On Saturday morning, Lyudmila Andreevna stood in the middle of the bathroom wearing Viktor Pavlovich’s rubber boots, gripping a mop.
The mop was pretty much useless.
Water was still finding its way in faster than she could manage. It gushed out from under the box covering the pipes by the riser, spread across the tiles, flowed into the hallway, and had already reached the mat by the front door.
Viktor Pavlovich immediately called the emergency repair service.
“Did you shut off the valve?” Lyudmila Andreevna shouted.
“I turned off everything I could find!” her husband called back from the toilet.
“Then why’s the water still coming?”
“Because clearly, the water didn’t get the memo!”
Forty minutes later, the emergency crew arrived. They removed part of the tiles, opened up the wall near the pipe, and discovered that an old section of the in-apartment pipe had burst just past the first shut-off valve. The riser itself was fine, but the hidden piping behind the box should have been replaced long ago.
An hour later, the water finally stopped, but the bathroom looked like someone had started a renovation and then just quit. The laminate in the hallway was bubbling up.
In the evening, the downstairs neighbor called.
She now had a big wet stain on her ceiling.
The next day, Viktor Pavlovich called in a specialist.
The repairman walked through the apartment, tapped on the pipes, peered behind the box, sighed, and finally said:
“You could replace one pipe now. But in six months, another one will leak. Everything here is old.”
“How much to fix everything ‘old’?” Lyudmila Andreevna asked warily.
“If you want it done properly, about two hundred eighty thousand.”
Viktor Pavlovich had to double-check:
“Two hundred eighty?”
The repairman nodded.
“That includes the pipes, restoring the bathroom, the hallway. As for the neighbors, you’ll have to handle them yourself.”
After he left, the couple sat in the kitchen for a long time.
It was a typical two-room apartment where they had lived for over thirty years. Their two daughters grew up here. There used to be a bunk bed because Oksana and Inna shared a room. Viktor Pavlovich had personally put up the first imported wallpaper here, the kind he spent the next fifteen years forbidding anyone to touch because “they don’t make stuff like that anymore.”
But the apartment hadn’t belonged to them for three years.
Three years ago, Viktor Pavlovich and Lyudmila Andreevna gifted it to their younger daughter Inna. They’d also put the dacha and the brick garage in Inna’s name. The apartment deed specifically gave Viktor Pavlovich and Lyudmila Andreevna lifetime residence rights. The parents were sure this was the right way: Inna already owned everything, but they still had their familiar home.
They planned it well ahead of time.
So there’d be no inheritance disputes later on.
Oksana didn’t get anything back then.
Her parents explained it simply.
Oksana was married to Denis, and worked as a lead specialist at a big logistics company. Denis managed a small service department. By then, they had almost paid off the mortgage on their three-room apartment. Their only daughter Polina was about to start university.
Inna was divorced, raising her son alone, and worked as an administrator at a medical clinic.
So Lyudmila Andreevna said:
“You’re standing on your own two feet. But it’s tough for Innochka.”
Oksana didn’t argue back then.
Although she didn’t really like the word “secure.”
It seemed like eighteen years of paying off a mortgage, Denis working two jobs in the early years, and her own habit of never buying a fridge on credit had somehow become proof that she needed nothing at all.
But she wasn’t about to divide her parents’ assets while they were still alive.
She just asked:
“Do you realize that along with the apartment, the dacha, and the garage, Inna also gets more than just the right to sell everything someday?”
Viktor Pavlovich laughed:
“Oksana, come on, why are you starting this? We’re family.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying: if the roof at the dacha collapses or a pipe bursts here, Inna’s the owner too.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” her mother waved her hand. “Do you really think Inna would abandon us?”
Oksana never brought up the topic again.
Not until this past Saturday.
The first thing her parents did was call Inna.
She came over after work in the evening, inspected the torn-up bathroom, and listened to the price.
“Two hundred eighty? Are you serious?”
“We can look around some more,” her mother said. “Find another contractor.”
