Galina sat across from Danil at the kitchen table, her hands resting on her knees. She had prepared herself for this conversation. She intended to speak slowly and without putting unnecessary pressure on him, as she always did when she wanted to be heard.
“Danil, I understand that the apartment was purchased with money from your inheritance. I’m not disputing that, and I never have. But I put everything I had into the renovations and the interior—my time, my energy, and my money for the materials. A small amount of compensation would be enough to help me get back on my feet.”
Danil did not even turn his head. He continued slicing bread with steady, measured movements, as though Galina were talking about the weather.
“Renovations are renovations. They’re part of the apartment. And the apartment belongs to me.”
“I’m not asking for half of it. I’m asking you to reimburse what I spent on the improvements. The wallpaper, the tiles, the light fixtures—I chose everything and paid for everything. You said yourself that without me, this place would still have bare walls.”
“I did. So what? That doesn’t make you an owner.”
Galina clasped her fingers together. She had known in advance that this would be difficult, but she believed that if she explained everything calmly and did not pressure him, he would understand. They had lived together for four years. Surely they were not complete strangers.
“Danil, I’m not asking for anything unreasonable. The amount I named is less than I actually spent. I just need enough to rent somewhere to live for the first few months.”
“I have no intention of dividing the apartment. Forget about it,” he said as though he were reading a clause from an instruction manual—flatly and without hesitation.
Galina did not argue. She simply took out her phone and placed it on the table in front of her. The screen glowed softly. Danil glanced at it and then looked away again.
“Do you think calling someone is going to change anything?”
“I’m not calling anyone yet. I’m giving you time to think.”
“There’s nothing to think about.”
That same evening, Danil’s mother, Zinaida, called. Galina was not surprised. Apparently, her husband had already reported everything to her.
“Galina, I hear you’ve decided to squeeze money out of my son,” Zinaida said, her voice as sharp and prickly as ever.
“Zinaida Pavlovna, I asked him to compensate me for the renovations I paid for myself.”
“What money of your own? You lived in his apartment, ate his food, and slept in his bed. You should be grateful that you had a roof over your head.”
“I’m grateful for the years we spent together. But we’re separating now, and I need something to start over with.”
“Start over however you like. The apartment belongs to Danil. The inheritance belongs to the Danilov family. End of discussion.”
Then Danil’s sister, Kristina, joined in. She sent Galina a long message that could be summed up in two words: “Don’t be greedy.”
Galina read it, closed the conversation, and put her phone away.
She lay in the darkness on the sofa she had personally chosen at a furniture showroom a year and a half earlier. Above her was the ceiling she had designed herself, complete with recessed lighting. Around her were walls whose exact color she had spent three days selecting from a palette.
And now none of it belonged to her.
Marina poured tea into two mugs and sat down beside her. She had been living in a rented apartment for five years with her husband—a cramped one-room place where cold air crept in beneath the windowsill every winter. She did not need anyone to explain what starting from nothing meant.
“He didn’t even think about it? He didn’t even pause?” Marina asked.
“No. He was like a wall. Then his mother called, and then Kristina wrote to me. Perfectly coordinated, as if they were following a schedule. In that family, I was always the domestic help who wasn’t entitled to severance pay.”
“What about taking him to court?”
“I don’t have any receipts. I don’t have any contracts. Everything was verbal, based on trust. I thought we were a family. Why would I collect paperwork from people I considered family?”
Marina shook her head and took a sip from her mug.
“So it’s a dead end?”
Galina looked at her and smiled slightly for the first time during their conversation. It was not a cheerful smile. It was hard and determined.
“No. It’s not a dead end. There’s one problem with that apartment that Danil tries not to think about. But I think about it every day.”
“Artyom’s loan?”
“Exactly. Danil acted as guarantor for his brother’s loan. Artyom borrowed money to expand his business, and the apartment was used as collateral. At the time, we made that decision together. I agreed to it myself. But Artyom’s business is doing badly now. He decided he was an invincible genius and got involved in risky deals. There’s still an enormous balance on the first loan. If Artyom fails to repay it, the bank will take the apartment.”
Marina put down her mug.
“Wait. Are you saying Danil could lose the apartment he’s being so stubborn about?”
“He could. And he probably will. Artyom has a second loan secured against his equipment—his cameras and machinery. He doesn’t have enough money to repay both loans at once. One of them is going to collapse. Either the apartment or the business.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“What I know how to do. Solve problems while everyone else pretends they don’t exist.”
