Darya woke up to the sound of the front door slamming shut. Pavel had left for work without even checking in on her. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sounds of the apartment. From the kitchen, she could hear the footsteps of her mother-in-law, Valeria Romanovna, already bustling about and fixing herself breakfast.
Darya slowly climbed out of bed, threw on a robe, and headed to the bathroom. As she passed the kitchen, she heard a loud scoff:
«So lazy! She didn’t even put the bread in the breadbox—just left it lying on the table. Natalia would never…»
Darya clenched her fists but said nothing. Four years. She had lived in this house for four years, a place that reminded her every single day that she was nothing more than a guest. An unwelcome one.
After washing her face with cold water, Darya went back to the bedroom to get dressed. It was her day off, and all she wanted was to spend it as far away from Valeria Romanovna and her endless comparisons to the «perfect» Natalia as possible.
«Darya!» the mother-in-law’s imperious voice rang out. «When are you planning to go to the store? We’re out of milk and cottage cheese. Do you expect me to do all the shopping myself at my age?»
Darya closed her eyes, counting to ten, then stepped into the hallway.
«I’ll go after lunch, Valeria Romanovna.»
«After lunch, after lunch… So what, am I supposed to sit here hungry? Natalia always buys everything necessary first thing in the morning so people aren’t kept waiting.»
Darya turned away before she could respond. She grabbed her bag, threw on a jacket, and left the apartment without saying goodbye. Let Valeria Romanovna be indignant—she simply didn’t have the strength to put up with it today.
When Pavel returned from work that evening, his mother immediately started complaining: «Can you imagine, Pavlusha? I asked her to buy milk this morning, and she just walked out! She was rude, and then she just left!»
Pavel wearily kicked off his shoes and glanced at Darya, who was standing by the stove.
«Mom, please, don’t start…»
«What do you mean, ‘don’t start’? I live here, by the way, in my own apartment! And no one shows me any respect!»
Darya flipped the cutlets in the pan, feeling the tension creeping into her shoulders. Pavel walked past her into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, drank it, and disappeared into his room. He didn’t even hug her or ask how her day had gone.
It was always like this. His mother would speak, and Pavel would either stay silent or walk away. Darya had realized long ago that he would never defend her. It was easier for him to just hide on the sidelines until the storm blew over.
The next day, Natalia arrived for lunch. She was tall and slender, wearing a new coat and carrying a trendy handbag. Valeria Romanovna greeted her daughter with open arms:
«Natashinka, my darling! You look so beautiful! And a new coat! Look, Darya, this is how one should dress, instead of walking around in those baggy sweaters of yours.»
Darya stood in the kitchen doorway with a rag in her hand, having just finished wiping the table. Natalia cast an indifferent glance her way and walked into the living room without even saying hello.
All evening, Valeria Romanovna fawned over her daughter. Natalia talked about her new job, a trip to Sochi, and her plans for the future. Her mother-in-law listened with her mouth agape, nodding and sighing in awe. Darya wasn’t even invited to the table; she silently cleaned the kitchen, listening through the wall as Valeria Romanovna held up the «golden» Natalia as a shining example once again.
Pavel sat with his mother and sister, occasionally chiming in with a comment. Darya finished cleaning, went to the bedroom, and went to bed without waiting for the family evening to end. There was no place for her here. There hadn’t been for a long time.
A week later, the phone rang. Darya was home alone—Pavel was at work, and Valeria Romanovna had gone to see a friend. The voice on the other end was official and dry:
«Darya Sergeyevna? This is the city hospital calling. Your mother… I’m afraid she passed away this morning.»
Darya didn’t remember how she responded. The phone slipped from her hand and fell onto the sofa. She sank down next to it, clutching her temples. *Mom. Mom is gone.*
Her mother had been ill for the last six months. Darya had visited as much as she could, but work, the house, and Valeria Romanovna’s endless nitpicking sapped so much of her energy that she hadn’t been able to visit as often as she wanted. And now… now it was too late.
When Pavel got home that evening, Darya was sitting in the kitchen, clutching a cup of cold tea. Her husband glanced at her red eyes:
«What happened?»
«Mom… she’s gone.»
Pavel froze, then awkwardly put an arm around her shoulders. «I’m sorry. I… my condolences.»
And that was it. He said nothing more. When Valeria Romanovna heard the news, she merely pursed her lips:
«Well, that’s life. We’ll all end up there eventually. We need to handle the paperwork and organize the funeral.»
No words of support. No empathy. It was just a business-like tone, as if they were discussing buying a new teapot.
Darya buried her mother alone. Pavel came to the cemetery and stood beside her, but he didn’t even give her a hug. Valeria Romanovna didn’t show up at all—she claimed she wasn’t feeling well.
