“Anya, why are you just standing there? Your tea will get cold,” Igor said, pushing the mug toward her as though the gesture could somehow soften what was coming.
She calmly sat down across from him. His leather folder lay on the table, placed so carefully that it seemed to be the guest of honor. Anya smiled faintly.
“You look like a magician,” she said. “Any moment now, you’ll pull a rabbit out of your sleeve and tell me it’s all for the greater good.”
“I came here to have a serious conversation, not to joke around.” He tapped the folder with his finger. “Let’s handle this like adults. No hysterics, no tears. We’ll come to an agreement and separate like normal people.”
“I’m all for behaving like adults,” she said with a nod. “I even bought grown-up cookies. See? Not from the children’s aisle.”
“Listen, here’s what we’ll do,” he began in a businesslike tone. “The apartment stays with me. And you’re practically raising Tyoma already. He’s used to you. It makes sense for him to stay with you.”
Anya slowly took a sip of tea. Tyoma, Igor’s seven-year-old son from his first marriage, was drawing spaceships in the next room. He called her by her first name, but he hugged her the way children hugged the person closest to them.
“So you’re proposing a trade,” she said gently. “You get the walls, and I get the child. Interesting arithmetic.”
“It’s perfectly normal arithmetic,” he muttered. “I’m not a monster. I’m thinking about the boy. He’s better off with you. And what am I supposed to do with him? I have a life, things going on, business to take care of.”
“How caring of you.” She tilted her head. “Father of the Year. It’s a shame they don’t hand out medals for that.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.” He grimaced. “I came here to settle this peacefully.”
“Igor, I heard you,” she said patiently. “But let’s clarify something. My mother gave me this apartment. There’s a deed of gift. She gave it to me before we were married. You know that. I showed you the documents.”
“I remember your little piece of paper,” he said dismissively. “But we lived here together. I did the renovations. I laid the tiles. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“The tiles are beautiful,” she agreed. “I’ll even thank you for them. But tiles are tiles, and ownership rights are ownership rights. Confusing wishes with facts is one of the most expensive mistakes a person can make.”
“There you go again with your quotations,” he snorted. “I’m talking to you about real life, and you’re talking about some clever people.”
“Clever people can be more useful than you think,” she said with a smile. “Especially before someone signs any ‘little pieces of paper.’”
“Anya, enough of this,” he said, beginning to lose his patience. “I want to settle this peacefully. You take the boy, I take the apartment. Everyone’s happy.”
“Did you ask Tyoma?” she asked quietly. “Does he even know that his father is apparently trading him for an apartment?”
“He’s little. He doesn’t care,” Igor snapped. “As long as someone feeds him and turns on cartoons.”
“What a profound understanding of a child’s soul.” She nodded with feigned respect. “You should give lectures. You could call the course ‘How to Trade Your Son for Square Meters in Five Easy Steps.’”
“Enough!” he said, raising his voice. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I hope so,” she said seriously. “I hope you were joking just now. That I misunderstood you, and that you’re about to say, ‘Anya, forgive me, I said something stupid.’”
He remained silent and looked away. That silence gave her more of an answer than any words could have.
“You know what?” She stood and gathered the mugs. “Let’s talk tomorrow somewhere else. On neutral ground. In a café where there are no tiles you installed and none of our old wallpaper.”
“Why do we need a café?” he asked suspiciously. “So you can make a scene in public?”
“So you’ll behave yourself in public,” she corrected him. “That sometimes works on you. Like a muzzle on a dog. It may not seem necessary, but everyone feels safer.”
“Very funny,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’m trying,” she replied. “Tomorrow at noon. My treat. As you can see, I already have the grown-up cookies.”
The café was bright, with round tables and a large clock above the counter. Igor arrived first and chose a seat in the farthest corner, with his back to the room.
“Are you hiding?” Anya asked as she sat across from him. “Or do you simply enjoy staring at walls?”
“Don’t start,” he muttered. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation.”
“Oh, that’s progress already.” She placed her handbag on her lap. “Thinking is useful. As long as a person can still think, there’s hope for them.”
“I spoke to a few people,” he said, leaning forward. “People who know what they’re talking about. They said I could fight for the apartment. That the situation with your deed of gift isn’t as clear-cut as you think.”
“People who know what they’re talking about,” Anya repeated. “Were these the people smoking outside your apartment building, or the ones leaving comments under online videos?”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said tensely. “What matters is that I can fight for it.”
