Good Lord, Dmitry, please stop grumbling. We’re almost there. Look, the sea is already sparkling,” Marina said softly, almost pleadingly, touching her husband’s elbow.
Dmitry wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and grimaced irritably into the taxi’s rearview mirror, as if the driver were to blame for the thirty-degree heat.
“‘Almost’ doesn’t count, Marina. We’ve been dragging ourselves through this inferno for an hour. And I still don’t understand why you couldn’t warn your sister. That’s basic courtesy, not a ‘surprise,’ as you so elegantly put it.”
“I wanted to do something nice. Veronika will be happy, you’ll see. We haven’t seen each other in so many years—work, responsibilities… Please, be a little more patient, Dima. We’re going on vacation, not to war.”
His wife smiled, trying to radiate calm, though an unpleasant chill was already forming inside her. Dmitry had been like a stretched string the entire trip, ready to snap at the slightest touch. Lately, he had become different in general—petty, fault-finding, constantly counting every kopeck, even though there was money in the family.
The taxi stopped beside a low fence painted a pleasant sandy color. Behind it stood a two-story house covered in grapevines.
“We’re here,” Dmitry muttered, getting out of the car and deliberately slamming the door loudly. “I hope their air conditioners work, at least, unlike this hack driver’s.”
Marina paid the fare and hurried toward the gate. She wanted so badly to believe that Veronika would come out now, open her arms, and all the tension of the past few months would disappear in the embrace of someone dear.
A woman stepped out onto the veranda. Her damp hair was tied into a bun, and she was holding a stack of towels. Veronika froze. In her eyes, Marina saw neither joy nor recognition—only fear and a kind of trapped exhaustion.
“Hello, sister,” Marina said uncertainly, lowering her suitcase onto the tiles.
“Mara?” Veronika blinked, as if trying to chase away an apparition. “You… why are you here?”
“Well, isn’t that something,” Dmitry said rudely, pushing past his wife and looking around the yard with the air of an owner. “Relatives arrive, and instead of ‘hello,’ we get an interrogation. Can we have some cold water? Or do you charge for that too?”
Veronika slowly set the towels down on the garden table. Her face turned to stone.
“Hello, Dima. I’ll give you water. But I have nowhere to put you up.”
“What do you mean, nowhere?” Dmitry’s voice rose half a pitch. “You’ve got a mansion here. You can’t find a corner for your own sister?”
“I’m fully booked,” Veronika said sharply, looking straight into Marina’s eyes and ignoring her brother-in-law. “It’s the season, Mara. I’m booked until October. People paid deposits six months in advance. Every centimeter is occupied.”
Marina felt a lump rise in her throat. Her hope for understanding was melting away, replaced by sticky shame for her husband and bitter resentment toward her sister.
“We couldn’t call,” Marina said quietly. “The decision was spontaneous. Are you really going to throw us out?”
“I’m not throwing you out. I’m stating a fact. I have a business, Mara. I can’t put guests out on the street just because you suddenly felt nostalgic.”
“A ‘business,’” Dmitry repeated venomously. “Renting out beds to vacationers is called a business now? We have rights here, you could say. The house belonged to the parents, and this plot was bought with the money from its sale. Forgotten that?”
Andrey, Veronika’s husband, came out of the garage, wiping his hands with a rag. He was calm as a rock, but unfriendly sparks danced in his eyes.
“Dmitry, lower your tone,” Andrey said quietly. “Veronika said there are no rooms.”
“I don’t give a damn what she said!” Dmitry exploded. “Marina, why are you silent? They’re treating you like a stray dog, and you’re happy about it? Tell her! Let them free up their best room. We’ve come all this way!”
Marina looked at her husband. Where had this arrogance come from? Where had this desire to humiliate come from?
“Stop it,” Marina said, stepping between her husband and her sister. “No one is throwing anyone out. Veronika, you have a sofa in the living room. We’ll manage there for a couple of days until we find a place.”