Galina called her father that same evening. Viktor listened to his daughter in silence, without interrupting. Then he remained silent for a long time.
“Dad, I’m not asking you to give me money for nothing. I’ll pay you back. I need enough to repay the remaining balance on the loan secured against the apartment. If I do that, the apartment will be transferred to me. The balance is forty-five percent of its value. Danil will lose the remaining fifty-five percent. But he’s going to lose that anyway if the bank takes the entire apartment.”
“Where am I supposed to get that kind of money, Galya? There isn’t much in my account.”
“I know. But you have the car. And the country house.”
Her father fell silent again. Galina could hear him breathing into the phone—heavily and slowly.
“I never finished building the country house. And the car is six years old. I won’t get much for either of them.”
“It will be enough. I’ve calculated everything. The remaining balance is a specific amount. I know it down to the last kopeck.”
“Are you sure this will work?”
“I’m sure. Because they don’t have a choice. Either they accept my offer, or they lose everything—the apartment and the business.”
“I can sell the car within a week. The country house will be more difficult, but there’s already a potential buyer. The neighbor has had his eye on it for a long time.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re the only thing I ever invested in properly.”
Galina arranged a meeting for Saturday. She chose neutral territory—a café on the corner that served good coffee and where the staff did not listen to customers’ conversations.
She personally called each of them: Danil, her mother-in-law, and Artyom.
She said the same thing to all three.
“I have an offer that concerns everyone. It would be wise to hear me out.”
Danil arrived first. He sat down, ordered black coffee, and made a point of looking at his watch.
“You have ten minutes.”
“I have as much time as I need. Wait for the others.”
Her mother-in-law arrived five minutes later, wearing a long coat and pursing her lips. Artyom came in behind her. He looked worse than anyone else. His face was gray, and his shoulders were slumped. The pressure of his failing business was clearly visible.
Galina waited until everyone was seated. Then she placed a single sheet of paper in front of her—a bank statement—and pushed it toward the center of the table.
“This is the remaining balance on the loan for which Danil’s apartment is being used as collateral. Artyom, you know this figure better than I do.”
Artyom glanced at the paper and looked away.
“I know.”
“Good. Then let’s speak plainly. You have two loans. Danil is the guarantor on the first, and his apartment is the collateral. Your equipment is the collateral on the second. You can’t repay both. That’s a fact.”
“This is none of your business,” her mother-in-law interrupted.
“Zinaida Pavlovna, it became my business the moment I signed my consent for my husband to act as guarantor. I am directly involved in this situation.”
“You’re not his wife anymore. You’re getting divorced.”
“The divorce hasn’t been finalized yet. But that isn’t even the point. I didn’t come here to argue. I came here to offer a solution.”
Danil crossed his arms.
“What kind of solution?”
“I will repay the remaining balance of the first loan. All of it. The apartment will be released from the lien. Artyom will no longer owe a single kopeck on that loan and will be able to continue repaying the second loan—the one secured against his equipment. His cameras and machinery will remain his.”
Artyom lifted his head. Something appeared in his eyes—not quite hope, but calculation.
“And what do you want in return?” he asked.
“In return, Danil transfers ownership of the apartment to me.”
Danil slapped his palm against the table. It was not a hard blow, but it was abrupt.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Not at all. Listen to the numbers. The remaining loan balance is forty-five percent of the apartment’s market value. I pay that forty-five percent. You lose the apartment, but you don’t actually lose anything—because without my intervention, the bank will take it. The entire apartment. You’ll receive no compensation, and you’ll be left homeless with a ruined credit history.”
“This is insane. Artyom will repay the loan.”
Her mother-in-law turned toward Artyom.
“Artyom, will you repay it?”
Artyom stared at the table for a long time. Then he slowly shook his head.
“Not right now. All my money is going toward the second loan. If I redirect it to the first one, I’ll lose the equipment. Without the equipment, I have no income. Without income, I won’t be able to repay either loan.”
“There you have it,” Galina said. “This isn’t insanity. It’s arithmetic.”
Her mother-in-law leaned forward.
“You’re a fraud. You planned all of this. You deliberately pushed Danil into signing those papers so that you could profit from it later!”
“Zinaida Pavlovna, four years ago, when Artyom was opening his business, you personally called me and asked me to persuade Danil to help his brother. Your exact words were, ‘Galochka, please talk to him. He’ll listen to you. This is for the family.’ So I spoke to him. He listened. We signed the papers together. And now I’m a fraud?”
