— Someone was in the apartment. Things have been moved.
— What? Maybe you imagined it?
— No, I didn’t imagine it. The dresser is open, the books are moved. Someone was looking for something.
Kirill was silent for a moment.
— Maybe Mom stopped by. I gave her a key just in case.
Olga froze.
— A key? Your mother has a key to our apartment?
— Well, yeah. In case we need something, she can help.
— And you didn’t tell me?
— I forgot. It was a long time ago.
Olga hung up without saying goodbye. Her hands were shaking with anger. Lyudmila Fyodorovna had been in their apartment, rummaging through their things. Looking for money. Or a statement, or something else. Olga quickly went to the hallway. She stood on a chair. Opened the top shelf. Reached deep inside. She felt the box. Pulled it out. Opened the lid. The money was there. The onesies too. Everything was intact. Her mother-in-law hadn’t found it. Yet. Olga put the box back. Climbed down from the chair.
She had to do something. Lyudmila Fyodorovna couldn’t have a key. This was an invasion of their privacy.
When Kirill got back, Olga met him in the hallway.
— Get the key back from your mother.
— What?
— The key. I don’t want her coming in here without asking.
— Olya, what’s wrong with you? She didn’t mean any harm. Maybe she really needed something?
— What could she possibly need in our bedroom? In the dresser? In the closets?
— How should I know? Maybe she was looking for where the towels are? Or something else?
— Kirill, your mother was looking for money. Or proof that I’m spending it somewhere. She doesn’t trust me. And it seems you don’t either.
— I trust you.
— Then get the key from her.
Kirill ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily.
— Fine, I’ll talk to her.
But Olga knew: he wouldn’t talk to her. Or he would talk in a way that changed nothing. Lyudmila Fyodorovna would keep the key, keep coming over, keep checking. And sooner or later, she would find the box.
The next morning, Olga woke up feeling nauseous. She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up. She stood there, holding onto the sink, feeling weak. Morning sickness. The doctor had warned her: the first trimester is the toughest.
Kirill knocked on the door:
— Are you okay?
— Yeah, just ate something bad.
— Maybe you should call a doctor?
— No need, it’ll pass.
She washed her face and came out. Kirill looked concerned.
— You’re pale, maybe you shouldn’t go to work today?
— No, I have a report to finish. I’ll go.
Olga felt nauseous all day. She drank water in small sips, ate crackers, and tried to avoid strong smells. Her colleagues asked if she was okay. She nodded and smiled: “Yes, everything’s great.”
In the evening, she stopped at the pharmacy and bought prenatal vitamins. The pharmacist congratulated her and gave her a brochure on diet and daily routine. Olga stuffed it all in her bag and drove home. Kirill wasn’t home. A note on the table: “Went to Mom’s, she’s not feeling well. I’ll be back late.”
Olga crumpled the paper and threw it away. Of course, his mother wasn’t feeling well. She always felt unwell when it was convenient. She sat on the sofa, took out her phone, opened the calculator, and started counting. She already had 50,000. If she saved 15,000 every month, in six months she’d have another 90,000. That’s 140,000 in total. Not enough. She needed more. She opened the banking app and checked her balance. After her salary and all expenses, she had 20,000 left. She could withdraw another 10,000. Leave 10,000 for current expenses. If she did this every month, withdrawing half of the remainder and hiding it, she’d have enough by the time the baby was due.
Olga scheduled an ultrasound for tomorrow. The first, important one. She would see the baby, hear the heartbeat. The doctor said you could hear it at 6 weeks.
Kirill came back after midnight. He lay down next to her and hugged her.
— How’s Mom? — Olga asked in the dark.
— Nothing serious, her blood pressure was acting up. I bought her some pills, sat with her for a bit.
— Did you ask about the key?
— No, I didn’t want to bring it up, she was already upset.
Olga said nothing. Of course, he didn’t. He never would.
In the morning, she went for the ultrasound. She lay on the couch, and the doctor applied gel to her stomach. She moved the probe around. Olga looked at the screen but couldn’t understand anything: just black and white spots and lines.
— Here, — the doctor pointed at the screen. — See, this is the gestational sac. And right here, this little spot is the embryo. The heart is beating, do you hear it?
Olga listened. A quiet, fast beat. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Tears welled up on their own.
— Is that its heart?
— Yes. Everything is fine, the development is on track for its age. Congratulations, you have a healthy pregnancy.
The doctor printed a picture and gave it to Olga. A small black-and-white photo where you could barely see anything, just a little spot. But it was her baby. Alive, real. Olga got dressed, left the office, clutching the picture in her hand. She sat in the car and looked at it for a long time. Then she carefully put it in her purse. She would show it to Kirill. She definitely would. But later. When she was ready. When she had saved enough money.
In the evening, at home, Olga took out the picture and put it in the box on the top shelf. Next to the onesies and the money. Let it all be together. This was her secret, her protection.
Over the next few days, Lyudmila Fyodorovna was quiet. She didn’t call, didn’t visit. But Olga knew: it was a deceptive calm. Her mother-in-law hadn’t given up. She was just waiting.
And indeed, a week later, Kirill came home from work looking worried.
— Mom called today. She asked if everything was okay with us. She says you’ve been acting strange lately. Pale, quiet. She asked if you were sick.
— I’m fine.
— Maybe you should really see a doctor, get checked out?
— I’ve seen a doctor, everything’s fine.
— Then why is Mom worried?
— I don’t know, ask her.
Kirill frowned but didn’t press the issue. Olga could see he was torn between them. His mother on one side, his wife on the other. And so far, his mother was winning. She always won.
That night, Olga had a dream. She was standing in an empty room, holding a baby. Suddenly, the door opened, and Lyudmila Fyodorovna came in, holding out her hands: “Give me my grandchild, I’ll raise him myself.” Olga stepped back, clutching the baby to her chest. Her mother-in-law followed, insistent: “Give him to me, I know best.” Olga screamed, “No!” but her voice wouldn’t come out. Only a hoarse rasp escaped her throat.
She woke up in a cold sweat. Kirill was asleep beside her, having heard nothing. Olga got up, went to the kitchen, and drank some water. Her hands were shaking. It was just a dream, just a fear. But it felt so real. She went back to the bedroom, lay down, but couldn’t fall back asleep. She lay there, staring into the darkness, and thought. Something had to change. Things couldn’t go on like this. Her mother-in-law couldn’t control their lives, meddle in their affairs, demand reports. She had to set boundaries, firm, clear ones. Otherwise, it would be even worse after the baby was born.
In the morning, after Kirill left, Olga called a locksmith and ordered a new lock for the front door. The locksmith came at noon and installed it. Olga took two keys: one for herself, the other for Kirill. That’s it. No one else had a key to their apartment anymore.
In the evening, Kirill noticed the new lock.
— What’s this for?
— For security. The old lock wasn’t reliable.
— So Mom’s key doesn’t work anymore?
Kirill’s face darkened.
— You mean you did this on purpose so she couldn’t get in?
— Yes.
— Why?
— Because I don’t want anyone rummaging through our things while we’re not home.
— She wasn’t rummaging!
— She was, Kirill. And you know it….
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