“Do you think she’s really changed?” I asked as I placed the cups on the kitchen table.
Pavel gave a half-smile and a shrug.
“Lena’s always been… complicated, Anna. But I’m glad she made the first move to reconnect.”
I nodded, though a gnawing sense of unease lingered. My husband’s sister had never been big on family. We’d been married four years, and she hadn’t even shown up to our wedding—some “last-minute emergency,” she’d claimed. And now, out of the blue, she wanted to meet, talk, “start fresh.”
A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. Lena stood there—chic outfit, perfect makeup, and a smile stretched just a little too wide.
“Pavlusha! I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaimed and rushed into his arms.
Her sharp, sweetish perfume filled the hall. Then Lena turned to me and scanned me head to toe as if assessing.
“Anna! Finally, we meet properly! I’ve heard so much about you!”
I wondered from whom? Pavel said they hardly communicated all these years.
“Come in,” I motioned toward the living room.
“Oh, how beautiful your place is!” Lena exclaimed, looking around the room. “You’ve made it so cozy!”
There was a hint of envy in her voice.
“Yes, we worked hard,” Pavel answered shortly. “Four years of repairs—on our own.”
“Is this your china set?” Lena approached the cabinet. “Looks so expensive. Crystal?”
“It’s an inheritance from my grandmother, a family heirloom,” I replied, noticing her gaze linger on the shelf.
She slowly walked around the room, touching items now and then. It felt like she was inspecting an antique salon—evaluating, estimating, pondering.
“And what’s there?” she nodded toward the hallway.
“The bedroom and study,” Pavel replied. “Want to take a look?”
I tensed involuntarily. My husband was sometimes overly trusting.
“Of course! Show me the house, brother!”
They left, and I remained with an uneasy feeling. Something was wrong. Why did she suddenly need to come after all these years of distance? And why now?
A few minutes later, I heard their conversation in the bedroom.
“Beautiful dresser. Is it antique?”
“No, just good work by a local craftsman,” Pavel answered proudly.
“And what’s inside?” she suddenly asked playfully.
I put the kettle down and headed to the bedroom. At the door, I froze—Lena was standing by the dresser, holding my jewelry box.
“Wow! What do we have here?” she said with curiosity, opening the lid.
“These are Anna’s personal things,” Pavel carefully took the box.
“Oh, come on, I was just looking!” Lena laughed, but there was a false note in her laughter. “Such cool trinkets! Real gold? Looks very expensive.”
I stepped closer.
“Some of these pieces are family heirlooms,” I said calmly as I took the box and put it back in place. “They’re important to me.”
Lena smiled understandingly, but in her eyes flickered a cold, calculating gleam.
“Of course, family values are important,” she said, turning to the window. “What a view you have! Simply stunning. And convenient—on the first floor. Unlike me—I’m in a rented apartment on the fifth floor without an elevator.”
I cut off the conversation.
“Dinner’s ready.”
A couple of days later, I opened the jewelry box and froze. Inside was nothing—no rings, no earrings, no chains. Only empty compartments.
My heart clenched. I wanted to wear my mother’s pendant to meet a friend, but now it was gone. All the gold jewelry was gone. Worth about 300,000 rubles. But to me, it wasn’t about money—it was memories connected to family.
With trembling hands, I sifted through the remaining trinkets, but there was no mistake—no gold.
I slowly sat down on the bed, going over the events of Lena’s recent visit in my mind. Her interest in the box. The long questions. The unnatural smile. Now it all formed a terrible picture.
The front door slammed—Pavel returned. I was holding the empty bottom of the box when I went to meet him.
“Pasha… we have a problem.”
He turned around, the smile fading as he saw my face.
“What happened?”
“All the gold jewelry is gone. Not a single piece left.”
He frowned.
“When did you last see them?”
“A week ago. Before Lena’s visit. Do you remember when you last saw my rings?”
“Probably about a week ago. You were wearing one—with a stone.”
“And no one but Lena has been here, right?”
Pavel froze, figuring out where I was going.
“Anna, are you serious? Lena? But why?”
“She lives in a rented apartment,” I reminded him. “And you said she recently lost her job.”
“But to steal from your own brother…” Pavel shook his head. “No, Anna. That’s too serious an accusation. Maybe you just forgot them somewhere?”
I looked at my husband and saw the pain in his eyes. He couldn’t accept such a possibility. I understood him—no one wants to believe a family member capable of betrayal.
“I didn’t move the ring from my mother, nor the earrings from your mother, nor even what you gave me for our first anniversary,” my voice trembled slightly.
Pavel came up and hugged me. His heart beat fast, as if anxious.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he whispered. “We need facts, Anna.”
Facts. He was right. Without them, it was just suspicion that could destroy everything. I slowly withdrew.
“Then I’ll find them.”
That same evening, I ordered a small camera with a built-in motion sensor. Paid for express delivery. The next day, the coin-sized device was carefully hidden inside a decorative vase near the dresser.
At a jewelry store, I bought a cheap fake—a gold-plated chain, almost like the one my mother-in-law gave me. I put it in the box to attract attention.
Then I dialed Lena’s number:
“Hi! How’s life? Listen, we’re having dinner, maybe you’ll drop by this weekend? Pavel will be glad.”
“Of course!” she answered joyfully. “Will Pasha be home?”
“Definitely,” I lied. Pavel actually planned to go to his father’s country house. “Come Saturday?”
