– What’s with that masculine voice talking there? – the mother asked strictly, as if her daughter were fifteen rather than thirty.
– It’s the TV. Ma, what did you want? – Lera replied, clearly eager to end the conversation quickly.
– Nothing. I need to talk to you. Seriously! – the mother emphasized the last word.
Lera rolled her eyes. She didn’t harbor passionate love for her mother, and thus wasn’t too keen on meeting her.
– Maybe over the phone?
– No. Wait, I’ll be there in the evening, – the mother stated dryly and hung up. How typical of her mom—not asking, just imposing her decision.
– Max, – Lera called, tossing her phone onto the bed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, emerging from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Almost,” Lera said gratefully as she accepted a cup. “Mama called. She’s coming over this evening.”
Maxim nodded understandingly. In four months of their relationship, he had already heard plenty of stories about Lera’s family.
“Do you want me to stay?” he offered. “I can provide moral support. Besides, you promised to teach me how to make tiramisu…”
The girl shook her head:
“Not today. I need to sort all this out…”
Ghosts of the Past
Memories are like old photographs—they fade at the edges over time, but the brightest moments remain clear, as if they happened yesterday. Lera was twelve when her parents decided to divorce.
Even years later, she remembered that evening in minute detail: the yellow glow of the old floor lamp, the smell of her mother’s borscht in the kitchen, and the heavy silence that hung in the air after her father said, “We need to talk.”
Yulia, Lera’s younger sister, was already asleep in her room, cuddling her favorite plush bunny. Lera, however, sat at her desk, carefully pretending to be busy with homework while actually listening to every word coming from the kitchen.
“I can’t do this anymore, Lena,” her father said. “We both know that this is no longer a family, but some sort of parody of one.”
“Oh, so a parody?” her mother’s voice tinkled like crystal. “And what about the children? Have you thought about them?”
A cup clinked as it fell onto the tiled floor. Lera flinched, but didn’t move. In moments like that, it was best to remain invisible.
“I’m thinking about the children,” her father’s voice sounded tired. “They need happy parents, not all of this.”
“Happy parents?” her mother bitterly laughed. “Of course, now you’ll be happy. I bet you’ve even found a replacement for me?”
Lera covered her ears with her hands, yet still caught every word.
The parents divorced. Her father didn’t insist on selling the apartment and quietly moved out, taking his modest belongings. First, his favorite mug with a chipped handle disappeared, then the old armchair where he used to read newspapers on weekends, and later the books—a whole shelf suddenly emptied, exposing the faded wallpaper.
Yulia pretended not to notice these changes. She dived headfirst into her own world, where her father was a traitor and her mother a victim.
Her father rented a room in an old house on the outskirts of town. Lera visited him every weekend, unless her mother concocted another “urgent” reason to keep her at home.
The girl would sit on a sagging sofa donated by one of the well-meaning neighbors and talk about school, about the books she had read, about how Yulka once again threw a tantrum because Mama didn’t buy her a new phone.
“And you?” her father asked, looking at her intently. “How are you coping?”
She shrugged, unable to explain that she had learned to live in two realities simultaneously. In one, she was the exemplary daughter who studied diligently and didn’t cause her mother any extra trouble.
In the other, she was the silent observer, noting every detail of what was happening, every false note in her mother’s words, every moment when Yulia chose the easy path of manipulation instead of an honest conversation.
“Had that traitor done it again?” her mother would grumble every time Lera returned home.
Lera stood with her eyes fixed on the floor. And why should she have to justify herself at all?
“Mama, and she even said it would be better if she lived with Dad!” Yulka squealed, peeking from behind her mother and sticking out her tongue at her older sister.
“Of course! Dad is a saint. He pays the alimony and sleeps peacefully, while I have to scramble, cook, and do the laundry! Soon I’ll be left without hands, and you’ll all say I’m useless!” her mother would explode instantly.
“Snitch!” Lera hissed quietly, secretly clenching her fist in a silent show of solidarity with her sister.
“Daddy, can I have some money for ice cream?” Yulka would chirp when their father visited, and their mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.
Right after school, Lera left to study in the regional center.
“Daughter, as long as you get into a state-funded university, with dorm and living expenses paid—I’ll give you money!” her father promised.
And Lera studied. With enthusiasm and hope for a bright future in which she’d own her own apartment—an apartment free of an insufferable younger sister and a nagging, critical mother.
Two years later, it was Yulka’s turn to decide on college.
“I need your college as much as a dog needs a fifth leg,” the girl snapped. “I’d rather finish some courses, and that’s it.”
“Good for you, daughter!” her mother rejoiced. “Not like some who prefer to mooch off me instead of starting to work.”
It was clear as day that a stone had been thrown into Lera’s garden.
