The warm September wind rustled the curtain in the living room, filling the room with the scent of fading leaves. Alex, sitting in his rented office, tapped his fingers on the desk while the computer processed another client request. The 35-year-old programmer with a stocky build and a red beard that he had been growing for the last five years looked atypical for his profession, more like a lumberjack or a biker.
But behind the unconventional appearance hid one of the best cybersecurity specialists in the city. The phone vibrated. Mom appeared on the screen.
Alex, do you remember that Mary’s engagement is this Saturday? His mother’s voice sounded casual, as if talking about a trip to the store. Of course, I remember, Alex leaned back in his chair, looking at the framed photo on the desk, a picture of the three-bedroom apartment in downtown Chicago, where his childhood had passed. The apartment that formally belonged to him.
Victor thinks we should book the restaurant “River North Grill,” his mother continued. But you understand. Alex smirked.
Victor thinks—this phrase had haunted him for the last 15 years, ever since his stepfather appeared in their home. Victor Peterson, a minor clerk in the city administration, with his eternally perfectly ironed shirts and a folder he carried under his arm like some symbol of power, entered their life when Alex was 20. “I’ll take care of the restaurant,” Alex replied.
— And everything else too. This is my sister, after all. Hanging up, he sighed and looked at the clock.
In half an hour, he had to be at a meeting with a client, but his thoughts kept returning to the apartment story. The inheritance story began almost 10 years ago. After his parents’ divorce, his father, a senior engineer in a construction company, decided to transfer the three-bedroom apartment to his son.
“This is your insurance, buddy,” his father said then, patting him on the shoulder. “Your mother might marry anyone, but no one will kick you out of the house.” Two years later, his father died of a heart attack.
Alex was 23, he had just graduated from college and started working as a programmer. That’s when Victor appeared. Short, fit, with a neat haircut and manners designed to emphasize his intellect.
From the beginning, the stepfather tried to emphasize how much Alex didn’t fit his idea of a decent family. “You should lose some weight, Alex,” he would say, giving his stepson an appraising look. “And those jeans of yours.
Is that how a person with a higher education should look?” At the time, Alex just shrugged. He quickly got promoted, started earning enough to rent his own apartment. Moving out seemed like the best solution, especially since his mother tearfully asked to leave the apartment to them.
“Alex, where will Victor and I go? He only has his salary, and I’m retired. Mary is still in school.” His mother didn’t skimp on emotions when it came to money and real estate.
Alex agreed. Let them live, after all, it’s family. He moved out, leaving his relatives to live in his own apartment for free.
No contracts, just a verbal agreement. Five years flew by unnoticed. Alex built a career, earned a reputation, made good connections in the tech sphere.
In his wallet, there was always a card from which his mother could withdraw money for unforeseen expenses. Major repairs, new furniture, education for his sister—all of it fell on Alex’s shoulders. “You can’t imagine how proud Victor is of the new furnishings,” his mother reported over the phone…
Now it’s not embarrassing to invite his colleagues over. At family dinners, which happened about once a month, Alex mostly stayed silent, watching as Victor expounded on his successes at work and how hard it is to deal with ordinary people when you’re an educated person with a special mindset. “Take our Alex,” Victor liked to say, pointing his fork at his stepson.
A programmer, not a janitor, but looks like. He paused, searching for a suitable comparison, like a lumberjack on a stroll. His mother nervously giggled, his sister looked at her plate, and Alex silently chewed, understanding that arguing was pointless.
Over the years, relations with his stepfather didn’t improve. Victor, lacking real achievements, compensated by constantly criticizing those around him, especially Alex. Everything irritated him, from his stepson’s manner of speaking to his growing red beard, which he grew after thirty.
It’s just indecent. Victor fumed at dinner. “You look like a bum from the train station.
At least trim that mop.” Alex stayed silent, smiling at the corner of his mouth. His appearance, far from glossy standards, became a kind of shield, a natural filter screening out superficial people.
That day, when Mary, his younger sister, announced her upcoming wedding, Alex didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll pay for everything,” he said, watching his sister bloom with relief. “Choose any restaurant, dress, photographer, whatever you want.
