— Kira? Hello.
She held the door open and silently studied the man on the landing for several seconds.
His face seemed familiar, but her memory refused to connect it to anyone specific. His graying hair was cut short, deep lines framed his eyes, and his shoulders had noticeably drooped. In his right hand, he held a box of chocolates in shiny wrapping.
Then Kira recognized his voice.
— Dad?
— So you do recognize me, — Vadim Sergeyevich smiled awkwardly. — I was afraid you might walk right past me if we met in the street.
Kira kept her hand on the door handle.
For almost sixteen years, her father had existed somewhere far away, at the very edge of her life. She knew which city he lived in, occasionally heard news about him from relatives, and had seen several photographs online. But it had been a long time since she had imagined seeing Vadim Sergeyevich in person.
And now he was standing on her landing.
Without calling.
Without warning.
With chocolates.
— How did you end up here?
— I came to see you. I decided we’d had enough of learning about each other through other people. We need to talk.
Kira glanced at her watch. It was a Saturday in late August. Her husband and son had gone shopping, and she had planned to sort through the things in the storage room before making lunch.
Her plans had unexpectedly changed.
— Come in.
Vadim Sergeyevich stepped across the threshold and held out the box.
— This is for you.
Kira took the chocolates into the kitchen.
She did not yet know that her father had traveled several hundred kilometers for reasons that had nothing to do with finding out how his eldest daughter was doing.
She understood about ten minutes later.
Before that, Vadim Sergeyevich managed to tell Kira that she had hardly changed, ask how old his grandson was now, and remark on how quickly time passed.
He had not come to his daughter’s graduation, her wedding, or to see her after the birth of his grandson.
Yet on this August Saturday, he had suddenly found both the time and the way to reach her.
— I also wanted to talk about your grandmother’s apartment, — he finally said.
Kira stopped pouring water into a glass.
Now everything made much more sense.
— Which apartment do you mean?
— Don’t pretend you don’t understand. The one you inherited.
Kira put the pitcher on the table.
— Grandma died four months ago.
— I know.
— How?
— Svetlana told me. We spoke recently.
Svetlana was Kira’s mother’s cousin. She had attended the funeral and knew about the will.
Kira sat across from her father.
— So Svetlana told you about the apartment, and you decided to come?
— That wasn’t the only reason.
— Of course.
He noticed her tone and frowned.
— Kira, I understand that you have a lot of grievances against me. And they’re probably justified. But let’s have a proper conversation first.
— All right.
She really did decide to hear him out.
If only out of curiosity.
Her grandmother, Valentina Pavlovna, was Kira’s maternal grandmother and the person with whom Kira had spent most of her childhood.
Kira’s parents divorced when she was nine. The separation was difficult, but it did not turn into a war that lasted for years. Kira stayed with her mother, while Vadim Sergeyevich moved to another district.
At first, her father did not disappear.
He called on weekends and sometimes came to pick up his daughter. They went to the movies, took walks, and once spent two days outside the city. Kira looked forward to those meetings and packed her backpack in advance whenever she knew she would be staying with her father until Sunday.
Then Vadim Sergeyevich met another woman.
He married her.
After a while, Milana was born.
Kira remembered the day her father brought her a photograph of the baby.
— Look, you have a little sister now.
A tiny girl in a pale onesie lay in the photograph.
Kira had been genuinely happy.
She did not yet know that as her father’s new family grew, there would be less and less room in his life for his older daughter.
At first, he canceled the occasional weekend.
Then their meetings dwindled to once every few months.
— Milana has a fever.
— We have guests.
— I won’t be able to come.
— Let’s do it next time.
Next time kept being postponed.
By the time Kira was about fifteen, she had stopped waiting for her father on Saturdays.
She still tried to preserve their relationship herself.
She wished him a happy birthday.
She wrote to him before New Year’s.
When she graduated from school, she sent him a photograph of herself holding her diploma.
His response came that evening:
“Good job. Congratulations.”
That was all.
Her father did not attend her graduation.