“Of course you can.” She shrugged. “You can fight anything. The wind, your own shadow, the laws of physics. The result is usually the same: bruises.”
“You underestimate me,” he hissed.
“I’m assessing you accurately,” she said calmly. “No discounts and no added markup. Like a product on a shelf.”
“Listen carefully,” he began, speaking quickly and angrily. “I put my heart and soul into that apartment. I lived there. I raised Tyoma there while you were messing around with your toys.”
“Dioramas,” she corrected him. “Tiny worlds made of cardboard and paint. Incidentally, those ‘toys’ were what supported us for the past year while you were ‘staying active’ and ‘handling business.’”
“There you go counting money again.” His face twisted. “You’ve become so petty.”
“I’m not petty. I’m attentive,” she said, taking a sip of water. “Those are different qualities. A petty person counts other people’s money. An attentive person remembers who paid the electricity bill.”
“Who cares who paid?” he said, raising his voice before glancing around the café and lowering it again. “The important thing is that I’m officially registered at that address.”
“You’re registered there,” she agreed. “Registration and ownership are like being a neighbor and being the owner. A neighbor may play loud music, but the house still doesn’t belong to him.”
“Did you just call me a neighbor?” His eyes narrowed.
“I gave you an analogy.” She smiled. “If it hurt, that means I hit the mark.”
“Anya.” He struck the table with his fist, making the spoon rattle. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“God forbid.” She raised her hands. “I’ve never thought of you as an idiot. An idiot is naïve and kind. This is something else.”
“What do you mean, ‘something else’?” He leaned forward.
“We’ll finish the conversation in the park,” she said, standing up. “Tyoma is waiting. I promised to take him to the swings. Unlike certain people, I keep my promises.”
“You’re running away from the conversation again!” he called after her.
“I’m not running away. I’m rescheduling it,” she replied over her shoulder. “Do you understand the difference? Cowards run away. I simply value my schedule.”
He caught up with her by the exit and grabbed her by the elbow. She stopped and looked down at his hand with such cold intensity that he released her on his own.
“Never do that again,” she said quietly. “I mean it. That is my only request.”
“All right, all right.” He stepped back. “Why are you acting like some wild cat?”
“Cats are very intelligent creatures,” she observed. “They don’t let just anyone grab them. You should learn from them.”
In the park, Tyoma shrieked happily as he swung higher and higher, while Anya and Igor sat on a bench a short distance away.
“Look how happy he is,” Anya said quietly. “Right now, he doesn’t care who belongs to whom or what belongs to whom. What matters to him is that someone pushes him higher.”
“Then push him,” Igor muttered. “You’re the kind one.”
“I have been pushing him,” she said with a nod. “For an entire year. Where were you when his tooth hurt at three in the morning?”
“Working,” he said defensively. “Money doesn’t appear out of nowhere.”
“Money doesn’t,” she agreed. “But debts somehow do. All by themselves. It’s almost magical.”
“You’re talking about money again!” He half rose from the bench. “Why are you so obsessed with money?”
“I’m not the one obsessed with it,” she replied calmly. “You’re the one who owes it to somebody. And it seems to me that you now want to solve that problem with my apartment. Am I right?”
He fell silent, jerked his head and looked away. From the swings, Tyoma shouted, “Anya, look how high I am!”
“Well done, sweetheart!” she called, waving to him. Then she turned back to Igor, and the smile disappeared from her face. “So, am I right?”
“It’s none of your business,” he said through clenched teeth.
“It became my business the moment you decided to pay your debts with something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Anya, be reasonable,” he said, suddenly changing his tone and speaking almost affectionately. “You’re a kind person. You love Tyoma. What do you need the apartment for? You’re young. You can earn enough to buy another one. But I’m under real pressure, understand? They’ve really cornered me.”
“Now you’re finally being honest.” She nodded. “That’s better. You’re cornered, so you found a convenient solution: dump the child on me, take the apartment and fill the hole you dug for yourself.”
“What’s wrong with that?” He spread his hands. “The boy means more to you than square meters. You said so yourself.”
“He does,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I have to give you the apartment as well and pay for your mistakes. Kindness is not stupidity. They’re different things. Oh, forgive me. Let me put it more simply: they aren’t alike at all.”
“You’re playing with words again,” he said, clenching his jaw.
“Words are all we have left.” She shrugged. “So I may as well play with them beautifully.”
“Do you know what infuriates me?” he spat. “You’re sitting there so calmly, as though you have everything under control.”
