“Are you out of your mind?” Lena practically shouted through the phone. “Don’t you dare sell it! That apartment is yours, Galia. It’s not just real estate — it’s your security. Your sanity. You give that up, and what do you have left?”

I swallowed hard, tears pressing behind my eyes. “But what if Vasily really gets jailed? What kind of person does that make me? Just sitting here in comfort while he—”

“No. Stop,” Lena cut in. “You’re not his mother. You didn’t raise him. You tried to be decent to him, and that’s enough. Don’t let guilt talk you into making a decision you’ll regret.”

I sat there in silence, letting her words settle.

“Can I ask you something?” Lena added, her voice softening. “If it was your child in trouble, would Andrei sell his apartment to save them?”

The question hit me like a slap. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to believe he would. But I wasn’t sure.

And that… that said a lot.

The next morning, I decided to dig a little deeper before making any moves. Just instinct — a feeling in my gut that something didn’t sit right.

I didn’t tell Andrei. I just called a friend of mine, Rita, who worked at a law office. “Can you look up anything on Vasily Baranov?” I asked quietly. “Anything recent. I think there might be a case or debt collection—something.”

Rita called me back two hours later.

“There’s nothing,” she said. “No lawsuits. No police reports. Not even a credit flag. But get this — I did see a new LLC under his name. Registered last month. Real estate consulting, based in Sochi.”

“Sochi?” I repeated, stunned.

“Yeah. And he listed an office address. Seems legit.”

I stared at the floor for a full minute after the call. My fingers were numb.

A business? A new business?

So much for being “in ruins.”

I pulled out my phone and texted Vasily: Can we meet in person? Just to talk. I want to help — but I need clarity.

He replied immediately. Of course! Tomorrow? Coffee place on Gagarin Street, 11am?

I arrived five minutes early and sat by the window. When Vasily walked in, I studied him carefully. He looked good. No signs of stress. Nice coat. New shoes.

He ordered a latte. And a croissant.

Not the kind of behavior I expected from someone supposedly facing jail time.

“So,” I said slowly, “I asked a friend to check public records. You’re not in legal trouble, Vasily.”

His hand froze around the coffee cup.

“I—okay, it’s not official yet,” he started, eyes darting. “But it’s about to happen. I just wanted to get ahead of it—”

“By tricking me into selling my apartment?” I said, my voice shaking.

“No! I just—look, I was desperate. And Dad…” He paused. “Dad thought you’d say yes. That you’d understand.”

I leaned back, heart thudding.

“So he knew? About the lie?”

Vasily didn’t speak, but his silence was answer enough.

I left the café without saying another word.

That night, Andrei came home late. I was in the bedroom, packing a small overnight bag.

“Where are you going?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But his eyes flickered nervously.

“To Lena’s,” I said simply. “I need space.”

He opened his mouth, but I held up my hand.

“You lied to me, Andrei. You and your son set up a story to manipulate me. Do you know how cruel that is?”

“I just wanted to protect him,” he said weakly.

“At my expense,” I replied.

And then I asked the question I hadn’t dared voice until that moment.

“If I had sold the apartment… and found out later, what then? Would you have told me the truth?”

Andrei didn’t answer.

That was all I needed.

I stayed at Lena’s for three nights. During that time, I had a locksmith change the locks on my apartment. I made a quiet trip back to grab my things from the shared house. I didn’t ask Andrei for anything else.

A week later, he showed up at my door, apologizing, flowers in hand.

“I lost sight of what mattered,” he said. “I made a mistake.”

I believed him. But I didn’t take him back.

Some mistakes don’t get rewound.

In the months that followed, I got stronger. I took a ceramics class. Repainted the kitchen. I even fostered a rescue dog — a skittish mutt named Dymka who now won’t leave my side.

And the apartment?

It feels more like home than ever.

I realized something important: love shouldn’t come with ultimatums. And family isn’t just who shares your blood — it’s who respects your boundaries, your history, your worth.

My mother was right. That apartment was more than bricks and walls. It was my foundation. And no one, no matter how charming or convincing, should be able to take that away from me.

Don’t let guilt cloud your judgment. Trust your gut. And protect what’s yours.

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