“It’s not about the contractor. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money right now?”
Lately, Inna really had been spending money quickly.
In the spring, she traded in her six-year-old car for a newer model, paying a hefty extra sum. In the summer, she paid for her fifteen-year-old son’s language camp. And for January, she’d already put down a deposit for a trip.
Lyudmila Andreevna cautiously suggested:
“Maybe you could postpone the trip?”
Inna looked at her with such surprise, it was as if her mother had suggested postponing January itself.
“Mom, I’ve had that trip planned since summer. And the pipe just burst yesterday. What does one have to do with the other?”
Viktor Pavlovich cleared his throat.
“But the apartment is yours.”
“Dad, I don’t live there.”
“So whose is it, then?”
“It’s mine. But you’re the ones living there.”
Her answer was so tactful, it was hard to argue with.
Inna was the first to suggest a solution:
“How about asking Oksana?”
Lyudmila Andreevna immediately looked away.
“It’s awkward.”
“Why is it awkward? Their mortgage is paid off. Polina is grown up now. Both of them have good incomes.”
“We didn’t leave her anything three years ago,” her mother reminded.
“But back then, you weren’t dividing things because of the repairs.”
Viktor Pavlovich thought it over.
It even sounded convincing.
The apartment did belong to Inna.
It was the apartment that needed the repair.
But somehow, it made sense to ask Oksana for the money.
Two days later, the couple found a second contractor. He estimated a bit less, but advised replacing the entire problematic section of pipe instead of just patching one spot.
Now the neighbors’ ceiling was added to the list of repairs.
In the end, the number was back up to almost three hundred thousand.
The following Sunday, her parents visited Oksana.
She was just pulling chicken out of the oven, while Denis was trying to explain to their daughter over the phone that just because she received a scholarship didn’t mean her parents had to pay only for “non-essential expenses.”
Oksana opened the door and immediately noticed the papers in her father’s hands.
“What happened?”
“We’re not staying long,” said her mother.
“I can see that already. When you have paperwork, you’re never here for long.”
Denis poked his head out of the kitchen:
“Should I put on some tea?”
“Go ahead,” said Viktor Pavlovich. “We need to talk.”
Ten minutes later, there were two repair estimates on the table.
Oksana glanced over the first page, then the second.
“So the leak is fixed?”
“Yes.”
“How much do the neighbors want?”
“For now, we agreed on twenty-five thousand. Their ceiling and part of their wall got damaged.”
“And the rest?”
“Pipes and repairs are on us,” her mother explained.
Oksana set the paper aside.
“Okay. So, why did you come to me?”
Lyudmila Andreevna hesitated.
Viktor Pavlovich decided to be direct:
“We thought maybe you could lend us three hundred thousand. Not forever. We’ll pay it back.”
Oksana looked at her father for a few seconds.
“Three hundred?”
“Yeah. In installments.”
“What kind of installments?”
“Whatever we can manage.”
“That’s not a real plan, Dad.”
“Maybe ten thousand at a time.”
“Every month?”
Her parents exchanged glances.
Lyudmila Andreevna replied cautiously:
“Probably not every month. We’ve got medications, utilities, the summer cottage… We do have about eighty thousand saved for emergencies, but that’s for medicine or urgent things. We really didn’t want to touch it.”
Oksana pushed the estimate back to her father.
“So why did you come to me? Go to the one who owns everything now.”
“Oksana,” her mother protested right away, offended. “We’re not asking for Inna. We live here.”
“I understand. But let’s separate two things. You need help — that’s one. The apartment needs major repairs — that’s another.”
“What’s the difference?” her father didn’t get it.
“It’s very simple. If I pay for the repairs, the apartment gets better. Whose apartment is it?”
Viktor Pavlovich frowned.
“Inna’s.”
“Exactly.”
“But we need the new pipes!”
“So why isn’t Inna paying for it?”
Her mother sighed:
“She doesn’t have the money right now.”
Oksana looked at Denis.