Her mother-in-law’s face turned red, and she looked away.
“Don’t twist my words.”
“I’m not twisting them. I remember them.”
Artyom tapped the bank statement with his finger.
“Wait, Galina. Let me understand this. If you repay the first loan, I’m completely free of it?”
“Completely. The apartment is released from the lien, and Danil’s guarantee is canceled. You’ll be able to breathe freely and focus only on the second loan. Your business generates income as long as you don’t get involved in risky deals. You’ll manage.”
“And Danil?”
“Danil transfers the apartment to me. He loses fifty-five percent of its value. But he already lost that the moment he agreed to use it as collateral. I’m simply buying something he wouldn’t be able to keep anyway.”
Artyom leaned back in his chair and looked at his brother.
“Danil, she’s right.”
“What?”
“She’s right. If I can’t handle the first loan—and I can’t—the bank will take the apartment. Then it will come after the equipment as well because selling the apartment won’t cover the entire debt. You’ll lose your home. I’ll lose the business. Mother will lose her peace of mind. Galina is offering a solution in which you lose the apartment, but I keep the business. And when I get back on my feet, I’ll repay you that fifty-five percent in cash.”
“Are you serious?” Danil turned toward his brother with an expression as though Artyom had struck him.
“Completely serious. It’s the best offer on the table. I don’t see any other options.”
“You’re selling me out? For the sake of your machinery?”
“I’m saving what can still be saved. You’re clinging to something that’s already falling.”
Zinaida stood up.
“I’m not listening to this. Artyom, you’re a traitor. Galina, you’re a snake. Danil, get up. We’re leaving.”
Danil did not stand. He stared at the bank statement, at the figures, and at the remaining balance. He knew Artyom was telling the truth.
“I need time,” he finally said.
“One week,” Galina replied. “In one week, I will either take this money to the bank, or I will use it to rent a place for myself. The choice is yours.”
Oleg sat in Danil’s kitchen, turning a lighter over in his hands. He had not smoked for two years, but the habit of fidgeting with something between his fingers remained.
“Tell me again exactly what she’s offering,” he said.
Danil repeated it. His explanation was dry and disjointed, and he swallowed the ends of his words.
Oleg remained silent for a long time. Then he placed the lighter on the table.
“You know what? It’s a reasonable offer.”
“You too?”
“Danil, I’m not ‘too.’ I’m looking at this from the outside, without resentment or emotion. It’s pure mathematics. Your apartment is being used as collateral. Artyom is sinking. The bank doesn’t care who is to blame. It will seize the property. Galina is offering to solve the problem. Yes, you lose the apartment, but you’re losing it anyway. The difference is that you might at least get your brother’s promise to repay you when he gets back on his feet.”
“And what if he never does?”
“Then you’re still in the same position. Only without the debt.”
Danil clenched his jaw.
“She did this deliberately. She waited for the right moment.”
“She didn’t wait for anything. She asked you for compensation, and you refused. So she found another way. Quickly. Clearly. Without whining or delaying. You don’t know how to do that, and that’s what makes you angry.”
“Be careful, Oleg.”
“I am being careful. I could have put it much more harshly.”
Danil stood and paced around the kitchen. Everything there had been created by Galina—from the placement of the furniture to the color of the grout between the tiles. He knew it, but he had never said it aloud.
“Mother says I shouldn’t agree.”
“Your mother says what she wants to hear. She can’t stand Galina. That isn’t financial advice. It’s personal hostility.”
“She thinks Galina pushed me into signing the guarantee.”
“What do you think? Were you incapable of thinking for yourself? Did someone physically force your hand across the paper? You signed because Artyom is your brother and because your mother asked you to. What does Galina have to do with it?”
Danil did not answer.
“Sign the papers,” Oleg said. “Give up the apartment. Start over. It will hurt, but it’s the only solution in which at least someone comes out intact.”
Artyom called that evening.
“Danil, I spoke to the bank. They explained the situation. If a large payment isn’t made on the first loan within two weeks, they’ll begin foreclosure proceedings. That means the apartment will be sold at auction for less than market value. You won’t receive anything.”
“I hear you.”
“Galina’s offer is the best thing that could have happened to us. I know I’m responsible. I got in over my head. I thought I could turn everything around, start making a profit, and cover all the debts. It didn’t happen. But if she closes the first loan, I can handle the second one. I have orders, Danil. I’ve signed a supply contract. I just need time and the equipment. If I lose the machinery, then it really is over.”
