The Routine That Never Changed

The old building creaked as Elena climbed the narrow staircase, carrying her grocery bag.
Fourth floor. No elevator. No matter how many times she made this climb, she always reached the landing out of breath, clutching the cold iron railing.

From behind the door came voices — familiar ones, low but intense. Her mother and younger sister Katya were speaking in that tone Elena knew too well.
The “important family talk” tone — serious, secretive, usually ending with something for Elena to “help” with.

She stopped for a moment, balancing the grocery bag on her hip, listening.
Then, through the muted conversation, Katya’s voice rang out:
“Lena’s here. I hear her steps.”

So much for being discreet. Elena sighed, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.

The smell of borscht drifted through the small apartment, mixed with something sweet — vanilla.
Katya had been baking again, of course. She always had time for cakes, for decoration, for endless little hobbies.
Elena, in contrast, lived in spreadsheets and deadlines.

“Hi,” she greeted, setting down her bag. “What’s the meeting about this time?”

Her mother’s voice came from the kitchen, calm and deliberate.
“Come in, have dinner. We’ll talk.”

A Simple Dinner and a Complicated Proposal

The kitchen was warm, the light soft and yellow. Her mother sat in her usual spot by the window, hands wrapped around a teacup. Katya lounged across from her, long hair pulled back loosely, an air of nonchalance about her.
The table was laid out — soup, bread, a small salad, a pot still steaming.

Elena took her seat. “So… what’s the topic tonight?” she asked lightly.

Her mother smiled faintly. “Nothing dramatic. We were talking about the dacha. Grandma’s old place.”

Elena blinked. “The dacha? What about it?”

“Well,” her mother began, stirring her tea, “it’s just sitting there, empty. The little house is half-collapsed. It seems a shame to let good land go to waste. We thought — maybe it’s time to build something new.”

Katya nodded quickly, enthusiasm lighting her face. “A proper house! Two floors, maybe a terrace. Somewhere to escape from the city.”

Elena spooned soup in silence. The idea wasn’t absurd.
The plot had been in the family for decades — six sotkas in a lovely cooperative by the river. But no one had been there since her grandmother’s funeral. The house was barely standing.

“And what exactly do you plan to build there?” Elena asked.

Her mother looked at her directly now. “A home, Lena. For all of us. You’ll stay in the apartment here in the city — it’s close to your job — and Katya and I will move to the new house. It’ll be more comfortable, more space, fresh air.”

Elena frowned slightly. “And you’ll transfer the apartment to me?”

Her mother nodded with a smile. “Of course. It’s only fair. It’ll be yours anyway someday.”

Katya grinned. “So everyone wins!”

It sounded reasonable. Logical even. But Elena had lived long enough to know that when things sounded too reasonable, they often weren’t.

The Agreement

They talked for weeks after that. Plans, designs, budgets. Elena went to see the plot — overgrown grass, broken windows, the remains of the old porch her grandmother used to sit on with a shawl and tea.
She stood there, remembering childhood summers — the scent of raspberries, the laughter, the fireflies at night — and for a brief second, she almost felt excited.

Then came the practicalities.

Mikhail Petrovich, a reliable contractor recommended by a colleague, prepared an estimate.
He showed her neatly typed pages, with numbers that made her heart sink. “Demolition, foundation, materials, labor… all told, about five million,” he said. “But that’s turnkey. Quality guaranteed.”

Her mother’s savings covered only a small part. The rest — a bank loan.
Elena hesitated. That was no small sum.

“You’ll handle it easily,” her mother reassured her. “You have a stable job. They’ll approve you right away.”

Katya added, “It’s an investment in the family. We’ll all benefit!”

Elena wasn’t naïve. She knew she was the one being asked to shoulder the real risk. Still…
If she got the apartment, and they got a house — wasn’t that fair?

“All right,” she said. “But everything must be documented and agreed upon.”

“Of course, dear,” her mother said sweetly. “We’re family.”

The Build

Construction began in early spring.
Elena visited every weekend, rain or shine. The smell of fresh-cut lumber and wet cement filled the air.
Gradually, the skeleton of a new house rose where the old one had rotted away.

Her mother and Katya came occasionally — cheerful, carefree, discussing curtains and paint colors while Elena dealt with invoices, contracts, and bank payments.

Katya had already chosen a large second-floor room “with the morning light.”
Her mother wanted the first floor, “close to the kitchen, no stairs for my knees.”

“And what about you?” Katya teased. “Which room will you pick?”

Elena smiled faintly. “None. I’m staying in the apartment.”

“Oh, right,” Katya giggled. “You’re the city type.”

