— Sergey, — he said, and every word fell like a stone. — I transferred the money to you four years ago. Seven million. I said it was for Inna, for her new life after the institute. You said you arranged everything, that she lives in a cozy apartment in the center.
Dad coughed, reached for a glass of water, but his hand shook so much that water splashed onto the tablecloth. He quickly wiped the stain with a napkin, but it didn’t save him from Mom’s gaze. She turned to him, her lips pressed into a thin line, and a mixture of horror and disbelief flashed in her eyes.
— Sergey, — she whispered, her voice barely audible. — You said you helped and found a cozy little apartment in the center. You showed me photos, said she was happy.
I looked at Dad, waiting for what he would say. That it was a mistake, that he would explain that the money got stuck somewhere, that this was all a misunderstanding. But he was silent, and his silence was louder than any scream. His face, usually so confident, now seemed gray, like a concrete wall.
— Dad, — I said, and my voice was cold as the winter wind in January. — You didn’t give me anything. No apartment, no money, not even advice on how to survive. Only said that I should work harder, that I’m lazy, that I shouldn’t wait for handouts.
And I didn’t wait. I worked two jobs to pay for this semi-basement. Katya gasped, covering her mouth with her palm; her nails with bright manicure sparkled in the lamp light. Mom looked at Dad like a stranger. And Ivan Petrovich leaned back in his chair as if he had been hit. His face, always so open, was now a mask of pain and anger.
— Inna… — he began.
But I interrupted, feeling something inside snap, something I had been holding back for years. I didn’t intend to say anything today.
— I didn’t want to ruin your birthday, Ivan Petrovich. But since we are all here, let’s stop pretending everything is fine. I’m tired of this. Tired of the lies, of the silence, of not being noticed.
I stood up, the chair creaked on the wooden floor, and the sound seemed deafening to me.
— I’m leaving.
I walked out of the restaurant without looking back. Behind me, I heard footsteps, the clatter of dishes, muffled voices. Someone, it seemed like Mom, called me, but I didn’t stop. A fire raged inside me—not tears, not weakness, but a rage I had suppressed for so long. I walked along the sidewalk, the cold city wind whipping my cheeks, but I didn’t feel the cold. I felt that for the first time in years, I had told the truth.
Grandfather’s voice caught up with me in the parking lot:
— Inna, wait!
Ivan Petrovich was running, his coat flapping in the wind, and his breath escaping in clouds of steam. He looked older than at the table, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes were full of pain.
— Did you really not receive the apartment?
I shook my head, feeling my throat tighten.
— I rent a semi-basement from a woman who doesn’t believe in banks and demands payment in cash. It smells of dampness and cigarettes, the bed stands by the boiler, and instead of a table, I have a fruit crate. I eat sitting on the floor more often than at a table. There’s almost no light, only through slits under the ceiling. I’m used to it, but this isn’t living, it’s survival.
He swallowed, his face turning gray like the asphalt beneath our feet. He ran a hand through his beard as if trying to gather his thoughts.
— Your father said you didn’t want help. That you are building your life yourself, that you are ungrateful. That you live in your dream and didn’t even say thank you.
I laughed bitterly, and that laugh was sharp, almost alien.
— I didn’t know what to thank him for. Once I asked him for a contact to find a job. He said: start with washing dishes, it tempers character. And when I asked for help with rent, he said I should cope on my own, that I was too spoiled.
Ivan Petrovich ran his hand over his face, as if trying to erase what he had heard. His fingers trembled, and for the first time, I noticed how much he had aged.
— I want to see where you live, — he said suddenly. His voice was firm, despite the trembling.
— Why? — I was surprised, crossing my arms over my chest.
— Because if everything is as you say—and I believe you—then your father deceived not only you but me as well. And I won’t let anyone lie to me anymore…
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