The yellow PAZ bus puffed black smoke and sped past the stop without opening its doors. Vera let her hand drop. The grocery bag, containing only pasta, milk, and a loaf of bread, pulled her shoulder downward.
“Mom… I’m cold…” whispered six-year-old Timosha. His teeth chattered as he shivered, trying to warm himself. The coat she had bought him two years ago was already too short in the sleeves, and the red wrists were whipped by every gust of wind.
Vera crouched down, trying to pull the sleeve over his hand.“You’re holding on, little bunny, the next one will come…”“Vera?”The voice cracked sharply in the quiet industrial area. Vera flinched and slowly stood up. Next to her stood a stocky man leaning on a heavy cane. Gray mustache, eyes that once made criminals kneel, and the smell of tobacco.
Her father.He hadn’t called in four months. She was ashamed. She didn’t want to make him sad and lied that “everything’s fine, just busy with work.”“Dad… hi.”Viktor Pavlovich didn’t answer. He just looked at her worn UGG boots, the gray fatigue on her face, the shivering grandson. His gaze finally fell on the empty road.
“And where’s the ‘Rav Four’?” he asked quietly, but his voice cut through the air so sharply that Vera wanted to sink into the ground. “I gave you a car to keep the child warm, not freezing in the wind. Where’s the car, Vera?”
“It’s at the service, Dad. The transmission… broke,” she lied, glancing sideways.Her father snorted. He stepped toward the grandson and effortlessly lifted him with one hand.“Service, huh? Your neighbor, Aunt Shura, said she saw your ‘little lark’ at the car dealers in the market, taken from you a month ago. Get in the car. Quickly.”
The old but well-maintained SUV was warm. Timosha immediately fell asleep in the back seat while Vera shivered, clutching her coffee from the gas station.“Tell me,” her father said, not looking at her. “And don’t lie. I’m an old cop; I can smell lies from miles away. What did Boris do?”
Vera could hold back no longer and began to sob. Sniffling, she spilled everything.That Boris had gotten involved in a “crypto pyramid” on her mother’s advice. That he lost the money and owed serious people.
That Antonina Sergeyevna, her stepmother, had placed a video on the table that evening. In it, Vera was shouting at Timosha because the boy had scribbled on the wallpaper. An everyday scene—but the montage made it look like she was abusing the child.
“They said…” Vera choked on the words, “that Antonina Sergeyevna’s cousin works at the adoption office. If I don’t sell the car and pay back Boris’s debt, they’ll submit the video and claim I’m in the state registry. They even got a certificate!”
Viktor Pavlovich stayed silent. He just gripped the steering wheel harder.“You sold the car for half, the debt was paid off. And yesterday… yesterday he appeared again. Boris needs ‘seed capital’ for a new venture. Now they have their eyes on my apartment. Grandma left it behind.”
“And you?”“I didn’t give it. Boris… Boris said, ‘Mom, we’re family, you know best. We’ll buy a house outside the city.’ Dad, he’s just a servant! He doesn’t dare raise his voice against my mother! And Antonina Sergeyevna said, ‘You sold the car—now transfer the apartment!
Tomorrow they’re coming from the adoption office for Timosha, and they’ll take him to a hospital!’”Vera fell silent, waiting for her father to explode. To call her crazy, to say, “I told you not to marry him.”
But Viktor Pavlovich calmly pulled out his phone. The old Nokia, which could last a week without charging.“Hello, Stepanyich? Hi. We’re doing a little ‘smoke’ in the sky. Listen, we need to check a little ‘roof.’ Family matter. Extortion, forgery, life-threatening. No, we won’t put anyone away yet. First, we scare a little. Like ’98. Data? Waiting.”
Her father turned to Vera. There was no anger in his eyes, only the cold calculation honed by a life managing a strict prison.“So, my little girl. Wipe your tears. Call your stepmother tomorrow, tell her you agree. Let them sign the contract at the notary.”
“Dad, I’m scared!“They’ll be scared. You just play like you’ve broken. Cry, beg. Let them loosen up. Greed… makes people white and stupid.”Three days passed until the transaction. Vera wandered in a fog. Boris was already scratching his head, planning which car to buy.
“Don’t grumble, Vera,” he chewed a meatball. “Mom knows what she’s talking about. The apartment in the center is an active asset. We’ll sell it, money into circulation. I’ll get you a fur coat later.”
Vera remained silent, clenching her teeth. Her hands almost wanted to smash the frying pan, but her father commanded patience.The “big day” arrived. Antonina Sergeyevna beamed, wearing all her gold rings at once, in a leopard-print blouse. The transaction took place at “her” notary’s small office in a half-basement.
“Come here, sweetie,” Vera nudged her forward. “ID?”The air was suffocating. The notary, a cunning, nervous man, quickly prepared the papers.“Gift contract in the husband’s name. Free of charge. We sign here.”
The pen shook in Vera’s hand.“Are you really deleting the video?” she whispered.“Who cares?” snorted Antonina Sergeyevna. “Just sign! You sold the car—now transfer the apartment and get out!”
The door suddenly opened. Viktor Pavlovich stood in the doorway. Behind him, two FSB agents in full masks and gear. Next to him, a gray, unfriendly man in plain clothes.“Good evening,” her father said quietly. “Ma’am, you fall under Article 163, Part 3. Serious crime, up to 15 years.”
Antonina Sergeyevna was stunned, her gold rings clinking on the table.“You… who are you? This is a private matter! I’ll call the police!”“Call them,” her father stepped to the table and tore the contract in half. “Call the county headquarters; your relative is already being questioned there. She reported the fraud, the forged documents, everything.”
The notary tried to hide, but her father’s weight pushed him back.“You, lawyer, will have a separate conversation. License revoked, complicity at minimum.”Boris turned pale, like the wall.“Dad…” he stammered. “What? Viktor Pavlovich… we didn’t want…”
“Mom?” she leaned toward her son-in-law. “Boris, you are no man. Dust. Your wife and son sold out. I won’t let you in.”Antonina Sergeyevna was completely crushed.“That’s how it will be,” her father continued. “I have the recording.
The video will be taken from the cameras. Two options. First: we go to the extreme, you go to prison. Second: you write an acknowledgment that you received money from Vera for the car, repay it within three days, and disappear from her life. Forever.”
“Alright…” Antonina Sergeyevna whispered.They went out onto the street; it was already dark. The air was damp and smelled of gasoline, but Vera breathed surprisingly freely.Her father pressed close to her shoulder.
“Dad, what if they’re not scared? If they really call the police?”Viktor Pavlovich smiled.“My little girl, fear is the best weapon. They’re thieves, and thieves are always cowards. Stepanyich here,”—he nodded to the companion—“was a county prosecutor. We went through hell together on the front. We never leave our own behind.”
A month later, a quiet divorce. Boris didn’t even show up; he sent his consent by email. With the money returned by her grandmother, Vera bought a strong, not-new Kia.One Sunday, they sat in the grandfather’s garden. Viktor Pavlovich was frying meatballs, Timosha ran around with the dog.
“Dad,” Vera approached the grill. “Thank you. I thought I was alone…”Her father turned the skewer, watching the embers.“You’re crazy, Vera. Family isn’t those who extort. Family fights for you. And doesn’t ask for the apartment.”
He handed her the first, crispiest piece.“Eat. Too thin. And remember: as long as your father lives, no one will hurt you. When I go, I’ll leave my notebook for you. Full of phone numbers so no one dares to harm you.”
Vera smiled and bit into the hot meat. Life went on. Now she was sure: no one would harm her again.