Vera stood in the hallway, holding a bag of bread. From the other side of the door, Antonina Stepanovna’s voice rang out, cheerful—completely unlike her usual whimpering, demanding the “cup.”
— Kristina dear, bring the documents from the notary on Wednesday. Everything’s ready. The key is that the country fool mustn’t find out yet. Let her work a bit more, then she can be shown the door.
The bag slipped from Vera’s hands. The bread rolled across the floor. She didn’t move to pick it up.
— Auntie, you’re brilliant! — Kristina laughed into the phone. — They actually believed you couldn’t walk!
— Well, I couldn’t. For exactly two months. Then I began to stand—so what? Why should I tire myself when I could lie down? Let Vera do the hard work; that’s what she’s here for.
Vera leaned against the wall. Her heart pounded so hard it throbbed in her temples. Fifteen years in the dorm. Two years caring for an elderly woman. Washing, feeding with a spoon, endless sheets. All for the promised apartment.
And it was all a lie.
Vera stepped into the room. Antonina Stepanovna lay on the bed, phone at her ear, but her posture seemed far too comfortable. When she saw her daughter-in-law, she flinched and quickly ended the call with Kristina.
— Why are you here so early? — her voice suddenly weak, sickly.
Vera didn’t answer. She knelt by the bed, reached under the mattress, and pulled out the walking stick. Old, wooden, worn.
— Vera, what do you think you’re doing…
— Shut up — Vera said quietly, placing the stick on the bed. — Stand up. On your own.
Antonina Stepanovna went pale.
— I can’t. Are you insane?
— You can. You’ve been able to for two months. I heard everything. About Kristina, the gifts, that I exist only to wipe your behind.
The mother-in-law pressed her lips together. Vera saw the struggle of anger and fear across her face. Anger won.
— So what? This is my apartment. I’ll give it to whoever I want. You thought I’d leave anything for you, a villager? You are nothing to me.
— Nothing — Vera repeated calmly, though her hands shook. — I was nothing to you for two years. When I changed the sheets at night.
When you yelled at me over the cold soup. When I bought curd with my own money because you wanted something sweet.
— I promised you the apartment!
— You lied. For two years. And I believed it, like a fool.
Vera stood, picked up the phone, and dialed. Antonina Stepanovna tried to sit up, but Vera stepped so close she remained frozen.
— Kristina? It’s Vera. Within the hour, your aunt’s belongings will be on the staircase, in that old house she gave you. Take her too.
She hung up.
— What are you doing? — Antonina Stepanovna grabbed the stick, trying to stand. She managed to rise. Her legs held firm. — Oleg will kill you for this!
— Let him try.
Vera opened the wardrobe, took out the suitcase, and began packing the mother-in-law’s things. Robes, slippers, medications. Everything she had washed, ironed, arranged daily.
— Nothing will remain! — Antonina Stepanovna shouted. — Out of this hole, like a poor wretch!
— Without me — Vera replied, closing the suitcase. — Get dressed. In half an hour, you leave.
Antonina Stepanovna clutched the stick with both hands.
— You’ll regret touching me.
— I already do. I should have sent you away two years ago.
Twenty minutes later, Oleg burst in. Red-faced, grimacing. Someone from the neighbors had called.
— What’s going on? Mom says you’re kicking her out!
Vera sat on the folding bed, staring out the window. The suitcase was at the door. Antonina Stepanovna sat quietly on the chair, stick in hand—her lips pressed together.
— Your mother deceived me for two years — Vera said without turning. — She pretended to be helpless, while you knew. And she gave the apartment to Kristina. Now Kristina will take care of you.
— This is a family matter! You can’t!
Vera turned to him.
— Can’t? And when I took you to your mother at night—where were you? When you yelled at me for bland food—what did you do? Watched TV. Go now, see Kristina.
— This was my room!
— It was. Now it’s mine. I worked here while you ran errands and pretended you had a family.
Vera went to the wardrobe, tossed a sports bag at her.
— Pack. Or get lost.
Oleg looked at his mother. Antonina Stepanovna sat in silence—first time in two years she didn’t know what to say. He expected an explanation, but she only tightened her grip on the stick and stared at the floor.
— Mom, say something! Say it’s not true!
— How? — Vera smiled. — Differently? Maybe you’ll tell him about the stick under the mattress?
About how you walked to the bathroom alone at night while I slept? About how you planned to throw us out of the apartment you promised me?
Antonina Stepanovna suddenly stood.
— Come on, Oleg. No use arguing with this shrew. Kristina will take us.
Ten minutes later, they were gone. Vera stood at the window, watching Oleg carry the suitcase to the waiting car.
Kristina jumped out, waving, shouting. Antonina Stepanovna walked slowly, leaning on the stick, but with a straight back.
Vera felt neither pity nor anger. Only emptiness where hope had once lived.
Two weeks later, Kristina called. Vera didn’t block the number—she just ignored it. On the fifth attempt, she answered.
— What do you need?
— We need to discuss— — Kristina’s voice trembled, anxious. — Auntie has weakened completely. Doctors say she had a real stroke. She needs constant care, and I can’t handle it—clients, business…
— Hire a caretaker.
