Alisa sat in the dispatch office, staring blankly at her sneakers.
The right one had come slightly unglued where the sole met the upper, and whenever the street was covered in slush from melting snow and road chemicals, her foot instantly got wet. Gluing her shoes with superglue on Sundays had already become her small, dreary ritual.
A work laptop lay on her knees, while her personal phone vibrated nonstop in the pocket of her jacket: notifications from the logistics chat were pouring in.
It was already past nine in the evening…
For the last three years, the girl had lived in “make it to the pharmacy before closing” mode.
During the day, she balanced debits and credits at an office near Savyolovskaya, and in the evenings and on weekends she took shifts as a delivery coordinator. All her salary, minus utilities and a pack of the cheapest pasta, went toward medicine for her mother.
After Covid, everything in Yadviga Pavlovna’s body had started failing: her heart, blood vessels, joints. The doctors at the local clinic only shrugged and advised her to “keep monitoring it,” so Alisa had to take her mother to a private clinic and pay for endless IV drips, ultrasounds, and rehabilitation specialists.
“Alisochka, just don’t tell Yegorushka how much all this costs,” her mother would say with a weak smile, lying on starched sheets. “He’s going through such a difficult period right now… he’s launching a startup, looking for investors. He can’t be stressed; he gets migraines immediately.”
The “boy,” Yegorushka, was twenty-six. The only startups in his life were debts, eternal searches for himself, and the ability to spend hours talking about cryptocurrency while sitting in his mother’s kitchen.
During the entire time their mother was ill, he had visited the hospital twice. Once he forgot to buy water, and the second time he brought three bruised apples and spent forty minutes complaining to his sister that parking in Moscow had become impossible.
Alisa kept silent then. She had no strength for scandals, and besides, her mother would start gasping for air if anyone said even one word against her beloved “Yegorushka.”
A month ago, Yadviga Pavlovna had finally been discharged. A new expensive course of German medication, for which Alisa had taken out a loan at a wild interest rate, had worked.
Her mother returned home, bought a bunch of houseplants, started tinting her lips again before going to the store, and began speaking in the same old mentoring tone of a school headmistress.
For the first time in three years, Alisa breathed out. It even seemed to her that spring had arrived. For the first time in a long while, she went into VkusVill, bought herself an expensive lavender raf coffee and a pastry, simply so she could sit on a park bench and not rush anywhere.
On Wednesday evening, she came to her mother’s place without warning: she wanted to bring her fresh cottage cheese and new blood pressure pills.
Opening the door with her own key, Alisa caught her mother doing something strange. Yadviga Pavlovna was sitting at the table surrounded by some blue folders, and as soon as the keys jingled in the hallway, she quickly hid them in a drawer like a thief.
“Oh, Alisochka! Why didn’t you call first?” her mother even half rose, adjusting her house robe. Her voice was fussy, like a schoolchild caught with cheat sheets.
“I was just passing by, Mom. Here’s the cottage cheese. How’s your blood pressure? Did you measure it today?”
“I measured it, measured it, everything’s like a cosmonaut’s,” Yadviga Pavlovna said, putting her hands behind her back. “Come in, we’ll make some tea. We need to talk. A certain matter has… come up.”
The girl sat down on a chair, feeling from her mother’s tone how something inside her began to ache unpleasantly.
“What matter? Are the tests bad again?” Alisa immediately thought about money. There were only three thousand rubles left on her card, and her credit card limit was exhausted.
“No, thank God, everything is fine with my health,” her mother sat opposite her, smoothing the tablecloth with her palms; a sunbeam fell across her hand, lighting up the fine wrinkles. “I wanted to talk about our dacha in Romashkovo.”
“What about it? Is the roof leaking? Mom, let’s wait until summer, I’ll deal with the loan, and—”
“I sold it, Alisa,” Yadviga Pavlovna interrupted her daughter. She said it quickly, in one breath. Then she stared at Alisa, pressing her lips together.
The kitchen became very quiet.
The dacha in Romashkovo was the only thing left from her father: six hundred square meters of land, an old apple tree, a wooden little house where Alisa, as a child, used to hide from the rain on the veranda.
“What do you mean… sold it?” For a second the girl thought she had misheard. “How sold it? Why?”
