When Uncle Kolya died, no one cried. Well, maybe only Lidiya Arkadyevna, the neighbor from the landing, who for some reason had been holding his arm during his last months and sometimes brought him fish cutlets.
The other relatives mourned in their own way:
— Eh, he didn’t live long enough…
— Yeah, pity… But still, I wonder, who has the keys?
The deceased was childless, lonely, and owned a decent three-room apartment in a Stalin-era building on Prospekt Mira. Plus a parking space in the underground garage. Plus a garage on Elektrozavodskaya, which had long been rented out to some guy for tire service. Plus a car — an old Camry, but in perfect condition because Uncle Kolya was a meticulous man with the soul of a lathe operator. And he also had about one and a half million rubles in his bank account, which he called “for a world war or major repairs.”
Victoria looked at the funeral table, on which stood a bottle of “Pyatyo Ozyor” vodka, two cans of sprats, three kinds of Olivier salad from various relatives, and a plastic vase with a single carnation.
Her husband Dmitry quietly ate herring under a fur coat salad, staring into the void. And from his expression, it was clear: he was praying that no one would mention the word “inheritance” right now.
— Well, now the main question, — Natalia, Dmitry’s sister, spoke up, stretching her neck as if a miracle had appeared on the horizon. — Is there a will?
— Where would there be one? — their mother, Ekaterina Petrovna, snapped, adjusting her brocade blouse. — He was, forgive me, like a child. Always thought he still had time…
— But I heard he often talked with Vika. Maybe he did manage it, — Natalia said slowly, narrowing her eyes. — We have an accountant at work who told everyone he wasn’t going to die. And then bam — he left his apartment to his wife. And not a single penny for anyone else!
Victoria sipped her mineral water.
— Well, we’re not exactly accountants. And Uncle Kolya wasn’t senile. And anyway, we just talked. Sometimes.
— Sometimes! — Natalia mocked. — Sometimes you even got a new ring. Could that be from the three-room apartment?
Dmitry exhaled through his nose.
— Natasha, don’t exaggerate.
— I’m not exaggerating, — raising her voice now — I just want to understand: we’re eating fish here, but who has the keys to the apartment?
— I took them, — Victoria said calmly. — Because he gave them to me himself back in November. He said if anything happens — come and check if there’s a flood. He was still on IV drips two days before he died.
A silence fell so heavy you could hear the neighbor Lidiya Arkadyevna’s husband lazily poking the salad with a spoon, thinking how to get out of here early.
— Are you alone? — Ekaterina Petrovna squinted. — Where was Dima?
— At work. He’s a busy man, you know.
— Uh-huh. So now you’re the mistress there? — with emphasis. — Bravo, Victoria. That’s what I call a thoughtful wife. While others worried about how to manage, she kept the inheritance for herself.
Victoria put down her fork and looked at her mother-in-law.
— I didn’t steal anything. And I didn’t put the apartment in my name. But Uncle Kolya, by the way, did leave a will. At the notary.
That hit the room like a bomb in a gas-filled chamber.
Everyone immediately started fussing. Someone dropped a fork. Ekaterina Petrovna grabbed her purse.
— A will? — Natalia repeated. — Has it been opened?
— No. It will be opened in a week. As it should be.
— How do you know?
— Because I was there. Uncle asked me to accompany him. Nothing special. He just wanted everything legal. And without fights.
The fights, by the way, almost started right there.
While Dmitry tried to smooth things over:
— Mom, Natasha, what are you doing? Nothing is known yet. Let’s stay calm. The notary will decide anyway.
— Notary… — snorted Ekaterina Petrovna. — Nowadays notaries will write anything for a good bottle of wine. And then you run around proving you’re family. They’ll sell everything, re-register it, and we’ll get nothing.
— Mom, what are you talking about? — Dmitry raised his voice for the first time in a long while.
— And what? Am I wrong?! — she stood up. — I raised that brother from childhood! I wiped his snot! I bought him his first coat! And now, apparently, my daughter-in-law is the closest!
Victoria lost patience:
— Listen, Ekaterina Petrovna, if we’re being honest, I was the only one who visited him in his last months. You should be ashamed to remember that. You even forgot his birthday.
— Because I had high blood pressure! And no one could run to the pharmacy because my son only runs after you and your editorial offices!
— Mom, enough, — Dmitry tried to intervene.
— No, it’s not enough! She thinks if the old man dies, the apartment is hers?! I’ve seen people like that — they crawl into a family like a tick and won’t come out.
— I’ve been in the family for fifteen years, Ekaterina Petrovna. You all just hoped I would suddenly disappear.
— And I still hope, — she muttered. — Because you’re not my son’s match. Neither by manners nor by blood.
Silence lasted about ten seconds. Then Victoria said calmly:
— The will will be read in a week. The notary invited everyone. And if you want to keep making a theater, at least buy tickets. Because I’m no longer an actress in this play. I’m now an audience member. With champagne.