“All my expenses are paid by Dad, so you don’t have to worry about spending on me,” Lera said without holding back.
“You just love to show off your teeth and argue with me, all daddy’s girl!” her mother snapped.
Six months later, Yulka was already considered a versatile hairdresser and got a full-time job at some modestly rated salon as a budding stylist.
Lera rarely went home. She preferred to spend her vacations at her father’s place.
“When you finish college, don’t rush into the first offer. Go to a few interviews. Look at people, show yourself,” he advised his daughter.
“Just another product of Daddy’s,” her mother hissed every time she saw her older daughter at her doorstep. “Yulka is already earning money, and this nagging mule still mooches off me.”
“Wasn’t Yulka also offered the chance to study? Why didn’t she go? Oh, I can’t stand Daddy’s handouts anymore!” the girl retorted.
“You don’t really refuse when Dad offers you money,” Lera thought to herself.
After college, Lera got a job, and a year later her father died. Suddenly, absurdly—a heart attack. Neighbors found him two days later. At the funeral, Yulka wept louder than anyone, even though she had barely spoken to him in recent years. Lera, however, couldn’t cry—inside, there was only emptiness and the understanding that now she was truly alone.
There was no inheritance from her father. And why would there be, since after divorcing his wife he lived on rent, giving most of his income to his ex-wife and daughters.
Lera’s life was already difficult before, and after her father’s passing, it became even harder. Part of her salary went toward renting a room—renting an entire apartment was far more expensive. She kept a little for daily expenses and saved the rest for the apartment of her dreams.
Her mother called the older daughter rarely. Mostly just to unload another reproach.
“Yulenka is getting married. She blew all her money on the wedding; probably she’ll need to take a loan,” her mother sighed into the phone, clearly hinting that she expected financial help from her older daughter.
“Then don’t take it. I don’t understand why you’d want to splurge when there’s no money and nowhere to get it from,” Lera snapped, feigning ignorance of her mother’s implications.
“You’re so heartless, all daddy’s girl,” her mother chided. “Or do you think that if men don’t fall in love with you, then everyone is doomed to be spinsters? Yulenka wants a wedding. After all, you only get married once in your life…”
Her mother genuinely believed that her older daughter was unattractive and, therefore, marriage wasn’t in the cards for her. Lera could only sigh at such remarks.
“I can’t give money for the wedding; I’m saving for the mortgage,” Valeria declared.
“Yulenka is pregnant; we should help her with money,” her mother said another time. “Tolya’s salary is small, and the salon owner where your sister worked refuses to pay maternity benefits. Apparently, all her employees are unofficial.”
“Oh, Mom! Yulka knew perfectly well she was working for a ‘black’ salary. I warned her that if she went on maternity leave or got sick, she wouldn’t get a dime.”
“Instead of scolding your sister, you should help her with money. The guys have started a family, scraping by as best they can. And you, you’re living alone and hoarding your money,” her mother reproached.
“Yulka got married; she has a job. Explain why I now have to give part of my salary to her? She wasn’t too keen on sharing when I was studying and she was working.”
“Because it was your choice—to mooch off us while your sister was already earning.”
“Getting married and having children—that’s Yulka’s decision. Let her deal with it herself.”
Finally Her Own
Years passed, and the sisters never became close. Instead, the resentments rooted in childhood only grew and hardened.
Two years after college, Lera finally managed to buy that coveted little apartment. Her own.
“I don’t want to pay this damn mortgage for twenty years,” the girl decided and threw herself even more energetically into making payments.
“Nice apartment,” her mother sneered as she inspected her daughter’s property. “If only Yulka could have such a two-room place. Instead, she and the kid have to live in a dorm, while you get these mansions all to yourself. It’s not fair.”
“Yulka and Tolya lie around on the stove, not lifting a finger, expecting the coveted square meters to fall right into their laps. That never happens,” the girl retorted angrily. Naturally, it hurt her that her mother, as always, devalued her achievements.
“You’re so heartless,” her mother remarked.
“If you’re so kind and wise, why won’t you let them stay with you? You have a three-room place. There’s enough space for everyone: for you, and for Yulka with her children and husband…”
“Forget about Tolya…” her mother dismissed.
Lera smirked. She knew perfectly well how that cohabitation experiment had ended. The mother-in-law and son-in-law never got along. To her mother, Tolya seemed to make insufficient efforts to provide his wife and children with a decent home. In her eyes, he was simply unworthy of her beloved daughter.
Tolya never argued; he just listened silently to all her complaints. But when his patience finally ran out, he told her exactly what he thought of her. In vivid detail, he described where she should go so that ordinary people could enjoy their peaceful lives on the sofa.
