I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even hear what they were trying to say or do. I just walked away, took some water, and left. That same day, I installed a lock on the door of our bedroom. I told my wife a softer version of the conversation—I couldn’t hide it. Everything was reflected on her face.
Our daughter, of course, told her brother. The two of them suddenly turned into overly affectionate kittens. They must have thought we were fools, but the veil was lifted from our eyes—we understood everything. We reevaluated our relationship with many past events.
Later, the children stopped pretending to be affectionate. My wife admitted that she had noticed many things before but hoped they would grow out of it. Instead, they grew into greedy consumers for whom kindness, understanding, and empathy meant nothing.
Years passed since that incident. Nothing really changed. Both children remained selfish, willing to do anything to achieve their own goals. I couldn’t live like that any longer. As soon as our son turned 18, we sold the apartment. The neighborhood was excellent—Stalin-era construction, high ceilings.
We bought them a two-room apartment—they were so happy to be independent! But I registered the property under my name. Meanwhile, my wife and I bought a small plot of land with an unfinished house. Over the summer, I finished everything myself.
The children stopped congratulating us on holidays. A few years ago, they would at least send a message. Now, there is mutual silence.
We made a decision—both of our wills now state that everything will go to an orphanage. Our children will receive nothing after our deaths. Maybe then they will finally understand something…
