He headed for the exit, and Seryoga followed, glancing back one last time at the group frozen in the hallway.
— That was a good show, – he said with sincere regret. — Too bad it was short.
The door closed behind them. Viktor rushed to Polina and grabbed her by the shoulders.
— What have you done? This is our home! Our family!
Polina calmly removed his hands.
— Your family, Vitya. Your mother, your sister. In this family, I’m the maid who is supposed to put up with things. Three shelves in a closet – that’s my place according to you.
— But I… we… — He was gasping, unable to find the words. — You could have said something, talked to me!
— Talk? — She scoffed. — To whom, Vitya? To you, who lied to me for three months about your mother’s ‘business trips’? To her, who threw out my dishes and called my taste terrible? To Ulyana, who put on my robe and lounged on my sofa? This could have been resolved! You had already resolved everything. Without me.
The doorbell rang, loud and insistent. Viktor flinched.
— Don’t open it. Let’s talk. I’ll cancel everything, I’ll tell Mom that…
— It’s too late, Vitya. — Polina stepped towards the door. — The lease for your mother’s apartment has been signed. The tenants have moved in. I’ve signed everything too. The only difference is, I sold.
She turned the handle and threw the door open. Three men stood on the threshold. Ignat Romanovich Shcherbakov was a sturdy man who stood tall and looked at you the way people who have worked 20 years in law enforcement do. Next to him stood his son Yegor, in his 30s, in a nice coat, holding a box. The third was Police Captain Sinitsyn, an old friend of Shcherbakov’s. He was off-duty, in a civilian jacket over his uniform shirt, but he still held a folder of documents under his arm. Polina had warned there might be trouble, and Shcherbakov decided to be prepared.
Ignat Romanovich quickly scanned the hallway and understood everything without explanation. A woman on the floor with empty eyes, a pregnant woman by the sofa looking like a stunned fish, a pale man against the wall, and the half-painted pink walls in the doorway of a room.
— Polina Timurovna, — he handed her a folder, — here is the extract from the State Register and the contract, everything is ready, you can check.
Viktor stared at the documents as if they might bite him, seeing one line with devastating clarity: Shcherbakov Ignat Romanovich, owner.
Sinitsyn walked into the apartment, and his gaze fell on the army-style folding cot in the bedroom, covered with a plaid blanket.
— What’s this, a mobile operations headquarters? — he asked with curiosity.
Larisa Semyonovna, still sitting on the floor, lifted her head.
— That’s my sleeping place. I am the owner’s mother.
Sinitsyn took out a notebook and a pen.
— Right, location of deployment — a folding cot. Do you have documents for residence?
— What documents? — the mother-in-law shrieked. — I’m his mother!
— Are you registered at this address?
— No. But…
— A rental agreement?
— What agreement? We’re family!
Sinitsyn looked up at her.
— You see, the fact that you’re family is irrelevant to the case. The owner of the premises is right here, — he nodded towards Shcherbakov. — And you are here without any legal basis.
Viktor tried to intervene, his voice breaking:
— But I’m her husband! This is our family, our home!..
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