“We’ll sell this apartment, buy ourselves a modest one-room place, and you’ll give me the difference.”
— Are you going there again? — Igor did not even turn his head away from the television, but his voice carried that familiar note that usually made Marina’s jaw tighten.
— It’s Friday, Igor. Grandma needs her bed linen changed and food cooked for the weekend. You know the caregiver only comes on weekdays until lunchtime.
Marina zipped up her bag and checked whether her keys were there. She tried to speak evenly, as if she did not notice her husband’s irritation hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. In this rented one-room apartment, irritation had been accumulating for years, settling like dust on the old wallpaper.
— For normal people, Friday evening is for family, for rest, — Igor finally deigned to look at his wife. His gaze was sharp, unpleasant, searching for a catch. — But with you it’s an endless marathon: work, that hospice of yours at home, and then you sleep like the dead. When was the last time I saw you not in a robe or that jacket?
— Galina Vladimirovna is not a hospice. She is my grandmother. And she is alone right now. Mom will only come in a month. Alexey Stanislavovich has orders; they can’t drop everything.
— Of course. Your mother and her new husband are signing contracts in Sochi, breathing sea air, while dear little Marina empties bedpans. How convenient for them. And I’m supposed to sit here alone and boil dumplings?
— Igor, I made stew. It’s in the refrigerator.
— Stew… — he drawled with undisguised contempt. — Listen, Marin, are you sure you’re really going to your old lady? Maybe you’ve got a man there? You spend the night there awfully often.
Marina froze. It was not the first time he had said something like that, but every time it stung like a splinter under a fingernail. She slowly exhaled, trying to extinguish the flare of hurt inside her.
— Are you serious right now? I’m going to wash a bedridden person, do laundry, and feed her with a spoon. Do you want to come with me? You can see for yourself, and help me turn Grandma over while you’re at it. My back can barely straighten anymore.
Igor snorted and turned back to the screen, where little figures in uniforms were running around.
— As if. They’re your relatives. Deal with them yourself. I didn’t sign up for that. I have my own plans.
— What plans, if it’s not a secret? Drawing business plans on napkins with Arthur again?
Igor straightened sharply. The remote control hit the coffee table.
— Don’t you dare touch Arthur. The man is doing something, spinning, hustling. He already has a client base built up; he’s making money on healthy food. And what am I? Working for someone else, counting pennies. If only I had start-up capital…
— Everyone needs start-up capital, — Marina interrupted softly but firmly. — But we have other priorities right now. We’re saving for a mortgage, remember?
— Mortgage, mortgage… A twenty-year shackle. But business is freedom. The poultry farm is offering a franchise, a ready-made branch. All we need is premises and equipment. Chicken is always in demand; people want to eat every day.
Marina tiredly closed her eyes. This conversation had been going in circles for three months already. Igor was burning with the idea of becoming the local “chicken king,” completely unwilling to listen to reason.
— Igor, there are five supermarkets around. Who needs your frozen chicken stall? It’s a risk.
— You don’t believe in me, as always. Some wife you are. Zero support. Go on, run to your grandmother.
Marina silently picked up her bag and went out into the stairwell. The door did not slam behind her. Outside it was damp and chilly, a typical November evening when all you wanted was to wrap yourself in a blanket and drink hot tea, not drag yourself across the whole city. But there was no choice. Galina Vladimirovna was waiting.
Grandmother’s apartment greeted her with the familiar smell of medicine and old paper. Time seemed to have stopped there in the eighties: a polished cabinet, carpets on the walls, crystal behind glass. Marina entered the room. The frail old woman lay on a high bed, staring at the ceiling.
— Marinochka? — Her voice was weak, like the rustle of dry leaves.
— It’s me, Grandma. I’m here, — Marina forced a smile, throwing off the weight of the conversation with her husband.
The evening passed in chores. Changing the diaper, moving the joints to prevent bedsores, feeding her thin porridge. Between procedures, Galina Vladimirovna tried to tell her something, confusing names and dates.
— Did Irochka call? — she suddenly asked clearly.
— She called, Grandma. She sends her love. She and Alexey Stanislavovich will come as soon as they can.
— The apartment… don’t give away the apartment, — Grandmother suddenly said sternly, gripping her granddaughter’s wrist with her dry hand. Her grasp was unexpectedly strong. — Your mother… she’s flighty. And you need a roof over your head. She promised.
— Grandma, why are you saying that? Everything will be fine. Go to sleep.
Marina settled down on the narrow sofa in the next room. Sleep would not come. Igor’s words about a “lover” still rang in her ears. How could he? She was torn between her job as a taxidermist at the museum — a rare, meticulous profession requiring nerves of steel and a steady hand — and caring for her grandmother. And he saw in all of it only a reason for jealousy and complaints about unwashed dishes.
