Valya had reached her breaking point. She no longer intended to endure the cold treatment from Dima. Confused about his sudden change in behavior — had he fallen out of love? — she faced another night of his late arrival and solitary sleep on the couch.
At breakfast the following morning, Valya sat across from him and asked, — “Dima, can you tell me what’s going on?”
He sipped his coffee, avoiding her gaze. “What’s wrong with you?” he replied.
“Since the boys were born, you’ve changed so much,” she said.
“I haven’t noticed,” Dima replied dismissively.
“Dima, for two years now we’ve lived like strangers,” Valya stated. “Is that what you’ve noticed?”
He stood abruptly, pacing nervously around the kitchen. “Listen, what were you expecting? Toys scattered everywhere, the smell of milk porridge, children screaming… do you think anyone enjoys that?”
“But Dima, they’re your children!” Valya protested.
He snapped, “Normal wives have one well-behaved child who quietly plays in a corner. You had two at once! My mother warned me, but I didn’t listen—people like you just keep having children without purpose!”
“People like me? What does that even mean, Dima?” she questioned.
“People without goals in life,” he answered coldly.
“You’re the one who made me quit college because you wanted me to dedicate myself to the family!” she reminded him.
After a pause, she steeled herself and said, “I think we should get a divorce.”
He considered briefly then said, “Fine by me. But don’t bother filing for child support. I’ll give you money myself.”
Dima turned and left the kitchen. Tears wanted to fall, but the noise from the children roused her. The twins were awake, demanding attention.
Within a week, Valya packed her belongings, took the twins, and moved out. She had inherited a spacious room in a communal apartment from her grandmother.
The neighbors were new, so Valya decided to introduce herself. To one side lived a gruff but middle-aged man, and on the other, a lively lady around sixty years old. She started with the man.
“Hello! I’m your new neighbor. I brought a cake, would you like to join me for tea?” she smiled.
The man glanced at her and muttered, “I don’t eat sweets,” then slammed the door.
Shrugging, Valya turned to Zinaida Egorovna, who agreed to come just to give a speech:
“Listen, I like to rest during the day because I watch series at night. I hope your children won’t disturb me with their screams. Please make sure they don’t run through the halls, don’t touch anything, and keep the place clean!”
Valya felt a sharp pang of despair, realizing life here would be tough.
She enrolled the boys in daycare and found work there as a caregiver. The schedule was convenient, ending just before she had to pick up the twins. The pay was meager, but Dima had promised to assist financially.
During the divorce proceedings, Dima did send some support, but once finalized, the payments stopped. Two months passed without rent paid. Tensions with Zinaida Egorovna worsened.
One evening, while Valya was feeding the boys in the kitchen, Zinaida appeared wearing a satin robe.
“Dear, have you solved your financial problems? I’d hate to lose electricity or gas because of you,” she said sternly.
Valya sighed, “Not yet. Tomorrow I’m going to see my ex. He’s forgotten all about the children.”
Zinaida approached,
“You feed them nothing but macaroni… Do you realize you’re a bad mother?”
“I’m a good mother! And I suggest you mind your own business, or you might get hurt!” Valya shot back.
A shrill argument erupted. From the neighboring room came Ivan, another neighbor who listened silently to Zinaida’s curses about Valya and her boys. Then he threw money on the table and said brusquely, “Calm down. This is for your rent.”
Zinaida fell silent but whispered as Ivan left, “You’ll regret this!”
Valya ignored the threat. Unfortunately, she was very wrong. The next day, she confronted Dima again. He admitted to going through a difficult period and refused to pay support.
“Are you kidding? How can I feed the children?” she challenged.
“Then feed them. I’m not stopping you,” he sneered.
“I’ll file for child support,” she declared.
“Go ahead. Based on my official salary, you’ll get next to nothing. And don’t bother me again,” he warned.
Valya walked home crying. A week remained before her next paycheck, and money was nearly gone. On arrival, she was met by a surprise: a police officer. Zinaida had filed a complaint claiming Valya threatened her and neglected her children, leaving them hungry and unsupervised.
