«Remember that bike? The blue one with the shiny bell in the window of the sporting goods store?» Victoria’s voice sounded muffled, as if she were speaking through a thick layer of cotton. She sat on the edge of the sofa, clutching a cup of tea that had already gone cold.
«Vick, that was twenty years ago.» Roman sat down cautiously beside her, careful not to make any sudden movements. He knew this state of mind; it was either the calm before the storm or the prelude to a total emotional shutdown.
«No, listen. I walked past it every day for a week. I was ten. My father said, ‘It’s beautiful. We’ll buy it. Later.’ That word, later, became the word I hated most in the world. It tasted like sour milk. Do you know where that bike is now? It’s probably rotting in some landfill. And I never had it. Not ever.»
«What’s this all about?» Roman covered her hand with his. His fingers were rough, calloused from working outdoors with theodolites and maps. He was a surveyor—a man used to measuring the earth, not the depths of human resentment.
«My mother called. Her voice was shaking. She said we needed to talk. Urgently. Not over the phone. And you know, Ro, that little girl suddenly woke up inside me. Stupid, naive. I thought, maybe they just miss me? Maybe this was that ‘later’ finally arriving.»
Victoria looked up at her husband. There were no tears in her eyes, only the frozen expectation of a blow. She worked as a jewelry designer, spending hours carving tiny petals and chain links out of wax. The work had taught her patience and how to see the underlying structure of things. Now, she was trying to see the structure of her own family, but all she saw were voids and hollows.
To Victoria, her parents’ home had always felt like an archive of unclaimed desires. It smelled of old paper, dust, and penny-pinching. Pavel Andreevich, her father, had spent his entire life working in the state archives. It seemed he had archived his own life, too, filing his days away in folders marked «open in the future.» Ekaterina Sergeyevna, her mother, was cut from the same cloth—quiet, perpetually worried about the price of groceries, a woman who had once worked as a cost estimator.
Victoria remembered her childhood as a series of rejections. Not cruel ones, no. They never told her to «get lost.» They told her, «Now isn’t the time.»
Vacation? Why waste money on the ocean when her aunt had a cottage outside the city? The mosquitoes there were the size of sparrows and the toilet was an outhouse, but it was free.
Clothes? Why buy trendy jeans if her school uniform still fit?
Her most vivid memory was her prom dress. Her grandmother, her mother’s mother, had secretly slipped Vick an envelope. «Buy yourself something airy; you’re a princess,» the old woman had whispered. Vick bought it. It was pale blue, like the sky on a clear day. When her mother saw it, she turned pale, her lips tightening into a thin line.
«Do you have any idea how much food we could have bought with that money?» she hissed. She didn’t raise her voice, but every word stung. «Selfish. Your grandmother is old; she needs medicine, and you… you’re just obsessed with rags.»
College was the second point of no return. There weren’t many scholarship spots, and Vick missed the cutoff by two points. She knew the money was there. Her father always saved. He had his «nest egg,» the family’s Holy Grail. But when it came time to pay for the semester, her parents sat across from her with stone faces.
«NO,» Pavel Andreevich said firmly. «We are saving for our old age. If you want an education, go work for it. It builds character.»
And so she worked. Lectures by day, and a part-time job in a watch repair shop by night. That was where she learned to work with tiny components, which eventually led her to jewelry. It was also at the shop where she met Roman. He had brought in his grandfather’s old military watch for repair. Calm, confident, and just out of the army, he seemed like a visitor from another planet—a planet where people knew how to smile for no reason at all.
They moved in together quickly. They shared an apartment with a friend, Zoya, to keep costs down. Victoria’s parents reacted with relief: one less mouth to feed. Only once did Ekaterina Sergeyevna call to subtly ask if her daughter could «kick in a little» from her paycheck, since «utilities were going up.» Vick didn’t feel hurt then. Instead, she felt a cold, adult anger for the first time.
«I’m paying for school and rent, Mom. I don’t have anything extra. You have Dad’s nest egg and yours.»
