Kira’s Kitchen.
Polina sat at someone else’s table, silently slicing bread. The knife was dull and crumbly bits scattered across the tablecloth—one Kira had bought in Turkey and was especially proud of. Polina carefully swept the crumbs into her palm.
“Can you at least cut the bread properly?” Kira stormed into the kitchen, her slippers clicking against the tiles. “This is a linen tablecloth, by the way. Handmade.”
“Sorry, Kira. The knife’s a bit dull,” Polina smiled gently, almost apologetically.
“A dull knife, you say. Maybe it’s your hands that are dull,” Kira snatched the knife and dumped it theatrically into the sink. “Buy your own knife, then you can dull it all you want.”
Polina didn’t respond. She’d been living with her sister-in-law for three weeks. After the upstairs neighbors flooded the apartment she shared with Artyom, it became impossible to stay, and the landlord apologized and let them skip a month’s rent. That’s when Artyom said, “We can stay with Kira, she’s my sister—she won’t refuse.”
Kira hadn’t refused. But she also never missed an opportunity to remind everyone who was in charge here.
“Polina, I’ve told you a hundred times—after washing, hang the towels on the balcony, not the radiator. Moisture ruins the radiators,” Kira said, arms folded.
“Okay, I’ll move them.”
“You always say ‘okay’ and then do it your way anyway. You know, if it weren’t for Artyom, I wouldn’t have let you cross the threshold.”
“I remember, Kira. Thanks for letting us stay.”
“You’d better remember!” Kira opened the fridge, shook her head. “Did you eat my yogurt again?”
“No. I buy my own groceries—they’re on the bottom shelf.”
“Yeah, so my yogurt just magically vanished, huh? Whatever, forget it.”
Polina silently stood up, went to the fridge, and pulled out the yogurt Kira herself had pushed behind the saucepan—on the top shelf.
“Here it is. It was behind the saucepan.”
Kira snatched the yogurt without so much as an apology, turned it over in her hands, then put it back.
“So what if it’s found! I still don’t get why Artyom can’t find a proper place for you to live. It’s been three weeks. My Vadim’s putting up with this, but he’s not made of steel.”
“Artyom’s looking. We’ll be moving to a new apartment soon.”
“Soon, soon. You’re like gypsies—always saying you’ll leave, but here you sit,” Kira scoffed and stormed out, slamming the door.
Polina was left alone. She picked up her phone and messaged her friend Zhena: “Tomorrow at noon. The café on Sadovaya. It’s important.”
Zhena replied a minute later: “I’ll be there. Bring the document?”
Polina typed a single word: “Yes.”
She put her phone down, wiped the table, and quietly made her way to the room they’d given her. It was small, with a sagging sofa and a wardrobe missing a door. On the nightstand lay a folder of papers. Polina opened it, checked the contents, and closed it again. Everything was there. Three days. In three days, everything would change.
The café on Sadovaya.
Zhena was already sitting at a corner table, stirring her latte. When she saw Polina, she stood up and hugged her friend.
“You’ve lost weight. Is Kira even feeding you?”
“Kira feeds me with lectures. There’s plenty of that,” Polina said, sitting down and placing the familiar folder on the table.
“So tell me. On the phone, you were being way too mysterious.”
“Zhena, do you remember two years ago when I sold my grandma’s dacha and land?”
«Of course. You also mentioned you were setting aside money for the down payment on an apartment.»
«That’s right. I did set it aside. The whole amount—two and a half million. Then Artyom asked me to lend it to Kira and Vadim. They were planning renovations and apparently came up short.»
Zhenya slowly set down her cup.
«Two and a half million? For renovations?»
«Exactly. At first, I said no. Artyom spent a week convincing me. He said, ‘My sister will pay you back in six months, she’s got a big contract coming up.’ I agreed, but only with one condition.»
«A written IOU?»
Polina opened a folder and placed a sheet on the table. It was neat, handwritten. Kira’s signature. Vadim’s signature. Date. Amount. Deadline for the return—six months. Interest, penalties.
«Kira signed it?» Zhenya even leaned forward.
«She did. She made a face, of course. Said, ‘We’re family, why all the formalities?’ But I insisted.»
«And now it’s been two years.»
«Two years. Not a single ruble paid back. Every time I brought it up, Artyom would tell me, ‘Don’t pressure my sister, she’s going through a tough time.’ And Kira acted like she didn’t even remember.»
Zhenya leaned back in her chair.
«Wait. So you’re living with someone who owes you enough for a one-bedroom apartment, and this person is rude to you?»
«Exactly. And calls me poor.»
«That’s just beyond.»
