A thick binder thudded onto the table, sending clouds of dust off the grease-stained tablecloth. Even the cockroach keeping watch near the breadbox scuttled disgustedly into a crevice at the sound.
Oksana stood in the doorway, coat still on. The familiar sour smell hit her nose: a mix of cheap tobacco, unwashed dishes, and not-so-fresh socks. Denis didn’t even turn around. Slouched in his worn T-shirt, he hammered the keyboard in a furious rhythm.
On the monitor, his character was slaughtering monsters—while Denis himself slowly transformed into one of them.Zinaida Markovna, who had been sniffing yesterday’s soup leftovers with intense focus, suddenly stood up. Her eyes glinted like a predator’s behind her glasses.
“Throwing things again, princess?” hissed her mother-in-law. “Tired from work? Don’t forget to clean up—the mess is still here.”Oksana just looked at them. She saw a mother and son who, over nine years, had made her life miserable, while she alone provided money, food, and clean clothes.
Zinaida Markovna roughly grabbed the first sheet from the top of the binder. She scanned it, and her face turned as red as an overripe tomato.“Denis!” she shouted, yanking the headphones off her son. “Stop with your demons! The lawyer filed the divorce papers!”
The man slowly turned around. Thirty-six years old, yet he looked like a spoiled, petulant teenager.“Ksyuha, aren’t you overreacting?” he wiped his hands on his shirt. “Divorce papers? Who’s going to feed me? Stop this circus—I’m hungry.”
“You’ve lived off us for nine years!” Zinaida Markovna roared, her voice shrill enough to pierce ears. “You got fat in my apartment! Did you think you could just leave? And the moral damage to my son! Denis, take out your phone! Log into her account! Take every last penny that belongs to you!”
Denis perked up. The phone was always at hand—he checked his wife’s accounts more often than Oksana did herself. He knew the savings were substantial. Already, he pictured the graphics cards, the gourmet food.
“Transfer it all to my card!” Zinaida Markovna commanded, looming over him. “Quickly, before she locks you out!”Denis typed the password. His fingers trembled with excitement. Oksana stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She watched as the glow of the screen lit his face: first confusion, then primal fear.
On the display were rows of zeros—cold, lifeless, like ice.Denis refreshed the page. Again. Checked the transaction history.“Where’s the money?!” Denis screamed, his voice cracking. “Ksyuha, where is it? It was all here… so much of it!”
“Yesterday, I transferred it to my sister Nadya,” Oksana said deliberately, word by word. “For the old debt. For the apartment I bought while you were playing games.”Zinaida Markovna emitted a sound like a strangled hyena. She lunged at Oksana, ready to strike.
“You thief! Give it back! It’s ours!”Oksana didn’t flinch. Calmly, she pulled out her phone, camera already on.“Touch me, Zinaida Markovna, and this video goes straight to the police. You can explain to the investigator how you think it’s okay to claim someone else’s money and assault people.”
Her mother-in-law froze. Hands trembling, she lowered them. Denis slumped by the window, struggling to breathe. The internet bills were paid, the fridge full—but his world had crumbled before his eyes.
“And there’s more,” Oksana continued, pulling out another document. “My grandfather left me an inheritance, but there’s a condition: I only get the apartment once the divorce is officially registered. Until then, it belonged to my aunt. Dad saw what kind of man you are, Denis.”
The kitchen felt like walls were closing in.“One week,” Oksana corrected, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Seven days to gather your things. On the eighth, the locks change.”And she left without looking back.
The following days were hell. Denis called from unknown numbers, begged, promised he would be a gardener, a spaceship pilot—anything. Oksana simply “rejected” him.On the fifth day, she caught him outside the store. His face was unshaven and patchy, like a scraggly teenager.
“Oksana, you can’t do this! My mother is crying! Give the money back to the family! You stole it!” he yelled, hoping for sympathy from passersby.Oksana stopped, looking at him as if he were an annoying insect.
“I stole from you? I merely reclaimed my right not to support a grown, lazy man. Go on, Denis. Don’t shame yourself. Safety doesn’t let you in anymore.”When he tried to enter the store, he was indeed turned away. The video quickly spread through local groups. Everyone saw Denis: an ordinary freeloader.
A week later, they moved out. Denis had to work at a construction depot. For the first time at thirty-six, he experienced ten hours of carrying cement. By evening, his arms were ragged, his back felt as if hot nails were driven into it.
He rented a bed in a dorm room. The walls were stained; neighbors were tough men who tolerated no complaints. He bought fast food for dinner, knees trembling as he remembered the home-cooked meals he once took for granted.
Zinaida Markovna took refuge in a distant relative Raisa’s apartment. She got a folding bed at the end of the hallway, by the door.“Pay on time—you live. Don’t—you don’t. And my rules don’t change: no kitchen after eight in the evening.”
The mother-in-law who once ruled Oksana now tiptoed to the bathroom, afraid of waking the homeowner. Her son called, crying, demanding medicine.“Denis, I’m cold! My back hurts! Take at least a pill!”
“Mom, where?! I don’t even have bread!” he yelled, wiping sweat and cement dust from his face.Six months passed. Denis came home after a shift. Legs sore, old coat soaked. He deliberately walked past his former apartment.
Inside, warm light, windows framed lush flowers. In the kitchen, Oksana chatted cheerfully with her sister. Her face was relaxed, laughing honestly.Denis stood in the shadows, swallowing the cold air.
Only now, living in that filthy room and earning his bread through hard labor, did he understand: paradise was here. But he, with his mother, had chased out the only person who had ever loved them.He headed toward the bus stop. Another long shift, another empty, cold bed awaited