Her work required enormous patience. Creating stuffed animals was the art of returning the semblance of life, preserving the form after the essence had already left. And now it seemed to her that she was doing the same thing in her marriage: trying to preserve the shape of a family from which life had long since gone.
The next day, her mother, Irina Mikhailovna, called.
— Daughter, how is Mom?
— Stable. The doctor came, her blood pressure is normal, but she’s very weak. When are you planning to come?
— Oh, Marish, everything has become so complicated here. Lyosha got a project, and we can’t leave now. Just bear with it a little longer, my dear. You know the apartment will be yours anyway. Lyosha and I decided: we have enough with his house, and Grandmother’s place will go to you as inheritance. It’s fair. You’re the one taking care of her, so you should receive it.
— Mom, I’m not taking care of her for the apartment.
— I know, I know. You’re my golden girl. But things must be done properly. We’ve already prepared the documents. The deed of gift will be signed as soon as I arrive. Or the will will take effect, God forbid, of course, before its time.
Marina hung up. Her hope for understanding was weak, but it still glimmered. If they had their own apartment, maybe Igor would calm down. They would stop paying rent, and some money would be freed up. Maybe then he would stop being angry at the whole world.
Galina Vladimirovna passed away quietly in her sleep two months after that conversation. The funeral was modest but dignified. Irina Mikhailovna flew in for only two days, all in black, strict, composed, her eyes red from tears. Igor did not show up at the funeral, citing an urgent inventory at work, although Marina knew he simply did not want to “waste a day off on cemetery gloom.”
After the memorial meal, when the relatives had left, Irina Mikhailovna called her daughter into the kitchen of Grandmother’s apartment.
— Here are the documents, Marish. As I promised, I gave up my share of the inheritance in your favor. The apartment is now yours. Completely. Register the ownership and live here. Enough of you and Igor wandering around other people’s corners.
Marina burst into tears. Not from joy over the apartment, but from accumulated exhaustion and gratitude toward her mother, who had kept her word.
Igor did not take the news about the apartment the way Marina had expected. He did not hug her, did not say, “Thank you, my love, now we’ll finally start living.” His eyes lit up with that feverish shine that frightened Marina.
— A three-room place? In the center? Or where?
— A two-room apartment, Igor. A Stalin-era building. A good, quiet district.
— Two rooms… — He quickly calculated something in his head. — Listen, this is a gold mine! Stalin-era apartments are valuable now. High ceilings, thick walls.
They moved in a week later. The apartment needed renovation, but it was spacious and their own. One would think they could simply live and be happy. But the happiness lasted exactly until the first evening in the new place.
Igor walked around the rooms, tapping the walls, opening and closing windows.
— You know, Marin, I’ve been thinking. This place is too big for the two of us. We’ll go crazy paying utilities.
— Igor, it’s a normal apartment. We’re planning children, remember?
— Children… Who knows when that will happen? But business needs to be done now. Arthur says the timing is perfect. Suppliers are ready to give a discount on the first batch of chicken if we take volume.
Marina froze with a book in her hands. She was working on a difficult order — restoring an old stuffed golden eagle for the regional museum — and she needed silence, not another round of nonsense.
— What are you talking about?
— About selling, Marina! Selling this dump! — He suddenly raised his voice, and in the empty room it sounded especially loud. — We’ll sell this apartment, buy ourselves a modest one-room place, and put the difference into the business!
Disappointment covered Marina like a cold wave.
— No.
— What do you mean, “no”? Don’t you understand? This is a chance! We’ll stop counting pennies! I’ll be my own boss!
— Igor, this is our only home. My apartment. Grandma and Mom left it to me so I could live here, not so you could trade chicken legs.
— Oh, yours… — He narrowed his eyes angrily. — So when problems need solving, we’re a family, but when it comes to property, it’s yours? Am I your husband or what?
That evening the scandal was smoothed over, but it was only the calm before the storm. Igor began methodically, day after day, to “work on” his wife. He brought printouts with equipment prices, showed her some charts on his laptop, and played videos of successful entrepreneurs.
— Look, Vasya opened a spot and bought a car a month later. And we’re sitting in these walls like in a crypt!
Marina held the line. She saw how her husband’s face changed whenever she refused. It became hard, unfamiliar. His anger grew and strengthened.
One day, when she came home from work, she found Igor in the kitchen with some unfamiliar man. The man was wearing a worn jacket.