Eventually, things leveled out. Roman and Vick got married, moved into their own two-bedroom place, and started saving for a house. They lived modestly, but not miserably. If Vick wanted a pastry, they went to a bakery. If Roman needed good boots for an expedition, they bought them.
«We aren’t going to live for ‘later,'» Roman would often say, holding his wife. «Life is what happens while we’re making plans.»
And now, after five years of silence and the occasional cold phone call on birthdays, her mother had asked her to come over.
Victoria stepped into her parents’ apartment, and the familiar scent of mothballs hit her. The hallway was dark; the lightbulb had burned out, and no one had bothered to change it. Ekaterina Sergeyevna was sitting in the kitchen. She had aged terribly—her face was gaunt, her skin had a greyish tint, and her hands were trembling slightly. Pavel Andreevich stood by the window with his back to his daughter, staring out at the dreary courtyard.
«Sit down,» her mother said, gesturing to a stool.
On the table lay a stack of papers with medical stamps.
«What happened?» Vick picked up the top sheet. The diagnoses were written in complex medical terminology, but the gist was clear: a severe autoimmune disease. Progressive.
«I need treatment,» her mother said softly. «It’s not covered by insurance. The drugs are imported. One course is three hundred thousand. I need at least six months. Plus rehab.»
Victoria did the math quickly. Between one and a half and two million. It was a huge sum, but not impossible for a family that had spent their whole lives hoarding every kopek.
«This is terrible, Mom,» Vick said sincerely. She felt a pang of pity. «But you have your savings. Dad always said he was saving for a ‘rainy day.’ Well, it’s pouring. Open up the nest egg.»
The silence that fell over the kitchen was as thick as syrup. Pavel Andreevich didn’t even turn around. Ekaterina Sergeyevna lowered her eyes.
«It’s gone,» she whispered, barely audible.
«What do you mean ‘gone’?» Vick frowned. «Were you robbed? Did the bank fold?»
«We… we gave it away,» her mother’s voice faltered.
«To who?» Vick felt a chill run down her spine.
«To Danny.»
Victoria froze. Daniil. Her younger brother. The favorite. The «golden child.» There was a seven-year age gap between them. Daniil had always gotten the best of everything. They paid for his college (which he dropped out of), they pulled strings to keep him out of the army, and they bought him every gadget he wanted.
«You gave Daniil… how much?» Victoria’s voice became low and dangerous.
Pavel Andreevich finally turned around. He looked pathetic and defiant all at once.
«Seven million,» he muttered.
«HOW MUCH?!» Vick jumped up. The stool hit the floor with a heavy thud. «Seven million? Everything? Everything you saved for thirty years? You gave him all of it? When?»
«Six months ago,» her mother whispered. «He has a family, Olenka was pregnant… their place was too small. He wanted to start a business… get a bigger apartment.»
Victoria looked at her parents and didn’t recognize them. These weren’t the stingy guardians of the family budget. These were madmen.
«And you didn’t keep anything for yourselves? For this exact ‘rainy day’?»
«We thought he’d get the business off the ground… that he’d help us…» her father stammered.
«And? Did he?» Vick asked bitterly.
«He… he says things are difficult right now.»
«Difficult,» Vick repeated. «And you, Mom? You don’t have ‘difficulties.’ You have tissue necrosis starting if you don’t get that medicine! Do you even realize what you’ve done?»
She stormed out of the kitchen, gasping for air. In the hallway, she caught her reflection in the old mirror. A woman with a face distorted by pain stared back at her.
«There is NO money, Vick!» her father’s voice called out after her, suddenly taking on a demanding edge. «You have to help. You’re working. Your husband makes good money.»
Victoria spun around.
«Me? I have to help? You robbed me of a childhood, you didn’t give me a single cent for my education, you didn’t even come to my wedding because you said a gift was ‘too expensive’! And now, after you’ve blown everything on Daniil, I’m the one who’s supposed to pay?»
She ran out of the building, got into her car, and slammed her hands against the steering wheel. The sting of the impact cleared her head.
Her brother’s place was a fifteen-minute drive away. Daniil lived in a luxury high-rise. Victoria knew the area—the price per square foot was astronomical. There was a concierge, a marble lobby, and high-speed elevators.