Alex, you’re our savior.” His mother burst into tears right at the table, touched by her son’s generous gesture. Victor smiled tensely but didn’t comment.
Only later, when Alex was about to leave, his stepfather caught him in the hallway. “Don’t think that just because you’re paying, you can boss everyone around,” he said quietly, adjusting his tie knot. “The wedding is a family event.
Everything should look respectable.” Alex just snorted, letting the remarks pass by. He was used to such jabs.
The approaching Saturday and engagement Alex met with unexpected joy. For the first time in a long time, he felt useful to his sister, the only person in the family who never criticized him for his appearance or lifestyle. Maybe after the wedding, relations will improve, he thought, closing his laptop and heading to the meeting.
The universe, however, was already preparing a completely different scenario. A week before the wedding, Alex’s life was a chaos of organized busyness. Daily meetings with the wedding planner, endless money transfers to vendors, and coordinating the smallest details took up most of his free time.
Despite his own busyness with cybersecurity projects, he willingly dove into the pre-wedding hustle. Alex was sitting in a cafe across from the office when the wedding planner Irene, an elegant woman with a laptop and an eternal tablet in her hands, sat down with a businesslike air. The flowers are all set, she reported, scrolling through the list on her tablet.
The arrangements will be delivered to the restaurant by ten in the morning. The banquet hall is booked, the menu is approved. We just need to confirm the exact number of guests.
How many do we have on the preliminary list? – asked Alex, sipping his Americano. 93 people, including the newlyweds, replied Irene. But Mary said there might be changes.
I need to know the exact number by the end of the week. – Okay, I’ll check, – nodded Alex, pulling out his phone. For the second day, he had been trying to reach his sister, but Mary wasn’t picking up.
Her uncharacteristic elusiveness was starting to worry him. Usually, his sister answered almost instantly, but in recent days, conversations had become short and formal. Did you pick up the wedding dress? – inquired Alex, sending a message to Mary.
– Yes, yesterday. – Your sister? She looks stunning in it, – smiled Irene. – And have you decided what you’ll wear? Alex twirled his coffee mug.
I was thinking about a dark blue suit. Strict but not too formal. Tie or bow tie, haven’t decided yet.
Bow tie definitely. Irene said enthusiastically. – With your beard, it’ll be stylish and a bit bohemian.
Alex smiled. Hearing positive comments about his appearance was unusual. In his family, the beard remained a constant source of mockery, especially from Victor.
– I have a stylist friend, – continued Irene. He could put together a look that. Alex’s phone vibrated.
– Message from Mary, I’ll pass the list to mom, she’ll send it. The phrase seemed strange. Why did his sister suddenly decide to act through intermediaries? He dialed her number, but the call went unanswered again.
– Something wrong? – asked Irene, noticing Alex’s frown. – I don’t know, – he replied, setting the phone aside. – I hope not…
Let’s finish with the organizational questions, and I’ll get the list, I promise. The rest of the day passed in work routine. Alex tried to focus on the project to protect the banking system, but his thoughts kept returning to his sister’s strange behavior.
At six in the evening, when the office started emptying, he decided to call his mother. – Hi, Mom, – he said when she finally answered after the fifth ring. – Alex.
His mother’s voice sounded unusually tense. – How’s work? – Fine. – Do you know what’s up with Mary? – She’s not answering calls.
A short pause on the other end of the line. – She’s very busy, dear. – Fittings, meetings with the groom.
– You understand, pre-wedding fuss. – Yeah, but she needs to confirm the guest list. – Can you tell her that? Alex, his mother interrupted him, and something in her voice made Alex tense.
– We need to talk. – Could you come over today? – Did something happen? – We’ll talk at home. – Can you be here by eight? Anxiety, coiled somewhere in his chest, began to grow.
– Okay, I’ll be there. At eight in the evening, Alex stood at the door of his former apartment, holding a set of keys. Technically, he could enter himself; the apartment belonged to him, but over the years, he had gotten used to ringing, respecting the privacy of the people living there.
Even if formally, these people were living on his territory. His mother opened the door. Her hair, usually perfectly styled, looked disheveled, and her eyes were red, as if from tears.
