When are you planning to move out, Marina?
Mom leaned against the kitchen doorway, a cup of tea in her hands, her tone flat with a hint of disdain.
You mean move out? Marina turned slowly away from the laptop warming her knees. Mom, I live here. I work.
Work? Mom repeated, a crooked smile flickering across her face. Oh, right. You sit online all day. Write your little poems? Or articles? Who even reads that?
Marina snapped the laptop lid shut. Her heart tightened. Shed heard before that her job wasnt real, and every time it felt like a spit in the face.
She tried. Freelancing isnt easy: endless revisions, tight deadlines, earlymorning drafts, clients demanding yesterdays work and paying late
I have a steady stream of orders, she exhaled. And I get paid. I cover the utilities, I
No ones demanding anything from you, Mom waved it off. Its just the way things are, Marish.
Youre an adult, you understand. Tolya, Olya, and the kids want to move in together. They have two children, Marina. Their oneroom flat is cramped, you know that.
And what about me? Im not a family? she burst out, her voice trembling.
Youre alone, Marish. Youre on your own. They have kids, a family. Youre the independent one, the clever one. Youll find a place. Maybe finally get a regular job.
People from nine to six work regular hours, not pulling allnight shifts at a laptop.
Marina stayed silent. A lump rose 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 scoldings, patronizing looks, and remarks like, Youd be better off as a cashier.
Alone. The word echoed like a verdict, a reason to erase her from the apartment, from life, from the family.
When Dad came home, the conversation resumed, now with him, Mom, and her sitting like a makeshift courtroom.
Tolya and his wife have achieved a lot, Dad began, sinking into his chair. Both work, two kids.
And you Yes, youre doing something, 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 if Im 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 snapped. You think I have no difficulties!
Im 28, I have no supportno husband, no kidsjust a job you refuse to acknowledge!
They exchanged glances, as if she were exhausting them, as if her words were a whim, not pain.
Youre a strong girl, Mom said mournfully. Youll manage. Tolya and Olya will never even consider
What about me? she thought, but didnt say it aloud; she had no strength left.
And where am I supposed to go? she rasped. Im not asking for money or help, just a corner, just understanding.
You could find a rented place, Mom replied hesitantly. Everyones in a rental these days. But you dont work officially. So you have no lease.
Are you even listening to yourselves?!
Marina cant recall how the evening ended, only that she sat for a long time on the windowsill, staring into the dark courtyard. Rain fell spitefully, drops sliding down the glass like tears without sobs.
In the morning she woke to noise in the hallwaysuitcases, 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 understood from the start. Living with that was disgusting.
Marina, you see, everythings decided, Mom said in the same flat tone as if asking for the salt at dinner. Simple, routine, without a heartbeat.
So you dont ask, you dont offer you just present it as a fact?
Whats there to ask, Marina? Youre an adult. Figure it out yourself, not in a kindergarten.
And its temporary. Find a rentalmaybe things will change later.
Temporary? Sure. For a couple of decades, until Tolyas grandchildren arrive.
Theres your sarcasm again, Mom rolled her eyes. You always take everything literally.
We mean well. Were not your enemies. But remember: family isnt only you.
Of course its not just me, Marina said bitterly. Everythings for Tolya. Everything for Tolya. And Im the extra, a phantom on the couch, invisible, right?
Youre exaggerating, Dad appeared at the door. 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 went to look at a room she could rent. Twenty minutes from home, the world shifted: a gray stairwell with rusty doors, a grumbling neighbor who complained about cats howling at night.
The flat looked like a junkyard museum: peeling rosepatterned wallpaper, a carpet on the wall, a stool missing a leg.
The landlady a woman with a hoarse voice, looking as if people came to ask her for loans eyed her.
Where do you work? she asked suspiciously.
Im a freelancer. I write articles. Online.
Online? What does that even mean?
On a computer, on the internet. I have regular clients, I work through exchanges.
So you stay at home. Just make sure no guests come. Run the washing machine once a week. Electricity is pricey now.
Got it, Marina nodded, feeling everything inside collapse.
A new home nest was set.
That evening Mom sent her a photo: Look, we already assembled the baby crib. Isnt it cute?
Yes. Very cute.
What are you thinking? Dad asked at dinner. Marina came in with her last things sneakers, a tripod, a blanket her grandfather had given her.
Im renting a room for now, she replied flatly. Later I might move again. Ill 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 from different countries. I run a company blog that generates millions in turnover.
I write texts read by ten thousand people a day. Yet you and Mom never acknowledge it.
Whos going to verify that, Marina? Tolyas got everything clearaccounting, reports, a salary. Yours is a fog. Write ten articles, then what?
Then Ill keep living, however I can, without you. Thanks for teaching me not to wait for help or recognition.
He tried to say something, but she was already standing, key in her pocket, heading for the door.
Marina a quiet voice reached her back. We didnt mean any harm.
She stopped, lingered on the threshold for a beat.
I know. Its just your foolishness.
And she left.
