— Tanya, you’re acting like a dog in the manger, — Zinaida Lvovna said, carefully dabbing her lips with a napkin, leaving a bright smudge of cheap lipstick on it.
— Oleg needs a start. Momentum. And you’re clinging to this grandma’s “one-room apartment” like a tick.
I stood by the sink, washing grease off a baking tray.
The water was freezing — another preventive measure, as usual — but I didn’t feel the cold. I was trembling inside, like metal about to explode.
— This isn’t a “one-room apartment,” Zinaida Lvovna. This is my pre-marriage studio. I told Oleg a month ago: I will not sell it.
Oleg sat at the table, nervously rolling a piece of bread on the oilcloth. He didn’t look at me.
In ten years of marriage, I had learned that look: that’s how he looked when he wrecked my car, and the same when he got “asked to leave” his previous job for missing funds.
— You don’t understand, — he muttered without looking up. — It’s a good deal. The guys are bringing parts from China. The investment will pay off in three months. I can write you an IOU if you don’t believe me.
— An IOU? — I turned off the water and faced him. — And how are you going to pay if it fails? With your collection of beer caps?
— Don’t be sarcastic! — my mother-in-law slammed her hand on the table. — My son is right. We’re family! Or have you already found yourself a backup landing spot?
Listen, Tanya, you’ll stay at the broken trough. A man needs support, wings, and you’re tying weights to his legs.
The kitchen smelled of burnt onions and my mother-in-law’s sweet, suffocating perfume. That scent seeped into the curtains, the wallpaper, into every corner of my life.
— I have a shift tomorrow at seven, — I said quietly. — Conversation over. The apartment stays with me.
Oleg jumped up, the chair screeching across the tiles.
— You fool! — he shouted and slammed the bedroom door loudly.
Zinaida Lvovna slowly got up, straightening her enormous lurex sweater.
— You’re doing it all wrong, daughter. Oh, so wrong. Oleg isn’t made of iron. He’ll find someone who believes and supports him. And you’ll be left biting your elbows.
We lived in a cold war mode for a week. Oleg slept in the living room on the couch, deliberately talking on the phone on the balcony, returning from it with a mysterious smile.
I worked as a head nurse in the department. I had seen all sorts of things. But what was happening at home scared me more than night shifts on holidays. I felt the noose tightening. Oleg became jumpy. He demanded passports, asked, threatened.
— Tomorrow is the anniversary, — he said Friday evening, breathing his characteristic scent toward me. — Forty years. Mother is setting the table. Aunt Lyuba and her husband, and Vadik will come. Behave yourself.
And get the papers for the apartment ready. Mother found a buyer, cash, good money, no haggling.
— I’m not selling the apartment, Oleg.
— We’ll discuss it tomorrow, — he smirked crookedly. — You won’t be so brave in front of guests.
On Saturday, the apartment buzzed. Zinaida Lvovna ruled my kitchen as if it were hers, rearranging jars, instructing how and where to cut the sausage.
— Olivier without apple is not a salad, it’s mush, — she lectured, crushing ingredients into the bowl. — Learn while I’m alive.
By six in the evening, the guests arrived: Aunt Lyuba, a noisy woman with gold teeth, her silent husband, and Vadik, Oleg’s school friend who always borrowed “until payday” and rarely returned it.
The table was overloaded. Aspic, layered herring, a foggy glass carafe of clear liquid. Oleg sat at the head, flushed and satisfied. He had already had “a courage drink” and was now toasting himself.
— …and most importantly, may the rear be secure! — he declared, waving a fork with a pierced cucumber. — So that the wife understands party policy!
— Golden words! — his mother-in-law agreed. — Tanya, do you hear? You must follow your husband, not stand in his way. By the way, we arranged with the notary for Monday. A deal of the century!
I sat with my hands clenched under the table, my nails digging into my palms. Everything was decided. They had already divided the money from my studio.
— Oleg, — I started calmly. — We discussed this.
— We re-discussed! — he interrupted, pouring himself more. — I’m a man, I make decisions. I take responsibility!
At that moment, his phone, lying screen-up on the table, came alive. A sharp, unpleasant ringtone cut through the noise. The screen displayed: “Anatoly Auto Service.”