A week later, a notary called Darya. Her mother had left a will. The apartment—a two-bedroom in an old neighborhood on the outskirts of town—was left to her daughter. Darya went, signed the papers, and got the keys.
She returned home late that evening. Pavel was sitting in front of the TV, scrolling through his phone. Darya sat down next to him.
«Pavel, my mother left me her apartment.»
Her husband looked up and nodded:
«Well, that’s good.»
«I was thinking… maybe we could move there? We could live on our own, just us. It would be our place, and no one would…»
«Hmm,» Pavel went back to his phone. «We’ll see. We’ll talk about it later.»
Darya started to say something else, but Valeria Romanovna’s voice echoed from the hallway:
«An apartment, you say? But you aren’t going to abandon me, are you?»
Her mother-in-law stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. Darya realized she had heard the whole conversation.
The next day at dinner, Valeria Romanovna brought it up herself. Darya was dishing out potatoes, and Pavel was slicing bread. Her mother-in-law leaned over the table:
«Darya, I’ve been thinking about your apartment. What neighborhood is it in?»
«On Lesnaya Street,» Darya replied cautiously.
«And is it big?»
«Two bedrooms. Fifth floor, no elevator.»
«I see,» Valeria Romanovna nodded. «And how much could it be worth?»
Darya stopped, holding the ladle in her hand:
«I don’t know. I haven’t had it appraised.»
«Well, roughly? Three million? Four?»
«Valeria Romanovna, I am not planning to sell my mother’s apartment.»
«That’s a shame,» her mother-in-law reached for the salt shaker. «We need the money right now. Natalia, for instance, needs funding for a new project. Significant funding. And you’re young and healthy; you’ll manage somehow. Why do you need an empty apartment?»
Darya slowly placed the ladle on the table. She looked at Pavel—he sat staring into his plate, as if he hadn’t heard the conversation.
«I’m sorry, but this is my apartment. My mother left it to me.»
«So what?» Valeria Romanovna frowned. «Family should help each other. Natalia is your relative now, a sister-in-law. Are you going to deny help to your husband’s sister? You should sell the apartment and split the money—some for Natalia’s project, some for you and Pavel. It’s only fair.»
Something inside Darya snapped. She looked at her mother-in-law, unable to believe what she was hearing. Sell her mother’s apartment? Split the money with Natalia, who wouldn’t even say hello to her? Give away the last thing her mother had left her?
«No,» Darya shook her head. «I am not selling the apartment.»
«Darya, you don’t understand,» Valeria Romanovna raised her voice. «Natalia really needs this money! A lot of money! And you already have a roof over your head; you live here in our apartment. What difference does it make to you?»
Pavel remained silent. He just sat there, as if he weren’t even in the room. Darya turned her gaze to her husband:
«Pavel, say something.»
Her husband looked up and shrugged:
«Mom is right. Family should help. Natalia is having a hard time, and if you have the means…»
Darya froze. She looked at Pavel and didn’t recognize the man she had lived with for four years. Did he really think she should sell her mother’s apartment for his sister? For Natalia, who had always looked down on her?
«Do you understand what you’re saying?» Darya asked quietly.
«I understand that family comes first,» Pavel said, looking away. «And if you can help, you should.»
Valeria Romanovna nodded with satisfaction:
«See? Pavlusha understands perfectly. So, Darya, let’s have none of this nonsense. Sign the papers to sell it, and let’s be done with it.»
Her blood pounded in her temples. Darya slowly stood up from the table. Her hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the fury that had been building inside her for years. She looked at her mother-in-law, then at her husband, and her voice came out cold and firm:
«Keep your hands off! My mother left that apartment to me, not for you to divvy up!»
Valeria Romanovna froze with her mouth open. Pavel suddenly looked up, staring at his wife with disbelief. The air in the room grew heavy and suffocating.
«How dare you?!» Valeria Romanovna jumped up. «How dare you speak to me like that?!»
«I dare because it’s the truth,» Darya didn’t blink. «For four years, I’ve put up with your nitpicking, your comparisons to Natalia, and your constant criticism. For four years, I’ve lived in this house like I don’t belong here. And now you want to take the last thing I have of my mother’s? No. That’s not happening.»
Pavel stood up, pursing his lips unhappily:
«Dasha, stop it. You’re being rude to my mother.»
«And you remain silent when she humiliates me!» Darya turned to her husband. «You’ve never stood up for me! Not once! You always stay quiet or walk away, leaving me alone to deal with her attacks!»
«Mom isn’t attacking you, she’s just…»
«What?» Darya stepped closer. «Just comparing me to Natalia? Just saying I cook poorly, dress poorly, and clean poorly? Just making it clear that I’m not worthy of being part of your family?»
Pavel turned away, crossing his arms:
«You’re exaggerating.»
«No,» Darya shook her head. «I just finally see the truth. You will never defend me. Because for you, your mother is more important. She always has been, and she always will be.»