“Come in,” she said, letting her son inside. In the living room, Alex encountered an unusual scene. Victor sat in an armchair with an uncharacteristically serious expression, and Mary was settled on the couch, fiddling with the edge of her blouse.
The atmosphere resembled a family council gathered before announcing sad news. “What’s going on?” asked Alex, stopping in the middle of the room. Victor cleared his throat and straightened up, assuming his favorite pose as the head of the family.
“Alex, we need to discuss some. Organizational moments of the wedding. I’m all ears.”
His mother cast a quick glance at Victor, then at Mary, and finally resolved, “Alex, dear, we think that … perhaps … it would be better if you … don’t come to the ceremony,” Victor finished for her, looking Alex straight in the eyes. A heavy silence hung. Alex felt everything inside turning to ice.
“What?” “Understand correctly,” continued Victor, rubbing his hands, “we’ll have important guests. Colleagues from the administration, city officials, business partners. Everything should look … solid.”
“And I, apparently, am not solid enough,” Alex said slowly, beginning to understand where the conversation was heading. “It’s not about that.” His mother intervened.
“It’s just that you know, you have this … image. The beard—your build. In the photos, it will look.”
“Like what?” Alex’s voice remained calm, though tension was building inside. “Like a living person, not a magazine picture.” “Like out of place,” Victor cut off.
“Let’s speak plainly. Your appearance doesn’t match the event’s format. This is an elite occasion where everything should be.”
Beautiful and glamorous, Alex finished through gritted teeth. “Got it.” He shifted his gaze to Mary.
“And you agree with this?” His sister flinched, not lifting her eyes. “I … I just want everything to go perfectly, Alex.” Flawless photos, beautiful memories.
“Without me,” clarified Alex. “Don’t dramatize,” Victor interjected. “No one is saying you can’t participate at all.
You’ve already made an invaluable contribution by paying for the celebration. That means a lot to us.” Alex smirked.
“So my money is enough, but my presence isn’t?” “Alex, don’t start,” his mother sighed. We just want everything to be perfect. You could at least trim your beard.”
“It’s not just the beard,” interrupted Victor. “The whole image … outdated. Guests will notice, ask questions.
We don’t need that.” Something finally broke in Alex. For 15 years, he had endured comments and jabs, tolerated mockery and criticism…
15 years helping a family that saw him only as a wallet and an awkward misunderstanding. And now they were asking him not to come to his own sister’s wedding, a wedding he had paid for out of his own pocket. “I understand,” he said quietly, standing up.
“Send me the final guest list; the planner needs to know the exact numbers. So you’re not offended?” His mother asked hopefully. Alex looked at her with a long gaze.
“Don’t worry about my feelings. They never particularly interested you.” He headed for the exit.
Mary finally rose from the couch. “Alex, wait.” “What?” He stopped without turning.
“You understand we don’t want to offend you?” “It’s just. Formality. For perfect photos.”
Alex turned, looking his sister in the eyes. “I understand, Mary. I understand everything perfectly.”
Asterisk-asterisk-asterisk, the next morning, Alex met with the cold clarity of a man who had made an important decision. No trace of yesterday’s offense remained in his movements as he dialed the number of a lawyer, a college friend specializing in housing issues. “Andrew, I need a consultation,” said Alex, hearing the familiar voice.
“How quickly can I evict people living in my own apartment for free?” “Evicting relatives?” There was no judgment in the lawyer’s voice, only professional interest. “Yes. There’s a free use agreement.
Verbal agreement. Then it’s simple. You send an official notice terminating the agreement, give a reasonable time to vacate the premises, usually a month, and that’s it.
And if they refuse? Then through court. But with clean ownership documents, the case will be a win.” Alex nodded, though the interlocutor couldn’t see it.
“Prepare the documents. I want to send the notice the day after tomorrow.” “Okay.
And, Alex. Something serious happened?” Alex looked at his reflection in the window glass, a big man with a red beard that had become a symbol of his independence from others’ opinions. “It’s just time to set the record straight.”
After talking with the lawyer, Alex contacted the wedding planner and confirmed he would pay all remaining bills within the day. Then he called the restaurant and checked if all details were discussed. “And will you be attending the event yourself?” The administrator asked him.
