No one warns you that family can become your worst enemy. Especially when your older sister suddenly announces that she plans to move into your home for three months, as though you owe her something. And yet there was a time when I was the one standing with my hand out, begging for help, only to be met with contempt. Now the wheel of fortune has turned, but some wounds never truly heal.
It all began many years ago, in the early 2000s, in a sleepy little town where everyone knew everyone else. I had a son with a musician named Maxim, who vanished as soon as our little Danilka turned six months old. The romantic rocker chose the bright lights of Moscow over family responsibilities.
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Money was desperately tight. I had rent to pay, and my only source of income was my student stipend, which barely covered diapers. That was when I finally decided to turn to Liza, my older sister.
“Hello, Liza. It’s Ira,” I said into the phone, summoning all my courage. “Can you talk for a minute?”
“What happened?” Her voice was as cold as a winter wind.
“Maxim disappeared and left me alone with the baby. Could you lend me a little money? Just until I get my stipend.”
“What am I, an ATM?” Liza exploded. “Oleg and I are about to go on vacation. Every penny matters.”
“I’m only asking for a small amount,” I insisted, even though my pride was already screaming at me to hang up. “Just enough to get by…”
“You’ll manage somehow,” my sister snapped. “Deal with your own problems. I’m busy. We’ll talk some other time.”
The beeping on the other end sounded like a sentence being handed down. Danilka looked at me with his enormous eyes, as though he understood how hopeless the situation was.
My relationship with Liza had never been warm. Ever since childhood, Mom had always favored her eldest daughter, considering her a talented athlete and future figure-skating star.
“Look how gracefully Liza lands her jumps!” Mom would gush. “And you can’t even stand properly on skates, you klutz.”
“But I get straight A’s at school,” I would object timidly. “I only have one B, in physical education…”
“A B in PE! What a disgrace!” Liza would shout from the other room. “Imagine that—a champion like me having such an unathletic little sister.”
Mom and Liza were convinced that athletic achievements mattered more than academic success. They simply could not understand that not everyone was born to conquer the ice.
Liza’s sporting career ended abruptly. At fifteen, she lost a regional competition and caused a massive scandal, accusing the judges of bias. The scene became legendary—witnesses talked about it for years afterward.
After that, Liza fell out with both her coaches and the sports administration. Her special treatment ended, and her teachers finally started holding her accountable.
“Help your sister with her homework,” Mom would order me. “You can see how difficult school is for her. Write her essay. You have a talent for literature.”
I helped her even though I was two years younger. After eighth grade, Liza entered a vocational school to train as a seamstress, and later started an affair with one of the managers at the garment factory.
“See? I was right!” Liza gloated. “Education isn’t the most important thing in life. I live with an influential man, while you’ll always be nothing but a bookworm.”
The only person who supported me was my father. Mom never liked talking about his death during a business trip. Dad had always said that education was the foundation of a successful future.
“Liza chose the easy road because she’s relying on her looks,” Dad had explained. “But beauty fades, while knowledge stays with you. What will she do when her attractiveness disappears? Mop floors?”
I remembered those words and decided that, no matter what happened, I would get a university education despite being less striking in appearance than my sister.
“I don’t have money for your education!” Mom threw up her hands when she heard about my plans to apply to university. “Either change your plans or find the money yourself.”
My grandmother on my father’s side came to my rescue. I was her favorite because I always helped her during summer holidays in the village.
“Here you go, sweetheart!” Grandma pulled a thick envelope from behind an icon. “I’ve been saving this for your education for years. Go with God!”
She gave me her blessing, and I went to the regional capital to enroll in the economics department. A dorm room, intense studying, praise from professors—everything was going according to plan.
I barely spoke to my family, and they made no effort to contact me either.
During my third year, Maxim burst into my life. He was the lead singer of a local rock band that performed at a student café. Our relationship developed quickly, and the pregnancy came as a surprise. Maxim was happy at first, but when Danilka turned six months old, he disappeared without a trace. His friends told me he had gone to Moscow to chase his dreams.
While on academic leave, I suddenly found myself needing to pay rent without any source of income. My attempt to get help from my sister failed, as you already know.
I had no choice but to look for work online. My aptitude for languages and strong writing skills, developed through countless hours of reading, became my salvation.
Little by little, my income grew, but I had to work myself to exhaustion.
“How are you doing?” my classmate Ksenia asked when she stopped by one day. “Still sitting in front of that computer all the time?”
“We survive however we can,” I sighed. “We have to live somehow.”
“I’m inviting you to my birthday party on Saturday,” Ksenia announced. “Will you come?”
“I’d love to, but what am I supposed to do with Danilka?” I hesitated. “It would be awkward to bring a child…”
“Nonsense!” my friend waved the concern away. “Bring your son. I’m not leaving you alone. And absolutely no presents—you’re having a hard enough time already.”
