— What apartment? — the investigator asked calmly, shuffling through papers. — As far as I know, you live in a rented apartment, and the car you were driving belongs to your daughter-in-law.
— She… She wanted Denis to sign his apartment over to her! — Zoya Pavlovna came up with.
— Your son doesn’t have an apartment. He’s registered at your place, in your one-room apartment.
The mother-in-law fell silent, realizing she had been caught in a lie. The investigator looked at her over his glasses.
— Zoya Pavlovna Sokolova, I advise you to stop this circus and start telling the truth. Your situation is very serious. It’s not just your daughter-in-law testifying against you, but also your own son.
— What? — she whispered. — Deniska?
— Yes. He admitted that you were the one who initiated kicking his wife out of the car. He claims you were putting psychological pressure on him.
Zoya Pavlovna slumped into her chair. Betrayed. Her own son, her flesh and blood, had betrayed her. She covered her face with her hands. The illusion of her omnipotence, her complete control over her son, shattered in an instant. She had always been sure that Denis would follow her anywhere, that he would never disobey her. She was used to running his life, choosing his girlfriends, and then getting rid of them when they became too “independent.” She had decided to pull the same trick with Alisa: first break her, humiliate her, and then, when Denis saw how pathetic she was, he would leave her himself. But something had gone wrong. This girl had a backbone. And a lawyer for a brother.
The interrogation lasted for several hours. When they were finally released, it was already dark outside. They left the station and stopped on the steps.
— You… you sold me out! — Zoya Pavlovna hissed, looking at her son with hatred.
— I told the truth, Mom! — Denis answered dully.
— The truth? Your truth is to betray your own mother for that…
— Enough! — Denis shouted. — Enough! This is all your fault! Yours! If it weren’t for your stubbornness, none of this would have happened!
— My fault? — she poked herself in the chest. — I wanted what was best! I wanted to get rid of her for you!
— And I loved her, — he said quietly, and this admission hurt him. — I think I loved her.
They stood on the steps and shouted at each other, oblivious to the passersby. Two close people who had become enemies overnight.
In the hospital, Alisa was slowly recovering. She was already allowed to get up and walk down the corridor. Misha came every day, bringing food, books, and updates on the case.
— They’re blaming each other for everything, — he said, sitting by her bed. — A classic case. Zoya Pavlovna claims Denis himself decided to kick you out, and she tried to talk him out of it. Denis says the opposite. The investigator is laughing.
— I don’t even feel sorry for them, — Alisa admitted.
— And you shouldn’t. They got what they deserved. By the way, I filed for divorce on your behalf.
— So quickly?
— Why wait? In a couple of months, you’ll be a free woman.
Alisa nodded. A free woman. It sounded unfamiliar. She had gotten so used to being Denis’s “wife,” Zoya Pavlovna’s daughter-in-law, that she had almost forgotten what it was like to be just Alisa.
A week later, she was moved to a regular ward. She could now go out into the hospital garden, sit on a bench under an old chestnut tree, and read. She rarely turned on her phone. The calls from Denis’s relatives stopped after Misha threatened them with charges of pressuring a victim.
But one day, a text message came from an unknown number: “Alisa, it’s Denis. I’m writing from a friend’s phone. Please, give me a chance to explain everything. I’ll come to the hospital. Just tell me when.”
She stared at the message for a long time. A part of her soul, the one that still remembered the good, caring Denis, wanted to reply. But her mind said “no.” She showed the message to Misha.
— Ignore it, — he said curtly. — He can give all his explanations in court. He wants to come? I’ll warn security not to let him in. You don’t need these meetings. They’ll just try to play on your pity.
Alisa agreed. She was still too weak to confront him. She was afraid that if she saw him, tearful and repentant, she would forgive him. And forgiveness was not an option. Not after what they did.
Another week passed. Alisa was being prepared for discharge. The doctors said she was lucky: the surgery was successful, and her recovery was going well. But she needed rest and a special diet for at least another month.
— Where will you go from the hospital? — Misha asked.
— I don’t know. — She shrugged. — I’m not going back to our apartment, everything there reminds me of him.
— Right. You can stay with me for a while. I have plenty of space. And then we’ll figure it out…
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