— Meet Valery, a realtor. He specializes in complicated deals, — Igor did not even stand up. — Valera says we can get a very decent sum for this apartment if we hurry. The market is at its peak right now, but it will fall soon. We need to unload the asset.
Marina slowly took off her coat.
— Get out, — she said quietly, looking at the realtor.
— What? — The man looked at Igor in confusion.
— OUT of my apartment. Right now.
— Marina, don’t be stupid! — Igor jumped up, knocking over a stool. — We’re just discussing options!
— Discuss options outside. This is MY APARTMENT. I did not consent to a sale, and I never will. If you bring buyers or appraisers here again, I’ll change the locks.
The realtor, an experienced man sensitive to scandals, quickly gathered his folders and retreated, muttering something about “family misunderstandings.”
Igor remained standing in the middle of the kitchen, red-faced, his nostrils flaring.
— You embarrassed me in front of him.
— You’re embarrassing yourself. You want to risk everything I have for your whim.
— It’s not a whim! It’s business! You’re selfish, Marina. You only think about your own comfort. Have you thought about me? I’m rotting away at this job!
— Take out a loan, Igor. If you want a business, take responsibility.
— They won’t give me a loan without collateral! And the collateral is the apartment! Sign consent for it to be used as collateral!
— Never.
That evening they slept in separate rooms. Marina locked herself in, for the first time in her life feeling danger from the person with whom she had shared a bed. She heard him walking down the corridor, muttering something, calling someone.
— Yes, Arthur, the woman is an idiot… No, I’ll pressure her… Yes, everything is still on, order the refrigerators… I said I’ll solve the issue!
Marina lay with her eyes open. Her husband had already spent money that did not exist. He had already decided everything for her. It was betrayal — pure and undiluted, like medical alcohol.
Irina Mikhailovna arrived unexpectedly, passing through before another of her husband’s business trips. She had not warned them of her visit, deciding to make it a surprise. She had her own keys, which Marina had given her “just in case.”
She quietly entered the apartment, placed her bag in the hallway, and heard voices coming from the kitchen. The door was slightly open. Igor was speaking. Loudly, breaking into a shout.
— I gave you a condition, Marina! Do you hear me? Are you stupid or pretending?
— Igor, don’t shout. I’ve said everything.
— Your “I’ve said everything” doesn’t feed me! I’ve already paid a deposit for the premises! I made arrangements with suppliers! People are waiting for money! Do you understand that you’re setting me up?
— You paid a deposit? With what? The only money in our account was what we had saved for vacation.
— Yes, I took it! And I borrowed more from Arthur! Because I’m a man. I act, unlike you, sitting on your backside with your dead birds! So listen here.
Irina Mikhailovna froze, pressing herself against the corridor wall.
— Here’s the plan, — Igor continued, and his voice held an open threat. — We sell this apartment. We buy a one-room place in a new building still at the foundation stage, and for now we live in a rental. You give me the difference. It’s an investment. In a year I’ll return everything to you with interest.
— Igor, this is nonsense. Live in a rental, wait for a building pit that might never become a building? For chicken carcasses? No.
— Then the second option. An ultimatum. Either we go to the notary tomorrow and formalize the deal, or divorce. I’m not going to live with a woman who drags me to the bottom. Choose. Right now.
Silence hung in the air. Irina Mikhailovna could hear the refrigerator humming. She imagined her daughter’s face. Pale, probably. Marina always turned pale when she was nervous.
— Divorce, — Marina said firmly. — I choose divorce. I will not sell my future for your ambitions.
There was a crash — it seemed Igor had slammed his fist on the table.
— You little… — He clearly wanted to swear, but held himself back. — Fine then! Fine, get lost! You think I’ll disappear? I’ll find myself a normal woman, one who knows how to value a man! And you’ll rot here with your stuffed animals! Just keep in mind, half the property is mine! I’ll take the appliances and the furniture too!
— The apartment is mine, — Marina cut him off. — It wasn’t bought before marriage, but it was received through inheritance. It is not subject to division. You can take the kettle and the sofa.
— I’ll make it big! — Igor shouted. — I’m packing right now. My foot won’t be here in an hour!
— Excellent, — Marina stood up. — Pack your suitcase.
Irina Mikhailovna silently stepped back into the guest room, where Grandmother had once lived. She carefully pulled the door almost closed, leaving a small crack. She needed to digest what she had heard. Her son-in-law, that polite young man who had given her flowers on March 8, had turned out to be a petty, greedy tyrant. He had cornered her daughter. He had stolen their shared savings. He had threatened her.
Anger began to boil inside her. Not hysterical womanly spite, but the cold, calculating fury of a woman who had lived a long life and seen many things. She had worked as chief technologist at a factory; she had managed men old enough to be her fathers. She knew how to put arrogant fools in their place.