She rang the doorbell, long and insistent. Finally, Olga, Daniil’s wife, opened the door. Wearing a silk robe and sporting eyelash extensions, she looked like a doll freshly pulled from its box.
«Oh, Vick. We weren’t expecting you,» she drawled lazily.
«Where’s Daniil?» Vick pushed past her and walked into the apartment.
Inside, the air smelled of expensive perfume and brand-new furniture. A massive flat-screen TV took up an entire wall, there was a designer sofa, and a zebra skin—or a very convincing imitation—lay on the floor. Daniil was sitting at a breakfast bar, sipping coffee from a machine that looked like it cost as much as a used car.
«Sis! What brings you here?» He tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
Victoria walked right up to him.
«Where’s the money, Danny?»
«What money?» He played dumb, but his eyes were darting everywhere.
«The seven million. From Mom and Dad. Mom is dying; she needs medicine. Where’s the money?»
Daniil set his cup down.
«Well… you know, I invested it. We got the studio, did the renovations, upgraded the car.» He nodded toward the window, where a brand-new crossover was parked. «And, you know, just stuff. Electronics, a trip to the Emirates… Olga and I deserved it, she was carrying a baby.»
«You spent seven million in six months on clothes and vacations?» Vick spoke very quietly. «Do you realize Mom and Dad ate the cheapest bologna for years just to save that up?»
«That was their choice!» Olga chirped, interjecting. «Danny is their son! They wanted to help! Who are you to come in here and count someone else’s money?»
Victoria slowly turned her head toward her sister-in-law.
«Shut up, Olga. Sit in the corner and stay quiet. Otherwise, I will cause such a scene that your fake lashes will fall off.»
Terrified by the icy tone, Olga actually backed away.
Vick turned back to her brother.
«Here’s how it’s going to go, ‘businessman.’ Tomorrow, you bring Mom and Dad a hundred thousand. For the first round of shots. And you do that every single month.»
Daniil gave a nervous little laugh.
«Are you crazy? Where am I going to get a hundred thousand a month? I spent it all! My salary is sixty, and half of that is under the table. Olga is on maternity leave.»
«Sell the car. Sell this TV. Sell a kidney. I don’t care.»
«I’m not selling anything!» Daniil snapped. «Our parents gave it to us! It was a gift! You don’t return gifts!»
«Fine,» Vick nodded. «Then listen carefully. Under the Family Code, parents who are unable to work have the right to sue their children for alimony. I will hire a lawyer. The meanest one I can find. We will prove they are in need, and the court will mandate payments. You’ll be forced to pay. And they’ll freeze every account you have.»
«You wouldn’t dare,» Daniil hissed. «They’re your parents! It would be a disgrace to the whole family!»
«The disgrace is what you did. You have twenty-four hours.»
She turned and headed for the door.
«Hey!» Olga yelled. «My friend’s mother actually did that! It’s real! Danny, do something!»
«Where am I supposed to get it?!» her brother screamed hysterically. «Let Vick pay, she’s the rich one!»
Roman was waiting for Victoria at home. He already knew everything—she had called him from the car. A bottle of wine and two glasses were on the table, but she didn’t feel like drinking.
«He won’t give us anything,» Vick said, sinking onto the floor. She didn’t have the strength to make it to the sofa. «He ate through it all. Literally. Seven million down the drain for a ‘luxury’ life.»
«What are we going to do?» Roman sat down beside her. «Alex called—my lawyer friend. He says the alimony route takes a long time. Courts, evaluations… Mom might not last that long. And even if they rule in her favor, they’ll only garnish pennies from his official salary.»
Victoria covered her face with her hands.
«I hate them. Rom, I really hate them. They betrayed me. They chose him again, and now I’m the one who has to fix it. If I don’t give them the money now, I’ll feel like a murderer. If I do give it to them… I’m betraying us.»
Roman was silent for a moment, weighing his words.
«Vick, look. We have the money saved for the apartment. Four million. It took us three years.»
«No!» Vick pulled her hands away. «Don’t you even suggest it! That’s our dream! That’s our home!»