After an hour-long interrogation, the officer said, “I’m required to report this to child protective services.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Valya asserted.
“That’s procedure. A report must be investigated,” he replied.
That evening, Zinaida returned.
“If your children disturb me again during the day, I’ll report you directly to the authorities,” she threatened.
“What are you doing? They’re just kids, they can’t sit still all day!” Valya protested.
“If you fed them properly, they’d be sleepy, not running around,” Zinaida snapped as she left the kitchen.
The boys looked frightened. Valya smiled weakly, “Eat up, darlings. Auntie is joking; she’s really kind.” She turned away to wipe tears from her eyes, unaware Ivan had quietly entered the kitchen.
With a large bag in hand, Ivan silently stocked the refrigerator with groceries.
“Ivan, you took the wrong fridge,” Valya said softly.
He didn’t respond, filled the fridge fully, and left without a word. Valya was at a loss for words.
After receiving her paycheck, Valya offered Ivan money for the groceries.
“No need, don’t worry about it,” he said, shutting the door gently.
Again, Zinaida’s loud tirade interrupted. She screamed at the boys over a spilled cup of tea, calling them homeless and undisciplined.
Valya cleaned the mess and comforted her children.
“Don’t worry, my loves. We just have to endure a little longer. I will find a way, and we will leave here,” she promised. The boys nestled close to her.
But that night, unexpected visitors arrived at the door: two social workers, the police officer, and a man.
“Are you Valentina Sergeevna Zhestkova?” one asked sternly.
“Yes,” she answered.
“We’re from child protective services. May we come in?”
They inspected the room and told her to gather the children.
“What? You must be mad! I won’t give up my children!” Valya exclaimed.
The boys clung to her, crying, confused and terrified. The officers separated them forcibly.
Valya struggled, but the men overpowered her.
She watched helplessly as her children were taken away, their screams echoing in her ears until they finally quieted and the vehicle drove away. Collapsing to the floor, she howled in despair.
Left alone, her eyes fell on a large axe left by her grandmother from the days of wood heating. Gripping it, she smiled — though it looked more like a grimace of pain.
She marched to Zinaida’s door and knocked hard. The door burst open, and Zinaida screamed, retreating under a bed. Ivan appeared, grabbed the axe from Valya.
“You fool! What are you doing? You’re only hurting yourself,” he scolded.
She exhaled, “I don’t care anymore. Nothing matters now.”
Ivan took her to his place, gave her a sleeping pill. Valya knew she might try to escape when he turned his back, probably heading for the bridge she once thought of. But her eyelids grew heavy, and she slipped into unconsciousness.
Ivan left to confront Zinaida, who sat shaking and drinking valerian root tea.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“I didn’t expect this to go so far. I thought she’d just bluff and leave,” she replied.
“She won’t leave. Tomorrow make sure you collect all your letters. Pray this ends well, or I can’t guarantee what she might do. Then you’ll be in trouble,” Ivan warned.
Zinaida nodded anxiously.
For a whole month, Valya gathered documents, recommendations, and underwent alcohol tests. Feeling hopeless, she nearly gave up, but Ivan’s steady presence kept her going. When they realized the children might be returned, Valya felt renewed hope.
“Ivan, this is thanks to you,” she whispered.
He gave a rare, sorrowful smile.
“I had children too. But I couldn’t help them. They’ve been gone for five years. But yours, I can help,” he said.
On the night before the decision, Valya lay awake on Ivan’s couch. He seemed restless too.
“Ivan, aren’t you sleeping? Tell me about your children,” she asked softly.
He hesitated, then spoke in a flat, monotonous tone:
“I had a family: wife and two boys. I took them for granted, thought they’d always be there. I drank and shouted at home. Then one day, she left with the boys, moving to a house left by her ancestors. I waited, stubbornly proud, but I couldn’t live without them. When I went to speak to them, the house had burned down that night due to faulty wiring. I started drinking heavily, got into fights, and was imprisoned for three years. After release, I sold my apartment to cover damages and moved into this room. The factory took me back.”