“Do you promise to repay me?”
“I promise. As soon as I’m making a stable profit. A year, maybe a year and a half. But I’ll repay you.”
Danil ended the call and sat in the dark kitchen for a long time. He remembered the day they bought the apartment, when Galina had stood in the middle of the empty rooms and said, “I’ll turn this place into a home.”
And she had.
Now he was bargaining over walls that would have remained gray concrete without her.
On the fifth day, Danil called Galina.
“I agree.”
“Good. Tomorrow at eleven, at the notary’s office. I’ll bring the documents.”
“Where did you get the money?”
“That is no longer your concern, Danil. Tomorrow at eleven.”
She ended the call.
Zinaida found out that same evening. She called Danil and screamed so loudly that the neighbors began banging on the wall.
“You coward! You’re giving your inheritance to a strange woman! Your father would turn in his grave!”
“Father,” Danil replied quietly, “might still be alive if you hadn’t driven him the way you did. Don’t use his memory.”
Zinaida hung up.
Kristina sent him a one-word message.
“Disgrace.”
Danil deleted it.
A month passed.
Galina stood in the entrance hall and watched Danil pack his last bag. He moved carefully and methodically without raising his eyes. He took his clothes, books, electric razor, and an old photo album he had inherited from his father.
“The keys are on the cabinet,” he said without turning around.
“All right.”
“Are you happy now?”
“No, Danil. I’m not happy. It would have been much easier if you had simply compensated me for the renovations. A small amount. We could have separated quietly. You would have remained here. I would have left and never looked back.”
He stopped beside the door.
“Are you saying I punished myself?”
“I’m saying greed is a poor adviser. You refused to spend money on doing what was fair, and you lost everything. I didn’t cause this.”
Danil placed his bag on the floor.
“What if I had agreed back then? To the compensation?”
“You would be standing in your own apartment right now, with the keys in your pocket, looking for another way to solve the problem with Artyom’s loan. But you chose contempt. You decided I was nobody. You thought you could throw a person out without a single kopeck after four years together. Your mother confirmed it, and your sister agreed with her. That is what all of you are accustomed to—making decisions for other people and treating them as though they don’t matter.”
“I wasn’t throwing you out.”
“You were. You just used nicer words. ‘The apartment is mine, the inheritance is mine, forget about it.’ That is exactly what throwing someone out means.”
Danil put on his jacket.
“Artyom promised to repay me.”
“I know. I hope he keeps his word.”
She did not tell him what she really thought: that Artyom would not keep it. His business had been falling apart long before these events. He had appointed himself a great entrepreneur, believing he had no right to fail, and had made enough mistakes to fill an entire textbook.
Danil left. The door closed softly behind him without slamming.
Galina turned the lock and walked into the living room. She ran her hand along the wall. It was covered with the same textured plaster she had applied herself because the contractor had demanded an outrageous price. Above her were the same light fixtures she had carried home by train from another city because the courier had refused to deliver them on the weekend.
Marina called.
“Well? Has he left?”
“He’s gone.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. It feels strange and normal at the same time.”
“You did well, Galina. You didn’t wait for someone else to decide your future. You didn’t sit around complaining. You found leverage and used it.”
“The leverage presented itself. I was just smart enough to take advantage of it.”
“Don’t be modest. Ninety people out of a hundred would have given up in your position.”
“Maybe. But my father sold his car and his country house so that I could make this work. I have no right to give up.”
Viktor called that evening.
“Galya, how are things?”
“The apartment is mine, Dad. The documents are complete, and the loan has been repaid.”
“Good. Now live your life.”
“I’ll pay you back for everything—the car and the country house.”
“If you pay me back, you pay me back. If you don’t, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you’re back on your feet.”
Galina ended the call and sat down on the sofa—the same sectional sofa she had chosen a year and a half earlier.
Now it belonged only to her.
Two months later, Artyom shut down his business. His customers left, and the bank seized his equipment to cover the second loan. Without his machinery, the great strategist turned out to be nothing more than a man with debts and an empty workshop.
The money he had promised Danil remained nothing more than a promise.
Zinaida stopped calling both of her sons. Kristina deleted Galina from all her contacts, although Galina did not even notice.
And Danil rented a room on the other side of the city, spending his evenings calculating how much the words “forget about it” had cost him.