The new room smelled of mothballs, curtains were old, graybeige, walls a gloomy green. Marina sat on the bed, hugging her knees, thinking how easily theyd erased her.
No screaming, no noise. Just move out. Youre strong. Youre alone, so you dont count.
Maybe it was for the best? Yet her chest was empty, hollow, painful.
I didnt break, she whispered in the dark. So I must have won.
She started waking before her alarm, opening her eyes in halflight, lying there staring at the ceiling.
The walls noise, a pensioner neighbor muttering about youth, the stale carpet smell all pressed on her like a concrete slab.
Worse was the thought that her family no longer belonged to her, that they saw her as a weight.
She wrote articles in silence, focused, humming. She worked herself to exhaustion, handling accounts for two companies, taking extra gigs, editing at night. Money came, clients praised, but she felt indifferent.
Because inside the hurt remained.
One evening, while the lingering smell of fried onions from the neighbor filled the room, she received a message from her younger brother:
Hey, when will you rewrite those documents? The flats ours now, so we dont have to split it later. Just be fair.
She froze, stared at the screen as if at a traitor.
Fair what did that even mean now?
She typed slowly:
The flat is registered to Mom and Dad. Im listed there. Youre pushing me out. Do you want to strip me of my rights?
He replied almost instantly:
Dont be a drama queen. Just keep things clear. You said youre moving. Why do you need the registration? Were living there now.
So you live, Tolya, she whispered through clenched teeth. Forget the word thank you. It doesnt seem to stick with you.
On a weekend she went to the park just to sit. She got coffee, sat on a bench, opened her laptop. She couldnt write, but she could think, loudly and bitterly.
She recalled dreaming of working in an editorial office, writing big pieces, inspiring, explaining, opening windows. Shed poured countless sleepless nights into it, never hearing a Were proud of you from her parents.
To them, Tolya was the good son, the man. She was the unfinished daughter who had no luck.
And erase her?
That night her aunt Valya called. The same sisterinlaw who always had a grain of sense.
Marina, Im sorry, I just found out Im ashamed of my sister of this whole mess.
Its fine, Marina answered wearily. Everythings okay.
No, its not! Youre smart, youre on your own, you keep going. And them?
A flat isnt a cage to be displayed. Your work is genuine. The world now leans on people like you.
Marina listened, tears quietly rolling down her cheeksfrom relief, from finally being seen by someone in the family.
Thank you, Aunt Valya, she whispered.
Hold on, love. Remember: family isnt the blood you share, but the people who truly stand by you. 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 firm: flexible 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 thats your decision. Just dont be offended. Were being kind
Kind? You drove me out. Silently. No choice.
You always exaggerate, Marina. We didnt mean any harm.
And it turned out that way, as always.
She didnt shout. She didnt curse. She spoke evenly. Mom, somehow, hung up.
The day before departure, Marina stood in the stairwell where her old building once was, leaned against the wall, closed her eyes.
And what? Everything earned is lost? No. Shed gained more: freedom, herself.
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, sparse furniture. Everything hers: each cup, each hanger, each quiet evening.
The first week felt like a movie. She went to a nearby café with her laptop, worked, sipped coffee, watched passersbyno rush.
No one nagged. No one said, You dont really work.
One day she even smiled at herself in a shop windows reflectiongenuine, not forced. For the first time in ages, it felt easy.
A month later she was invited to the office to meet the team.
The atmosphere buzzed: people, projectors, discussions, coffee in thermoses, friendly debates by the whiteboard.
You seem like one of us, Marina, the manager said. So engaged, mature. Did you have a lot of experience before?
Marina paused. She wanted to spill everythingabout the old flat, the brother, the mothers you dont work line.
She just smiled:
Experience? Yes. Life experience. Very concentrated.
It shows. You write with force, it sticks, with a hint of pain between the lines.
Because I know what its like to be invisible, Marina whispered. And I dont want that any more.
One evening she received a long, drawnout voice message from Mom.
Marina why havent you called? Were we had a little fight with Tolya. He wants to sell the flat to get a bigger mortgage. I thought he said he doesnt want us to be owners. Hes being rude
And something about Olya, how are you? Everything okay? We miss you
Marina listened, replayed, listened again. Then she realized: it didnt hurt.
It was once painful, scary, disgusting. Now it was not. No desire to return, no anger, no revenge. Just a calm realization that she owed no one anything.
Months passed.
Marina adopted a rescue cat, named him Coconut. He was white like the first calm morning in her new flat.
She bought a cozy desk, hung a world map on the wall with pins labeled I want to go here.
She started a blog, writing not just for clients but from herself, unapologetically. Readers commented, messaged privately: Thats me, Thank you, you looked right into my soul.
She understood: those who truly listen will appear, even if silence precedes them, even if family never heard you.
One night she dreamed of her childhood home, with Moms lilac robe and the smell of pancakes in the morninga 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 the headline:
When relatives think youre nothingbe everything for yourself.
And below, a signature.