For the next seven years, Lera’s life could be summed up in one word—work. She was off to the office by eight in the morning, toiling on projects until five in the evening. Then she rushed home, where she worked on term papers, essays, and translations until midnight.
Maxim appeared in Lera’s life suddenly. A handsome young man started working at the same company as she did. Their romance developed slowly but surely, and soon the young couple began to think about marriage.
Lera didn’t rush to inform her mother about the changes in her life. She didn’t see the need.
A doorbell screeched in a grating, creaky voice.
“I need to disconnect that thing,” Lera thought as she walked to the door.
“You can’t reach me,” her mother declared, and without waiting for an invitation, strode decisively into the apartment.
“Speak—what did you want?” Lera wanted to know as quickly as possible the reason for the visit of this most unwelcome guest.
It had been seven years since she had bought her apartment, and exactly as many since her mother’s first and last visit.
“Why are you in such a hurry? Guests are supposed to be served tea and pastries before questions are asked,” her mother exclaimed cheerfully. Lera was thrown off by this intonation. She wasn’t used to her mother joking around with her.
“Come in,” she said without much enthusiasm, inviting her guest into the kitchen. “Tea from bags, store-bought pie,” the hostess presented her offerings.
“Not too shabby, not too shabby. I see cooking isn’t your forte!” her mother giggled suddenly, plunging her daughter into an even deeper stupor.
“Ma, don’t beat around the bush. What did you want?”
“Oh, and you even have a dishwasher. How convenient, how convenient. And I suppose you have filtered water too? Right!” Instead of answering, her mother began inspecting her daughter’s living space.
“Yes, and we even have proper sewage, so no need to haul water in buckets to the ditch,” the girl replied with a hint of irony.
“Oh, how nice that you have a separate bathroom. It’s so much more convenient than a combined one, especially if several people live in the apartment,” her mother remarked as she already eyed the bathtub and toilet.
“Mmm, what a comfortable sofa! Firm enough, yet soft enough. It could easily serve as a permanent sleeping spot,” her mother continued to marvel, admiring the apartment.
The sight clearly satisfied her.
“I was thinking and have made a wise decision—I’m not going to be living in luxury all by myself in a three-room apartment. I’ll transfer it to Yulka!” her mother suddenly declared with a broad smile.
“How so?” Lera didn’t understand. “Will you move into their dormitory yourself?”
“Why should I live in that dump on the first floor? There’s no entrance at all,” her mother objected indignantly. “I’ll give my apartment to Yulka and live with you, since you’re all alone anyway,” the mother stated.
Lera choked on her breath and for a while just stared at her mother, eyes wide and mouth agape.
“But look, you have such a nice two-room place. One room for you, one for me, and Yulka will move into my three-room apartment—everything will be fair!” her mother reasoned confidently, as if her entire plan had long been agreed upon and approved by all concerned parties.
But Valeria was not at all pleased with such an arrangement. She hadn’t struggled for seven years to break free from her mother’s wing only to now share her hard-earned square meters with her, while her sister—who all this time had only been about getting by and whining about her fate—got everything for free.
“No,” Lera curtly snapped.
Now it was her mother’s turn to gasp and clutch at the air with her mouth. She knew her older daughter had a strong character, but she hadn’t thought she’d be able to object.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” her mother’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve already decided everything. The documents are ready.”
“So you’re going to live with Yulka,” Lera said, standing up, feeling her knees tremble. “This is my apartment. Mine. I fought for it for seven years while Yulka was giving birth and waiting for her slice of heaven.”
“Oh, so that’s the matter!” her mother exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Are you jealous of your sister? She at least built a family, had children, and you…” she swept her gaze over the kitchen, as if searching for evidence of her daughter’s non-existent failures. “Not a cat or a dog. You live like a tumbleweed.”
“Actually, I’m getting married…”
“Who needs you?” her mother fumed, twisting her mouth in a grimace. “Right off the bat you start making up tales, just to avoid helping your sister.”
“Think what you want, but your foot won’t be here,” Lera declared, making it clear that she was no longer keeping her mother as a guest.
“Are you really going to kick me out if I show up with my suitcases?” her mother doubted.
“Go ahead and check,” Lera advised calmly, rising to signal that she would no longer tolerate her presence.
“You’re as cold-hearted as your father!” her mother’s voice rose to a shout.
“Thank you,” Lera smiled for the first time that evening. “Daddy was a good man. And he loved me just because, not for my proper behavior.”
The front door slammed so hard that the windows trembled. Lera stood by the window, watching her mother’s figure dissolve into the dusk, and felt a strange sense of relief.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Maxim: “How did the meeting go?” Lera smiled as she typed her reply: “Come over. I’ll teach you how to make tiramisu.”
