Larisa stood by the kitchen counter, the scent of onions filling the air as she chopped them with practiced precision. Denis was at the dining table, his papers spread out, reviewing them with intense focus. For the past few weeks, their lives had settled into an unspoken rhythm—a rhythm that had recently been disturbed.
Denis broke the silence, his voice casual but with an edge that Larisa instantly recognized.
“We need to sell your apartment, Larisa,” he said, his eyes never leaving the pages. “I’ve found a buyer, and it’s a good offer. A great offer, actually.”
The knife in Larisa’s hand stilled. Her fingers gripped the handle tightly, but she didn’t react. Not yet. She had learned to control her responses long ago. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. She could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken expectation that she would agree to his words without hesitation.
“My apartment?” she repeated, her voice level. “Without even discussing it with me?”
Denis turned, a lazy shrug in his shoulders, his face the picture of calm arrogance.
“What’s there to discuss? I’m doing this for us. For the future. The money we get from this deal will help fund my new venture, and we can finally get ahead. I’ll take care of everything. You’ll see. In a year, this will all be worth it.”
Larisa remained still, her eyes never leaving him. She set the knife down deliberately and wiped her hands on a dish towel. Her mind was working quickly, calculating the implications of his words. This wasn’t about an apartment or a business. This was about control.
“Denis,” she said slowly, her voice cold and steady, “I’m not selling the apartment.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. Denis blinked, the smug grin faltering for a moment before it returned.
“What do you mean? I’ve already found a buyer. The money’s practically in our hands. You know we need this.”
Larisa straightened, her posture rigid with resolve. She met his gaze head-on, her voice unwavering.
“I don’t care if you found a buyer,” she said, each word carefully chosen. “This apartment is mine. It was given to me by my grandmother, and it’s my safety net. It’s not for sale, not for your business ideas or any of your schemes.”
Denis’s face darkened. He stood up, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape, the calm facade cracking.
“You don’t trust me?” he asked, his voice rising. “I’m doing everything I can for this family, and you’re holding on to this stupid apartment like it’s the only thing that matters?”
“It’s not about trust,” Larisa replied, her voice as calm as before. “It’s about respecting boundaries. You don’t get to make decisions about my property without consulting me.”
Denis took a step forward, his anger simmering just below the surface. “You’re being stubborn. I’ve done the math, Larisa. This is a business opportunity. We’ll sell, invest, and have a real future. You’re acting like a child.”
“Then maybe you should talk to my mother,” Larisa said, her tone cutting through the tension. “She’ll back me up on this. She’s always been the one to remind me what’s important.”
Denis laughed, the sound cold and harsh. “Your mother? Are you serious?”
Without waiting for a response, Larisa picked up her phone and began dialing, her movements smooth and deliberate. The screen lit up with her mother’s contact.
“Denis, we’re done here,” she said quietly, pressing the phone to her ear.
As the phone rang, Denis stood there, fuming. He could feel the walls closing in on him, the slow realization that he had underestimated Larisa’s resolve. When her mother answered, Larisa didn’t hesitate.
“Mom, I need you to come over tomorrow. We need to discuss something important.”
Her mother’s voice was warm on the other end. “Of course, darling. I’ll be there.”
As Larisa ended the call, she turned to face Denis. He was seething, his fists clenched at his sides.
“You think this is a game, Larisa?” he spat. “You think your mother can help you? This is our life we’re talking about, not some inheritance from your grandmother.”
“My life, Denis,” Larisa corrected. “My decisions. And you don’t get to dictate them.”
The next evening, her mother arrived, her presence filling the space with a certain kind of tension. Denis greeted her with forced politeness, but the tension between him and Larisa was palpable. As they sat in the living room, Denis began to speak, his voice pleading, trying to sway her mother to his side.
“Tamara Ivanovna, you’ve known Larisa for years,” he began, a calculated edge in his voice. “I’m trying to create a future for us. For all of us. She’s holding onto something that doesn’t matter. It’s just an apartment. But the future? That’s everything.”
Her mother, Tamara, glanced at Larisa, her face betraying the slightest hesitation. “Larisa, darling,” she began, her voice sweet, but with an undercurrent of concern. “You have to understand, Denis is right. He’s thinking about the bigger picture. We can’t just cling to the past. A home, a family business—it’s all for the best.”
Larisa’s heart clenched at the sound of her mother’s voice, the words familiar but heavy with the weight of betrayal. She had always known that her mother had a certain loyalty to Denis, but to hear it now, so openly, made her chest tighten with disappointment.
“I’m not selling it, Mom,” Larisa said firmly, her voice unwavering. “This isn’t just about money or business. This apartment is a part of me, and I won’t give it up to feed his endless schemes.”
Her mother’s expression faltered, the warm mask slipping slightly. Denis leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly. “But I’ll let you have your little victory. Just remember, Larisa, you don’t get to stand in the way of our future.”
Her mother sighed, a weary sound, and stood up to leave. “I’ll speak to you later, Larisa. But think about what’s at stake here.”
As the door clicked shut behind them, Larisa allowed herself a moment of relief. But she knew this wasn’t over. Denis would try again. And next time, he might not be so easy to stand up to.
But for now, she had her apartment. And that was enough.