Late at night, Victoria and Dmitry were returning home in a taxi. He sat silently, clenching his fists, staring out the window.
— Sorry, — he said quietly. — For everything. For them. For you getting caught up in this.
— I don’t regret it, — Victoria said. — But if Uncle Kolya really left us this apartment — we have to arrange everything quickly. Before Natasha brings in a realtor.
— Uh-huh… You know, I don’t recognize them anymore. Mom, Natasha, even Andrey somehow… everyone seems to have gone wild.
— Money. Apartment. The chance to live without a mortgage. Now they’re like trophy hunters. But the prey is us.
The taxi driver turned and snorted:
— I sympathize. I had the same with my mother-in-law. Until I divided the apartment with her, she fainted at every call.
— And then? — Victoria asked.
— Then she outlived everyone. Even the cockroaches moved out. So good luck to you.
A week later — the will.
And there was only one name in it.
Victoria.
When the will was read, the room became so quiet you could hear Natalia shifting her leather purse.
— So, — said the notary, a tired woman around fifty with a weary look and no hint of surprise. — Nikolay Ilyich, who died on March 3, left a will dated December 15 last year. According to it, the apartment, garage, car, and bank accounts are transferred to Victoria Sergeyevna Sokolova, the wife of the nephew.
— What Sokolova? — Ekaterina Petrovna asked, as if the notary just suggested selling her kidney. — She’s not family!
— Well, — Natalia interjected with a sour smirk. — It’s like a parasite: at first you don’t notice, then it’s everywhere.
— The will is certified in the presence of witnesses, — the notary continued dryly. — There are signatures, seals, documents attached. Everything is legal. If you want to contest it — here’s the application, it must be filed within six months.
— We won’t contest, — Dmitry said suddenly. — It’s all fair. He really discussed everything. With us. And with Vika.
“With us.” Victoria twitched inwardly. Interesting, who is this “us”? Because when Dima called Uncle Kolya, he repeatedly said:
— Let your wife come, she understands what’s what. And you, Dimka, just choose your car on sale.
— Excuse me, but how is this possible?! — Natalia shouted, already boiling. — I’m his own niece! We brought him bags with mom! He told us he loved us!
— He loved me too, — Victoria said calmly. — But he also had a plan. He didn’t want his property to be torn apart. He didn’t believe anyone but me would handle it.
— Too late. It already has! — Ekaterina Petrovna shouted. — You think you’re a queen here, huh?! Clinging to the inheritance like it’s someone else’s fridge!
— Mom, please… — Dmitry tried to stop her, but it was too late.
Natalia jumped up.
— I will contest! I will fight! I know how people like her play. First she brought cutlets, then took the keys, then — bam, the apartment is hers. Everything is clear.
— Of course, — Victoria smirked. — And you’re just princesses of virtue who brought bags of mandarins at New Year. All out of love.
— WE are FAMILY! — Ekaterina Petrovna hissed emphatically. — And you — nobody.
— And now — someone. The owner of the apartment, for example, — Victoria said, stood up, took the envelope with documents, and headed to the exit.
Two days later Natalia stood at their door with her husband — a lanky accountant with eyes full of condemnation.
— We want to discuss everything, — she said, entering the hallway without invitation as if she were a courier from the court.
— Come in, — Dmitry muttered politely but immediately went to the coffee machine like to a trench.
— We consulted, — Natalia began, plopping down in a chair. — And decided: Victoria should give half. That would be fair. Otherwise, we go to court.
— Half of what? — Vika asked dryly.
— Everything! The apartment is worth millions. You think we’ll just leave it? I can put my kids on their feet with that money. I’m paying my mortgage! And you’re here like in a soap opera: came, saw, signed.
— Seriously? Who cared for him in the last months? Who stayed with him in the hospital, who wheeled him down the corridors at night?
— Are you trying to shame us with that?! — Natalia squealed. — Like you’re white and fluffy and we’re jackals?!
— If you were jackals, you would at least have waited 40 days out of politeness.
Natalia’s husband coughed:
— You understand, it’s not out of spite. It’s just too much. We were left with nothing. Everyone has problems. We have a loan, children. And now you have the apartment. It’s unfair.
— Fair, — Victoria answered calmly. — Because that was his decision. Not yours.
— Then court, — Natalia said sharply, standing up. — And don’t say I didn’t warn you.
It was stuffy in the kitchen. Dmitry smoked silently by the window.
— Why are you silent? — Victoria asked, not lifting her head from her cup.
— I just… don’t understand. They’ve gone mad. Natasha… mom… It feels like we’re in some wild comedy.
— It’s not a comedy, Dim. It’s family. All the absurdity — that’s them. Just there was no reason for it to show before.
He didn’t answer. Just slowly stubbed out the cigarette on the coffee jar lid.
— Whose side are you on? — she suddenly asked.
He looked at her. Tired, worn out, with a shadow of guilt under his eyes.
— I’m on yours. But I’m scared. That all this… will destroy us.