When Kira was accepted into university, she wrote to him first again.
She received a few words in reply.
Later, she told him about her engagement.
Vadim Sergeyevich answered three days later.
He was invited to the wedding. He blamed circumstances and did not come.
After her son was born, Kira sent him a photograph of the newborn.
Her father wrote:
“Congratulations. Wishing the baby good health.”
She stared at the message for a long time and suddenly realized that she no longer wanted to struggle for the attention of a grown man.
If her father could live without her, she would learn to live without him as well.
After that, Kira stopped being the first to send greetings, remind him of her existence, or share news.
Vadim Sergeyevich did not take the initiative either.
Almost sixteen years passed that way.
Her relationship with Valentina Pavlovna was entirely different.
When Kira’s parents divorced, her grandmother did not speculate about who was to blame. She simply did what needed to be done.
She picked up her granddaughter from school whenever Kira’s mother had to work late.
She made her lunch.
She helped with homework, even though she hated mathematics and sometimes got confused by the formulas herself.
Kira could come to her upset and spend half the evening in the kitchen telling her about an argument at school. Valentina Pavlovna never rushed to offer advice. She listened first.
When Kira entered university, her grandmother regularly sent her home with bags of food.
— Don’t carry so much. It’s too heavy, — Kira protested.
— Eat it, and it’ll become lighter.
When her great-grandson Artyom was born, Valentina Pavlovna would come to Kira’s home in the morning and let her run errands.
— Go. The two of us will manage perfectly well.
As she grew older, their roles reversed.
At first, it became difficult for her grandmother to travel across the city. Then health problems appeared.
For the last several years, Kira had been the one visiting her.
She made medical appointments for Valentina Pavlovna, drove her to examinations, collected the results, and bought her medicine. Kira’s husband, Pavel, helped with household repairs whenever a faucet began leaking, a cabinet door came loose, or an electrical outlet needed replacing.
Artyom also visited his great-grandmother.
When he was old enough, he began bringing her groceries from the nearest store whenever his parents could not come.
Valentina Pavlovna died in the spring.
She was eighty-three.
Kira spent several days sorting through her belongings and repeatedly caught herself wanting to call her grandmother to ask where she should put another box or who should receive the old dinnerware set.
But there was no one left to call.
After the funeral, the notary informed her about the will.
Valentina Pavlovna had left her two-bedroom apartment to her granddaughter.
It gave Kira no reason to celebrate. During the first few weeks, she did not want to think about the property at all. Everything in the apartment reminded her of her grandmother: her cup, the calendar beside the refrigerator, the glasses in their case, and the old blanket draped over the armchair.
Only four months had passed since her death, so the inheritance proceedings were not yet complete. Kira had submitted the necessary documents to the notary and was waiting for the legally required six-month period to end.
That was what she reminded her father of now.
— I haven’t even formally received the inheritance yet.
Vadim Sergeyevich waved his hand.
— But there’s a will. That means it’s practically settled.
— Why are you so interested in it?
He picked up his glass again, although he had barely touched the water.
— I told you, I wanted to talk. And in general… things turned out badly between us.
— What things?
— Everything. Our relationship. I worked a lot, and then Milana was born, and life became hectic. You were already grown up and beginning your own life.
Kira raised her eyebrows slightly.
— At fifteen?
— I’m not saying that I acted correctly. Sometimes a person thinks, “I’ll call tomorrow.” Then something else happens. That’s how the years pass.
— Sixteen years?
— Kira, why are you counting?
She gave a faint smile.
— Because that is a rather long time.
Her father sighed.
— I didn’t come here to argue. On the contrary, I wanted to try to make things right.
— All right. Go ahead.
Vadim Sergeyevich visibly brightened. He asked about Pavel and Artyom and wanted to know where his grandson planned to study after finishing school.
Kira answered briefly.
The conversation felt strange. Her father was asking questions about people he knew almost nothing about, even though one of them was his own grandson.
Then the subject of Artyom disappeared.