“I do have everything under control,” she said gently. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked tensely.
“It’s a weather forecast.” She stood and called out, “Tyoma, let’s go home! Your ice cream is getting cold! I mean, melting. Anyway, we need to hurry!”
The boy jumped off the swing, ran over and wrapped his arms around her leg. She stroked his hair, and that single gesture contained everything Igor had never given his son.
“We’ll finish tomorrow,” she told Igor. “Come to my workshop. I’ll show you where I make my ‘toys.’ Then you’ll understand which one of us was really wasting time.”
The workshop was filled with tiny worlds: papier-mâché mountains, wooden bridges and figurines no larger than a fingernail. Igor entered and looked around with a sour expression.
“People actually pay for this?” he scoffed. “For dollhouses?”
“For stories,” Anya corrected him without looking up from her worktable. “People don’t buy cardboard. They buy the feeling that everything in this tiny world is exactly where it belongs. They don’t have enough of that feeling in the real world.”
“Cheap philosophy,” he snorted.
“At least it’s mine,” she replied. “It wasn’t borrowed.”
“I’ve thought about it again,” he said, walking between the shelves. “Let’s do this. You give me the apartment, and I officially leave Tyoma with you. I’ll sign the papers and make everything legal. You love him, don’t you? There’s your happiness.”
Anya slowly put down her paintbrush.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Someone promised that if you had the right ‘paperwork,’ your debt problem would be settled. And the boy is just extra baggage in the arrangement. A burden.”
“You’re twisting everything,” he said with a frown.
“I’m putting everything in its proper place,” she corrected him. “You’re the one treating your child like baggage. I’m only saying it out loud so you can hear yourself.”
“Stop picking apart every word!” he said, becoming agitated. “I’m making you a reasonable offer!”
“A reasonable offer is one that benefits both people,” she said. “Your idea of reasonable is something that benefits you while I’m expected to thank you for it.”
“What do you understand about any of this?” He sliced his hand through the air. “I’ve been backed into a corner, and you’re sitting here with your figurines, breathing paint fumes!”
“I understand more than you think,” she replied calmly. “For example, I understand that when a person is cornered, they either ask for help or start biting. You chose to bite. That’s a shame.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” he almost shouted. “Become a beggar?”
“For a start, stop placing your problems on other people’s shoulders,” she said. “One writer once observed that a coward looks for someone else to cover the hole he has made, while a brave man covers it himself. At the moment, you belong to the first category.”
“Did you just call me a coward?” He stepped closer.
“I quoted someone.” She did not move. “You’re drawing your own conclusions. Convenient, isn’t it? I’m not even responsible.”
“You’re vicious,” he said with a bitter smile. “You used to be quiet. What happened?”
“I finally opened my eyes,” she said briefly. “That happens. At first, you endure things and hope the person will come to his senses. Then you realize you could keep hoping until retirement and he would still remain exactly the same.”
“And now what?” He folded his arms.
“Now I’ve stopped hoping.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “And you know something? It immediately became easier to breathe. Even with all the paint fumes.”
“So you don’t want to settle this peacefully,” he said, pressing his lips together.
“I desperately wanted to settle it peacefully,” she replied. “I spent an entire week trying to settle it peacefully. I poured you tea, bought grown-up cookies and took you to a café. But you mistook my gentleness for weakness. That was the most expensive mistake you’ve made.”
“Threat number two?” he scoffed.
“Final warning,” she said calmly. “After this, there will be no more words. There will be documents.”
“What documents?” he asked warily.
“Tomorrow.” She picked up her brush again. “Come to the entrance of the apartment building at six. And bring your beautiful folder. You’ll need somewhere to keep your disappointment.”
That evening, Igor stood outside the entrance of her apartment building with the folder tucked under his arm, impatiently tapping his foot. Anya came outside at exactly six, holding a thin transparent document sleeve.
“Well?” He stepped toward her. “Did you bring the papers to hand everything over?”
“I brought them.” She nodded. “But first, let’s confirm your version of the agreement. That way, you won’t claim later that you never said it.”
“We already agreed: the apartment goes to me, and the child goes to you,” her former husband reminded her insistently. “That’s how we’ll settle it.”
Anya nodded and handed him documents stating exactly the opposite.
“What is this?” He snatched the papers from her and hurriedly scanned the lines. “This is… this is…”
“This is a copy of the deed of gift,” she explained calmly. “That same ‘little piece of paper.’ My mother transferred the apartment to me long before you and I were together. You have no claim to it. Neither your tiles nor your official registration make any difference.”