«It’s beyond, but that’s my reality. By the way, their renovation turned out gorgeous. Brand new kitchen, parquet floors, crystal chandeliers. All with my money.»
Zhenya picked up the IOU and examined it.
«Everything’s properly documented. But here’s what I’m curious about—does Vadim know that this was your personal money?»
Polina shook her head.
«That’s the most fascinating part. Kira told Vadim the money was a gift from Artyom. Just a brotherly family gesture.»
«So Vadim has no idea that it was actually a loan?»
«He doesn’t know. He also doesn’t know that his wife signed an IOU.»
Zhenya gave a low whistle.
«Polina, that’s a bombshell.»
«It’s not a bombshell. It’s justice with a delayed fuse.»
«So what now?»
Polina finished her coffee and calmly dabbed her lips with a napkin.
«Tomorrow I’m meeting with Artyom. I’ll give him one last chance. If he says ‘don’t pressure my sister’ again—then I move to the next step.»
«What step?»
«The day after tomorrow is Kira’s birthday. She’s invited guests. Vadim will be there, her friend Rita, neighbors. The whole house will be full.»
«You’re not planning to…»
«I’m planning to get my money back. The method depends on how tomorrow’s talk with Artyom goes.»
Zhenya looked at her friend for a long time.
«You’ve changed.»
«No, I’ve just stopped waiting for someone else to fix my problem. The best cure for insomnia? Stop hoping for other people’s integrity.»
The riverside promenade, a bench by the fountain.
Artyom arrived twenty minutes late. He sat next to her, didn’t kiss or hug her. He just stared at the fountain.
«So, what’s the rush? I have to be at the workshop in an hour.»
«Artyom, we need to talk about the money.»
He tensed up immediately. His jaw twitched, his shoulders tightened.
«Again? Polya, we’ve already talked about this.»
«We haven’t talked about it a hundred times. Every time you shut down the conversation. Two and a half million, Artyom. My money. From my grandmother’s cottage.»
«Kira will pay it back.»
«When? It’s been two years. The deadline on the IOU passed a year and a half ago.»
«What promissory note?» Artyom snapped, turning around quickly.
«The one Kira signed in front of you. Did you forget?»
«I thought you threw it away. You said yourself— we’re family, promissory notes between our own are silly.»
«That was you talking. I was quiet and listened. And I kept the note. It’s legally binding.»
Artyom rubbed his face with his hands.
«Alright, let’s say so. So now what?»
«Now I want my money back. Or the apartment. That amount covers a one-bedroom flat.»
«Polya, are you crazy? Kira doesn’t have that kind of money right now.»
«Kira has crystal chandeliers hanging from my ceilings. Kira has parquet floors paid for with my money. Turkish tablecloths. And yet she calls me poor and mocks me over yogurt.»
«That’s just the way she is. Don’t take it to heart.»
«Artyom, I’m asking you one last time. Will you talk to your sister about paying the debt back? With interest and penalties. The full amount.»
A pause. Long and heavy.
«Polya, not right before the birthday. Let’s handle this after the party.»
«No. I need an answer now.»
«And what, exactly, do you want me to say? That I should go to my own sister and say— pay up? Is that it?»
«Exactly that.»
«I won’t. She’s my sister. She’s not a stranger.»
«And who am I to you then?»
Artyom looked away.
«You’re my wife. But you have to understand— family is family.»
«Wonderful. Got it. So family means you can take someone’s money and never pay it back.»
«That’s twisting my words.»
«I’m stating the facts. Thank you, Artyom. You’ve just made the decision for both of us.»
She stood up. He grabbed her by the hand.
«Wait. What are you going to do?»
«Solve the problem. On my own. As usual.»
«Polya, just don’t make a scene at the birthday party. Please.»
«You asked me not to pressure your sister two years ago. I listened. You asked me to wait last year. I waited. I’m not waiting anymore.»
She turned and left. Artyom remained on the bench, clutching empty hands. In Polina’s pocket was a phone with a recording of their conversation.
Shopping mall, food court.
Vadim sat in front of a plate with cold shawarma, blinking in surprise. Across from him, Polina sipped her tea calmly.
«Wait,» he raised his hand. «Say that again. Slowly.»
«Two years ago, I lent you and Kira two and a half million rubles. My own money from selling my grandmother’s dacha. Kira signed the promissory note. Here it is.»
Polina put a copy in front of him. The original was at home, in a safe place.
Vadim picked up the paper. Read it. He turned pale.
«That’s Kira’s handwriting.»
«Yes.»
«But she told me… She said Artyom gave us that money. A brotherly gift, because his business was doing well.»
«Artyom didn’t gift anything. Artyom asked me to loan it. I did. Kira promised to pay it back in six months. It’s been two years.»
