The bank notice lay on the kitchen table, pinned down by the salt shaker. Polina stared at the number in the “Overdue Debt Amount” line and felt a vein begin to pulse beneath the skin of her neck.
Denis sat across from her, hunched over, endlessly turning an empty lighter in his hands. Tamara Ilyinichna stood by the window, demonstratively turned toward the dark glass, slowly stroking her collarbones — a gesture that always appeared when she needed to display the highest degree of suffering.
“So,” Polina’s voice was even as she adjusted the strap of her smartwatch with a familiar movement. “You mortgaged your apartment, took three million. Gave it to Vadik so he could cover the debts from his failed business. Vadik stopped answering calls, and now the bank is taking your home. Have I reconstructed the chronology correctly?”
Tamara Ilyinichna sighed heavily without turning around.
“Vadyusha isn’t to blame,” she said dully. “His partners set him up. The boy was desperate. If I hadn’t helped him, they would have put him in prison. You simply don’t understand, Polina. You don’t have children of your own.”
“But I do have eyes,” Polina shifted her gaze to her husband. “Denis? Did you know?”
Denis stopped turning the lighter and looked up at his wife.
“Pol… Mom only told me yesterday. When this arrived,” he nodded toward the paper. “The court hearing has already happened. The apartment will be put up for auction in a month. She has nowhere to go.”
“And that’s why she moved her things into our place this morning while I was at work,” Polina stated.
She swept her eyes around the kitchen. Denis had inherited this apartment from his father a year before their wedding. Back then, it had been a ruined two-room place that smelled of old tobacco and had squeaky parquet floors. For three years, Polina had poured her salary into it. She had chosen this matte kitchen set, paid for the porcelain tiles in the hallway, bought the double-door refrigerator with the ice maker. Denis earned less; his money went to groceries and utilities, while Polina built their shared “nest.” On paper, the apartment belonged to Denis, but in essence, it was stitched together from her nerves.
And now, in this nest, a stranger’s burgundy cardigan was hanging over an eco-leather chair.
Tamara Ilyinichna finally turned around. Her face was pale, but her gaze was sharp.
“We are family, Polina,” her mother-in-law said in a soft, slightly guilty tone. “A real woman builds a family. She doesn’t count pennies when her husband’s mother may end up on the street. I won’t be in your way. I can sleep on the sofa in the living room. I have my pension. I won’t be a burden.”
“It’s not about the sofa, Tamara Ilyinichna,” Polina adjusted the strap of her watch again. “It’s about the three million. How are you planning to repay it?”
Denis exhaled loudly and leaned forward, covering Polina’s hand with his palm.
“Pol, listen. We went to the bank. They’ll approve refinancing if we take out a loan secured by this apartment. We’ll cover Mom’s debt and save her home. Vadik will get back on his feet sooner or later and pay everything back. But my income isn’t enough for approval. You need to be a co-borrower.”
Polina pulled her hand out from under her husband’s palm.
“You want to mortgage the apartment I invested one and a half million into renovating, so we can pay off the debts of your thirty-year-old brother, who is now hiding somewhere no one knows? And you want me to sign onto that debt?”
“This is for Mom!” Denis’s voice trembled. “Do you understand that she’ll become homeless?! I can’t abandon my mother! It’s just paperwork, Pol. We’ll manage. I’ll find a second job!”
“Denis is right,” Tamara Ilyinichna added softly. “We’ll manage. I’ll cook and clean. You’re always so busy with your job anyway, Pol. This way, you’ll come home and the place will be clean, dinner on the stove. A family has to stick together in difficult times.”
Polina looked at them. Tamara Ilyinichna had always played the victim, and Denis had spent his entire life trying to earn her love by solving the problems created by the golden boy, Vadik. And now Polina had been written into that scheme — as a convenient ATM with a good credit history.
“I will not sign a co-borrower agreement,” she said, rising from the table. “And I do not agree to mortgage this apartment.”
Tamara Ilyinichna gasped, clutching her collarbones. Denis jumped up.
“Pol, you can’t do this!” he shouted. “This is betrayal!”
“Betrayal, Denis, is confronting me with a done deal after half my salary has gone for years into making sure we live like human beings. I’m going to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Behind the wall, tense, agitated whispering began.
At night, Polina woke up thirsty. Denis was not beside her. She quietly went out into the hallway. The light above the kitchen hood was on.
Tamara Ilyinichna was sitting there, pressing her mobile phone to her ear. The old woman’s shoulders were shaking.
“Vadyusha, my son, please answer,” she whispered into the phone in a breaking, pitiful voice. “Vadenka, I’m scared. They’ll evict me. How could this happen, Vadya? I did everything for you… Pick up the phone, I’m begging you.”
At that moment, Polina saw before her not a calculating manipulator, but simply an old woman who was frightened and betrayed by her own beloved child. For a second, a prickly pity stirred in Polina’s chest. She wanted to go in, embrace those shaking shoulders, and say, All right, we’ll manage.