“Because!” her mother said in a voice that tolerated no objections. “Yegor needed money. Urgently. He had a problem with his business partners there. If he didn’t pay his share by the end of the week, they would throw him out of the project. And all his work over two years would go to waste! Do you understand that? The boy needs to rise, to get his chance. And the dacha… what about the dacha? It just stands there, rotting, and you only pay taxes on it. I’m a mother. I have to help my son.”
Alisa looked at her mother and could not believe what she was hearing. In her head, a wild, absurd carousel of numbers was spinning…
Four hours of sleep a night. Bags of medicine. Soles worn through to holes. Refusing herself normal food. Three years of life thrown into nowhere just so her mother could live.
“How much?” Alisa asked calmly.
“It went for two million. We got a good realtor; he found buyers in a week,” Yadviga Pavlovna, apparently taking her daughter’s silence for submission, visibly relaxed. “But now things will go well for Yegorka. He promised that as soon as he gets his first profit, he’ll return every kopeck to me. And he’ll give you some too. Don’t be offended, Alisa. You’re a tough girl, strong, you stand on your own two feet. But Yegorushka… well, he’s fragile. He needs support. And our help!”
The girl lowered her eyes.
Threads hung like fringe from the bottom of her jeans: old ones, bought before the pandemic. She felt so sick that a lump rose in her throat.
Strong. Tough…
So that meant a strong person could be sat on and ridden, while the fragile one had to be fed everything, including the memory of their father.
The girl did not shout or argue. She did not remind her mother about her debts, about her night shifts, about the fact that Yegor had never once even paid his mother’s utility bills. She simply stood up, took her bag, and went into the hallway.
“Alisa, where are you going? We haven’t even had tea yet! Alisa!” her mother shouted from the kitchen.
Alisa put on her shoes and, without tying the laces, went out onto the stairwell. The door closed with a quiet click.
Outside, the spring sun was shining brightly, and it was warm, but Alisa felt as though she had been doused with cold, dirty water. Her phone rang in her pocket. The dispatch office.
She wiped a bitter tear from her cheek, took a deep breath, and pressed the green button.
“Yes, Alina, I’m listening. What’s going on with the truck on the highway? Give me the consignment note number.”
For three weeks, Alisa lived on autopilot. It was as if her feelings had been frozen. Inside, there was emptiness, calm, and indifference.
The girl blocked her brother on all messengers after he sent her a video circle in Max from an expensive restaurant. In the video, a beaming, satisfied Yegor waved a glass at the camera and shouted:
“Sis, we’ll break through! Respect to Mom, I’ll return all the money threefold soon!”
Alisa looked at that shiny face, at the plate with some sea creatures that cost half her salary, and simply tapped “Block.” The word “startup” made her violently nauseous.
She spoke with her mother briefly and dryly. Only about practical matters.
“Hi, Mom. Are you taking your medicine? Is your blood pressure normal? Great. I have to work.”
Yadviga Pavlovna would sigh into the phone and try to start a conversation about the weather, about how “Yegorushka is so busy, so busy, he can’t even call his mother,” but Alisa would politely and correctly say goodbye.
Her heart no longer twitched.
She continued working like a horse, but now she spent money on herself: she finally bought normal leather boots that did not leak, went for a facial cleaning, and even slowly began paying off that unfortunate loan she had taken during her mother’s illness.
And toward the end of the month, thunder struck. From exactly the place where Alisa, deep down, had been expecting it.
On Thursday, at eleven at night, when the girl had just closed her work laptop and was about to crawl to the shower, her phone exploded with a series of hysterical calls.
It was her mother. Alisa sighed and turned on speakerphone.
“Alisa… Alisochka, please come!” Yadviga Pavlovna’s voice trembled; she was crying, sobbing with a hoarse sound, just like during her worst attacks. “I feel awful, Alisa. My heart… and there’s no medicine. None at all!”
Alisa became anxious out of habit, but forced herself to stay composed.
“Mom, call an ambulance. If it’s really bad, call 112. I won’t get to you across all of Moscow in an hour. Where are your pills? I bought you three packs of that excellent German medication. There was enough for two months.”
“They’re gone, Alisa… Gone!” her mother howled into the phone. “Yegorka took it. He took everything…”
The girl felt as if she had been electrocuted.
“What do you mean? He took the medicine? Has he gone completely insane? What does he need your heart pills for?”