“We need to know who the contact person will be.” “No, I won’t be there,” replied Alex. “Contact the bride or her mother.”
Throughout the day, the phone was ringing off the hook from Mary’s calls. Alex ignored them, immersing himself in work. Only in the evening did he read her message.
“Alex, I didn’t mean to offend you, please,” — replied Victor, “just worried about the impression, you know, his career depends on these people, Alex. We can discuss everything in the last message,” — Alex replied briefly. “Everything has already been discussed.
Don’t worry, the wedding will go as planned.” In the evening, sitting in his rented apartment with a glass of whiskey, Alex scrolled through old family photos, those times when they were still a real family. Father, mother, little Mary, and himself, a teenager, still without a beard, but already tall and large.
In all the shots, his father hugged him by the shoulders with pride. “What would you say now, Dad?” — thought Alex, peering into his father’s smiling face. The next day, he went to Andrew’s office to sign the documents.
The official eviction notice was drafted in dry legal language, without emotions, just facts and deadlines. “I recommend sending it by certified mail with return receipt,” said Andrew, handing over the folder with documents. “And duplicate it electronically to avoid arguments about non-receipt.”
“Thanks,” nodded Alex. — Are you sure you want to do this? Alex pondered for a moment. “You know, all my life I’ve tried to be a good son…
Supported Mom after the divorce, provided for the family, tolerated the stepfather’s mockery. I gave them the apartment, paid for repairs, for my sister’s education. And you know what? Their gratitude boils down to telling me you’re not presentable enough for our celebration.
Please give money and disappear.” “I understand,” nodded Andrew. — That’s really.
Crappy. Exactly. So yes, I’m sure I want to do this.
Moreover, I plan to sell the apartment.” Andrew’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Do they know about this?” “They’ll find out,” Alex shrugged.
When they have to look for new housing. On the wedding day, which was supposed to take place in five days. Alex sent the certified letter with the eviction notice to his apartment’s address.
He sent a duplicate notice to his mother’s messenger with a short text. “You have exactly one month to vacate the apartment.” An hour later, the calls started.
First his mother, her voice breaking into a scream after Alex’s first words confirming the seriousness of his intentions. Then Victor, threatening, promising to use his connections in the administration. Finally, Mary, confused, not understanding how the situation could spiral out of control.
“Alex, you can’t do this to us,” she sobbed. “Where will we go?” “Where all people go when they need housing,” Alex replied calmly. “Rent an apartment.
Victor has a stable job, right? But his salary won’t cover rent downtown. Then not downtown. Alex, this is cruel.”
“Cruel, Mary,” said Alex, feeling the tension of recent days turn into fatigue. Saying to a person that he’s not beautiful enough to attend a celebration he himself paid for. “And my decision is just business.
Nothing personal.” The last phrase sounded with bitter irony because everything happening was too personal. That was the problem.
On the wedding day, Alex didn’t go to work. He stayed home, turned off his phone, and spent the day reading a book he had put off for several months. In the evening, he turned on the phone and saw dozens of messages and missed calls.
Among the photos on social media, wedding shots flashed: happy Mary in a white dress, proud Victor next to her, touched mother. A perfect picture paid for by the person who had no place in it. Alex turned off the phone and poured himself more whiskey.
A strange feeling, a mix of liberation and sadness, filled him. He understood that he had turned the page of his life. And the next chapter would be written only on his terms.
Alex, for the first time in a long time, woke up with a sense of lightness. The morning sun filtering through the blinds seemed brighter than usual. He stretched, went to the window, and flung it wide open, letting the cool autumn air fill the apartment.
Strange, he thought, looking at the awakening city, but I feel free. The phone, which he had turned back on yesterday, persistently vibrated on the nightstand. Alex glanced at the screen; it was his mother calling.
Already the twelfth time in the last day. He dismissed the call and went to the kitchen to make coffee. The morning ritual—grinding beans, brewing in a French press, leisurely enjoying the aroma—always calmed him.
Today, he allowed himself to add an omelet with cheese and greens to breakfast. Usually, there wasn’t time for such indulgences, but today was a special day. The day he decided to finally part with the past.
The phone rang again and again. When his patience ran out, Alex finally answered, yes, Mom. Finally.