Milana took his place.
— She got married recently, — Vadim Sergeyevich said.
— I heard.
— He’s a good man. He has a job. They’re renting a place now.
— I see.
— It’s difficult for them, of course. They’re young and just getting started.
Kira already suspected where the conversation was heading, but she decided not to help her father reach his destination.
He could say it himself.
— Milana is twenty-four. It’s the perfect age to start building a life. They’ll have children eventually. Living in a rented apartment is inconvenient.
— Probably.
Vadim Sergeyevich paused.
— You already have an apartment of your own.
— I do.
— A three-bedroom apartment.
Kira looked directly at him.
— Did you come here to find out how many rooms it has?
— That has nothing to do with it. The situation just seems a little illogical.
— What does?
He finally stopped dancing around the subject.
— Why do you need two apartments? Give your grandmother’s apartment to Milana. The young couple needs somewhere to start.
Kira did not answer immediately.
Not because she was confused.
She wanted to make sure she had really heard him correctly.
A man she had not seen for almost sixteen years had traveled from another city, brought a box of chocolates, and within minutes suggested that she give her inheritance to his younger daughter.
— Please repeat that.
Vadim Sergeyevich took her request as an invitation to continue.
— I’m saying that you already have a home. You and Pavel are doing well. Your grandmother’s apartment is essentially unnecessary for you. Meanwhile, Milana and her husband pay rent every month. If you look at it rationally, she needs the apartment far more than you do.
— And how exactly do you imagine transferring it to her?
— Once the inheritance is registered in your name, you can sign it over as a gift.
Apparently, he had already thought through even that detail.
Kira placed her palms on the table.
— Why Milana?
Her father looked surprised.
— She’s your sister.
— Milana has parents.
— Yes.
— You and her mother.
— Of course.
— Then why are you suggesting that your daughter’s housing problem should be solved with an apartment inherited from my grandmother?
Vadim Sergeyevich grimaced.
— Don’t talk as though I’m taking the last thing you own. You genuinely don’t need that apartment.
— You decided that?
— It’s obvious.
Kira rose and walked over to the window.
In the courtyard, a boy was wheeling a bicycle toward the entrance. A woman was walking a small dog. An ordinary August day continued while, in Kira’s kitchen, a man from her past decided what should happen to her late grandmother’s apartment.
She turned around.
— Tell me, when did Milana last see Valentina Pavlovna?
Her father hesitated.
— What does that have to do with anything?
— Just answer.
— Well… probably a long time ago.
— When?
Vadim Sergeyevich rubbed his chin.
— I don’t remember.
— Let me help you. Never.
He frowned.
— Perhaps. But your grandmother wasn’t related to her.
— Exactly.
Valentina Pavlovna was Kira’s maternal grandmother. After her daughter’s divorce, she had no connection to Vadim Sergeyevich, much less to Milana.
— Does Milana even know my grandmother’s name? — Kira asked.
— Now you’re just being petty.
— How many times have Milana and I met?
— You spent time together when you were young.
— A few times. I was about sixteen the last time I saw her. We’ve barely crossed paths since then.
— That doesn’t change the fact that you’re sisters.
— Through our father. The same father who didn’t speak to his eldest daughter for sixteen years.
Vadim Sergeyevich pushed his glass away.
— There you go again.
— I’m only clarifying the facts.
He raised his voice.
— And I’m trying to explain something very simple to you! If one person doesn’t need a home and another does, why can’t you help? Milana isn’t a stranger to you.
— She practically is.
— She’s your own sister!
Kira studied her father.
That was especially interesting.
For sixteen years, the phrase “your own daughter” had done nothing to help him pick up the phone and call her.
Now blood relations had suddenly become his main argument.
— An older sister could support her younger sister, — Vadim Sergeyevich continued. — Especially since you’re already settled. You have a husband, a son, and a nice apartment. They’re only getting started.
— So you want me to give a two-bedroom apartment to someone I barely know.
— Not “someone.” Your sister.
