Gennady got out of bed, trying not to make a sound. Valentina froze, closed her eyes, and breathed slowly and evenly, feigning sleep. She heard him stand up, walk barefoot to the wall where the painting hung. There was a soft creak—he was moving the painting. Then a strange metallic sound, then another. A scraping sound. A soft knock.
Valentina cautiously opened one eye. The bedroom was dimly lit by a streetlamp shining through a gap in the curtains. She could see her husband’s silhouette: he was standing by the safe, bent over it. Something glinted in his hands—tools.
My God! He was cracking the safe. Right now, while she was supposedly asleep. Valentina froze, not daring to move. Her heart was pounding so loudly it seemed her husband must surely hear it. Gennady continued to fiddle with the lock, working carefully with his tools. She could hear his heavy breathing, a quiet curse when something went wrong. On the floor at his feet lay a small, open, empty sports bag.
He was going to take the money. Her money. Three and a half million, all that was left of her mother’s apartment, of her childhood, of her past life.
How long did she lie there—a minute, two, five? Time seemed to stand still. Gennady continued to work on the lock, cursing under his breath when something didn’t work. Valentina couldn’t take it anymore. She quietly slipped out of bed on the other side, trying not to make the springs creak. She went out into the hallway.
Her heart was pounding so hard that her ears were ringing. She quickly but quietly went into the living room and closed the door. She turned on the light. She grabbed the phone from the coffee table. Her hands were shaking so badly that she dropped the phone twice before she could unlock the screen.
The blind old woman’s voice echoed in her head: “Don’t give him the keys. Or you will lose everything.” She understood everything now. If she had given him the keys in the evening, he would have opened the safe, taken the money, and… what? Left? Disappeared? Or just taken the money and made up some story? But since she hadn’t given him the keys, he decided to break into the safe at night. To take the money while she slept.
Valentina dialed 102, her finger hovering over the call button. The police? On her own husband? God, what was she doing? But what else could she do? Go out, stop him, cause a scene? And then what? He would still take the money, sooner or later. He was clearly determined, if he was fiddling with tools in the middle of the night. She pressed the button. Rings. One, two.
— Dispatch, — a male voice answered.
— Hello, — Valentina whispered, her voice trembling. — I need help. My… my husband is trying to break into a safe. My safe. I don’t know what to do.
— State your address.
She dictated the address, apartment, and floor. The operator asked questions: was there a threat to her life, was the person armed, was he alone. Valentina answered automatically, still not believing this was really happening.
— A unit is on its way, please wait. Do not take any action, stay in a safe place.
She hung up and sank onto the sofa. Her whole body was shaking. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth like she did as a child when she was scared or hurt. The police. She had called the police on her own husband. God, what had she done? No. She had done the right thing. The blind old woman had warned her for a reason. It was a sign, a protection. If it weren’t for that warning, she would have given him the keys without a second thought. And now she would be without money, and her husband… where would her husband be? Why did he need the money so urgently? Why was he willing to crack a safe in the middle of the night?
Valentina heard a metallic clang, then a satisfied exhale. Gennady had broken the lock. A few seconds later, there was a rustling sound, the sound of a bag’s zipper opening. He was taking the money. Putting it into the bag right now.
Valentina jumped up from the sofa, went to the living room door, and opened it a crack. The hallway was quiet, with only a faint light from the bedroom.
— Gennady! — she shouted, and her voice was louder than she had intended.
Silence. Then quick footsteps, and her husband appeared in the hallway. In his hands was the sports bag, stuffed and heavy. His face was as white as a sheet, his eyes wide open. They looked at each other for a second, two. Then Valentina took a step forward, and Gennady backed away towards the front door.
— Stop! — she said. — Stop! Don’t you dare!
— Get out of the way! — His voice was hoarse, alien. — Valya, get out of the way! Don’t interfere!
— What are you doing? What are you doing?
— I need this money! — He clutched the bag to his chest like a child holding a favorite toy. — I’ll pay it back. I’ll pay it all back, I swear. But I need this money now.
— Why? — She stepped closer. — Why do you need my money?
He was silent, breathing heavily, and in his eyes, she saw desperation. Not rage, not greed—desperation, an animal fear.
— Gennady, tell me! — Her voice broke into a scream. — Tell me what’s happening!
There were rapid footsteps outside the apartment door, then a knock.
— Police, open up!
Gennady froze, staring at the door. Then he slowly turned his head to his wife. In his gaze was incomprehension, then realization, then something akin to hatred.
— You! — He took a step toward her. — You called the police? On me?
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