When will you be gone? the daughterinlaw whispered at my hospital bedside, unaware that I could hear everything and that the recorder was capturing it all.
Her breath was warm, scented with cheap coffee. She assumed I was unconsciousjust a body filled with medicine.
But I was not asleep. I lay beneath a thin hospital blanket, every nerve in my body taut like a string.
Hidden from prying eyes beneath my hand was a small, cold rectangular recorder. I had hit the record button an hour earlier, when she entered the room with my son.
Igor, shes just a vegetable, Svetlanas voice rose, clearly moving toward the window. The doctor said theres no hope. What are we waiting for?
I heard my only son sigh heavily.
Svetlana, this feels wrong. Shes my mother, I heard him say.
And Im your wife! she snapped back. I want to live in a proper apartment, not this cramped storage room. Your mother has already lived her whole lifeseventy years. Enough.
I remained motionless, breathing evenly as if in a deep sleep. No tears fell; inside me everything had burned down to gray ash.
Only a cold, crystalclear clarity remained.
The realtor says prices are good right now, Svetlana continued in a business tone. A tworoom flat downtown, newly renovated We could pull a nice sum, buy a house outside the city as weve always dreamed, get a new car. Igor, wake up! This is our chance!
He stayed silent. His silence was more terrifying than her wordsit was consent, betrayal wrapped in weakness.
A portable childrens microscope with a Macro IPS screen she listed, then added, And her belongings Well throw away half of them. Its junk nobody needsdishes, silly books Well keep only antiques, if any. Ill call an appraiser.
In my mind I smiled at the thought of an appraiser. She had no idea what I had already managed a week before lying here.
All the valuable items, all that mattered, had long been removed from the apartment and stored safely, along with the documents.
Fine, Igor finally managed. Do what you think is right. Its hard for me to talk about this.
Dont talk, dear, she muttered. Ill handle everything. You wont have to get your hands dirty.
She approached the bed. I felt her gazeevaluative, coldas if she were looking at an obstacle about to disappear.
I barely squeezed the smooth recorder casing with my fingers. It was only the beginning; they still didnt know what awaited them.
They tried to erase me from their lives. Futile. The old guard doesnt give up; its making a final push.
A week passeddrops of IV fluid, bland puree, my silent theater. Svetlana and Igor visited daily.
My son would sit on a chair by the door, stare at his phone as if trying to block reality. He couldnt bear the sight of my immobile bodyor his own betrayal.
Svetlana, on the other hand, felt at home in the ward. She chatted loudly with friends on the phone, planning the future house.
Three bedrooms, a large living room, a plotcan you imagine? Ill do the landscaping. The motherinlaw? Shes in the hospital, in bad shape. She wont survive.
Every word she uttered was recorded. My collection grew.
Today she crossed the line. She set up a laptop beside my bed and began showing Igor photos of cottages.
Look at this one! And thisreal fireplace! Igor, are you even listening?
Im listening, he replied flatly, eyes glued to the floor. Its just strange here, next to her
Where else? Svetlana snapped. No time to wait. We must act. Ive already called our realtor; shell bring the first buyers tomorrow. We have to present the flat at its best.
She turned to me. Her eyes held no humanityonly cold calculation.
By the way, about the stuff. Yesterday I started emptying the closets. So much junkhorrible. Your dresses are outdated Ive packed everything into bags for charity.
My dressesthe one in which I defended my dissertation, the one in which Igors father proposed to meeach piece a fragment of memory. She wasnt just discarding fabric; she was erasing my life.
Igor flinched.
What are you doing? Maybe shed like
What like? She wants nothing now. Igor, stop being a child. Were building our future.
She rose, walked to my nightstand, and opened a drawer without ceremony. Her fingers rummaged through wet tissues and pill packets.
Documents arent here? Passport? Anything? We need them for the deal.
The psychological pressure turned into direct action. She was no longer merely talking; she was stealing while I was still alive.
A nurse then popped into the room.
Anna Pavlovna, time for your injections.
Svetlanas face instantly softened into a caring expression.
Oh, of course. Igor, lets go, dont disturb the procedure. Mom, well come back tomorrow, she cooed, patting my hand.
Her touch was repulsive, like a worm crawling under my skin.
When they left, I kept my eyes shut until the nurses footsteps faded down the corridor. Then, with great effort, I turned my head. My muscles ached, but I managed.
I stopped the recorder, saved the file as seven, and felt beneath my pillow my second devicea buttonphone slipped to me by an old friend who is also my lawyer.
I dialed the number I knew by heart.
Listening, came a calm, businesslike voice.
This is Semen Borisovich, its me, I rasped, hoarse. Activate the plan. The time has come.
