Victor carefully placed the cup on the saucer, making sure the porcelain did not clink. Even a tiny sound could have disrupted the fragile balance in the kitchen, which had been established by his mother’s arrival.
Galina Stepanovna sat across the table, stroking nonexistent wrinkles on the tablecloth. Her gaze wandered over the walls, assessing the freshness of the wallpaper and the value of the furniture.
She rarely visited her older son, and each time it felt as if a tax audit were taking place: instead of forms, now her son’s obedience was under scrutiny.
— Artyom has completely lost himself — she began from a distance, without touching the treats. — Our two-room apartment is too small for him, Vitya. He’s young; he needs space, privacy.
Victor nodded, keeping a calm expression. He was used to it. Since childhood, he had been a punching bag and lightning rod for his mother’s ambitions and irritability.
— Apartments are expensive now, mother — he remarked calmly. — Is Artyom working?
Galina Stepanovna pressed her lips together, as if she had just swallowed a lemon peel.
— He’s working, finding himself. He’s not appreciated there, and he earns little here. He’s a creative soul; it’s harder for him. You’re pragmatic, it’s easier for you. The boy has a delicate soul. He needs a start.
Svetlana, sitting beside Victor, only sighed briefly but remained silent.
She knew that any word from her would be interpreted as war. Galina Stepanovna consciously ignored her daughter-in-law, seeing her as an annoying obstacle in the path of the fortune intended for her son.
— And what kind of start do you envision? — Victor asked cautiously, already sensing where the conversation was heading. His hope that his mother had come merely to check in quickly dissolved like sugar in hot water.
— A mortgage — the mother said firmly. — We found a great opportunity. Newly built, high floor, panoramic windows. I have the down payment. The loan just needs to be arranged.
Victor breathed a sigh of relief.
— If you have the down payment, that’s great. Let Artyom submit the papers. There are plenty of programs for young people now.
Galina Stepanovna looked at him as if he were a foolish child who hadn’t learned the lesson.
— Vitya, aren’t you listening? They won’t give it to Artyom. He doesn’t have a 2-NDFL certificate, he’s still freelancing. You have to handle it.
The air in the kitchen grew suffocating, as if a giant pump had suddenly sucked out the oxygen. Victor felt the familiar bitterness rising from inside — the taste of suppressed grievances and disappointments.
He hoped this phase was already over, that his family had come to terms: he was a separate unit, not a complement to Artyom.
— No — he said firmly. — I will not take out a loan in my name for Artyom. Svetlana and I have our own plans. We want to expand too.
His mother’s eyes narrowed. The caring parent mask slipped, revealing the predatory face of a woman accustomed to getting what she wanted at any cost.
— Plans! — she snorted at Svetlana, as if seeking support, but immediately dismissed her.
— Your mother sacrificed her last strength to raise you. Sleepless nights, she gave up university for your illnesses. And now “plans”? Selfish! You are just like your grandmother.
The mention of his grandmother struck his heart. His aunt, his mother’s sister, had recently spoken about the grandmother’s house.
The old, solid farmhouse in the suburbs, where Victor had spent the happiest years of his childhood, had been put up for sale a month ago.
— Where did you get the down payment, mother? — Victor asked quietly, looking directly into his mother’s eyes.
Galina Stepanovna shrugged as she adjusted her hairstyle.
— What’s it to you? I saved it up.
— Aunt Nadya said you sold the house. The grandmother’s house.
His mother did not even seem embarrassed. On the contrary, a look of angry determination appeared in her eyes.
— I sold it! And I had the right to. I am the sole heir. Artyom needs an apartment. You’ve settled, found a place, and are working. Isn’t that enough for you?
Victor clenched the edge of the table. The anger, thick and hot, began to boil in his chest.
Grandmother had always said the house would be for the grandchildren, split evenly. But the will had “accidentally” disappeared, or perhaps it never existed — now it was impossible to know.
— So grandmother’s inheritance is Artyom’s. My credit history and thirty-year debt remain mine. He will live in the apartment. Brilliant plan — Victor’s voice hardened.
— It’s just a formality! — Galina Stepanovna raised her voice. — I’m paying. Or Artyom will when he stands on his feet. Just sign. Have I ever deceived you? We are family!
— You deceived my whole life when you said you loved us equally — Victor shot back.
Galina Stepanovna stood up, knocking the spoon onto the floor.
— Ungrateful! Brat! I come to you with a good heart, and you count pennies! I expect an answer by tomorrow. Otherwise, I curse you! I’ll tell your father not to let you in!
She spun out of the kitchen, slamming the door.
Victor sat motionless, watching the tea grow cold. The anger slowly turned into a cold, calculating calm. This was the point of no return. No more concessions.
Svetlana stepped up, placing her hand on his shoulder and massaging his tense neck.
— She won’t leave us alone, Vitya. She’ll call your father, get on your nerves, come to your workplace. She’ll wear us down.
— I know — Victor replied quietly. — But I won’t carry the burden for Artyom. Enough.
— And if you agreed? — his wife whispered.
Victor turned abruptly, shaking his hand off.
— Seriously? Svetlana, did you hear what she said?
— I heard — she looked at him calmly, her eyes showing no fear, only a peculiar spark.
— She wants the apartment in your name. You would be the legal owner. The down payment comes from the sale of grandmother’s house.
Victor froze. He looked at his wife, and her words slowly, heavily sank into his mind.
— You suggest…
— I suggest we restore justice — Svetlana sat at the table.