— You don’t understand, it’s so expensive! I pay for her medicine, the doctor. I have loans too…
— Sell the apartment.
— Which apartment?
— The one she gave you. Hire ten caretakers if needed.
Kristina went silent. Then sighed.
— I can’t sell it. The papers… complicated. Auntie wants to return it to Oleg, but the notary says they need your signature since you’re his wife…
— Not needed — Vera cut her off. — I filed for divorce. Everything will be done in a month. No signature from me.
— Vera, be human! She’s dying!
— Two years ago, when I carried you to the bathroom — I was dying too. Slowly. And you? Busy. Still busy. Now stay busy.
Vera hung up.
A month later, she received the divorce papers—Oleg didn’t show up; it was signed remotely. She sat in the room, holding the papers, staring at the stamp. Fifteen years of marriage ended with a single seal.
And she didn’t care.
She put the papers in the drawer, grabbed her coat, and left the apartment.
She didn’t rush, wandered aimlessly, just watched the streets. The city was gray, cold, but in the grayness was something calming. No one was waiting. No one demanded. No one lied.
By the small store at the bus stop, she ran into Tamara.
— Vera! You’ve completely disappeared. How are you?
— Fine.
— I heard you divorced.
— Yes.
Tamara was silent, studying her.
— And you’re not… broken. On the contrary.
— Just resting at last.
— Right. That man who fled in a hard moment—he wasn’t a man at all.
They talked a bit longer about work, the weather. Then parted.
Vera walked home, thinking Tamara was right. Oleg ran at the first sign of trouble. Didn’t protect, didn’t support, didn’t try. Just vanished.
And now she was left to fight her mother and Kristina over an inheritance that, in truth, no longer existed.
A week later, late at night, someone knocked. Vera looked through the peephole. Oleg stood there, alone, broken, shoulders slumped.
She opened the door but left the chain on.
— What do you want?
— We need to talk.
— Nothing to talk about.
— Mom is very ill. Kristina won’t care for her. I can’t. Vera, help…
— No.
— I get it, you’re angry. But she’s your mother. Old, sick…
— Two years ago, she wasn’t sick enough not to deceive me. And you weren’t busy enough to look at me once. Go to Kristina. She’s both your mother and your fiancée now.
— Kristina moved out. She refused to sign.
Vera smiled.
— Perfect. Then you two are hers now. Just like I was for fifteen years in the dorm. Only I had hope. With you, nothing.
Vera closed the door. Oleg stood for a moment, then left slowly. His steps faded.
Vera leaned against the door, closed her eyes. Her hands shook—not from fear, but from the tension built over two years. She slowly unclenched her fingers, exhaled.
She entered the room, turned on the light. Armchair by the window, table, folding bed.
Everything the same. The tiny dorm room where she had lived fifteen years. Wallpaper, creaking floor, view of the gray courtyard—unchanged.
But something inside had shifted.
Vera went to the window. Lamps glowed below, neighboring houses lit up. Somewhere, dinner was being made, somewhere TV played, somewhere people argued or laughed. Life went on—without promises, lies, or false hope.
A small, old ficus sat on the windowsill, in its cracked pot—the same one bought fifteen years ago. Leaves green, alive. Thriving in the narrow space, and it didn’t complain.
Vera stroked a leaf and smiled.
— It’s okay — she said aloud. — We’ll manage.
Morning woke with silence. No whimpering, no cup-demanding. Only stillness, thick enough to fill the ears.
Vera rose, washed, dressed. Looked in the mirror. Pale face, streaks of gray, deep lines. Forty-two, yet older. Two years stolen by lies.
But those two years had ended.
She grabbed her bag, stepped out. Locked the door—simply, without looking back.
Dusting off the stairs, she went out. November wind slapped her face, but she didn’t flinch. Walked to the bus stop, boarded, stared out the window.
The city awoke. People hurried to their tasks. No one knew what she’d endured. No one knew what she had lost over two years for an apartment she was never meant to have.
But it didn’t matter anymore.
Vera went to her cafeteria job. A normal day: pots, steam, hundreds of portions. Hard work that left her back aching, legs throbbing.
But it was her work.
No one owed her anything.
That evening, at home, Vera pulled the divorce papers from the drawer. Checked the stamp, the date. Then returned it.
No one knocked. Phone silent. Outside, lights glowed.
Vera sat in her armchair, opened her book. Pages whispered. Room warm. Wind howled outside, but couldn’t reach her.
She read, feeling the tension slowly drain from her shoulders, neck, clenched jaw. For the first time in two years, she simply sat. Didn’t have to act. Didn’t have to respond to whimpering. Didn’t have to jump for a cup, medicine, food.
She just lived.
Somewhere, far away, Oleg changed his mother’s sheets and cursed the day he failed to protect his wife. Somewhere, Kristina calculated caretaker costs and regretted entangling herself in another inheritance.
Somewhere, Antonina Stepanovna lay in bed, realizing she was utterly alone.
And Vera, in the dorm room, read her book, and regretted nothing.
Two years of alien greed and lies.
But the rest of her life was hers alone.