— Fine. Then let’s talk about family.
Kira picked up her phone.
She rarely deleted old conversations. Her father’s contact was still saved simply as “Dad,” although that word had long looked almost accidental in her contact list.
Kira opened their conversation.
There were very few messages.
She had sent the last one five years earlier.
At the time, one of Vadim Sergeyevich’s former schoolteachers, with whom he had once been close, had died. Kira had learned about it by chance and decided to tell her father.
She had also written:
“How are you doing? I haven’t heard anything from you in a long time. Call me if you want.”
A read receipt appeared beneath the message.
There had been no reply.
Kira placed the phone in front of her father.
— Read it.
He glanced quickly at the screen.
— So what?
— I sent you that last message five years ago. You read it.
— I was probably busy.
— For five years?
— Don’t twist things.
— I’m not twisting anything. I’m interested in something else. Why did family suddenly become so important after an apartment appeared?
Vadim Sergeyevich’s face changed. His cheeks reddened, and two deep creases appeared on his forehead.
— So this is how you’ve decided to speak to me.
— How should I speak to you?
— I came to see you after all these years and tried to repair our relationship, yet you dig up old messages and throw them in my face.
— You came after learning about the inheritance.
— I had thought about coming before.
— But you came now.
— Because now I had a reason!
Kira gave a short laugh.
— That is one thing we agree on.
Vadim Sergeyevich leaned back in his chair.
— You’re reducing everything to the apartment. I didn’t expect that from you.
— Me?
— Yes, you. I’m talking about your sister, relationships, and the need to support one another. Meanwhile, you’re counting how many times each person called and arguing about who owns the property.
Kira took her phone back.
— Dad, I’ve never once asked you for money during all these years.
He remained silent.
— I never asked what you owned. I never showed any interest in your apartment. I never asked you to help Pavel and me. I didn’t call you after Artyom was born and ask you to buy things for him. Even when Grandma became ill and the expenses increased, it never occurred to me to look for you.
— I didn’t know she was ill.
— Because you knew nothing about my life.
Vadim Sergeyevich tried to interrupt, but Kira continued:
— And after sixteen years, you were the first person to speak to me about property. Not me—you. So don’t try to tell me that I’m the one reducing relationships to possessions.
He turned toward the window.
For several seconds, the only sound was a car passing outside.
— Fine, — he finally said. — Let’s say I’m a bad father. Does that make you feel better?
— I’m not fifteen anymore. I’m not going to debate whether you’re a good father or a bad one. I want to understand why you believe you have the right to decide what happens to Grandma’s apartment.
— I’m not deciding anything. I’m making a suggestion.
— Then you’ll hear my answer. No.
He turned his head sharply.
— You won’t even think about it?
— I already have.
— In two minutes?
— I don’t need a week to decide whether I want to give my property to a married couple I don’t know.
— Milana isn’t a stranger!
— I’ve never even seen her husband. The last time I saw Milana, she was a child.
— That’s exactly why you don’t have a relationship! No one wants to make the first move.
— Is an apartment what we’re calling the first move now?
Vadim Sergeyevich clenched his jaw.
— You know perfectly well what I mean.
— No. But I understand something else perfectly well. Grandma chose to leave the apartment to me. It was her property and her decision. I have no intention of changing it.
In reality, Kira already knew what she would do once the inheritance process was complete.
She did not want to sell the apartment.
During the first few months after her grandmother’s death, it had been difficult to imagine strangers living there at all. Gradually, however, she arrived at a practical solution. Once she received the inheritance certificate and registered the property, she could renovate the apartment and rent it out.
She would save part of the rental income for Artyom.
Her son was fourteen. In a few years, he would be applying to university, and Kira did not know whether he would choose to study in their hometown or move away. Either way, the money would be useful.
That was what she told her father.
— I’m going to rent out the apartment. Part of the income will go toward Artyom’s education.
— Your son has parents.
Kira looked at him in surprise.
— Finally, a sensible thought.
