Katya stood by the window, gripping a cup of coffee that had already gone cold. Behind her, pages rustled—Sergey was leafing through the newspaper, pretending not to notice her tension.
“We’ll move in with my mother, and give the apartment to my brother,” he finally said, without looking up from the news. “He’s having a hard time.”
Katya slowly loosened her fingers. The cup clinked sharply against the windowsill.
“Then you move,” she said evenly. “Alone. With your things. And the apartment is mine.”
Sergey finally raised his head. His face was calm, but an irritated crease twitched at the corners of his lips.
“Max has nowhere to live, Katya. He’s in debt.”
“So now we’re supposed to save your eternal loser of a brother?” Katya turned sharply toward him. “You and I have been living like strangers for ten years, and now your mother and brother too?”
“It’s temporary!”
“Temporary always becomes permanent.”
Silence. Sergey let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand over his face.
“You’re not even trying to understand…”
“I understand everything,” Katya interrupted. “You’re choosing them again. Not us.”
At that moment, the phone rang. Sergey reached for it, looked at the screen, and froze.
“Max…” he muttered.
Katya saw his fingers tighten around the device a little harder than necessary.
“Seryozha…” The voice on the phone was hoarse and broken. “If you don’t help me… I’m finished.”
Sergey turned pale.
Katya felt a chill run down her spine.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Katya wrapped herself in the old robe Sergey hated and buried her face in the pillow. Her husband’s phone conversation with his brother echoed in her ears: “I’m finished”—some kind of gangster drama she had no desire to get involved in. But now it was impossible not to get involved.
From the bathroom came the sound of running water. Sergey was washing away the traces of today’s quarrel, as he always did after conflicts—silently and methodically. Katya closed her eyes, and another face rose before her: her father, drunk and guilty, standing on the threshold of a rented Khrushchev-era apartment thirty years ago.
“Well, my little daughter, we’ll live with Aunt Lyusya for a while,” he had said back then. “She’s got it worst of all, alone with a child…”
Her mother hadn’t argued then. And a month later, Aunt Lyusya “temporarily” moved in her new husband, and Katya’s family stayed forever in that hole with the leaking ceiling.
“Are you even listening to me?” a sharp voice yanked her out of her memories. Sergey stood in the doorway, drops of water running from his bare torso onto the floor.
“I’m listening,” Katya said, sitting up in bed. “Your gangster brother has gotten himself into trouble again, and we’re supposed to clean it up?”
“He’s not a gangster!” Sergey slammed his fist into the doorframe. “He just…”
“He just what? At forty years old, he still hasn’t learned to live within his means?” Katya jumped to her feet, her robe falling open. “I won’t allow the same scenario to happen again!”
“What scenario?” Sergey grabbed her wrist. “What are you talking about?”
The front door slammed. Both of them flinched. A second later, Max entered the bedroom without knocking. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, and a bruise was blooming under his left eye.
“Sorry for coming without calling,” he said hoarsely, “but I’ve got… problems.”
Katya tore her hand free from Sergey’s grip. Max nervously licked his lips, his eyes darting between them.
“Serzh…” He took a step forward. “If you don’t give me the money…” His voice cracked. “…I’ll tell Katya about that night in Saint Petersburg.”
Water from Sergey’s hair dripped onto the floor with a dull plop.
The room froze. Katya felt goosebumps crawl down her back.
“What night?” Her voice sounded unfamiliar, too quiet.
Sergey sharply turned toward his brother, blocking him with his body as if trying to hide him from Katya.
“Max, shut up.”
“What, scared of the truth?” Max smirked, but there was animal fear in his eyes. “Then give me the money, and I’ll disappear.”
Katya slowly stepped closer. Her fingers curled into fists on their own.
“Sergey. What does he mean?”
Her husband did not answer. His jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the wall behind her. Max shifted nervously, as though he had realized he had gone too far.
“Fine, forget it,” he said, waving a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I just… urgently need three hundred thousand.”
Katya suddenly laughed.
“Three hundred? Are you insane?”
“Katya,” Sergey finally looked at her. “Let’s discuss this later.”