“On the sofa?” Dmitry snorted. “What am I, a student, to sleep on folding beds? I, by the way, am used to comfort.”
“If you don’t like it, the taxi is still outside the gate,” Andrey nodded toward the street. “And you and I, Dima, will go check whether the red mullet are biting right now. So we don’t get in the women’s way.”
Dmitry shot an angry look at Andrey, then at his wife, as if expecting support. But Marina looked away.
“Go,” she said dully. “Go on your fishing trip.”
Marina spent the entire evening sitting on that very sofa, feeling like an unnecessary piece of furniture. Dmitry returned late, angry, smelling of mud and beer, and collapsed into sleep without saying a word.
In the morning, Marina woke to the clatter of dishes. It was five thirty. She went into the kitchen and saw Veronika. Her sister was already standing at a huge stove, flipping pancakes in three pans at once.
Veronika looked even more exhausted than she had the day before. Dark circles lay beneath her eyes.
“Good morning,” Marina said, leaning against the doorframe.
“Morning,” her sister replied without even turning around. “Coffee’s in the cezve, cups are in the drying rack. Don’t get underfoot. Breakfast is served in an hour.”
Marina poured herself coffee but didn’t drink it. She watched how deftly and mechanically her sister’s hands moved. This was not the easy life by the sea Dmitry had spoken of with envy. This was hard labor.
“Give it here,” Marina said, setting down the cup and walking over to the sink full of vegetables. “What should I do? Peel? Chop?”
“You’re on vacation,” Veronika snorted. “Mara, your manicure costs more than my entire set of dishes.”
“Give me a knife,” Marina said firmly.
Four hours later, Marina wiped sweat from her forehead, feeling her legs ache. They had fed fifteen people, cleared the tables, loaded the dishwasher, and then Marina volunteered to help change the linens in two rooms that had just been vacated.
They worked silently, in sync, like they had in childhood when they weeded the garden beds together at the dacha. And the ice began to melt.
Closer to lunchtime, Dmitry came out onto the veranda. He was wearing snow-white shorts and a clean T-shirt. When he saw his wife carrying a basket of dirty laundry, his face twisted as if from a toothache.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” he hissed, blocking her way. “You’re an economist at a leading firm, not a laundress. Drop that filth.”
“Move, Dima,” Marina asked tiredly. “I need to help.”
“Help whom? Her?” He jabbed his finger toward Veronika, who was sweeping the yard. “She’s riding on your back, and you’re happy to let her. I don’t understand why we stayed here at all. I made inquiries—there’s a hotel with a pool two blocks away. Pack your things. And demand compensation from your little sister for moral damages and for using slave labor.”
Marina looked at him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And I’m not demanding money.”
“Are you stupid, Marina?” Shrill notes cut through his voice. “Do you even understand how much this dump is worth? She’s raking in money hand over fist, and she won’t even give you a room! I thought you were smarter. I thought we’d come here, put pressure on her, and she’d buy out your share just to avoid a scandal. And you’re washing rags!”
Marina dropped the basket. Linen scattered across the tiles.
“What?” she asked in a whisper. “You… you planned this? Is that why you convinced me to come without calling? To catch her off guard? To blackmail her?”
“Not blackmail—restore justice!” Dmitry roared. “You gave up the inheritance ten years ago like an idiot! And now we need money for a new car, for renovations. That’s your money too!”
At that moment, Veronika approached them. She had heard everything. Her face was pale but calm.
“I paid everything to Mom when she was sick, Dima,” Veronika said quietly. “Mara knows. Every ruble went toward treatment. This house was built on loans that Andrey and I are still paying off.”
“Don’t feed me fairy tales!” Dmitry bellowed, taking a step toward Veronika. “Show me the accounts, businesswoman!”
Anger—cold and sharp—rose in Marina’s chest. She no longer felt either love or pity for this man. It was as if a veil had fallen from her eyes, revealing a petty, greedy, envious stranger.