But Tamara Ilyinichna pulled the phone away from her ear, and the screen went dark. The woman wiped her tears with the back of her hand, sighed heavily, and muttered into the emptiness:
“It’s all right. Polinka won’t go anywhere. Deniska will wear her down. She’ll throw a tantrum and then sign. Where is she going to go from a submarine?”
The pity vanished. Polina silently returned to the bedroom. She lay down under the blanket and opened her banking app on her phone.
The next day, Denis moved from pleading to accusations. He called Polina hard-hearted and mercenary, reminded her how Tamara Ilyinichna had baked pies for them on their anniversary. Her mother-in-law herself behaved quieter than water, washed the floors twice a day, and demonstratively drank Corvalol in the kitchen whenever Polina walked by.
“We have a meeting at the bank on Friday,” Denis said on Thursday evening, not looking his wife in the eyes. “The manager said they’ll reject us without your signature. Pol, please, I’m begging you.”
Polina adjusted the strap of her watch.
“What time?”
“Two in the afternoon.”
“All right. I’ll come.”
On Friday morning, Denis left for work, from where he was supposed to go straight to the bank. Tamara Ilyinichna, encouraged by her daughter-in-law’s surrender, hummed something under her breath as she got ready to go to the public services center for some documents.
“I’ll be back by one, Polinka, and we’ll go together!” she called from the hallway and slammed the door.
At ten in the morning, Polina opened the door to a crew of four sturdy men in overalls.
“Hello. Here’s the list: the refrigerator, washing machine, oven, cooktop, television from the living room, and orthopedic mattress. Disconnect them and pack everything carefully. Is the truck by the entrance?”
“You wound me, ma’am,” the foreman replied in a deep voice. “We’ll do everything perfectly.”
Work began at full speed while Polina packed her suitcases at the same time. She turned out not to have that many things — three suitcases of clothes, a laptop, and folders with documents. By half past twelve, the apartment had changed beyond recognition. In the place of the expensive built-in appliances, black holes gaped with wires sticking out. In the bedroom, only the bare wooden bed frame remained.
She did not take the furniture — the wardrobes and kitchen set were built in too firmly. But everything that had been bought with her card was now being loaded into the truck.
Ten minutes to one, a key turned in the lock.
The door opened. Denis stood on the threshold; apparently, he had taken time off early. Tamara Ilyinichna loomed behind him.
They froze, watching as a mover carried a huge mattress toward the elevator.
“Pol? What is this?”
Polina stood in the hallway, putting on a light coat. Three suitcases were lined up beside her.
“This is a move, Denis.”
Tamara Ilyinichna squeezed past her son, looked into the kitchen, and made a choked sound.
“Where is the refrigerator?!” she breathed, clutching her collarbones. “Where is the stove?! What have you done?!”
“I took what was mine,” Polina replied calmly. “I have the receipts in my folder, and the warranty cards too. If you have any complaints, you can call the police, but I can prove I paid for all of it from my personal account.”
Denis stepped forward.
“Have you lost your mind? What move? We’re supposed to be at the bank in an hour! Mom is losing her apartment!”
“I’m not going to the bank,” Polina took hold of her suitcase handle. “And I’m not signing anything.”
“You’re abandoning us? Over money?!” Denis shouted, grabbing her by the sleeve of her coat. “You’re taking appliances out of the house when we’re in this kind of trouble?! You’ll leave my mother without food, without any way to wash her clothes?! How can you be such a bitch?!”
Polina sharply pulled her arm free.
“This isn’t our trouble, Denis. This is your mother’s trouble, which she created with her own hands for the sake of her other son. And you decided I should pay for the banquet.”
“Polina, my dear girl,” Tamara Ilyinichna suddenly wailed, rushing toward her and trying to look into her eyes. “Don’t take such a sin upon your soul! How are we supposed to live without a refrigerator? How will Deniska eat? Please, come back, I beg you. We’re family!”
She was crying sincerely. An old woman who had suddenly realized her cunning had not worked.
Polina rolled the first suitcase out onto the stairwell.
“You mortgaged your apartment for him, so let him do the laundry now.”
Denis stood leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.
“If you walk out now,” he said quietly, with hatred, “then everything between us is over. I’m filing for divorce.”
“I already filed the application through Gosuslugi,” Polina replied. “You’ll get the notification. Goodbye, Denis.”
She went down in the elevator, paid the foreman, and got into a taxi. The car pulled away.
An hour later, as Polina was unpacking her things in a rented apartment, her phone pinged. A message from Denis.
“The bank refused without a co-borrower. They’re taking Mom’s apartment in two weeks. We’re sitting on the kitchen floor. We don’t even have anything to boil water in. You took the kettle. Damn you and your righteousness. You destroyed our family.”
Polina read the text and blocked Denis’s number.