By autumn, the house stood finished — pale wood siding, wide windows, a veranda that caught the sunset.
Even Elena was proud. It was a beautiful home.

“You can move in,” said Mikhail, handing over the keys. “Everything works.”

Her mother and Katya packed in November. Elena helped load boxes into the van, sweeping the now half-empty apartment.
“Well, that’s that,” her mother said, surveying the new house with satisfaction. “Everyone’s where they belong.”

Elena smiled. “Yes. Just don’t forget about re-registering the apartment.”

“Of course,” her mother replied lightly. “Once we’re settled.”

The Truth Comes Out

Weeks turned into months. The calls about paperwork went unanswered.
When Elena pressed, her mother would say, “Soon, soon. We’ll get to it.”

But they kept coming to the apartment. To pick up something “forgotten,” to borrow this or that. They rearranged furniture without asking. It was as if they still lived there.

Finally, Elena confronted them. “Mom, when are we finishing the transfer?”

Her mother frowned. “What’s the hurry? You live here, don’t you?”

“But that was the agreement.”

Katya rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lena, don’t be so formal. We’re family.”

Her mother added gently, “And who knows? Maybe Katya will get married soon. Where would she live? We’ll see how things go.”

Elena stared at them, realization dawning slowly.
“So… the apartment stays in your name. The house is yours. And I—”

“You keep paying the loan,” Katya interrupted casually. “You’re earning well.”

For a long moment, Elena said nothing.
Then, softly: “So you two get everything, and I pay the loan?”

Katya laughed, that same easy, dismissive laugh. “Come on, don’t be dramatic. You’re successful, independent. What’s a few payments for you?”

Elena left without another word.

The Lesson

That night, she sat at her computer.
The numbers on the screen blurred: the debt balance, the next payment date, the bank’s reminders.
Her chest ached with betrayal — not just because they had tricked her, but because she had believed they wouldn’t.

She closed the laptop.
And she smiled.

The next payment went unpaid. Then the next.
When the bank called, she said calmly, “I won’t be paying.”

“What do you mean?” the officer asked, shocked.
“I mean exactly that.”

Within two months, her mother called in panic.
“Lena! The bank says the house is under collection! They’re threatening to seize it!”

“Of course,” Elena said evenly. “It’s the collateral.”

“What do you mean ‘of course’? You have to pay!”

“Why should I? The house isn’t mine. The apartment isn’t mine. What am I paying for?”

Her mother’s voice cracked. “This is our home!”

“Yours,” Elena corrected. “And your responsibility.”

The silence that followed was sharp and heavy.

Then her mother whispered, defeated: “Let’s meet tomorrow.”

The Turning Point

At the MFC office the next day, her mother and Katya looked pale and subdued.
Katya’s confident posture was gone. Her mother held a folder of documents like a schoolgirl clutching her homework.

“Lena, dear, don’t be cruel,” her mother pleaded. “We didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Elena said, voice calm but cold. “You just didn’t mind.”

They signed the transfer papers in silence.
When the clerk handed her the new ownership certificate, Elena slipped it into her bag without a word.

“Now the apartment is officially yours,” the clerk confirmed.

Elena turned to her family. “Good. Now let’s talk about the loan. I’m not covering it alone anymore. Katya, you’ll get a job.”

Katya blinked. “A job? What job?”

“Any job. You’re educated. Use it.”

“But—”

“A loser and a doormat, wasn’t it?” Elena reminded her softly. “Your words. So let’s see who’s who.”

Her mother tugged Katya’s sleeve. “She means it,” she whispered.

Elena smiled faintly. “You’re catching on.”

They left the office together, but something fundamental had shifted.
For the first time, Katya walked a step behind her sister. Her mother didn’t speak.

The Aftermath

Within weeks, things began to change. Katya found a job — reluctantly, but she did. Her mother stopped calling for favors.
They paid the installments together, on time.

And for the first time in years, the word family started to mean something again — not manipulation, but accountability.

When the final payment was made, Elena invited them both over. She’d baked a cake — a rare gesture.

“Well,” she said, slicing it. “That’s the last payment done. The house is officially yours.”

Her mother’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Lena. For everything.”

Elena nodded. “We’re family, after all. Families keep their promises.”

Katya smiled — a real one this time. “I guess we learned that the hard way.”

Elena looked at them — her mother, older and humbled; her sister, quieter but wiser — and felt no anger anymore.

Only peace.
Because sometimes, the only way to teach people respect is to stop being the one who always forgives.

And for the first time in a long while, Elena felt proud.
Not of what she owned — but of who she had finally become.