«Family is supposed to help one another,» Pavel stubbornly repeated. «And if Natalia needs the money…»
«Then let her earn it herself!» Darya’s voice rang out. «Or you help her! But not with my apartment! Not with the legacy my mother left me!»
Valeria Romanovna scoffed:
«There it is, your true nature! You’re a selfish woman! I always told Pavlusha that you weren’t one of us. You were an outsider. And he wouldn’t listen!»
Darya turned and walked out of the kitchen. She went into the bedroom, pulled a large bag out of the closet, and started packing. Her hands were trembling, but she knew exactly what she was doing.
Pavel followed her, closing the door behind him:
«What are you doing?»
«I’m leaving.»
«Where?!»
«To my mother’s apartment,» Darya stuffed a few sweaters into the bag. «To a place where no one will compare me to the ‘perfect’ Natalia. Where no one will dictate what I do with my inheritance.»
«Darya, stop,» Pavel tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away. «Let’s talk about this calmly. Without all this emotion.»
«Calmly?» Darya turned to face him. «I’ve been calm for four years! I’ve been quiet, I’ve put up with it, I’ve tried to please your mother! And what did I get? She still thinks I’m worthless! And you… you didn’t even try to stand on my side!»
«Mom only wanted what was best…»
«For Natalia,» Darya cut him off. «For your sister. Never for me. Never.»
She zipped up her bag and put on her jacket. Pavel stood there, clenching his fists:
«If you walk out that door, this is the end.»
Darya stopped in the doorway and looked at her husband:
«The end came four years ago. I just didn’t want to see it.»
She walked through the hallway, past Valeria Romanovna, who stood frozen in the kitchen, and stepped out of the apartment. The door slammed shut behind her with a dull thud, as if cutting off her past.
Her mother’s apartment met her with silence. She walked in, turned on the lights, and looked around. Everything here reminded her of her mother—the old sofa where they used to watch movies together, the bookshelves filled with her favorite novels, the photos on the walls. Darya went into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and only then allowed herself to cry.
The tears flowed for a long time—bitter, freeing tears. She cried for her mother, for the lost years, and for her ruined marriage. She cried, feeling the heaviness she had carried for so long begin to lift with every sob.
Pavel called the next day. Darya looked at the phone screen, read her husband’s name, but didn’t pick up. He called several more times, then sent a text: «Come back. We’ll talk everything over.»
*Talk it over.* Darya smirked. They would «talk» like always—Valeria Romanovna would dictate the terms, Pavel would remain silent, and they would try to convince her once again that family comes first. But she didn’t have a family there. She had lived in a cage where she couldn’t breathe.
A week later, Darya filed for divorce. Pavel called again, his voice irritated this time:
«Have you lost your mind? A divorce over an argument?!»
«It’s not about the argument,» Darya replied calmly. «It’s about the fact that I finally realized you will never be on my side. And I don’t want to live with a man who won’t protect his wife.»
«Darya, don’t ruin everything! Come back, we can fix this!»
«No,» she hung up and blocked his number.
The following months were busy. Darya finalized the divorce and fixed up the apartment. Pavel tried to reach her from other numbers, sent messages, and demanded meetings. Darya ignored all of his attempts. She understood one thing: she could never go back to that life. That would be a betrayal of herself and her mother’s memory.
One evening, while Darya was sorting through her mother’s things, she found an old photograph. In it, the two of them—her mother and a young Darya—were standing in front of this very apartment. Her mother was smiling, hugging her daughter. Darya traced the worn edges of the photo with her fingers and whispered softly:
«Thank you, Mom. You didn’t just leave me an apartment. You gave me my freedom.»
The divorce was finalized after three months. Darya held the documents confirming the marriage was dissolved. She sat in the kitchen, holding the papers, and felt a strange sense of relief. Four years had come to an end. A new life was just beginning.
The apartment slowly filled with new things and new habits. Darya bought beautiful dishes that she had always wanted but was afraid to buy—Valeria Romanovna would have immediately found a flaw in them. She hung pictures on the walls that she liked. She bought houseplants, the kind her mother had loved.
One day, while walking past a mirror, Darya stopped and looked closely at her reflection. The woman in the mirror was smiling. For the first time in many years, she was smiling for real—without tension, without the fear of doing something wrong.
This apartment had become more than just a place to live. It was a place where she could breathe deeply. Where she didn’t have to apologize for every word or every action. Where she could simply be herself.
Darya poured herself some tea, sat on the sofa, and wrapped herself in a blanket. It was drizzling outside, but the apartment was warm and cozy. She picked up a book she had wanted to read for a long time but never had the chance to, and opened the first page.
Life went on. Without Pavel, without Valeria Romanovna, and without the endless comparisons to Natalia. And this life was hers. Only hers.