“Don’t you dare,” Marina said, stepping forward to shield her sister. “Don’t you dare yell at her.”
“Or what?” Dmitry smirked, looking down at his wife. “You’re a mumbling weakling, Marina. Look at yourself. Standing there in someone else’s dirty apron. Disgraceful. Pack your things, I said! We’re leaving right now. And we’re filing a lawsuit to divide the property, just so you know.”
“No,” Marina straightened. Her voice no longer trembled. “You are leaving. Alone.”
“What?” Dmitry was taken aback. “Did you overheat?”
“I said—GET OUT!” Marina suddenly screamed so loudly that birds flew up from a nearby apricot tree. She shoved Dmitry hard in the chest with both hands. “Get out of here! I don’t want to see you!”
Dmitry staggered back, nearly tripping over the basket.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” he hissed, grabbing her wrist. “Hysterical woman.”
Looking him straight in the eyes, Marina swung her free hand and slapped him sharply and hard across the cheek.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” she shouted in his face. “Never dare touch me again! I’m filing for divorce! I heard you talking on the phone last night. You lost money gambling, didn’t you? You need money to cover your debts? Is that why you dragged yourself here? RAT!”
He raised his hand, but then a heavy palm caught his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Andrey said calmly as he approached. “Otherwise, I won’t just throw you out. I’ll carry you out in pieces.”
Dmitry jerked, then looked around. Guests had begun coming out onto the veranda, drawn by the noise. He realized he had lost.
“Fine,” he spat onto the tiles. “Fine. Stay in this fleabag. You’ll come running back yourself when the money runs out. Who needs you, you old scarecrow?”
Marina smirked. It was a bitter smirk, but a liberating one.
“Your suitcase is outside the gate,” she said in an icy tone. “Call your own taxi. I blocked the cards a minute ago through the app. You only have cash, Dima. I hope it’s enough for a ticket to Moscow. And if not, walk. It’ll do you good. And yes, pack your things—the apartment is mine. You won’t be living there.”
Evening settled over the coast with a soft coolness. Cicadas chirped in the bushes, and somewhere far away the surf murmured.
Marina and Veronika sat at the round table on the veranda. In front of them lay an open, worn ledger filled with handwritten notes. For the second hour, Marina had been sketching something with a pencil on a sheet of paper, occasionally tapping it against her lips.
“Look,” Marina said, turning the sheet toward her sister. “If we optimize purchasing and switch to local suppliers, we save fifteen percent a month. Plus, I looked at your booking system. Vera, this is the last century. You need a proper website and a CRM.”
Veronika rubbed her temples, but for the first time in a long while, there was not fear in her eyes, but interest.
“A website is expensive, Mara. Every kopeck counts for us. Andrey patches the roof himself because there’s no money to hire a crew.”
“I have savings,” Marina said firmly. “Personal savings. Not family money. I want to invest. Not as a loan—as a share. We’ll turn this place into something beautiful. I know how to attract investors for expansion. There’s an empty plot nearby—I saw it.”
“Are you serious?” Veronika touched her sister’s hand distrustfully. “What about Moscow? Your job? Your career?”
“To hell with it,” Marina smiled, and that smile was the most sincere one she had worn in years. “I can work remotely. Or I can quit altogether. I’m an economist, Vera. I’ve spent my whole life counting other people’s money. Now I want to count ours.”
Andrey brought a large teapot of herbal tea from the kitchen and silently set it on the table. He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, then gently squeezed Marina’s shoulder as well.
“Dima called,” he suddenly said. “Asked to borrow money. Said he’s sitting at the train station.”
The sisters exchanged glances.
“And what did you say?” Marina asked without looking up from her calculations.
“I said the connection was bad. Then I blocked him,” Andrey winked and poured tea into the cups.
Marina took a deep breath of the sea air. Ahead lay a lot of work, court hearings, a divorce, construction, and possibly the sale of the apartment. But for the first time in her life, she felt that she was standing on solid ground, not on the shifting sand of other people’s expectations.