Vika stood, came to him, looked into his eyes.
— They won’t destroy us. Only one thing will — if you start doubting who’s with you and who’s against.
He sighed.
— Then hold on tight.
— I already am, Dim. Tighter than ever.
That very evening they received a notification:
Natalia Sergeyevna Rogova filed a lawsuit to invalidate the will.
And the signature below:
“due to possible influence on the testator, as well as doubts about his legal capacity.”
— They want to say I persuaded him? — Vika asked quietly. — That he was crazy?
— They won’t stop, — Dmitry said gloomily. — But it’s okay. We’ll get through it.
— The main thing is that you don’t start thinking they’re right.
He looked at her. For a long time.
— And you don’t start thinking I’m weak.
From that evening, they began sleeping badly.
One reached for the other. The other turned away.
The apartment walls pressed in. Uncle Kolya’s things were silent but present. As if it really wasn’t clear — is this our apartment, or just temporary lodging granted by fate.
Ahead was the court. And Ekaterina Petrovna, who had not yet said her last word.
The judge was young, with a polite expression that quickly turned into “what am I doing here.” The hearing had lasted three hours. Everyone was tense.
— Plaintiffs claim, — the judge’s assistant monotonously read, — that the will was made under pressure. They point to the testator’s mental state in recent months, including use of painkillers that may have affected his will.
Victoria sat straight as if her spine was made of iron rods. Dmitry nervously fiddled with his watch strap. Natalia whispered something to her lawyer, a woman with a face like she was ready to trample an opponent in a parking fight.
— The court heard testimony from the attending physician, — continued the assistant. — Medical records show Nikolay Ilyich was conscious, sane, not registered with a psychiatrist, took medications in doses not affecting his legal capacity.
The judge tiredly rubbed his temples.
— Question to the defendant. Victoria Sergeyevna, did you pressure Nikolay Ilyich?
— No, — she answered calmly. — He decided everything himself. We talked a lot. He didn’t want his property to be scattered. He didn’t believe anyone but me would handle it.
— Did you record it on tape, like many do? — Natalia jumped up. — Do you have video proof? Maybe even a signature in blood?
The judge looked at her like a dog about to chew on a table leg.
— No yelling, please. This is a court, not a fight on a bus.
The decision was made the next day.
— The court recognizes the will as valid. Claim denied.
Dmitry looked at the ruling as if it was written in ancient Chinese.
— So, that’s it? The end?
— It’s only the beginning, — Victoria sighed. — Now it’s “goodbye, family.” In full force.
And she was right.
That evening Ekaterina Petrovna stood at the door. In her hands — a box of photographs, in her eyes — a storm.
— This is for you, — she said and passed by Victoria as if the apartment was hers.
— Is greeting not fashionable anymore? — Vika threw after her, closing the door.
— No one to greet, — Ekaterina Petrovna said sharply, putting the box on the table. — There is no family here anymore. Only property.
— If you want to say something — say it, — Victoria said calmly. — Just no theater. We won the court case. That’s a fact.
— Won? — Ekaterina smirked. — You think you won because you have a piece of paper? Have you looked in the mirror? Who are you now? The woman because of whom brother and sister no longer talk. Mother and son look at each other like enemies.
— I’m the one who didn’t let the deceased’s apartment become a public toilet. I defended what he trusted me with. Not you. Not “family.” Me.
— You think I just couldn’t stand her, — Ekaterina turned to Dmitry. — And you listened, saying “mom, don’t touch, mom, please don’t.” And now what?! You listen to her. And what about us? And me?
— Mom, — Dmitry said calmly, — you always want me to choose. Between you and my wife. Between family and family. Have you ever tried not to put me in that position?
— She’s the one who turned you against us, right?
— No. It’s you — all these years. I just closed my eyes before. Now I opened them.
Ekaterina Petrovna jumped up, her face flushed red.
— I see. Well then. Live your life. But without us.
She spun sharply and left. Slammed the door.
Victoria silently approached the box, opened it. There were old black-and-white photos. Nikolay Ilyich in youth. Military service. Fishing. Dmitry’s parents’ wedding. Then Victoria and Dmitry’s wedding. And one photo she hadn’t seen before: Uncle Kolya sitting in his chair, and she was next to him. His face was tired but calm.
On the back was written in Nikolay’s handwriting:
“You can’t fool her. Smart. Let everything be hers.”
— So what now? — Dmitry asked in the evening.
— Now… — Victoria said, wrapping herself in a blanket — we live. In our apartment. With debts, enemies, but a clear conscience.
— And the relatives?
— And what about relatives? Those who love will stay. The rest can live with what they chose.
He sat down next to her.
— You know, I used to think strong women were scary.
— And?
— Yes. Very scary. Especially when they’re right.
— But you’re still with me.
— And you’re still mine.
They sat silently. Snow fell outside.
On the windowsill was a cup of half-drunk tea and a file:
“The decision has entered into legal force.”
And it wasn’t about the court. It was about them.