The next day, precisely at three oclock, a knock sounded at my door. Svetlana opened it with her most charming smile.
A respectable couple stood there with a realtor.
Please, come in! she chirped. Sorry for the mess, were just getting ready to move.
She led the guests down the hallway, bragging about wonderful window views and nice neighbours. Igor pressed himself against a wall, trying to remain invisible, his face ashen.
The flat belongs to my motherinlaw, Svetlana said with a hint of sorrow. Unfortunately her condition is severe; the doctors give little hope.
We decided shed be better in a specialized facility, under supervision. These walls held too many memories for her.
She paused dramatically, as if to let the buyers feel the full weight of the situation.
At that moment the door opened again, silently, without a ring. An electric wheelchair rolled in; I was inside it.
Not in a hospital gown, but in a darkblue silk robe, hair neatly tied, lips barely tinted. My gaze was calm and icy.
Behind me stood Semen Borisovichmy lawyertall, silverhaired, in an elegant suit. He quietly closed the door behind us.
Svetlana froze; her smile vanished as if erased.
Igors eyes darted around, searching for an exit. The buyers and realtor exchanged confused glances.
Good day, my voice, though soft, cut through the silence. It seems you have the wrong address. This apartment is not for sale.
I turned to the bewildered couple.
Sorry for the inconvenience. My daughterinlaw must have overreacted to my condition and exaggerated.
Svetlana seemed to awaken.
Mom? How are you here? You shouldnt
I can do whatever I deem necessary, dear, I replied, my stare making the air colder. Especially when strangers try to take over my home without permission.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed play. A familiar hissing sound and a quiet voice filled the room:
When will you be gone?
Svetlanas face turned the color of a bedsheet. She opened her mouth but could not form a sound. Igor covered his face with his hands.
I have a large collection of recordings, Svetlana, I said evenly. Your dreams, the sold items, the appraiser. I think some authorities will find it interestingparticularly for fraud.
Semen stepped forward, folder of documents in hand.
Anna Pavlovna signed a general power of attorney in my name this morning, he announced dryly. And a police statement. Ive also prepared an eviction notice based on moral damage and threat to life. You have 24 hours to gather your things and leave the apartment.
He placed the papers on the table; they fell with a quiet, inevitable rustle.
It was the end. A line you cannot cross again. Yet for the first time in weeks I felt no pain or resentment.
I felt a cold, firm, unbreakable strengththe power of someone who has nothing left to lose and is finally reclaiming what is hers.
The realtor and the buyers vanished instantly, muttering apologies. In the living room only the four of us remained, a thick silence hanging like dust in an old room.
Svetlana was the first to recover, her shock turning into fury.
You have no right! she shrieked, poking at me. This is Igors flat! Hes registered here! Hes the heir!
The former heir, Semen corrected, scanning the documents.
According to the new will, notarized yesterday, all of Anna Pavlovnas assets are transferred to a charitable foundation supporting young scientists. Your husband, unfortunately, is not included.
That was my final shot. I saw the last spark of hope extinguish in her eyes. She glared at Igor with such hatred as if he were to blame for everything.
Igor, my son, finally broke away from the wall and stepped toward me, his face wet with tears, pitiful.
Mom Im sorry. I didnt want this. She she forced me.
I looked at hima fortyyearold man who had hidden behind his wifes back of his own choosing.
Love, the boundless mothers love, had died in that hospital room beneath his wifes whisper. All that remained was bitter disappointment.
Nobody forced you to stay quiet, Igor, I replied, my voice steady, almost indifferent. You made your choice. Live with it.
But where do we go now? Svetlana interjected, voice trembling with fear and anger. Out on the street?
You had a rented apartment before you decided my place would soon be vacant, I reminded her. You can go back there, or anywhere else. Its no longer my concern.
Svetlana lunged at the belongings, shoving them into a bag, muttering curses. Igor stood in the middle of the room, lost.
He looked at me again.
Mom, please. I understand now. Ill change.
Its never too late to change, I agreed. But not here, not with me. The door to my apartment is closed for youforever.
He lowered his head, realizing this was the endnot a performance, not a punishment, but a definitive decision.
Within an hour they left. I heard the door shut. Semen approached me.
Anna Pavlovna, are you sure about the foundation? We could return everything.
I shook my head.
No. Let it be so. I want whatever remains of my life to be useful, not a cause of further conflict.
He nodded and said goodbye. I was alone in my flat again, slowly running my hand along the armrest of my chair, the spines of books. Nothing had changed here.
I had changed. I was no longer just a mother who forgave everything. I had become the person who sets the boundaries of her own universe.
And in this new universe there was no place for anyone who ever whispered, When will you be gone?