On Saturday, I prepared carefully: let my hair down, wore my favorite dress, put on makeup carefully. Not for her—for myself. To feel strong and confident.
At dinner, I deliberately brought up the jewelry.
“By the way, I found one of the old rings! Thought I lost it. Turned out it was in the box all along.”
Lena tensed sharply.
“The Belgian one?”
“Exactly. With a ruby. Very valuable. Also a memory for me,” I paused. “Want to see it?”
“Of course!” my husband’s sister lit up, but something predatory flickered in her eyes.
We went into the bedroom. I took out the box and showed the chain.
“Here, pretty, right? Grandma’s.”
“Lovely,” Lena barely contained her excitement. “And probably very expensive?”
“Yes. You don’t find such anymore.”
I carefully put the box back on the dresser and smiled inwardly. The camera was working. Recording. The trap was set. Now we just had to wait.
The day dragged into night, night into morning. On Sunday, Pavel returned earlier than expected—I had asked him to come earlier.
He came in without taking off his jacket, worried.
“Well?”
I pointed at the dresser. The jewelry box was gone.
His face darkened. His cheeks tensed.
“You mean…”
“See for yourself,” I turned on the laptop and played the recording.
The screen showed an empty room, lit by moonlight. A second later, a shadow appeared.
Lena. Silent, like a shadow, she approached the dresser, carefully took the jewelry box, and hid it in her backpack. Her movements were precise, confidently cold. A hood on her head, determination on her face. No emotion.
Then she disappeared just as silently as she came.
Pavel watched without blinking. His face turned to stone.
“I can’t believe it…” he whispered.
“I didn’t want to either,” I answered. “But we needed to know for sure.”
He turned off the video and looked down.
“How is that even possible? Your own sister…”
“Not for money,” I noted. “For power. Out of envy. Out of feeling she could have everything.”
Pavel looked at me.
“What now?”
I had a plan. Call the police? Make a scene? No. We chose another way.
“We’ll invite her here. Tonight.”
Exactly at seven, Lena knocked on the door. Smiling, with a bottle of wine and chocolates.
“Hi, family!” she hugged Pavel, then reached out to me.
I stepped back. Her smile faltered.
“Come in,” said my husband.
In the living room, Lena chatted about a new job, where she planned to go on vacation, school friends. She looked completely confident. As if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, the laptop sat on the table—closed but ready.
“We were just filming a movie here,” I suddenly said, interrupting her story.
“A movie?” Lena frowned.
“A documentary. About family, betrayal, and treason.”
I opened the laptop lid, started the recording, and turned the screen toward our guest.
On the video was she—in a black hoodie, at night, cautiously carrying out my jewelry box. Her face on the footage was perfect.
Lena froze. The fork in her hand trembled. First she paled, then broke out in red spots.
“That’s some kind of montage!” she shouted. “Fake! You won’t believe this nonsense, Pavel!”
“Where is the box?” my husband asked coldly. “You took it, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t me!” Lena jumped up, knocking the table. Glasses chimed.
“Then why might it be in your backpack now?”
The woman began to back away.
“This is all nonsense! She’s turning you against me!”
I zoomed the image. Her face was clearly visible when she glanced toward the window for a second.
“Where is the box, Lena?” Pavel repeated.
“So what?” she snapped. “Just trinkets. Chatter.”
“That’s a confession,” I said calmly.
Anger flared in her eyes.
“You don’t understand anything! Everything always goes to others, but not to me! I deserve more!”
“More?” Pavel stood up from his chair. “My wife saved for seven years for that very ring you stole. She kept grandmother’s earrings to someday pass on to our daughter. If we even have a child.”
“I sold only a few pieces!” Lena spread her hands. “I was going to return the rest!”
I looked at her and felt only fatigue. No anger, no desire for revenge. Only the realization that before me was a person who had long lost herself.
“You have two options,” my voice remained calm. “Either you return everything you took, including the sold jewelry, and we close this matter. Or the police. I have the recording.”
“You won’t dare,” she hissed.
“He will,” Pavel answered firmly. “And I’ll be with him.”
Lena glanced first at her brother, then at me.
“You’re just a bitch,” she spat through clenched teeth. “You destroyed our family.”
“No,” I shook my head. “You destroyed the family when you decided kinship gave you the right to steal.”
She grabbed her bag and ran out of the apartment. Pavel caught up with her in the hallway.
“Lena. Tomorrow, at ten a.m. All the jewelry. Or I’ll take the recording to the police myself.”
“Burn in hell!” she shouted back and slammed the door.
I approached my husband and took his hand. It was icy.
“She’ll return it,” he said confidently. “She has nowhere to run.”
And he was right. In the morning, a courier package arrived. Inside was my jewelry box and all the jewelry, every single piece. No note, no apology—nothing. But that was enough for me.
Pavel sat in the kitchen, head down. I put a cup of hot tea in front of him.
“Sorry I didn’t believe you right away,” he said quietly.
“You wanted to see the good in people. That’s not weakness.”
He raised his eyes and smiled faintly—for the first time in days.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve become someone else,” I sat down next to him. “But that’s not bad. Sometimes you have to protect your home even from those you consider your own.”
I took out a thin gold ring—the first gift from Pavel—and put it on. The jewelry sparkled in the morning sunlight.
Our home was ours again. And now I knew how to protect it.