Oleg went pale. The glass in his hand froze in the air. He tried to hang up the phone, but his fingers shook.
— Answer, — I said. — Maybe something urgent with the car.
— No… not now… probably a mistake, — he muttered, shoving the phone into his pocket.
But “Anatoly” was persistent. The phone rang again.
— Come on, answer, man, maybe an accident! — Aunt Lyuba shouted.
I took the phone from his hand.
— Give it here! — Oleg squealed, but I already pressed the green button.
— Turn on speaker, dear, I want everyone to hear where you have to go! — I said, tapping the speaker icon.
Silence fell over the table immediately. Only the heavy breathing of the mother-in-law was audible.
— So, coward, found the money? — came a rough, smoky male voice. Nothing Anatoly-like. — The counter is ticking. Today you said you’d pressure your wife for the apartment.
If two hundred grand isn’t ready by evening — we’ll burn your mother’s dacha. Address: Romashka HOA, plot 3, house 42.
Zinaida Lvovna grabbed her heart and slumped heavily into a chair.
— And tell your queen, — the voice continued, — not to panic. She’ll give birth or not — we don’t care. Gaming debt, Oleg. Card debt is sacred. You have until nine o’clock.
The line went dead. The short beeps in the silence sounded like gunshots.
Oleg was white as the tablecloth. He huddled, pulling his head into his shoulders, like a misbehaving puppy.
— Gaming debt? — I asked softly. — Chinese parts, right? Startup?
— Son… — his mother-in-law croaked. — Is this true? About the dacha… true?
— Mama, they put it on a counter… I tried to win back… — Oleg whimpered. — Tanya, just sell this damn studio! They’ll finish me! Or my mother… Don’t you understand?
I stood. Calmly walked to the door and opened it wide.
— Out.
— What? — Oleg’s eyes filled with tears and anger. — You’re kicking me out? To the scammers?
— Out. Both of you. Everyone.
— You have no right! I’m registered here! — he shouted, jumping up. — This is my home!
— You’re mistaken, — I pulled a bunch of keys from my robe pocket. — While you were handling things behind my back, I already called the locksmith. New lock on the front door. Only I have the keys.
I had packed his things during the day into black bags on the balcony. You can take them.
— You snake! — Zinaida Lvovna screamed, forgetting her heart attack. — You knew everything! You were prepared!
— Of course I knew, — I smirked. — The bank called me a week ago; Oleg, you left my number as the contact. Your microloans are overdue. I just waited for you to screw up.
Oleg lunged at me, ready:
— Give me the keys!
I didn’t move.
— Just try. I recorded the traces last time you pushed me. The report is in my work safe.
Today I add — you won’t go to jail for debts, but for assault. And about your pregnant queen, I know too. Let her help you.
Vadik and Aunt Lyuba with her husband slipped out into the hallway quietly. The rats abandoned the ship first.
Oleg froze. He understood I wasn’t joking. In his eyes, I saw fear — sticky, animalistic. Not for me, not for the marriage. For his own skin.
Five minutes later, the apartment was quiet. I placed the bags in the hallway. Oleg tried to shout something about court, and his mother-in-law cursed me to the seventh generation, promising I’d “perish alone.”
I closed the door. The new lock clicked — softly, securely.
I returned to the kitchen. On the table stood the half-drunk carafe, the “apple-less” Olivier airing out.
I took the trash can and swept everything off the table. With the plates. The sound of broken porcelain was the best music.
Tomorrow will be hard. There will be collectors, threats, divorce, splitting the old TV. I’ll have to change my phone number. Maybe even stay with a friend temporarily.
But that’s for tomorrow.
Now I poured myself tea. Ordinary, bagged. Sat on the windowsill and opened the window.
Fresh autumn air drifted in from the street. I took a sip and looked down. Two figures were loading the bags into a taxi at the entrance.
Oleg’s car stayed in the yard — the keys were in my pocket, because I’d paid the loan, and the registration was in my name.
Oleg’s phone rang again in his hand. I saw him flinch.
I smiled and took a bite of my sandwich. Delicious.