“He didn’t take the pills!” Yadviga Pavlovna screamed, sliding into hysteria. “He took my bank card! Alya, he lost everything! All the money from the dacha! All two million! And he also withdrew my May pension! I have two hundred rubles left in my wallet, and nothing to buy new pills with… Alisa, come, I can’t breathe!”
The girl sat on the sofa, staring at one point. In her head, the puzzle was fitting together clearly.
Startup. Investors. Fragile boy…
It turned out that Yegorushka was simply deeply hooked on betting or online casinos. Cunning, brazen, used to Mommy wiping his backside and solving every problem for him. Her brother had simply conned an elderly woman like a complete fool. And she had been happy to deceive herself, as long as she could save her precious prince.
“I’ve called an ambulance for you,” Alisa said calmly. “Wait for the crew and open the door. I’m on my way.”
Forty minutes later, the girl was in the familiar panel apartment building in Tekstilshchiki.
The ambulance had already left: the doctors had given Yadviga Pavlovna an injection, brought her blood pressure down, and left after giving strict instructions: rest and regular medication.
Her mother was sitting on the bed. An empty wallet and a pile of printed ATM receipts lay on the nightstand.
Seeing Alisa, Yadviga Pavlovna tried to stretch her hands toward her.
“Alisochka… He cried. He stood on his knees. He said they would destroy him if he didn’t pay back the debt. He said it was the last time, that he would win it back and return everything… And today his phone is turned off. I went to the bank, and there was zero, Alisa! Completely zero! And there’s nothing to pay for the apartment with… Buy me the pills, daughter. I can’t be without them, you know that… The doctor said that if I skip a week, I’ll end up in intensive care again. Buy them, Alisochka, you earn well, you have two jobs…”
Her mother looked at her with hope, from below. With that familiar certainty that the older, strong, endlessly reliable Alisa would now sigh, take out her card, cover all the debts, run to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy in the middle of the night, and save the world again.
And Yegorushka… well, they would scold Yegorushka together later somehow.
The girl stood in the middle of the room.
She looked at the receipts, where large withdrawals made at three in the morning were visible in black and white. She looked at her mother. She remembered her feet rubbed raw, her three years of hell, the sold family dacha she had loved so much. And something inside her finally and irrevocably broke. Pity was replaced by icy, pure rage.
She slowly lowered her hands into the pockets of her jacket.
“No, Mom,” Alisa said quietly but very clearly. “I won’t buy you anything.”
Yadviga Pavlovna froze. Her eyes widened in horror; her breath caught. She looked at her daughter as if a dangerous person were standing in front of her.
“How… you won’t buy them? Alisa, I’ll die without them! What are you saying? I’m your mother!”
“Your medication costs twelve thousand rubles a month,” Alisa continued calmly, without a trace of emotion in her voice. “Plus the debt for the apartment. Plus food. Your beloved son, to whom you gave two million rubles, has always come first for you. One million of that was mine, Mom. But you decided Yegor needed it more, right? Fine. Then let Yegor buy you your pills. Call him, look for him, file a police report against him for stealing your card. Do whatever you want. My charity limit in this family has been exhausted.”
Alisa turned and headed for the exit.
“Alisa! Come back! You monster! How can you do this?!” her mother shouted after her. In her voice there was a wild fear of the reality she was being forced to face for the first time.
The girl went outside. The night air was cool. She took out her phone, unblocked Yegor, and wrote him one short sentence:
“I’m washing my hands of this. Mom is left without a kopeck and without medication. If anything happens to her, it will be your fault. Sort this situation out yourself.”
She got into a taxi and left.
Alisa slept until eleven in the morning: without an alarm clock, without jolting up in panic at the thought that she was late somewhere.
Her phone, switched to airplane mode, glowed with missed calls: twelve from her mother, five from Yegor, and a long sheet of messages in the messenger.
The girl leisurely made herself coffee and only then opened the chat.
At first, Yegor threatened her:
“Have you completely lost your mind? You’ll drive Mom to a heart attack!”
Then he begged:
“Alisa, lend me money. The guys are on my tail, they’ll rip my head off. I’ll pay everything back, I swear on my teeth!”
And toward morning, he sent a photo of his beaten face.
The last message was from her mother:
“Alisochka, come! Yegorushka is very unwell, some people are calling. My son is asking forgiveness.”