“No, we’ll discuss it now.” She stepped forward, her voice trembling with fury. “What happened in Saint Petersburg?”
Silence. Max looked at his brother, waiting. Sergey breathed heavily, as if choosing his words.
“Nothing. Empty talk.”
“You’re lying.” Katya snatched Sergey’s phone from the table. “I’ll find out myself.”
“Give it back!” He lunged at her, but she jerked away, managing to see the latest message in the messenger app: “Sergey, we need to meet. It’s urgent. Lena.”
Katya felt the ground slip from beneath her feet.
“Who is Lena?”
Sergey turned pale. Max coughed, as if choking on his own laughter.
“Damn,” he muttered. “You still haven’t told her?”
Katya squeezed the phone so hard the screen cracked.
“Told me what?”
Sergey closed his eyes.
“It’s not what you think…”
“Then explain!” Her scream tore through the silence.
At that moment, the doorbell rang in the hallway.
All three of them flinched.
Katya slowly turned toward the door.
“Who is that?”
Max suddenly went even paler than Sergey.
“They’re already here,” he whispered.
Katya rushed to the door before Sergey could stop her. Her fingers trembled as she yanked the handle. Standing on the threshold was her mother, Lyudmila Petrovna, in her usual leather coat, a boutique shopping bag in her hand.
“Mom? What are you…”
“What kind of circus is going on here?” Lyudmila interrupted, stepping inside. Her sharp gaze immediately caught Max with his bruise and Sergey, pale as chalk. “Your shouting can be heard all over the building.”
Max suddenly laughed—nervously, hysterically.
“Oh, great! Now Mommy’s joined in too!”
Lyudmila slowly turned to him, looking him up and down.
“So this is your famous brother?” she asked Sergey with icy politeness. “The one you’re ready to throw your family out onto the street for?”
Sergey clenched his fists.
“Lyudmila Petrovna, this is none of your business…”
“My daughter is my business,” she snapped. “And my late mother’s apartment even more so.”
Katya felt another scandal brewing, but at that moment there was a sharp knock at the door—not a ring, but the blow of a fist. Everyone fell silent.
“Open up, Maxim!” a hoarse voice shouted from behind the door. “We know you’re in there!”
Max’s expression changed; all his bravado vanished. He darted toward Sergey.
“Seryozha, it’s them… I told you…”
Lyudmila suddenly laughed.
“My God, you really are complete idiots! You brought creditors to the house?”
She headed sharply for the door. Katya rushed to stop her.
“Mom, no!”
But Lyudmila had already thrown the door open. Two men stood on the threshold: a stocky man in a tracksuit and a tall guy with tattoos on his neck.
“What do you want?” Lyudmila asked coldly, not even raising her voice.
The tattooed man froze, clearly not expecting such a reception.
“We’re here for Maxim… on business.”
“There is no Maxim in this house,” Lyudmila said firmly. “And if you don’t leave right now, I’ll call someone who will find you very quickly—in places where people don’t call their mothers on weekends.”
The visitors’ eyes widened. They exchanged glances, and the stocky one muttered uncertainly:
“Fine… we’ll… we’ll come back later.”
When the door closed, silence hung over the apartment. Max was the first to break it.
“Damn… who the hell are you?”
Lyudmila slowly turned to him, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bag.
“I’m the person who is currently deciding whether to throw you to those freaks or not. So, darling, start telling the whole truth—about the debts, about Saint Petersburg, and especially about this Lena.”
The silence was shattered by the sound of breaking glass—Katya, in a rage, had hurled Sergey’s phone against the wall. Shards scattered across the floor like the fragments of their trust.
“Enough lies!” Her voice broke into a scream. “Who is this Lena? What ‘night in Saint Petersburg’?”
Max shifted nervously, but Lyudmila gripped his shoulder with an iron hand.
“Talk. Now.”
“Well, she’s…” Max licked his dry lips, casting a glance at Sergey. “His ex. They… ran into each other by chance on a business trip.”
Sergey straightened abruptly.
“Nothing happened! We just…”
“You’re lying!” Katya trembled. “You didn’t answer your phone for three days then. You said you were in meetings…”
A sudden blow to the door made everyone jump. The wood cracked under the pressure.