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Even so, I bought a modest but good bottle of French perfume. I went to the party with Danilka in my arms, having no idea that I was about to meet the man who would change my life—Roman.
“Meet my cousin Roma,” Ksenia said, introducing me to a tall, broad-shouldered young man. “Roma, this is Ira. I’ll play with the little one for a while.”
She took Danilka and began showing him funny finger tricks. My son laughed delightedly.
“Ira, do you know how to dance?” Roman asked unexpectedly.
I absolutely did not, but I liked Ksenia’s cousin so much that I gave him a dignified nod and held out my hand. I spent the entire evening alternating between dancing and looking after my son. It was exhausting, but fun. Roman offered to drive us home.
“Your neighborhood is… interesting,” he whistled when he saw our building.
“It was all I could afford,” I admitted honestly. “If I earned more, I’d move closer to the city center.”
“I actually live in the center,” Roman replied. “I recently paid off my mortgage, so now I can finally relax.”
Now let me return to the present.
Roman and I are married and live in the central part of the city. I have a good job, we have a daughter named Masha, and Danilka is already in school.
Roman owns his own construction company, and we live comfortably. We barely communicate with my relatives, except occasionally on holidays. Liza never married and changes boyfriends with remarkable regularity. Her former beauty has faded, although she can still attract male attention. She works as a sales assistant in a chain store, hates her job, yet continues dreaming of finding a prince—though at her age, perhaps she should already be looking for a king.
Ksenia visits us often. She is the godmother of our children. She opened a cozy beauty salon and married well. Everything in my life turned out wonderfully. I am surrounded by wonderful people, and my children are my greatest treasure.
The trouble began when Liza suddenly started calling me every day, claiming that she missed me. I found that hard to believe.
“So this is the legendary figure-skating sister?” Roman asked, studying her photograph. He had never met her in person—neither Mom nor Liza had attended our wedding.
“Yes, that’s her,” I nodded. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” Roman shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, no one in the world is more beautiful than you.”
“Flatterer!” I laughed. “You probably want something.”
“Exactly,” my husband sighed theatrically. “Would you make your famous potato pancakes? They’re so good I could eat an entire frying pan’s worth.”
“Fine,” I agreed. “But you’re peeling and grating the potatoes. I just had my nails done.”
“I’m off to the kitchen!” Roman genuinely jumped to his feet and hurried away to prepare the potatoes.
I was about to follow him when my phone rang. The screen showed “Sister.”
I answered pleasantly enough, but what I heard left me stunned.
“I’m going to move in with you for a few months. Get everything ready for my arrival,” my sister said.
“Please repeat that, slowly,” I asked.
Liza repeated herself.
“What’s so difficult to understand? I’m moving to your city! A big city means more opportunities. There’s nothing for me in this dump anymore, understand?”
For several minutes, I sat in silence, shocked by her audacity. Eventually, I managed to gather my thoughts.
“So that’s why you’ve been calling me so often? You were preparing the ground?”
“What’s wrong with that?” my sister asked, genuinely surprised. “We’re family. We’re supposed to support each other.”
“Except when I asked you for support, you refused me, even though I was in a desperate situation,” I said coldly.
“Oh, come on. Ancient history,” Liza snorted. “That was a hundred years ago. Why don’t you bring up kindergarten while you’re at it?”
“Maybe it seems insignificant to you, but it was extremely painful for me,” I replied. “I’m not vindictive, but what you did hurt me deeply.”
“Oh, stop being difficult!” Liza was losing patience. “I said I’m coming, so I’m coming. Give me the address!”
“Our address is neither house nor street—our address is the Soviet Union,” Roman suddenly said, snatching the phone out of my hand. He had grown tired of waiting for me in the kitchen and had come to see what was happening.
“What Soviet Union? Who is this?” my sister asked, confused.
“This is Moscow speaking. The exact time is fifteen hundred hours,” Roman barked. “I’m your sister’s husband, Liza. I know your entire history, which is why I’m stepping in. All matters concerning my property are decided exclusively by me. If you have any complaints, send them by email to: not-a-chance-doggie at mail dot ru. Sorry, we’re busy. Don’t miss us too much. Have a nice day.”
Roman ended the call without waiting for the stream of insults to finish.
“She’s certainly got quite a personality,” he remarked. “Anyway, the potatoes are turning dark. I grated them ages ago.”
“Let’s go!” I shook myself out of my thoughts. “Why waste time on pointless conversations?”
That evening, Mom called, but Roman answered the phone again and responded so sharply and wittily that she eventually hung up herself.
My relatives haven’t bothered us since, and that is exactly how it should be.
I have nothing left to say to them.
All the words that needed to be spoken were left in the past.
