— What did you say? — Alice asked, freezing in the doorway. Her voice trembled so much that Sebastian noticed it immediately. He stood in the center of the kitchen in an unbuttoned shirt, which he would normally take off as soon as he crossed the threshold, and looked at her as if she had dared to break sacred family rules.
— What’s so hard to understand? — Sebastian shrugged. — Mom thinks it’s the right thing to do. We are family. She has a small pension, and you have a steady salary. She says: why save money on nonsense when parents need help?
Alice slowly took off her coat. For a moment her fingers went numb from the cold — the radiators were barely heating, and the hallway felt like an ice chamber. She hung the coat on the rack and felt the cold tighten around her hands, as if it wanted to trap her. She closed her eyes, as if that made it easier to digest what she had just heard.
Her heart pounded in her chest as if it wanted to break out, but her mind demanded that she pull herself together.
— Sebastian, three years ago we made an agreement. My money is mine. Yours is yours. The shared money is only for food, bills, and the mortgage. That was clear. That was our rule, she said quietly but firmly. The words came with difficulty, as if each sentence pulled a piece of strength out of her.
Sebastian sighed — a deep, tired sigh, as if he were explaining something obvious to a child.
— Alice, you understand. Mom is alone. It’s hard for her. We both work. She thinks it’s natural that children help their parents.
— Children — yes, Alice replied slowly, but not a daughter-in-law. And not in such amounts. For a year and a half I’ve been giving her 500 euros every month. A year and a half, Sebastian. That’s almost a third of my salary. I pay half the mortgage, buy food, cook, do laundry, clean. When am I supposed to save for my own needs? For shoes? For the dentist? Or simply so that one day I won’t have to count every cent?
Sebastian stepped closer and tried to take her hand. Alice did not pull her hand away, but she did not squeeze it back either. There was ice in her eyes and a storm in her heart that he did not want to see.
— Mom says you spend too much on yourself, he said quietly. — Expensive creams and coats aren’t necessary for you. It’s just vanity.
Something in Alice’s chest got stuck — not pain, but an invisible ring that tightened around her heart more and more. She looked at him, trying to find understanding, but saw only ordinary indifference to her inner world.
— And Mom thinks I should look like the neighbors? Alice asked calmly. — In fifteen-year-old puffer jackets and with henna-dyed hair? This is my face, Sebastian. My teeth. My hair. My money. From eight in the morning to seven in the evening I work for this, sometimes until nine. I don’t sit at home waiting for an envelope.
Sebastian looked away. He always did this when he realized that the discussion concerned something difficult for him, but not crucial for life.
— You know how she became after Dad died. She thinks everyone wants to cheat her. If she doesn’t get it now, she won’t get anything later.
— I understand that it’s hard for her, said Alice, unloading the grocery bags to occupy her hands. — But that doesn’t mean I have to support her. This isn’t help. This is… maintenance.
The word hung in the air, heavy and sluggish, as if she had thrown it into the darkness and now it would echo in their relationship for a long time.
Sebastian was silent for a long time. Then he quietly said:
— She called today. She said that if you send only 500 euros again, she will come and talk to you.
Alice froze with a package of cottage cheese in her hands.
— She will come?
— Yes. She thinks you were avoiding her. That I’m protecting you.
— And you are protecting?
Sebastian shrugged, guilty but without any real confidence.
— I try to make everyone happy. So Mom won’t get upset. So you won’t get angry.
Alice closed the fridge and paused for a moment, leaning against it. Inside, everything was boiling: fatigue, resentment, the feeling that her personal life and boundaries no longer mattered.
– Do you know what’s the scariest? – she asked quietly, almost in a whisper. – That you really don’t see a problem in this.
Sebastian opened his mouth, then closed it. He had nothing to say. And indeed – what can you say when it’s obvious that two worlds coexist in one apartment but refuse to meet?
During dinner, they barely spoke. Alice ate quickly, keeping her eyes down. Sebastian poked at the potatoes on his plate, thinking about the match and realizing that no goal could compare to this silent confrontation.
After dinner, he went to watch the game in the living room, leaving Alice alone with an empty kitchen and her own thoughts. She washed the dishes, wiped the table, folded the kitchen towel – as if performing a ritual to keep some control over her life. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as if she were collecting her “self” again after a blow to her personal boundaries.
Then she picked up her phone, opened the banking app, and stared at the numbers for a long time. Half of her salary remained until the next paycheck. Every number reminded her that her freedom was limited, that her efforts were not appreciated.
She transferred 300 euros to Sebastian’s phone. Another 200 euros to a different card – one he never used. It was her “cushion,” a reserve for the day things become unbearable. She didn’t know when that day would come, but she felt it approaching.
It was the quiet, inevitable rhythm of her life – the feeling that her patience was running out, that the walls she lived in were slowly closing in, like an old house about to collapse.
At night, Alice lay on her side of the bed, listening to Sebastian’s steady breathing. She looked at the ceiling and thought how strangely everything had turned out. Three years ago he had said to her: “You are the strongest. The smartest. I’m proud of you.” Back then, it warmed her heart. Now it felt like a foreign memory, something that belonged not to her, but to another woman who had once been close.
She cried quietly – not out of resentment, but out of exhaustion. From the realization that she couldn’t go on like this. That her strength has limits. And that one day she would have to say not only “no,” but also “enough.”
Tears ran down her cheeks, and she did not move. She lay there, listening to the breathing, the ticking clock, herself. And for the first time in many months, she felt that there was still a place for her within herself, that her personal boundaries were not just words, but her own life.