Valya reached out for his hand, but he pulled it away with a sigh.
“Sleep now. Tomorrow you’ll need to be strong at the hearing,” he said.
Finally, the call came:
“Zhestkova!”
“Yes, it’s me,” she replied.
“Here are your documents. Keep your life in order to avoid repeats of this,” the social worker said, smiling strangely.
Valya stood stunned as the woman added, “Go collect your children.”
Her legs gave way, and Ivan supported her in an unfamiliar waiting room.
“Mama! Mommy!” the boys clung to her, tears streaming. Even Ivan wiped an eye.
“Enough crying. Let’s go home,” Valya insisted.
Life slowly began to improve. Zinaida Egorovna retreated into her room. Ivan helped Valya secure a technician job at the factory, so she could finally afford basic needs.
Though income was modest, careful budgeting stretched it far enough. The only concern was Ivan’s growing gloominess. One day, Valya accidentally dropped his coat, revealing a phone with her smiling as its wallpaper. She approached him, who appeared startled.
“Ivan, I’ve always been afraid to say too much. I regret many unsaid words to those close to me. Some are gone, and for others, the words no longer matter. The worst feeling is regret over what you never said,” she confessed.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Maybe I’ll try if you can’t. I’m scared you’ll laugh, but… Ivan, will you marry me?”
He studied her long before taking her face in his hands and saying, “I’m not good with words, but know I’ll do everything for you and the boys.”
Key Takeaway: Valya’s story illustrates the strength and resilience of a mother fighting not only for her children’s survival but for the chance at a better future, supported by unexpected allies.
The Tale of Kateryna Stepanovna and Her Furry Challenge
Outside Valya’s story, another poignant neighborhood saga unfolds—a woman named Kateryna Stepanovna who tirelessly cares for twenty stray cats.
After exhausted hospital shifts, she rushes to feed her demanding feline family. Despite her fatigue and limited modest income as a hospital cleaner, she provides love and sustenance for these persistent creatures.
- At the store, she quickly buys half a basket of cat food, forgetting essentials like milk and bread for herself.
- The stray clan follows her eagerly, their plaintive cries echoing “We’re dying, Stepanovna!”
- She has sterilized and treated all cats but has failed to find homes for them—these are mixed-breed strays that many avoid.
- Her life is a relentless cycle of feeding, cleaning litter boxes, and chasing cats back inside. Even in winter, she rushes barefoot outside to fetch any strays who escaped.
- Neighbors, including one frustrated author, are exasperated by the constant noise and scent penetrating their apartments.
Despite this, Kateryna Stepanovna’s tragic backstory evokes compassion—widowed and lonely, she found purpose in rescuing abandoned kittens, efforts born from kindness but met with mixed reactions.
Key Insight: The delicate balance between compassion for animals and accommodating community peace is a complex challenge many face in shared living spaces.
Meanwhile, further chaos bubbles upstairs, where a neighbor named Vera navigates a tumultuous relationship rife with jealousy and erratic behavior caused by her partner, a frequent traveler and part-time resident.
Even so, Vera’s dedication to cleanliness keeps the building’s common areas tidy, and she personally intervenes to maintain harmony amid the feline disturbances below.
Across from these personal dramas, another neighbor, Kolya, mulishly pursues constant home improvement despite limited space and neighbors’ headaches caused by his noisy tools.
This patchwork of human stories reveals a vibrant, sometimes chaotic tapestry of apartment life where hardship, kindness, conflict, and endurance coexist.
Life may be hectic and testing, but it continues with moments of unexpected friendship and hope.
Ultimately, Valya’s journey reflects the warrior spirit of a mother who faced adversity, injustice, and loss yet persevered with the help of those who believed in her. Her story, alongside the tales of neighbors, reminds us of resilience’s power and the importance of empathy in navigating life’s challenges.