Alisa smirked and took a sip of coffee. She had absolutely nowhere to hurry. Pity had died the previous night. Only cold, sober calculation remained. An hour later, she got dressed and went to Tekstilshchiki. But not to play savior — to put an end to it.
The scene in her mother’s apartment was picturesque.
Yegor lay curled up on the sofa. A juicy purple bruise bloomed under one eye, his lip was split, and his fashionable hoodie was stained. Not a trace remained of the former arrogance of the “successful investor.”
Yadviga Pavlovna sat beside him, pressing a wet towel to his forehead. When she saw Alisa, the woman stirred.
“Alisa! Thank God!” Her mother’s voice carried pleading hope. “Yegorushka was beaten, Alisa… They’re threatening him. The money he lost… that wasn’t all his debt. He urgently needs to repay another million rubles by the end of the week, otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” the girl stopped in the doorway. “Mom, have you still not understood? Your son is a gambling addict. A brazen, cunning liar. He devoured your dacha, devoured your pension, nearly killed you! And you’re still wiping his nose?”
“Alisa, how can you! He’s your brother!” her mother sobbed, though somehow uncertainly.
Yegor stirred on the sofa, half opened his good eye, and rasped:
“Come on, Alis, stop acting superior! I really need money. Urgently! Borrow it from your people with interest. I’m seriously finished. Feel sorry for Mom if you don’t feel sorry for me!”
The girl looked at her brother, then at her mother. Her face remained completely calm, almost indifferent.
“A million, then,” Alisa said quietly. “I have that money. I’ll get you out, Yegor. But not for nothing. I have a condition.”
Her mother and brother stared at her. A heavy silence hung in the air.
“What condition?” Yadviga Pavlovna asked quickly. “Alisochka, we’ll agree to anything, as long as they don’t touch my son!”
“Good. Right now, we call a notary to the apartment. Mom, you sign a deed of gift transferring this apartment to me. The entire apartment. One hundred percent of the property becomes my sole ownership. Yegor already received his share in the form of the two million from the dacha and flushed it down the toilet. Now it’s my turn. That’s fair.”
“Are you crazy?!” Yegor exploded, abruptly sitting up on the sofa. “You decided to snatch the apartment while there’s chaos?! Mom, don’t you dare! This is my home too!”
“Your home is in the betting office now, Yegor,” Alisa cut him off in an icy tone. “Mom, choose. Either the deed of gift to me right now, or I turn around and leave. And in a couple of hours, those people your fragile boy owes a million to will carry him out of here feet first. I don’t care. My pity limit has been exhausted.”
Yadviga Pavlovna looked in horror from her daughter’s icy face to her son trembling from fear and the beating. She had no choice. With shaking lips, she quietly said:
“All right, Alisa. Call the notary. I’ll sign everything. Just save him.”
The paperwork took two hours. The notary, called at the urgent rate, certified the deed of gift. The apartment officially became Alisa’s property.
As soon as the final stamp was placed, the girl opened her banking app and transferred exactly one million rubles to her brother’s card.
“You have the money,” Alisa said, putting the phone into her pocket. “Settle your debts. And now get out of here. Both of you.”
Yegor, frantically forwarding the money, was stunned.
“What do you mean? You’re throwing your own mother out into the street?”
“I’m not throwing anyone out into the street,” Alisa replied calmly. “But you will no longer live in my apartment for even one day. Yegor, you have two hours to pack your stuff. Your problems no longer concern me; twist and turn however you want. And you, Mom, are going to live in the village, in your old family house. It’s sturdy, the stove works, and the air is clean. I’ll buy you six months’ worth of medication in advance. I’ll visit you once a month. But you will not live here!”
Yadviga Pavlovna burst into tears, clutching at her heart. Yegor shouted and showered her with curses while packing his things into travel bags, but none of it touched Alisa anymore.
Inside her burned a firm sense of triumphant justice. The brazen parasite had been thrown out the door without a penny in his pocket, and the mother who had betrayed her eldest daughter for the whims of her younger son was sent to a remote province to reap the fruits of her blind love.
By evening, the apartment was empty.
Alisa sat on the windowsill and looked at the lights of evening Moscow. For the first time in three years, no one else’s burden hung on her shoulders. She had her own apartment, her own job, and her own free life, in which only she herself would set the rules now.