Vadim Sergeyevich realized what he had said and irritably tapped his fingers against the table.
— That isn’t what I meant.
— But that’s exactly how it came out. My son has parents, so Pavel and I are responsible for his future. Milana has parents too.
— You know I don’t have a spare apartment.
— Then help her financially.
— It isn’t that simple.
— Of course. Giving away someone else’s apartment is much easier.
— Kira!
— What?
— Can you speak without mocking me?
— Yes. Milana needs help with housing, so help her as generously as you believe necessary. Use your own money and your own property. You and her mother can save for a down payment, help with the rent, or find another solution. Grandma’s apartment is not one of those solutions.
Vadim Sergeyevich stood up.
Half an hour earlier, he had supposedly intended to repair their relationship, remember the past, and express regret over the lost years.
Now that regret had vanished.
— I never thought you would become like this.
Kira stood as well.
— Like what?
— Hard. Keeping everything for yourself.
She looked at the box of chocolates beside the refrigerator.
— That’s funny coming from a man who came here to ask for an apartment for his younger daughter.
— I didn’t ask for anything for myself!
— That makes it especially easy for you.
He picked up his jacket.
Kira did not try to stop him.
Vadim Sergeyevich turned around at the door.
— Milana would have acted differently in your place.
— Perhaps. When Milana inherits an apartment from someone she cared for over several years, you can find out.
— Do you always have to have the last word?
— No. Just close the door behind you.
Vadim Sergeyevich left.
That evening, Kira gave the box of chocolates to Pavel.
— Who are these from? — her husband asked in surprise.
— My father.
Pavel froze.
— Vadim Sergeyevich?
— He came in person.
— Wow. Why?
Kira looked at the box.
— In short, he came for Grandma’s apartment.
Her husband thought she was joking.
She had to explain everything in detail.
Pavel listened silently. When Kira finished, he asked only one question:
— Did he at least understand your answer?
— I think so. But he didn’t like it.
The first message arrived the next day.
Vadim Sergeyevich wrote more than he had during all the previous years combined.
He claimed that Kira had misunderstood his intentions. Then he began saying that close relatives should not measure everything in square meters. Next came a sentence about Milana not having done anything wrong to her older sister.
Kira replied once:
“I have nothing against Milana. I will not give her the apartment. There is nothing more to discuss.”
Her father did not stop.
Another message arrived two days later.
Then another.
In one, he accused his daughter of greed. In another, he lectured her about an older sister’s duty toward her younger sister. Then he wrote that Valentina Pavlovna surely would not have wanted a quarrel between relatives.
Kira did not respond to that.
Her grandmother most certainly had not left Kira the apartment so that her former son-in-law could appoint its new owner four months after her death.
Kira did not block her father.
She saw no need.
Her phone lay on the table while messages appeared, and she went about her life. She drove Artyom to practice, worked, sorted through the rest of her grandmother’s documents, and met with the notary.
By early September, Vadim Sergeyevich had gone silent.
No questions about his grandson.
No suggestion that they meet again.
Not even a casual phone call.
Kira noticed only several days later.
That evening, she and Pavel were walking home from the store. Artyom walked ahead of them, telling his father something about an upcoming competition while swinging a bag of cookies.
Kira listened only half attentively and suddenly remembered Vadim Sergeyevich’s appearance that Saturday.
For sixteen years, he had been unable to find the way to his eldest daughter.
He had not come to her graduation.
He had not come to her wedding.
He had not seen his newborn grandson.
He had not answered when Kira herself had left the door open for him to return to her life.
But the moment a mutual relative mentioned her grandmother’s two-bedroom apartment, he found the way immediately.
He had even remembered to buy chocolates.
Kira felt no desire to call him and have another conversation. Vadim Sergeyevich had already explained everything necessary through his actions.
He had not returned because he had woken up one day and realized how many years he had lost.
For the first time in a long while, his eldest daughter had simply become useful to him again.
Kira took out the keys to her apartment and opened the door.
The phone in her bag remained silent.