— She pays, you handle the loan, the apartment is yours. Artyom won’t live there. We either rent it to cover the installments, or sell immediately, settling the debt, and the remainder is your share of grandmother’s inheritance.
Victor rubbed his temple. The idea seemed insane, bold, impossible to his old self — the quiet boy who always gave in.
— You are letting the world off — he whispered.
— It already is — Sveta said firmly. — Now you do it for free, so at least you get compensation. You’re not stealing; you’re reclaiming what’s yours. The “down payment” owed to you after twenty years of humiliation.
Victor stood and went to the window. Below, the city bustled, people hurrying about their business, unaware that in one apartment a broken man’s fate was being decided.
He remembered his grandmother’s hands, smelling of dried apples. He remembered how his mother took money from him to buy Artyom a new game console.
— Fine — Victor said, without turning back. His voice was deep and dull. — Call her. Tell her I agree. But the money must be transferred to my account today. I will pay.
The matter went surprisingly smoothly. The bank, seeing Victor’s perfect credit history and the significant down payment, approved the application in two days. Galina Stepanovna beamed.
At the developer’s office, she paced like a proud grande dame, giving instructions to the manager as if she were buying an entire floor. Victor quietly signed the documents. Each signature cut a piece of the past, of a dependent life.
Artyom hadn’t even come. “Busy, urgent project” — the mother waved off when Victor asked about his brother. Of course, what project. He slept until afternoon.
A month later the house was finished. The keys were in Victor’s pocket, pleasantly weighted by the fabric case.
A family gathering was held at his parents’ home. Galina Stepanovna set the table: salads, main courses, even a bottle of expensive cognac. Artyom sat at the head of the table, already imagining which couch to put in the living room.
His father chewed quietly, trying to avoid eye contact with Victor.
— Well! — the mother declared ceremoniously, extending her hand. — Come on, son. Cheer your brother.
Victor slowly stood. Svetlana followed, shoulder to shoulder. She was the shield and the sword.
— The keys, mother? — Victor asked again, pretending not to understand.
— Don’t waste time! Artyom must pack! — Galina Stepanovna twisted her fingers impatiently.
— Artyom is not moving anywhere — Victor said clearly and firmly. The room went silent.
— What? — Artyom stopped chewing.
— The apartment is in my name. The loan is in my name. I am the owner — Victor said loudly, his voice gaining strength. — I changed the locks this morning. I will live in the apartment, or sell it. That’s my decision.
— Are you crazy? — hissed the mother, her face flushed red. — My money! My down payment!
— That money comes from grandmother’s house — Victor shouted, cutting off her rising scream. He didn’t back down, but stepped forward, looming over the table. — Grandmother wanted it split equally. You deprived me of everything. Consider this money your own inheritance and compensation for the years when there was emptiness for me!
— Thief! — Galina Stepanovna screamed, jumping up from her chair. — Give back the keys! I’ll report you! I’ll have you arrested!
— Go! — Victor yelled, and his shout pushed his mother back.
Sweat hit the table, dishes trembled. — Go to the police! Show them the documents! Everything is in my name! You transferred the money “as a gift to your son”! I asked a lawyer! You prove nothing!
Artyom jumped up, clenching his fists, trying to pretend a threat.
— What do you think, that you can trick me?
Victor suddenly turned toward Artyom. Bigger, stronger, and most importantly, angrier. He grabbed Artyom by the chest and pushed him back into the chair. The chair groaned.
— Sit! — Victor growled. — You parasite, you haven’t lifted a finger! Want an apartment? Work for it! Enough of everyone being drained!
— Dad! — shouted Galina Stepanovna. — Tell him! He’s robbing his mother!
Father slowly raised his eyes. He looked over the red, raging wife, the frightened, inactive son, and then at Victor, who felt like a man for the first time, defending his family.
— Vitya is right — father said quietly. — The house was mother’s. She wanted to divide it. You refused.
— And you?! Traitor! — Galina Stepanovna spat in outrage.
Victor and Svetlana left without saying goodbye. Behind them flew insults, threats, and promises of divine vengeance. Victor felt no fear. Only relief.
The apartment was sold two months later. Quickly, with a small discount, so the matter wouldn’t drag on.
The loan was prepaid. The remaining amount — the “grandmother’s down payment” — went toward a house in another region, three hours by plane from here. Closer to Svetlana’s parents, away from the toxic past.
Galina Stepanovna tried to sue, but the lawyers just shrugged: voluntary transfer, legally settled ownership. Zero chance.
Father left the family six months later. He quietly packed his suitcase and moved into his brother’s parental home. All wealth was left to his wife,
just so he wouldn’t hear the shouting.
And the main blow came from the most unexpected place.
Artyom, deprived of the apartment dream easily gained, became bitter.
He blamed his mother for “not pressuring” Victor, calling him “cowardly” and “unsuccessful.” Arguments in the apartment became a daily occurrence. Artyom demanded compensation from his mother, demanded the sale or exchange of the only apartment.
One evening Victor’s phone rang. Unknown number.
— Hello? — Victor stood on the veranda, watching the sunset.
— Vitya… — his mother’s voice was broken, trembling, foreign. — Vitya, they’re kicking me out. She took out the loan, collectors are calling, forcing me to sign… Vitya, help. We are family.
Victor looked at Svetlana, who was watering flowers in the garden. Her round belly. Their new, calm world.
— I have no family at the address you called from — he said firmly. — Only my parasitic brother and the woman who raised him. Solve it yourselves.
He pressed the “end” button and blocked the number. The sun set, casting golden light over the horizon. The shadows vanished. Only light remained.