“Max, open up, you bastard!” came a hoarse roar.
The door shook from a powerful kick. The tattooed guy burst into the apartment, followed by the stocky one, who had broken the door chain.
“There you are, scum!” he shouted, rushing at Max.
Sergey unexpectedly stepped forward, shielding his brother.
“Get out! I’m calling the police!”
The stocky man laughed and punched Sergey hard in the stomach. Sergey doubled over in pain. Katya screamed.
“Seryozha!”
Max suddenly transformed. His face twisted with rage, he lunged forward.
“You touched him, you bastard!”
His fist slammed into the attacker with full force. The man flew backward, knocking a vase off the cabinet. The second thug pulled something from behind his waistband—metal flashed.
Katya froze. Time slowed. She saw Lyudmila grab a heavy glass ashtray from the table. She saw Sergey, fighting through the pain, rise from his knees. She saw the knife in the tattooed man’s hand gleam in the chandelier light.
Instinct acted faster than thought. Her hand reached for the kitchen block…
“That’s enough!” Katya grabbed a knife and swung it in front of her, blocking the passage into the living room. Her voice sounded alien, hoarse with adrenaline. “The next person who takes a step gets this in the stomach!”
Everyone froze. Even the thugs. In the silence that followed, only heavy breathing could be heard.
Sergey came to his senses first. Slowly, holding his bruised stomach, he raised his hands.
“Katya… put the knife down. Please.”
Her fingers trembled on the handle. Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“I… I won’t let…” Katya’s voice broke. “I won’t let them destroy everything, like back then…”
Lyudmila carefully took a step forward.
“Daughter, give me the knife. They’re already leaving.”
And it was true—the thugs were backing toward the exit. The tattooed one still clutched his weapon, but fear showed in his eyes.
“Fine, calm down…” he muttered. “We’ll… we’ll be back.”
When the door slammed, the knife slipped from Katya’s weakened fingers and fell to the parquet floor with a dull thud. At that moment, a small figure in pink pajamas appeared around the corner.
“Mommy?” The thin voice of five-year-old Alina cut through the tense silence. “Why are you shouting?”
The knife lay on the floor, reflecting the distorted faces of the adults. Alina stood in the doorway, tightly clutching a worn plush rabbit in her hands—a gift from Sergey on her third birthday.
Katya froze, feeling her rage slowly give way to icy horror. The image burned before her eyes: her daughter seeing her mother with a knife in her hands.
“Alinochka…” Katya’s voice trembled. She took a step forward, but the girl instinctively pressed herself against the doorframe.
Lyudmila was the first to recover.
“My little granddaughter, come to me,” she said gently, kneeling down. “Grandma will show you a new cartoon.”
But Alina did not move. Her big eyes, so much like Sergey’s, moved from one adult to another.
“Is Daddy crying?” she asked quietly.
Sergey quickly wiped his face with his palm. Max awkwardly cleared his throat and moved into the corner. The broken phone on the floor flickered with a fading screen.
Katya slowly sank to her knees, bringing herself level with her daughter.
“Sunshine, everything is all right… We were just… discussing grown-up matters.”
“You were fighting,” Alina stated with childish directness. “I heard. You wanted Daddy to leave.”
Sergey flinched as if struck. Katya felt hot tears running down her cheeks.
“No, sweetheart… nobody is going anywhere…”
Max suddenly sniffed and headed sharply toward the exit.
“That’s it, I’m leaving. Enough of this circus.”
“Stop!” Lyudmila intercepted him at the door. “You will tell me everything. But later.”
She turned to the others.
“And now the two of you,” she looked at Katya and Sergey, “need to finally talk. Properly. I’ll take Alina with me.”
Katya wanted to object, but the words stuck in her throat. Alina silently walked over to her grandmother, tightly gripping her hand with her small palm.
When the door closed behind them, a ringing silence settled over the apartment. Sergey stood by the window with his back to Katya. His shoulders trembled slightly.
Katya picked up the broken phone. On the cracked screen, the last message remained frozen: “Sergey, we need to meet. It’s urgent. Lena.”
“Who is she?” Katya asked, and her own voice seemed foreign to her. “I’m asking for the last time.”
