
There was no pride or joy in that look—only cold calculation.
— Would you like some tea? — Alina asked, surprised at her own calm. Inside, she was boiling, but her voice sounded steady.
— Yes, thank you — said her mother, settling on the couch as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As Alina handled the kettle, her hands trembled betrayingly. She heard her parents speaking quietly in the living room, but could not make out the words.
She placed the cups on a tray and added a few cookies she had bought for Liza. Her daughter was staying at a friend’s—fortunately, she wasn’t home during this visit.
Returning to the living room, she served the tea and sat across from them. An awkward silence filled the room. Her mother leaned over the warm beverage, her father staring out the window. No one asked how she was or if everything was fine.
— The apartment is lovely — her mother said finally. — We heard you opened a shop. You sell clothes.
— Yes — Alina replied shortly. — Three years now.
— Good work — her father nodded, but the compliment sounded formal, like a comment about the weather.
Alina understood immediately that this was no ordinary conversation. Her parents hadn’t appeared after ten years of silence without a reason. They wanted something. And the tension on their faces showed they were approaching the point.
— We found your address through Galya — her mother continued, referring to Alina’s school friend she occasionally spoke to on the phone.
— She said everything was fine with you. That things were going well.
— They are — Alina sipped the tea, which suddenly tasted bitter.
Her father cleared his throat and set the cup on the table.
— Alina, we didn’t come by accident. There’s… a situation. You understand? — he paused, looking at his wife.
Her mother took over, as if rehearsed:
— The situation is that Kristina… your sister… had an accident. Her car was completely destroyed.
Alina felt herself freeze inside. Of course. That’s why they came.
— Is she alright? — she asked mechanically, though her intuition already predicted the outcome.
— Yes, fortunately she is alive and healthy — her father gestured. — Drink with her friends. We lost control and she hit a pole. The car can only be sold for parts. The insurance won’t cover it because alcohol was found in her system.
— And now we have no car — her mother leaned forward, voice full of plea. — We have to go to work every day. Buses run rarely, an hour each way. We are not young anymore, you understand?
Alina understood. Very well. Her sister’s mistakes were forgiven again. Or rather, they were asking the eldest daughter to help, now that they remembered her only when they needed money.
— Is Kristina still living with you? — Alina asked, though the answer was obvious.
— Yes — her mother shrugged. — She returned after the accident. She’s been living at home for five years. Works at the local shop. Small salary.
The accident. Alina remembered. How could she forget? Seven years ago, when she, at twenty-three, lived with two-year-old Liza in a rented room without hot water, her parents had given all their savings—two hundred thousand rubles—to Kristina.
Her sister wanted to start a new life in the capital, take classes, pursue her dreams.
The money vanished in six months. No career, no new life. Kristina returned home empty-handed with vague explanations.
When Alina, at nineteen, came to her parents, pregnant and scared, she heard: “You must manage on your own. We warned you about this guy. You are an adult, you can handle it.”
No savings for her. Only coldness: “We cannot support you. We have no money. Maybe you should leave the child at an orphanage? Think about it.”
Alina left and never spoke again. She gave birth to Liza, worked, lived in poverty, but managed. A year later, her parents gave two million to Kristina. The money existed. Just not for her.
— You understand, Alina — her father said again, almost pleading — we need a car. At least a used one. We calculated four hundred thousand would cover a good one. You can help. You have a shop, an apartment…
— What does their car have to do with me? — Alina’s voice was softer than she expected, yet sharp.
Her parents exchanged glances.
— You are our daughter — her mother said, explaining everything. — In a family, we help each other.
The word family hung heavy and false in the air. Alina looked at her mother, then her father. They expected her to take out her phone and send them the money.
— You don’t care — Alina said — about your grandchild?
Her mother closed her eyes as if she didn’t understand the question.
— Grandchild? Ah, Liza, right? How is she?
Ten years. Liza would turn ten next month. And her grandmother hadn’t remembered her name at first. Didn’t know her age. Didn’t ask once all morning.
— She’ll be ten soon — said Alina. — Excellent grades. She dances. Last year we went to the sea. Learned to swim, now wants to start a sport. Many friends. Kind, smart, funny.
Her parents were silent, unsure what to say. The information didn’t interest them. It had nothing to do with the car.
— That’s good — whispered her mother. — But the car…
— When I was nineteen — Alina interrupted — I came to you pregnant. Remember? Maxim left me as soon as he found out. I was alone. Scared.
— We said that guy…
— You said I had to manage alone — Alina cut in sharply. — You had no money to support me. One year later, you gave two million to Kristina for her dreams. I remember.
Her father lowered his head. Her mother pressed her lips together.
— It was a different case — her mother started. — Kristina wanted to study, to grow…
— I only wanted to survive — Alina’s voice trembled now, all the years of suppressed emotion erupting. — I wanted my child to have food. Shelter.
I worked, carried Liza in a sling, because there was no one to care for her. I didn’t sleep at night. No money for medicine when she got sick. I cried in the pharmacy hearing the cost.
— We didn’t know how hard it was for you — murmured her father.
— You didn’t care — Alina replied. — Ten years, not one phone call. Never asked if we were okay. You don’t know Liza once had pneumonia at four.
At six, she learned to read. At eight, she saved a kitten. Now Murzik lives with us. You know nothing about her. Because you didn’t care.
Her mother stood from the couch, face red.
— We came now! We want contact! But to help, you must help family in hard times!
— Contact? — Alina smiled bitterly. — You came for money. That’s what you want from me. If Kristina hadn’t destroyed the car, maybe you wouldn’t have thought of me for another ten years.
— You were always ungrateful — her mother said. — We raised you, taught you, and you…
— I gave birth to the child you almost had me send to an orphanage — Alina finished. — And I raised her alone. Built my own business. Bought an apartment. Without you. Without support. Without love.
Silence filled the room. Her father stood and put his hand on her mother’s shoulder.
— Come on, Vera. We’re not welcome here.
— No, wait — Alina also stood. — I have one more thing to say. You chose Kristina. Years ago. Maybe because she was younger.
Maybe because she was obedient, convenient. I don’t know. But you made a choice. And now you don’t understand why I won’t help.
— You won’t help? — her father’s voice became sharp, almost challenging. The mask fell, leaving only raw intent.
— No — Alina shook her head. — Kristina destroyed the car through irresponsibility. Let her face the consequences. Just as I had to face my own problems. Without help.
Her mother sighed, no tears in her eyes. Only anger.
— You’ll regret this. We are your parents.
— You were my parents — Alina whispered. — Once. Now you are strangers asking for money.
They left. Alina leaned against the doorframe, slowly collapsing to the floor. Her hands trembled, her heart raced. Yet a strange sense of freedom filled her.
She had said everything she needed to. She hadn’t crumbled, hadn’t cried, hadn’t let them manipulate her.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Liza: “Mom, can I stay an hour longer at Nasty’s? We’ll watch cartoons.”
Alina smiled through her tears and typed: “Of course, my sunshine. Stay as long as you want. I love you.”
Her daughter would never have to feel unloved. Never forced to choose between her and someone else.
Alina, all those years ago, the night she held newborn Liza in the small hospital room, alone, had promised to be a different kind of mother. Always to choose her child.
And she had kept that promise.
She rose from the floor, went to the kitchen, poured out the cold tea, and began washing the cups. Life went on. Her life, built by her own hands.
The shop was thriving, and next month she planned to open a second branch. Liza grew happy and confident. She had everything she needed.
Alina knew her choice was right. Not then—the decision had been made years ago, when she left her childhood home. Now she was simply reinforcing her resolve.