Vadim pushed his plate away.
«Two and a half million. That’s… that’s the price of a one-bedroom apartment.»
«Exactly.»
«And you stayed silent all this time?»
«I wasn’t silent. I asked. My husband— to talk to his sister. Kira— directly, twice. Both times she waved me off. Said, ‘Don’t be silly, what debt?’»
«So our entire renovation…»
«With my money. Flooring, kitchen, bathroom. Everything.»
Vadim stayed silent for a long while. Then he stared straight at Polina.
«Why are you telling me this? Why not Kira?»
«Because Kira doesn’t see it as an obligation. And you, Vadim, you signed the promissory note too. Right here, at the bottom. See? Clear and legible, with your name in print.»
He looked down. It was his signature. Messy, rushed, but definitely his.
«I… I signed it without looking. Kira just handed me the paper and said it was some tax formality for Artyom.»
«Formality. Convenient word, isn’t it?»
«Polina, I swear, I didn’t know. I didn’t think. I…»
«I believe you. That’s exactly why I’m sitting here, not somewhere else. You have a chance to make it right, like decent people. Otherwise, it’ll go to court. And then you get hit with interest and penalties.»
«How?»
«Tomorrow is Kira’s birthday. Everyone will be there. If Kira contacts me by tomorrow morning and we work out a repayment plan, I’ll forget everything. The insults, the name-calling, even her calling me ‘poor.’ All of it.»
«And if she doesn’t?»
«Then first thing tomorrow at the party, I’ll put the promissory note on the table for all the guests to see. And I’ll explain who really paid for those hardwood floors.»
Vadim swallowed hard.
«Are you serious?»
«Absolutely. There’s a saying: ‘Those who don’t respect other people’s boundaries will one day find they have none of their own.’ I’m done waiting for respect, Vadim. I’m here for my money.»
«I’ll talk to Kira.»
«Today.»
«Today. I promise.»
Polina finished her tea and stood up.
«Vadim. One more thing. Yesterday, Kira called me poor. Yet she lives in a renovated apartment paid for with my money and serves me bread that I buy myself. Remember that when you talk to her.»
She left. Vadim sat frozen, staring at the promissory note. Then he grabbed his phone and dialed Kira. The call was declined. He dialed again.
Kira’s apartment. Birthday party.
The apartment was packed with guests. Rita brought the cake, the neighbors arrived with flowers. Kira fluttered around in a new dress, soaking up compliments. Vadim stood in the corner, pale and silent. He still hadn’t managed to talk to his wife—she came home late last night, was busy cooking this morning, and then the guests arrived.
Polina was the last to arrive. In her hands—a gift bag and that very folder.
«Oh, you showed up,» Kira snorted. «Sit somewhere, if you can find a spot.»
«I’ll find a spot. I’ve got a knack for finding things. Even those others would rather keep hidden.»
Kira finally turned around. Her eyes narrowed.
«What’s that supposed to mean?»
«Nothing, for now. Happy birthday, Kira.»
Polina placed the bag on the table. Inside was a photo frame—Kira and Polina two years ago, hugging and laughing. A different time.
«How sweet,» Kira tossed out, barely glancing at it. «Rita, pour me some wine.»
Artyom walked up to Polina. Whispering tightly through his teeth:
«You promised you wouldn’t cause a scene.»
«I never promised. You asked. I didn’t agree.»
«Polya, please…»
«Sit down.»
Everyone took their seats at the table. Glasses clinked, toasts rang out. Kira was basking in all the attention. Vadim didn’t eat, just pushed a piece of meat around his plate with his fork.
After the third toast, Kira stood up with her glass.
«Friends, I just want to say something. This year hasn’t been easy, but we made it. Vadim and I finally finished the renovations. Just look around—it’s our hard work, our investment. Every single tile, that’s our sweat and our money.»
Vadim dropped his fork. Polina calmly dabbed her lips with a napkin.
«Kira, can I say a few words too?» Polina’s voice was steady, almost gentle.
«Alright, if you keep it brief.»
«It’ll be brief. I gave you a photograph, but I have another gift. Well, more of a reminder.»
Polina opened a folder and placed a receipt on the table. White paper, black ink, signatures.
Kira looked at it. Her face turned ashen.
«What is that?» Rita asked, craning her neck.
«It’s an IOU,» Polina said loudly and clearly. «Two years ago, I lent Kira and Vadim two and a half million rubles for the renovation of this apartment. My own money. From selling my grandmother’s dacha. The repayment date has long since passed.»
Silence crashed onto the table like a cast iron skillet.
