When are you planning to move out, Marina?
Mom stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame, a mug of tea in her hand, her tone flat, almost contemptuous.
You mean move out? Marina turned slowly away from the laptop warming her knees. Mom, I live here. I work.
You work? Mom repeated, a crooked smile flickering across her face. So you sit online all day, writing verses? Articles? Who even reads that?
Marina snapped the laptop shut. Her heart sank. She had heard her work dismissed as not real before, but each time it hit like a spit.
She tried hard. Freelancing isnt easyendless revisions, tight deadlines, earlymorning drafts, clients demanding yesterdays work and paying late
I have steady orders, she exhaled. And I earn money. I pay for utilities, I
No ones demanding anything from you, Mom waved it off. Its just the way things are, Marish.
Youre an adult, you get it. Tolya, Olya and their kids want to move in. They have two children, cramped in a oneroom flat, you know that.
And I? Im not a family? she burst out, voice trembling.
Youre alone, Marish. Youre on your own. They have children, a family. Youre the smart, independent one. Youll find a place, maybe finally get a proper job.
People from nine to six work regular hours, not glued to a laptop at night.
Marina stayed silent, a lump forming in her throat. Explaining seemed pointless; Mom never understood what she did. She never asked, What do you write? Where can I read it? Only rebukes, condescending looks, comments like, Youd be better off as a cashier.
Alone. The word rang like a verdict, a justification to erase her from the apartment, from life, from the family.
When dad came home, the conversation resumed, this time with him, Mom and her in the roomas if at a domestic tribunal.
Tolya and his wife have achieved a lot, dad began, settling into his chair. Both work, two kids.
And you yes, youre commendable for not just sitting idle. But its time to take life seriously.
Dad, I live here. Im not lazy! I earn, even if its from home, even in pajamas! I pay for food, utilities, Im not a burden!
You dont get it, he cut in. Its not about money. Its about need.
Tolya has two children, you hear? The youngest is only a year and a half. They need this flat. Its hard for them.
And its easy for me?! she shouted. You think I have no difficulties! Im 28, no support, no husband, no kids. Just a job you refuse to acknowledge!
They exchanged looks, as if she had simply worn them out, as if her words were a whim, not pain.
Youre a strong girl, Mom said sadly. Youll manage. Tolya and Olya could never even imagine
Do I even have time? she thought, but didnt voice it. She had no strength left.
Where am I supposed to go? she asked hoarsely. Im not asking for money or help. Just a corner, just understanding.
Well you could find a rental, Mom answered tentatively. Everyones in a rented flat nowadays. And you dont work officially, so you have no lease.
Do you even hear yourselves?!
Marina couldnt recall how the night ended. She only remembered sitting on the windowsill, staring into the dark courtyard. Rain fell spitefully, droplets on the glass streaming like tears without a sob.
In the morning she woke to the hallways clattersuitcases, voices, bustle.
Marish, were putting Tolyas stuff in the storage for now, Mom said without looking at her. Theyre moving, you understand.
She understood. Shed known from the start. Living with it was disgusting.
Marina, you see, everythings decided. Mom said, tone as flat as asking for salt at dinner. Simple, routine, void of any heartfelt rustle.
So you dont ask, you dont suggest you just present facts?
Whats there to ask, Marina? Youre an adult. Figure things out yourself, not in a kindergarten.
And its temporary. Find a rent, maybe things will change later.
Temporary? Sure, for a few decades, until Tolyas grandchildren arrive.
Again with your sarcasm, Mom rolled her eyes. You always take everything as a weapon.
Were caring, not enemies. But remember: family isnt just you.
Of course it isnt only me, Marina muttered bitterly. Everythings for Tolya. Everything for the family. And Im the extra, a phantom on the couch, invisible.
Youre exaggerating, Dad appeared in the doorway. Tolyas a son, after all. And you youre strong. Youll understand us.
I dont want to be strong. I just want to be needed
The next day Marina checked a room she could rent. Twenty minutes from home, the world turned into a gray stairwell with rusted doors, a neighbor granny complaining about cats howling at night.
The flat looked like a junkyard museum: peeled rose wallpaper, a rug on the wall, a legless stool.
The landladyvoice hoarse, looking like someone whod been asked for a loanasked:
Where do you work?
Im a freelancer. I write articles online.
Online? What does that mean?
On a computer, on the internet. I have regular clients, I work on exchanges.
So you stay at home. Just make sure no guests come. Run the washing machine once a week. Electricitys pricey now.
Got it, Marina nodded, feeling everything inside collapse.
A new home nest in the making.
That evening Mom sent a picture: Look, we already assembled the baby crib. So cute, right?
So cute.
What are you thinking? Dad asked over dinner. Marina returned for the last of her thingssneakers, a tripod, a blanket her grandfather gave her.
Im renting a room for now, she answered flatly. Maybe Ill move later, think about a gradual change.
Right, he continued. And its time to find a real job, with people, a schedule
Dad she sighed, exhausted. I have clients worldwide. I run a company blog with a milliondollar turnover.
I write texts read by ten thousand people a day. Yet you and Mom never recognize that.
Whos going to verify that, Marina? Tolyas got everything clearaccounting, reports, salary. Youre in a fog. Write ten articles, then what?
Then Ill keep living, however I can, without you. Thanks for teaching me not to expect help or acknowledgment.
He wanted to say more, but she was already standing, key in pocket, heading for the door.
Marina a quiet voice whispered behind her. We dont mean harm.