Her voice sounded both accusatory and pleading. Do you even understand what you’re doing? We received your letter. This is some horrible joke.
It’s not a joke, Alex replied calmly, stirring his coffee. I really plan to sell the apartment. You have a month to find new housing.
But where will we live? His mother’s voice rose to a scream. You’re throwing us out on the street. Your own mother…
Victor has a job in the administration, reminded Alex. Rent an apartment. On his salary? You’re joking.
We won’t be able to rent anything decent. Then you’ll have to rent something less decent, Alex took a sip of coffee. Or move further from downtown.
Alex, tears appeared in his mother’s voice, you can’t do this to us. We’re your family. You were always such a caring boy.
Apparently, something changed, Alex cut off. Maybe at the moment when you decided I wasn’t good enough to attend my own sister’s wedding. That was just stupidity.
We got carried away. Victor will apologize, I promise. It’s too late, Mom.
The decision is made. You have exactly 30 days from the notice. He hung up, ignoring the stream of calls that followed.
Half an hour later, the phone rang from an unknown number. Alex, sensing a trick, still answered. Hello, Alexander? The official male voice sounded emphatically polite.
My name is George Stevens, I’m a lawyer representing the interests of Victor Peterson and your mother, Helen. Alex smirked. Victor didn’t waste time.
I’m listening. My clients received your eviction notice, which they consider legally unfounded, the lawyer continued. According to housing legislation, family members of the owner permanently residing with him have certain rights.
In this case. But I don’t live with them permanently, interrupted Alex. I moved out five years ago.
They live in my apartment based on a verbal free use agreement. Such an agreement can be terminated by the owner unilaterally at any time. A short pause on the other end.
Nevertheless, considering the duration of residence and degree of kinship. Contact my lawyer, Alex gave Andrew’s name and phone. He’ll explain the legal position in more detail.
Have a good day. Ending the call, Alex immediately dialed Andrew. They’ve already hired a lawyer, he reported when his friend answered.
Some Stevens. I know him, Andrew chuckled. Third-rate specialist.
Takes on any cases to make money. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. Throughout the day, Alex fully immersed himself in work.
The code required concentration, leaving no room for thoughts about the family drama. By evening, when he finished the project, a message came from Andrew, talked to their lawyer. He understood the futility of the case.
Most likely, they’ll try to resolve it personally. As Andrew predicted, the next morning, Victor appeared at the door of Alex’s apartment. He looked unusually disheveled, tie slightly askew, eyes red as if from insomnia.
We need to talk, he said instead of greeting. Alex silently stepped aside, letting his stepfather into the apartment. Victor looked around, assessing the setup: minimalist design, modern tech, spacious rooms.
Not bad for yourself, he noted, walking into the living room. What do I owe the visit? Coldly, asked Alex, not offering his stepfather a seat. Victor, however, sat on the edge of the couch himself, nervously tapping his fingers on his knee.
Listen, Alex, he began, trying to speak calmly. I understand that we might have been not too tactful. This situation with the wedding, a misunderstanding.
We were all nervous, said things we didn’t mean. And what did you really mean? Alex stood with arms crossed on his chest, towering over the sitting stepfather. That you, of course, should have been there, Victor replied hastily.
Just. You understand, appearance. In our position…
In your position as what? Interrupted Alex. Penniless hangers-on whom I graciously allowed to live in my apartment. Victor’s face flushed with red spots.
No need for rudeness. I came to talk like adults. I suggest forgetting this unpleasant incident and returning to the previous state of affairs.
And I suggest you look for new housing, replied Alex. You have 27 days left. Victor took a deep breath, clearly struggling with anger.
Fine. If you insist on changing the terms, we can discuss rent. Something symbolic, considering our relation.
I’m not renting the apartment, Alex cut off. I’m selling it. Why? The price of independence, the week after sending the eviction notice turned into a real test of character for Alex.
The phone didn’t stop, messages, calls, voice notes with his mother’s sobs and sharp accusations from his stepfather became his constant companions. At some point, Alex decided to turn off the sound, move all notifications to a separate folder, and check them only at the end of the workday. Emotional pressure shouldn’t affect his work.