Sergey turned around. His face was wet with tears.
“She…” He swallowed. “She said she was dying. That this was her last chance…”
Katya felt the floor slip from under her feet.
“What?”
Sergey slowly sank to his knees in front of her, as though he no longer had the strength to stand.
“Lena is sick. Very sick. In Saint Petersburg… I was at the hospital with her. She wanted to say goodbye.”
Katya clenched her fists, feeling blood pounding in her temples.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid that…” He fell silent, lowering his head.
“That I wouldn’t understand?” Katya sprang to her feet. “That I’d be jealous of a dying woman?”
She paced the room, struggling to process the information. Then suddenly she stopped, realizing something.
“Max knew?”
Sergey nodded.
“He… borrowed money for her treatment. Now those bastards are demanding it back with interest…”
Katya closed her eyes. Everything was forming into a monstrous picture.
“And you… wanted to sell our apartment to save your ex?”
Sergey looked up at her. In his eyes were pain, shame, and something else Katya could not recognize.
“I wanted to save my brother,” he whispered. “And Lena… she just asked me to bring Alina. At least once. Because…”
Katya stopped breathing.
“Because what, Sergey?”
He rose from his knees and looked straight into her eyes.
“Because she is her mother.”
The words hung in the air like a knife before falling. Katya stepped backward and bumped into the sofa.
“What… what did you say?” Her voice was hoarse and unnaturally quiet.
Sergey stood motionless, only his fingers convulsively clenching and unclenching the edge of his T-shirt.
“Lena gave birth to Alina. You knew she couldn’t have children after that accident. We used… her eggs.”
Katya felt the room begin to slowly spin. She instinctively reached for the table so she wouldn’t fall.
“Five years. You kept silent for five years?” Her whisper was more frightening than a scream. “And now, when she’s dying…”
“She gave up her parental rights immediately!” Sergey sharply raised his head. “No one was ever supposed to find out. But a month ago, she called…”
Katya laughed—bitterly, hysterically.
“And you ran to her immediately? Took our joint money? Wanted to sell our apartment?”
“I didn’t know what to do!” He clutched his head. “Max got into debt trying to help her. Those bastards threatened…”
“Don’t you dare change the subject!” Katya jumped up, shaking with rage. “You lied to me all these years!”
Sergey suddenly dropped to his knees before her.
“Forgive me… I was afraid of losing you. Afraid that you…”
“That I what? That I wouldn’t be able to love someone else’s child?” Katya exhaled sharply. “I couldn’t breathe without her from the very first day!”
She suddenly fell silent, realizing the terrible truth: all her motherly love, all the sleepless nights, the first steps and first words—it had all been with a child who…
“Mommy?”
The thin little voice from the hallway made them both flinch. Alina stood on the threshold, clutching the forgotten plush rabbit in her hands. A silent question froze in her eyes.
Katya went still. Sergey slowly rose.
“Sunshine… why are you…”
“Grandma forgot her pills,” the girl said, showing a small package. “She said you were still talking.”
Katya felt something inside her break. She crouched down to be at Alina’s level.
“Come to me.”
The girl approached hesitantly. Katya took her small face in her palms, looking into features she knew down to every freckle.
“Do you know that I love you very much?”
Alina nodded, then unexpectedly wrapped her arms around Katya’s neck, pressing her whole little body against her.
“I love you too. Even when you shout.”
Sergey sobbed dully. Katya closed her eyes, feeling hot tears stream down her cheeks.
“Everything will be all right,” she whispered, not knowing who she was really promising it to—her daughter, her husband, or herself.
The three of them stood together on the threshold—between a past full of lies and a future that now seemed so fragile. But in that moment, Katya understood one simple thing: it does not matter whose blood runs through a child’s veins. What matters is who holds her in their arms when she is scared.
“Tomorrow,” Katya raised her eyes to Sergey, “we will all go to Saint Petersburg together.”
He nodded silently, hardly daring to believe it. Alina squeezed her hand more tightly.
Outside the window, evening slowly descended, painting their intertwined shadows gold. They did not yet know how they would survive this storm. But they knew one thing for certain—they would survive it together.