«It’s money, Vick. Just paper. But over there, it’s a life. Yes, what she did was despicable. Yes, she’s a terrible mother. But if she dies because we held onto the cash, you’ll never forgive yourself. You aren’t like them. You’re a good person.»
She began to cry. These were angry, bitter tears of helplessness. She mourned the money. She mourned for herself. She mourned for the little girl who never got her bicycle. But Roman was right.
«Fine,» she said, wiping her face with her sleeve. «But I’m not their daughter anymore. I’m a caregiver. I’ll do this because it’s the right thing to do. But there will be no love. No forgiveness.»
The next day, she bought the first batch of medication. Fifty thousand for a pack of ampoules. Syringes, IV kits, saline.
She arrived at her parents’ apartment that evening. Without a word, she walked into the room and laid out her medical supplies on the small table.
«Vick…» her mother started, seeing the boxes. Tears welled up in her eyes. «Honey…»
«Turn onto your side. Pants down,» Victoria commanded dryly.
«Vick, thank you… Danny called; he said he’s having some temporary setbacks…»
«Don’t move. This is going to sting.»
She administered the injection professionally but without a trace of sympathy. She gathered the empty ampoules and washed her hands.
«There’s food in the fridge. Enough soup for three days. Your next shot is tomorrow at 6:00 PM.»
«Can’t we just talk?» her father asked plaintively from the hallway.
«Talk to Daniil. He’s the one with the silver tongue.»
So began her personal hell. Every day after work, she drove across the city. Traffic, exhaustion, and the smell of old age and illness filled her parents’ apartment. She cooked, she cleaned, she gave the injections. Daniil never showed up. Once, she caught him on speakerphone—he was explaining to their mother that his «investments hadn’t paid out yet» and asking her to «be patient.» Her mother listened and nodded, as if under a spell.
Three months passed. Victoria and Roman’s savings were dwindling. Their dream of an apartment was being pushed into an indefinite «later,» a word that now haunted their own family. Vick became hard, sharp. At work, she was praised—her jewelry designs became austere and geometrically perfect, but they had lost their former softness.
One day, while Victoria was setting up an IV, Ekaterina Sergeyevna suddenly grabbed her hand. Her grip was weak but desperate.
«I know I’m dying,» she said. Her eyes were clear; the fever had broken. «These meds… they’re just buying time. I can feel it.»
Victoria didn’t pull her hand away, but she didn’t squeeze back either.
«The doctor says there’s progress.»
«No. I ruined everything, Vick. My whole life. I loved Danny more because he was weak. But you were strong. I thought you didn’t need help. You’re like a tank. But him… he’d be lost without us.»
«He’s lost even with you,» Vick replied harshly. «He’s a parasite you hand-fed.»
«Forgive me.»
«Go to sleep. The IV is running.»
Pavel Andreevich walked into the kitchen. He looked even more stooped than usual.
«Vick, your mother and I decided… we’re signing the apartment over to you. As a gift deed.»
Victoria froze. A wave of disgusted resentment rose inside her.
«What? Throwing me a bone? Just to clear your conscience?»
«No,» her father said, looking at the floor. «It’s about justice. Our son got his share. And he squandered it. But you… you’re the one carrying us. The apartment is yours. Starting now. I… I’ll keep the right to live here as long as I’m alive. But the owner is you.»
«I don’t want your handouts! I hate you both!» she screamed, feeling something snap inside.
«ENOUGH!» her father suddenly roared, slamming his palm on the table. «Stop screaming! We’re guilty. We’re monsters, not parents. But we want to fix at least one thing. Take it. This isn’t payment for love. This is a debt being repaid.»
Victoria ran out of the apartment. But that evening, after hearing the whole story, Roman said:
«Take it. Your father is right. It’s justice, even if it’s messy. It’s a four-bedroom in the city center, a ‘Stalin-era’ building—even if it needs work, it’s worth twice what they gave your brother. Take back what’s rightfully yours.»
She went through with the deal. Coldly, with a stone face, she signed the papers at the notary’s office. Two weeks later, Ekaterina Sergeyevna died. Quietly, in her sleep. Her heart simply stopped.