He silently pushed the sugar bowl towards Viktor Pavlovich and chose not to get involved.
“Does she really not have the money?” Oksana asked. “Or does she just not want to change her plans?”
“She just bought a new car,” her mother admitted.
“I know.”
“And sent Artyom to camp.”
“I know that too.”
“And her trip is paid for.”
Oksana nodded.
“So, she had the money. She just chose to spend it somewhere else.”
Viktor Pavlovich tapped the table, frustrated.
“But is it so hard for you to help your parents?”
“No, that’s why I will help.”
Her mother even straightened up.
“I can cover the neighbors’ damages — those twenty-five thousand. And if it’s hard for you to stay at home during the repairs, move in here. Polina’s at the dorm right now, her room is free. Stay for two weeks, or a month if you want.”
“And the renovations?”
“The apartment owner pays for those.”
“So you won’t give us three hundred thousand?”
“No.”
Viktor Pavlovich shook his head:
“I never would have thought.”
“Well, I have thought about it,” Oksana said. “For three years now.”
The kitchen became quiet.
She didn’t raise her voice and didn’t remind her parents who got what. For some reason, that made the conversation even more unpleasant.
“You want to take money from me,” Oksana continued, “and pay it back from your two pensions. Let’s say ten thousand a month. Even without missing payments, that’s two and a half years. But after the repairs, the apartment belongs to Inna. So I’m basically putting three hundred thousand into her property, while you carry the debt. Why would I agree to that?”
“Not everything is about money,” her mother said.
“But that’s exactly what we’re talking about right now. The estimate doesn’t come in pies.”
Denis couldn’t help it—he turned to look out the window.
Viktor Pavlovich noticed.
“Is something funny to you?”
“No,” Denis answered honestly. “But the thing about the pies is definitely true.”
Oksana took out the calculator on her phone.
“Let’s make this even simpler. How much is your old apartment worth now?”
“How should we know…”
“Someone in the neighboring entrance just listed a similar one for nearly seven million.”
Father grimaced.
“You can list it for whatever price you want.”
“Fine. Say six million then. What about the dacha?”
Mother replied:
“Last summer, a neighbor offered four million for the plot with the house.”
“Garage?”
“Maybe eight hundred thousand,” Father answered reluctantly.
Oksana put her phone down.
“So, someone received assets worth over ten million, and still can’t come up with two hundred eighty thousand for an apartment, to the point they have to borrow from someone who got nothing?”
Lyudmila Andreevna blushed.
“Now you’re making it all about who got what.”
“No. I’m focusing on who’s responsible for what.”
And that turned out to be the key difference.
Oksana never demanded back her share of the dacha.
She never said her parents should have left her the apartment.
She never suggested they should transfer the garage to her.
She agreed to help them personally.
But she refused to pay for someone else’s asset just because she had a higher salary.
Her parents left earlier than they planned.
That same evening, Oksana sent her father twenty-five thousand—to settle up with the neighbors.
She only added: “This is for you. No need to pay it back.”
The next day, Viktor Pavlovich called Inna.
The conversation started calmly.
“Inna, we need to do something about the repairs.”
“I already told you—I don’t have three hundred thousand right now.”
“Then you’ll have to think of something.”
“Dad, why not ask Oksana?”
“We did.”
“And?”
“She won’t give it.”
Inna was silent.
“Strange.”
That word annoyed her father.
“What exactly is strange?”
“Well… they do have the money.”
Suddenly, Viktor Pavlovich heard almost word for word the logic he used himself three years ago.
Oksana has the money.
Oksana will manage.
Oksana doesn’t need it.
Oksana will earn it herself.
Back when they divided things, her stability was the reason to give her less.
Now, that same stability is the reason to ask her for more.
“Listen,” he said slowly, “why do you need the garage?”
“What garage?”
“Ours.”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Are you using it?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then sell it. It’s yours, you’re not using it. We can pay for the repairs with that money.”
Inna started talking faster:
“Wait. Why sell property over some pipes? We could just get a loan.”