«What… what are you talking about?» Kira jumped up. Her voice trembled, but anger was breaking through. «What money? What IOU? Are you out of your mind, you idiot?»
«Kira,» Vadim raised his head. «It’s true. I saw the IOU. My signature is on it. Yours and Artyom’s too.»
«Shut up!» Kira turned to her husband. «Are you on her side now? Did she get to you, huh? That beggar?»
«A beggar who paid for your parquet floors,» Polina didn’t even raise her voice. «A beggar you feed with her own bread and shame with your yogurt. A beggar you call poor in front of everyone.»
«You—!» Kira was gasping for air, her face blotched red. «You are poor! You should be grateful we took you in!»
«You took me in at my own expense. That’s not irony—it’s just math.»
Rita quietly edged away. The other guests exchanged glances.
«Artyom!» Kira screeched. «Tell her! Tell that snake to shut up!»
Artyom sat glued to his chair. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
«Kira… maybe we really should… pay her back…»
«What?!» Kira spun around to her brother. «You too?! Traitor! You begged me to take that money!»
«I asked to borrow it, Kira. Borrow, not keep forever.»
«Enough!» Kira slapped her hand on the table. «This is my birthday! My party! And you’re turning it into a circus! She brought an IOU! That piece of paper is worthless!»
«It’s not worthless,» Vadim stood up. His voice was quiet but firm. «It’s worth two and a half million, plus interest and penalties. Kira, you lied to me. You said Artyom gave us the money as a gift. But you borrowed it. From his wife. And signed an IOU you hid from me.»
«I didn’t hide anything! She set this up! She’s just jealous of me!»
«And what exactly should I be jealous of?» Polina tilted her head. «Your deceit?»
«You… you…» Kira jabbed her finger at Polina. «You wormed your way into our family and now you’re tearing it apart! Snake!»
«Kira, I entered your family with a dowry of two and a half million. The only problem is, it turned out to be non-refundable.»
Rita stood up from the table.
«I think I’m going to leave.»
«Sit down!» Kira barked.
«No, thank you. It feels wrong to celebrate on someone else’s money.»
Rita left. The neighbors followed suit. The apartment was emptying out. Kira stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily.
«So what do you want?» Her voice was hoarse, quiet. «I don’t have any money. You hear me? None.»
«There is money,» Vadim said. «In our joint account. I’ve been saving for a car. Two million seven hundred thousand. It’s enough.»
«You wouldn’t dare!»
«I will. Because debts need to be paid. And because I’m ashamed. I, Kira, am ashamed.»
Kira turned to Artyom.
«Tell him! Tell him this is family money!»
«This isn’t family money,» Artyom stood up. «This is Polina’s money. And she’s right.»
Kira collapsed onto a chair. It was like someone had pulled the rug out from under her.
«You all… you’re all against me…»
«We’re not against you,» Polina walked over and picked up the receipt from the table. «We’re for fairness. That’s not the same thing.»
Vadim turned to Polina.
«I’ll transfer the money tomorrow morning. The full amount. All of it.»
«Thank you, Vadim.»
«Don’t thank me. I’m ashamed it took me two years.»
Polina gathered the papers into a folder. She looked at Artyom.
«I’m leaving for Zhenya’s today. And once I get the money, I’ll rent my own place.»
«Polya, wait. We could still…»
«No, Artyom. We can’t. I waited for two years for you to take my side. You made your choice. Now I’m making mine.»
«You’re leaving?»
«I’m taking myself back. For me.»
Polina picked up her bag, jacket, and folder. She paused in the doorway.
«Kira. Happy birthday. The parquet is beautiful, by the way. You have great taste. On my dime—but still, great taste.»
The door closed.
Kira sat at the now-empty birthday table. Vadim silently cleared the plates. Artyom stared at the closed door, realizing he’d lost more than just two and a half million. The cake was untouched. The candles never lit.
The next morning, Vadim transferred the full sum to Polina. Polina rented a one-bedroom apartment in a quiet courtyard on Leninskaya. Zhenya helped her move—two suitcases, a box of books, and her grandmother’s photo in a wooden frame. That evening, she was already searching for a place to buy.
Artyom called for three days straight. Polina didn’t answer. On the fourth day, he messaged: «I’m sorry. I was a coward.» She replied: «You were. The question is—are you still?»
Kira never called once. But when Vadim saw her next, he shared that she hadn’t spoken to anyone for a week. Then one day, she finally entered the kitchen, sat down, and said, «I’m guilty.» Two words. For the first time ever.
Polina stood by the window in her new apartment. Bare walls, an empty floor, one stool. But it was her floor. Her walls. Her stool. And nobody could tell her where to hang her towels.