“And this?” He pointed at the last document, his voice trembling.
“That concerns Tyoma,” she said. “He is your son. Your biological son. I’m not his biological mother, and legally, I’m nobody to him. Therefore, the boy stays with his father. With you. According to every applicable rule.”
“Wait.” His face turned pale. “But you… you’re the one raising him. He’s used to you!”
“He is.” She nodded. “That is why this is the hardest part for me. But you were the one who proposed the arithmetic. I merely recalculated it.”
“That won’t work!” he shouted. “What am I supposed to do with the boy? I have debts and business to take care of!”
“You see?” She tilted her head. “The moment the child stopped being an attachment to an apartment and became simply your son, without any financial reward, he immediately turned into a problem. Thank you for confirming it out loud.”
“Anya, come on!” he said quickly, his voice becoming ingratiating. “Let’s be reasonable! Take Tyoma. You love him!”
“I do,” she said quietly. “And that is exactly why I won’t allow him to grow up believing that he can be traded away. He needs a father who will someday understand that a son is not a burden. Perhaps you’ll become that father when you finally grow up.”
“And the apartment?” he spluttered. “I…”
“The apartment is mine,” she cut him off. “It always was mine. You were only occupying it temporarily, the way someone borrows another person’s umbrella during a storm and forgets to return it.”
“You can’t do this to me!” He grabbed the entrance door. “I’ll be left with nothing!”
“You’ll be left with your son,” she corrected him. “To a normal person, that isn’t ‘nothing.’ It’s everything.”
“What am I supposed to do with him?” he shouted.
“Love him,” she said simply. “Feed him. Push him higher on the swings when he asks. You know, it isn’t as difficult as paying off someone else’s debts. And it’s much less expensive.”
“You planned this!” He shook the papers in front of her. “You knew everything in advance!”
“Of course I did,” she replied calmly.
“So that’s what you’re really like,” he hissed. “And you pretended to be kind.”
“I am kind.” She shrugged. “Kindness without boundaries has another name: stupidity. And I’ve already outgrown that stage of my life.”
“What am I supposed to do now?” He sat down on the step, clutching the folder as though it were a life preserver.
“For a start, take Tyoma with you,” she said. “He’s upstairs packing his backpack. I told him his father missed him terribly. Don’t make me a liar.”
“You’re mocking me,” he breathed.
“I’m giving you a chance,” she corrected him. “Not for your sake. For his.”
“What about my belongings?” He raised his head. “They’re inside the apartment.”
“I’ll pack everything into boxes tomorrow,” she said calmly. “Carefully. I know how to pack things. It’s a professional habit—putting tiny worlds into boxes. I’ll fit your world into one as well. I think a single box should be enough.”
“You really are vicious,” he said with a crooked smile, no longer angry, only defeated.
“I learned from excellent teachers,” she replied. “Thank you for the course entitled ‘How to Stop Being Convenient.’ It was expensive, but it was worth every penny.”
Footsteps sounded from above, and Tyoma appeared in the doorway wearing a backpack with drawings of spaceships sticking out of it.
“Anya, are Dad and I really going for a walk?” he asked, looking up at her.
“That’s right, sweetheart.” She crouched in front of him and adjusted his backpack strap. “Dad is going to spend a lot of time with you now. The swings, the ice cream—it’s all his responsibility. Agreed?”
“What about you?” he asked with a frown.
“I’ll always be nearby,” she said. “Whenever you want to draw outer space, come to the workshop. I have an entire planet waiting there for you.”
The boy nodded, hugged her tightly, then walked over to his father and took his hand. Igor stood there helplessly, unsure what to do with the small hand resting in his own.
“Hold on tightly,” Anya told him softly. “Don’t let go. He is the only thing you truly have.”
“Anya,” Igor said, turning back at the exit. “Is this really the end?”
“It’s actually the beginning,” she corrected him. “Your beginning. With your son. Without placing your debts on someone else’s shoulders. Someone once wrote that sometimes, taking away everything unnecessary from a person is the only way to return what truly matters.”
“More quotations,” he said with a weak smile.
“The last one, I promise.” She smiled. “From now on, you’ll have to think for yourself. Without the ‘knowledgeable people’ from the smoking area.”
He left, holding Tyoma by the hand. Anya closed the door behind them and went upstairs to her own apartment—to her own walls and her own little world, where everything was finally in its proper place.