Noise sounded in the corridor. Igor, panting, was dragging a suitcase. He threw things around, loudly slamming the doors of the wardrobe.
— Where’s my passport? Marina! Where did you put my passport? Hid it so I wouldn’t leave? Don’t get your hopes up!
— On the shelf in the hallway. Open your eyes, — Marina’s voice sounded tired.
— You’ll answer to me for everything. I’ll make your life hell. You’ll get tired of running around courts, — he continued threatening, winding himself up. — I’ll sue you for compensation for the repairs! I glued wallpaper here! I changed an outlet!
Marina came out into the corridor. She saw her mother standing in the doorway of the room.
— Mom? — she whispered.
Igor spun around sharply. His face, red from effort and rage, stretched in surprise.
— Irina Mikhailovna? You… How long have you been here?
— Long enough to understand what an enterprising man you are, Igor, as it turns out, — his mother-in-law said calmly. She stepped into the center of the corridor, blocking the way. She was about one meter seventy tall and carried herself with the bearing of the old school.
— Well, great then! — Igor decided he had nothing to lose. — You heard it? Your daughter is destroying the family! I’m proposing a real business, and she’s clinging to these square meters!
— I heard. Marina refused. That means the second part of your ultimatum comes into effect, — his mother-in-law folded her arms across her chest. — You move out. Right now.
— I’m already packing! Don’t order me around! I’m temporarily registered here. I have the right to be here!
— You lost the right to be here when you started blackmailing your wife. Gather your rags faster. I’m timing you. Five minutes.
— To hell with both of you! A family of lunatics! — Igor kicked the bag with his foot. — I’ll be back! With a lawyer… with legal help! I’ll squeeze money out of you for every nail hammered into the wall!
He reached toward the shoe shelf, apparently intending to throw a boot at the wall to frighten them.
— Don’t you dare damage the property, — Irina Mikhailovna’s voice became lower.
— And what will you do to me, old woman? — Igor snapped, completely losing control. Fear and despair that his brilliant plan was collapsing had turned him into a boor. — Get out of the way, or I’ll knock you down!
He took a step toward his mother-in-law, raising his hand to shove her aside.
That was a mistake. A fatal mistake.
Marina cried out, but did not even have time to move. Irina Mikhailovna did not flinch. She made one short, efficient movement. Her left hand intercepted Igor’s wrist, and her right darted toward his head. Her fingers clamped onto her son-in-law’s ear with an iron grip.
She did not merely grab it. She knew the technique: take the upper part of the ear and sharply twist it downward and away from yourself.
— A-a-a-a-a! — Igor howled in an inhuman voice. The pain was blinding, instant, and paralyzing.
Irina Mikhailovna did not let go. Keeping an absolutely calm expression on her face, she pulled him toward herself and downward, forcing him to bend almost double.
— What did you say? Knock down? — she asked quietly, straight into his reddened, distorted face. — Who are you going to knock down, you pup?
She increased the pressure. The cartilage crunched. Igor, a hefty man of nearly ninety kilograms, began to whine and stood on tiptoe, trying to ease the pain.
— Let go! It hurts! Let go, you crazy woman!
— One more swear word or insult, and I’ll tear it off, — his mother-in-law promised. — Marina, open the front door.
As if in a dream, her daughter walked to the door and flung it open. The landing was quiet.
— Move, — Irina Mikhailovna commanded, dragging her son-in-law toward the exit.
Igor tried to brace his feet, tried to grab her hands, but the pain in his ear controlled his entire body. Any resistance sent a flash of fire through his head. He went obediently, bent over, practically on his knees.
— You are not a man, Igorek. You are a parasite, — his mother-in-law said as she dragged him over the threshold. — Did you think we were two weak women? Did you think you could pressure us, shout, and everything would be handed to you on a silver platter?
She led him out onto the stairwell. Igor’s ear had already turned purple-blue.
— Remember this moment, — she said, looking him in the eyes. — If you come near my daughter again, if you call, write, or send your collector friends, I will find you. And next time, you won’t get off with just your ear. I spent thirty years at a factory dealing with men like you. Do you understand?
— I-I understand, — Igor forced out, tears of pain running from his eyes.
Irina Mikhailovna abruptly unclenched her fingers and shoved him hard in the back. Igor flew forward, tripped on a step, and sprawled on the tiled floor of the entrance.
— His things! — Irina Mikhailovna shouted to her daughter.
Marina grabbed the suitcase and sports bag standing in the hallway and threw them out the door. The suitcase rolled down the stairs with a crash, and the bag flopped down on top of Igor.