She paused, lingered a heartbeat at the threshold.
I know. Its just foolishness on your part.
And she left.
The new room smelled of mothballs, curtains old, graybeige, walls a somber green. Marina sat on the bed, hugging her knees, thinking how easily shed been erased.
No dramatics, no noise. Just move out. Youre strong. Youre alone, so you dont count.
Maybe its better? Yet her chest felt empty, aching.
I havent broken, she whispered to the darkness. So Ive already won.
She started waking before the alarm, eyes opening into halfdarkness, lying and watching the ceiling.
The walls creak, an elderly neighbor muttering about youth, the old carpets smellall pressed down like a slab.
Worse was the thought that her family home was no longer hers, that her parents saw her as a weight.
She kept writing articlesin silence, focused, nonstop. Managed two company accounts, took extra gigs, edited at night. Money came, clients praised, but she felt indifferent.
Because inside the hurt still lingered.
One evening, the lingering smell of fried onions from the neighbors kitchen, Marina received a message from her younger brother:
Hey, when will you rewrite those docs? The flats ours now, so we dont have to split later. Just keep it civil.
She froze, staring at the screen as at a betrayer.
Civil what does that even mean now?
She typed slowly:
The flat is under our parents names. Im registered there. Youre pushing me out, now you want to strip my rights?
A reply came almost instantly:
Dont be a drama queen. Just keep things clear. You said youre leaving. Why do you need the registration? We live here now.
So you live, Tolya, she whispered through clenched teeth. Forget the word thanks. It never stuck with you.
On a weekend she went to the park, just to sit. Got coffee, perched on a bench, opened her laptop. Couldnt write, but could thinkloudly, bitterly.
She recalled dreaming of working in an editorial office, writing big pieces, inspiring, explaining, unveiling. All the sleepless nights shed poured into her craft, never hearing a Were proud of you from her parents.
To them, Tolya was the good son, the man, while she was the unfinished daughter who had no luck.
And so, erased?
That night her aunt Valya calledMoms sister, the one who always had a sense of reason.
Marina, I just found out Im so sorry for my sister for the whole mess.
Its fine, Marina replied tiredly. All good.
No, its not! Youre smart, youre alone, you keep holding on, you work. And they?
A flat isnt a cage to be displayed. Your work is genuine. The whole world runs on people like you now.
Marina listened, tears slipping quietly down her cheeksrelief, because at least one person in the family saw her.
Thank you, Aunt Valya, she whispered.
Keep holding on, dear. Remember, family isnt just blood; its those who stand by you in spirit. Let them live with their conscience.
A week later Marina decided to move to another city. She landed a solid offer as a content editor at a large companyflexible hours, decent salary.
The online interview went smoothly; no one asked about real work. Everyone loved her portfolio.
When she told Mom she was leaving, Mom grumbled:
Well, if youve decided. Just dont be offended. Were being kind
Kind? You drove me out, silently, without a choice.
You always exaggerate, Marina. We never meant any ill.
And it turned out just like always.
She didnt shout or curse, just spoke evenly. Mom eventually hung up.
The day before departure Marina slipped into the stairwell of her old building, leaned against the wall, closed her eyes.
And what? Everything earned is lost? No. Ive earned more: freedom, myself.
She left quietly, without drama, but with a new breath.
Marina arrived in the new city with a single suitcase, a laptop, and the feeling of being reborn.
A studio flat with parkview windows, bright, sparsely furnished. Every cup, every hanger, every evening of silence felt hers.
The first week felt cinematic. She roamed a nearby café with her laptop, worked, sipped coffee, watched passersbyno rush.
No one nagged, no one said, Do this, compromise, you dont really work.
One day she even smiled at her reflection in a shop windowgenuine, unforced. For the first time in ages it felt easy.
A month later she was invited to the office just to meet the team.
The atmosphere buzzed with people, projectors, debates, coffee in thermoses, lively arguments by the whiteboard.
You seem like one of us, Marina, the manager said. So engaged, mature. Did you have big experience before?
Marina paused. She wanted to spill everythingthe old flat, the brother, the mothers you dont work line.
Instead she smiled:
Experience? Yes. Life experience. Very concentrated.
That shows. Your writing grabs, it hurts between the lines.
Because I know what its like to be invisible, Marina said quietly. And I dont want that anymore.
One evening she got a long, drawnout voice message from Mom:
Marina why havent you called? We had a little fight with Tolya. He wants to sell our flat to get a bigger mortgage. I thought he says he doesnt want us to be owners. Hes being rude
And you two are? How are you? We miss you
Marina listened, replayed, replayed, then realized it didnt hurt.
It had once been painful, scary, disgusting. Now there was no desire to return, no anger, no revenge. Just a calm realization: she owed no one anything.
Months passed.
Marina adopted a rescue cat, named Coconut. He was white like the first quiet morning in her new place.
She bought a cozy desk, hung a world map with pins marking I want to go here.
She started a blog, writing not only for clients but for herselfabout herself. No shame, no pretension.
Readers commented, messaged privately: Thats me, Thank you, you looked into my soul
She understood: those who truly listen will always appear, even if it starts with silence, even if family never heard you.
One night she dreamed of her childhood home, Moms lilac robe, the smell of pancakes in the morningthe place that never chased her away, where people believed and waited.
She woke with a lump in her throat, but not in tears.
She simply got up, brewed coffee, opened her laptop, and typed a headline:
When your relatives think youre nobodybe everything to yourself.
Below, a subtitle.