“Who would get the loan?”
“You guys.”
Viktor Pavlovich actually pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it.
Then he put it back.
“So, we gave you the apartment. Gave you the garage. Gave you the dacha. And you think we should be the ones to take out a loan to repair your apartment?”
“But you’re the ones living there!”
“We’re living there for now. But when it’s paid off, guess who the loan will belong to?”
Inna went quiet.
That evening, Father told his wife about the conversation.
Lyudmila Andreevna said nothing for a long time, and then finally said:
“Maybe we shouldn’t have signed everything over so quickly.”
“What’s done is done. At least now we’ll see how things work.”
Inna came over two days later.
She didn’t have her usual confidence.
“I can give two hundred thousand,” she said. “But honestly, I just can’t spare any more right now. The January trip will have to be cancelled, but what can you do.”
“Where did you find that kind of money?” her mother asked.
“I’ll take it from my savings account. I had put some aside already.”
Viktor Pavlovich raised his eyebrows.
Turns out, the phrase “no money” can actually mean a pretty wide range of things.
Inna withdrew two hundred thousand from her savings, and her parents added eighty thousand from their own funds. The second repair estimate ended up being a bit cheaper, and the leftover money went toward extra materials and drying out the damaged corridor. Oksana paid the neighbors’ claim of twenty-five thousand separately.
The garage didn’t have to be sold.
The repairs lasted almost three weeks.
During that time, the parents really did move in with Oksana and Denis.
It was there that, one evening, Viktor Pavlovich said to his daughter:
“Were you angry with us back then? When all the property went to Inna?”
Oksana was putting dishes away in the drying rack.
“I was angry.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did say something. But you thought I was talking about money.”
“What were you talking about, then?”
She shrugged.
“About the rules. You chose them yourselves: property to Inna, nothing to me. That’s fine. But you can’t then make up a second rule: Inna gets the property, but everyone pays the expenses.”
Her father was silent for a moment.
“It doesn’t look good.”
“Well, at least the new pipes will look good.”
He smirked.
And with that, the conversation ended.
After the repairs, the parents moved back home.
But by spring, a new issue popped up—the country house. They needed to buy materials to fix the porch and replace part of the fence, plus Viktor Pavlovich reminded everyone they’d need to budget for property taxes in the fall.
Before, Viktor Pavlovich would have automatically dipped into his own savings.
But this time, he called Inna.
They talked for a long time, and for the first time ever, came to an actual agreement instead of the usual “we’ll see.”
The parents continued paying the apartment utility bills themselves, since that’s where they lived.
They also covered groceries, household expenses, and small fixes.
But Inna, as the property owner, took full responsibility for major apartment repairs, property taxes, and bigger projects at the country house.
At first, the younger daughter was outraged.
But then she got used to it.
It turned out, owning property costs money—even if you got it for free.
A few months later, Lyudmila Andreyevna called Oksana in the evening.
They chatted about Polina, tomato prices, and how Viktor Pavlovich decided once again to fix the old lawn mower instead of just buying a new one.
Then, in passing, her mother said:
“The roof above our veranda at the country place is leaking.”
Oksana was about to reply, but her mother quickly added:
“I already called Inna. She’s coming on Saturday with a repairman.”
Oksana smiled.
“That’s good to hear.”
“I almost called you first,” Lyudmila Andreyevna admitted. “Even had your number up. But then I thought: stop. I’m falling back into old habits.”
“You learn fast.”
“At my age, you have to. It’s expensive schooling.”
Oksana laughed.
She didn’t need half of Inna’s country house, and she had no desire to revisit her parents’ decision after three years.
What always bothered her was something else entirely.
Our family once had a strange rule: if a child was independent, they deserved less, got help less often, and their efforts were often measured with a running tab.
But after the incident with the water leak, that old rule finally stopped working.
It turned out, loving two daughters doesn’t require any bookkeeping at all.
Interestingly, though, property and responsibility seem much easier to manage when they’re assigned to the same person.