The click of the lock cracked through the silence of the stairwell like a whip. For a moment, everything inside me froze, and then the echo slowly dissolved along the dirty, cracked walls.
I remained standing on the cold, stained tiles, barefoot, wearing mismatched slippers, as if even being thrown out of my own home had happened in haste and confusion.
The thin robe barely covered my body, and underneath I wore only a light nightgown. The February cold that seeped through the cracks and gaps of the stairwell instantly clung to my ankles, like a living thing searching hungrily for its prey.
— “Go take a walk until you come to your senses!” — came muffled from behind the heavy metal door.
Sergey’s voice was not drunk. It didn’t tremble, didn’t slur, carried no uncertainty. On the contrary — it was cold, calculating, and sober. And perhaps that was the most frightening thing about it.
I pressed the doorbell. Once. Then again. Then longer, insistently, as if the sound could break through the barrier that had risen not only between me and the door, but between us.
— Don’t bother, Polina! — now his mother’s voice rang out, Galina Petrovna’s. A creaky, satisfied tone with barely concealed delight vibrating inside it.
— When you decide to transfer the contract to Seryozha, then we’ll talk. Until then, freeze a little. Maybe your brains will fall back into place. You have half an hour. After that, I’ll call the police and say some vagrant is trying to break in.
I leaned my back against the icy wall. My body was trembling. Not so much from the cold — though it bit mercilessly into my skin — but from the realization of what kind of trap I had walked into.
Three years of marriage. Three years during which I had been “dear little Polina,” as long as I baked cakes at home and brought in small money. But one week was enough.
One week since I won a contract to supply desserts to a large chain of coffee shops. And it was as if something in them had snapped.
Yesterday evening Sergey had placed a contract in front of me.
— You don’t understand business, you’ll get cheated — he said softly, pushing the pen toward me. — Sign it, and I’ll be the general director. I’ll handle the business, and you just bake your sponge cakes. We’re a family, after all.
I didn’t sign. And this morning Galina Petrovna had “accidentally” found my old savings book. The argument exploded in a second. “Rat,” “sneaky,” “hiding money from your husband.” And now I was here.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my robe, trying to warm my fingers, and then I felt something.
It was my phone. I had slipped it into my pocket by reflex when I went to open the door for the courier who never arrived. Now it was clear: that had been part of their plan too.
There was almost no signal. Just one bar. The battery was at twelve percent.
Who should I call? The police would arrive in an hour. By then I would freeze. My friend lived on the other side of the city.
My finger found the name on its own: “Aunt Nina.”
My mother’s sister. My only relative. She had lived her whole life in the countryside — beekeeping, a garden, hands in the soil, endless conversations about harvests. What could she do from three hundred kilometers away? Maybe just sympathize.
But I had no choice.
— Hello? Polina? — her voice sounded unexpectedly alert.
— Aunt Nina… — I could barely speak, my teeth chattering. — Sergey threw me out. Into the cold. They want me to hand over the business. I’m in the stairwell… in slippers.
Silence fell on the other end. Not the usual sighs of pity I expected.
— I remember the address. Stay there. Don’t go to the neighbors — she said firmly. Her voice suddenly became unfamiliar, with a metallic edge. — I’ll send someone. He’ll have duplicates.
— What duplicates? — I asked, confused.
— Do what I say. Wait. Twenty minutes.
She hung up.
I slid down the wall to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. Twenty minutes.
Time stretched endlessly. From behind the door came the sound of the television and clinking dishes. They were having dinner. Calmly, as if nothing had happened. As if I weren’t sitting out here.
That hurt more than the cold.
Then footsteps echoed in the stairwell. Heavy, steady steps. I tensed.
A man appeared. Well-dressed, in an expensive coat, with a firm expression. Behind him stood two uniformed men.
— Polina Andreyevna? I’m Viktor Sergeyevich. Nina Vasilievna’s lawyer.
He took out keys.
The lock clicked again.
We entered.
Sergey was sitting at the table, holding a chicken leg. His mother froze.
— Who are you?! — he shouted.
The lawyer calmly opened the folder.
— This apartment is not yours.
The silence was heavy.
— The apartment belongs to an agricultural holding. The founder: Nina Vasilievna Kravtsova.
Sergey’s face went pale.
— That’s… impossible…
— It isn’t. You were only living here temporarily.
Then he added:
— The contract has been terminated. An hour ago.
The next minutes were chaos. Rushing, shouting, pleading.
Sergey ran toward me.
— Polina, please! It was a misunderstanding!
I looked at him.
I felt nothing.
— Give back the scarf — I said.
Then:
— Leave.
When they were gone, I sat down. The apartment felt чужим.
In the morning, Aunt Nina arrived.
She wasn’t what I thought.
She was strong. Calm. Coldly intelligent.
— Now you work — she said.
Half a year passed.
My pastry shop became successful.
One rainy evening, Galina Petrovna stood at the door.
Broken. Pitiful.
She asked for help.
I gave her food.
But not work.
— Go — I said.
And closed the door.
The rain stopped.
The air was fresh.
I called Aunt Nina.
— Give me the recipe for that honey cake.
Life went on.
And for the first time — it was mine.