The funeral was strange. Daniil arrived at the cemetery in his dirty car. He wore dark glasses and put on a show of grief, supporting Olga, who wailed the loudest of anyone, even though she had detested her mother-in-law. Vick stood to the side, dry-eyed and upright. She didn’t cry. She had already cried everything out over the past few months.
The wake was held at her father’s apartment. Vick’s friend, Zina, had come over to help set the table. Roman was there, along with his friend Alex and Roman’s parents—Maria Alexandrovna and Vadim Ruslanovich, who had traveled from out of town to support the family despite his own health issues.
After the third round of drinks, Daniil stood up.
«Alright, Pop,» he said loosely, unbuttoning his collar. «We’ve toasted Mom. May she rest in peace. Now, let’s talk business. This place is huge. You can’t handle it alone. Let’s sell it and split the cash. We’ll buy you a one-bedroom, and the rest goes to me and Vick, fifty-fifty. I really need the capital right now; my business is stalled.»
Zina stopped chewing her salad. Roman tensed up.
Pavel Andreevich slowly raised his eyes to his son. The old adoration was gone. His gaze held only the emptiness of an archivist who had finally marked a file for disposal.
«There is no apartment,» his father said.
«What do you mean ‘no apartment’?» Daniil blinked stupidly. «We’re sitting in it.»
«It isn’t mine. I gave it away.»
«To who?!» Olga shrieked.
«To Victoria. The whole thing. A month ago.»
Daniil grabbed a fork from the table and hurled it against the wall.
«Are you senile, you old bastard?! Have you lost your mind?! What about me?! I’m your son! You gave everything to this… this rat?!»
«You already got yours,» his father said firmly. «Seven million. Where is it?»
«That was different! That was a helping hand! But an inheritance is sacred! You were supposed to split it! You robbed me! Olga, do you hear this? They screwed us!»
Daniil lunged toward his father, raising his hand.
«I’m gonna show you, you old dog—»
The blow was short and brutal. Roman wasn’t a fighter, but he was a man protecting his family. He stepped in and sent Daniil to the floor with a single, precise punch to the jaw. Her brother crashed down, knocking over a chair. Olga screamed.
«Out,» Roman said quietly. «Both of you. Now.»
Daniil, clutching his jaw, crawled toward the exit. At the door, he turned back and spat blood onto the hardwood floor.
«Damn you, old man. I hope you die alone. And you, ‘sis’—I hope you choke on every square foot.»
The door slammed shut. Victoria’s late Uncle Stan (she suddenly remembered him; he was the only kind relative she’d had) probably would have rolled over in his grave at such a scene. But here, among the living, the air felt cleaner.
Pavel Andreevich sat with his head in his hands. His shoulders shook. It wasn’t a sob; it was a total collapse. Roman walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.
«Pavel Andreevich. You don’t have to live alone. There are four rooms here. We’ll move in with you. We’ll renovate. Vick won’t mind.»
Victoria looked at her husband. She wanted to object. She wanted to say «NO,» she wanted to run away. But then she looked at her broken father. At a man who had made a terrible mistake but found the strength to try and fix it. The anger vanished. All that remained was exhaustion and a strange, new feeling: acceptance.
«Dad,» she said. «Roman is right. We’ll move in. But I’m gutting the kitchen. And your archive is moving into the study.»
Her father looked up at her, his eyes wet.
«Thank you, sweetheart.»
That evening, after the guests had left and she and Roman were in her old bedroom, now a guest room, Vick pressed herself against her husband.
«Do you really want to live here?» she asked.
«It’s a good apartment, Vick. We’ll turn it into something beautiful. And our savings are still intact—mostly. More importantly, you finally put a period at the end of the sentence.»
«A comma,» Vick smiled. She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. «There’s a sequel. I took a test this morning.»
Roman froze. A light sparked in his eyes that was brighter than any bicycle bell.
«So… does this mean we’re finally buying that bike?» he asked hoarsely.
«The best one we can find,» Victoria replied. «And not ‘later.’ Right away—as soon as they learn to walk.»