— Throw the keys here, quickly! — his mother-in-law barked.
Groaning, Igor reached into the pocket of his jeans. With trembling hands he pulled out the key ring and threw it on the floor in front of the door.
— You… you’ll regret this… — he rasped, rubbing his swollen ear.
— Get out! — Irina Mikhailovna took a step forward, and Igor, jerking in fright, crawled to collect his belongings.
The door slammed shut. The locks clicked — one, then the second, then the night latch.
Irina Mikhailovna leaned her back against the door and exhaled deeply.
— Well then, — she said in an ordinary tone, fixing her hair. — That should have been done long ago.
Marina stared at her mother with wide eyes.
— Mom… you didn’t tear off his ear, did you?
— No. But it will hurt for a long time. And it will be blue for a week. Just enough for him to look in the mirror and remember.
— He… he took the money. And got into debt, — Marina sat down on the pouf.
— Money can be earned again. The main thing is that you kept the apartment. And yourself. As for the debts, they are his problems now. He is a grown boy, a great businessman. Let him hustle.
Irina Mikhailovna went into the kitchen.
— Put the kettle on, daughter. And take out the cognac, if there is any. We need to relieve stress.
Three days passed. Igor vanished as if the earth had swallowed him. His phone was silent. On her mother’s advice, Marina filed for divorce through the government services portal.
On the fourth day, the doorbell rang. Marina looked through the peephole: Arthur was standing there, the very friend of Igor’s and ideological inspirer of the chicken business. He looked combative.
— Igor couldn’t come. He’s at the trauma clinic, — Arthur began from the threshold when Marina opened the door slightly, leaving the chain on. — You damaged his ear. That’s bodily harm! We’ll file a complaint! And he demands his share of the appliances. The laptop, the game console!
Marina was about to answer, but Irina Mikhailovna came out of the room. In her hands was a heavy professional hair dryer — she had been drying her hair. But in her hands, it looked like a pistol.
— Who’s there? — she asked loudly.
Seeing the very mother-in-law about whom Igor had stammered horror stories, Arthur involuntarily took a step back. His friend’s ear looked awful, and he had no desire to test this “crazy old woman’s” pain techniques on himself.
— I… I came for Igor’s things, — Arthur’s voice lost its confidence.
— The things were by the trash bins three days ago. If the homeless haven’t taken them, look there. And as for a complaint… go ahead and file one. Just keep in mind, I have footage from the camera in the hallway where your buddy threatens murder and extorts property. Audio recording. We’ll file a counterclaim. For extortion by a group of persons. You were involved too, weren’t you, little Arthur?
It was a bluff. There was no camera in the hallway. But Arthur did not know that. All he knew was that Igor had gotten himself into trouble, there was no money, there was nothing to pay rent with, and the refrigeration equipment was already on its way and payment was being demanded.
— To hell with you… — Arthur muttered.
— Give Igor my regards. Tell him to take care of his other ear. For symmetry, — Irina Mikhailovna smirked.
Arthur turned around and quickly went down the stairs, almost running. The supporters of the “great business” scattered at the first serious resistance.
That evening Marina learned the latest news from a mutual acquaintance, Zoya. Igor was sleeping in a friend’s car because he had no money for rent. The creditors from whom he had borrowed for the deposit had started asking questions. He had tried to return the refrigerators, but they charged him a penalty. The great schemer had ended up with nothing, with a swollen ear and no roof over his head.
Marina sat at her worktable. In front of her stood the stuffed little titmouse she was working on. It was delicate, jewel-like work. She had to restore beauty to something that seemed dead.
She looked at her hands. Strong, gripping fingers. The fingers of a master. With these hands she could create art. And with these same hands, if necessary, she could protect her home.
Her mother was sitting in the kitchen, humming something while preparing dinner.
The fear was gone. Marina understood one simple thing: anger is not always bad. Sometimes anger is fuel. It is the energy that helps you throw off ballast and take flight.
She picked up the tweezers and carefully adjusted a feather on the titmouse’s wing. The bird seemed to come alive, ready to flutter upward.
— Fly, — Marina whispered. — We’ll manage.
Igor never appeared again. A month later, they were divorced. He did not come to court, sending only an angry letter demanding the division of the cost of the repairs. But the judge, seeing the documents for the apartment and hearing Irina Mikhailovna’s testimony — which, of course, embellished her son-in-law’s threats — rejected the claim, leaving the plaintiff obliged to pay the court costs.
The poultry farm never opened its branch in that district. An apothecary soon opened in the place Igor had chosen.
Life went on, calm and fair.
