— Why did you hide the cheese from the kids? Vitalik wants a sandwich, and there’s nothing in the fridge! — Zhanna stood in the doorway of our bedroom, having brazenly switched on the overhead light at seven in the morning, her hands planted on her enormous hips.
I pulled the blanket up to my chin, trying to understand what was happening. Saturday. My only day off.
— Zhanna, please get out. And turn off the light. I didn’t hide the cheese. It ran out yesterday when your “little ones” made themselves toasted sandwiches using the entire half-kilo block.
— Oh, stop acting like you’re poor! — my sister-in-law snorted, but she didn’t turn off the light. — Yesterday I saw sliced cervelat sausage in your bag. Get it out. Children need protein, not those bland porridges of yours. And anyway, get up. We’re going for a walk, and Pavlik’s trousers need ironing.
Any trace of sleep vanished instantly. In its place rose a dull, heavy anger.
— Sergey! — I shouted so loudly that my husband, who was sleeping beside me on the uncomfortable fold-out sofa, jumped awake. — Deal with your sister. Right now.
Blinking and rubbing his face, my husband trudged into the kitchen. Immediately, I heard Zhanna hissing angrily and Sergey mumbling apologetically.
I sat on the edge of the sofa and looked around the living room. Toy construction pieces were scattered across the floor, someone else’s tights were hanging over the back of an armchair, and a greasy ring from a mug decorated the coffee table.
“One week.”
That was exactly how long Sergey had asked for.
“Zhanna’s floors have been torn up, a pipe burst, you can barely breathe in there. Marina, please understand—she’s family.”
And I had understood.
I let my sister-in-law and her seven-year-old twin boys take our bedroom, while my husband and I moved into the walk-through living room.
I cooked mountains of cutlets, made soup in our largest pot, and bought cottage-cheese snacks and fruit. Everything disappeared instantly. The children had no manners, Zhanna was shamelessly entitled, and Sergey had turned into spineless jelly.
He was afraid of upsetting his sister. Afraid of disappointing his mother, who called every day with instructions on how we should better accommodate her daughter.
In the end, the only person he had no problem upsetting was me.
I went into the kitchen.
The scene before me could have been painted in oils: Zhanna, wearing my silk robe, was finishing the last piece of bread after spreading butter on it so thickly that it looked like frosting on a cake. Sergey was frying her scrambled eggs made from the last three eggs in the fridge.
— Don’t I need breakfast too? — I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
— Oh, Marina, you’re always trying to lose weight anyway, — my sister-in-law waved dismissively. — It’ll be good for you. By the way, we were thinking… That room is a little cramped for us. Maybe you could move the sofa in there and let us take the big room? The boys need space. They’ve got nowhere to play.
I looked at my husband.
He was carefully salting the eggs without raising his eyes.
— Sergey, is there something you’d like to tell me?
— Marina, well… — he hesitated. — Zhanna says the renovations are taking longer than expected. The construction crew went on a drinking binge, materials have gotten more expensive. They’ll probably have to stay somewhere for another month. We can’t exactly put them out on the street…
A month.
Another month of hell.
No food, no peace, strangers’ clothes hanging over my furniture.
— No, — I said firmly.
— What do you mean, “no”? — Zhanna stopped chewing.
— No moving into the larger room. And no extra month. Your renovation is your problem. A hotel, a rental apartment—there are plenty of options.
— You’re throwing us out? — my sister-in-law’s voice shot up an octave. — Sergey, do you hear this? Your wife is throwing your nephews out into the freezing cold!
— It’s ten degrees above zero outside, Zhanna. Spare me the drama. I’m tired of working just to feed everyone and listening to your complaints.
— How dare you! — She jumped to her feet, dropping her fork. — You’re nobody in this apartment! It belongs to my brother!
— You’re mistaken, — I crossed my arms. — We bought this apartment while we were married, but the down payment came from selling my grandmother’s country house, and I paid off the mortgage with my bonuses. So I have exactly as many rights here as he does. And I’m exercising those rights: outsiders are no longer welcome.
Zhanna’s face turned crimson.
— Oh, so that’s how you’re talking now… We’re outsiders, are we? Fine. Sergey, say something to her! We’re family! Families are supposed to stick together! And she… she’s selfish! She stuffs her face all by herself, spends an hour in the shower, and bosses everyone around! Her wallpaper is supposedly so expensive that the children aren’t allowed to draw on it! Who needs your stupid wallpaper anyway? It’s pathetic! Once we redo everything here, we’ll make some proper renovations instead of this cheap “minimalism” of yours!
I froze.
— Once you redo everything here? — I repeated very quietly.
Sergey dropped the spatula.
It clattered onto the floor.
— Zhanna, shut up, — he hissed.
— Why should I shut up? — my sister-in-law was unstoppable now. — She deserves to know! Mom said your Marina doesn’t even want children because she’s too busy building her career, so let her go live with her precious career! We need somewhere to live! I’ve got no other choice, and you promised to help me, little brother!
There had never been any renovation.
— All right, — I walked over to the table. — You have thirty minutes.
— You wouldn’t dare! — Zhanna snapped angrily.
— Oh, I absolutely would. The clock starts now. If you haven’t disappeared in half an hour, I’m calling the police. And believe me, Zhanna, I have plenty to tell them about your screaming at night and about how your children smashed the plasma TV a week ago. And you, Sergey, — I turned toward my husband, — can stay or leave. Your choice. But if they stay, I’m leaving. And tomorrow I’ll file for divorce and division of property.
Sergey stared at me in horror.
He understood that I wasn’t joking. Panic flickered in his eyes like a trapped animal.
— Marina… But where are they supposed to go? Seriously…
— I don’t care.
Their packing looked like an evacuation during a fire.
Zhanna raced around the apartment, throwing things into bags while cursing me, my mother, and my entire family line back five generations. The children sensed their mother’s mood and started howling.
I stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall and making sure they didn’t take anything that belonged to me.
— You’ll regret this! — my sister-in-law screamed as she pulled on her boots. — You’ll end up alone, and nobody will want you! Sergey, are you coming?
Sergey stood in the middle of the hallway holding a bag.
He looked at me, then at his sister.
— Go, Sergey, — I said wearily. — Go. You couldn’t possibly abandon your “own flesh and blood.”
He lowered his head and walked out.
The door slammed shut.
The apartment became quiet.
There was no ringing in my ears anymore, no pressure against my temples.
It was simply quiet.
I walked through the rooms. Dirt, scattered toys, crumbs, the smell of cheap deodorant.
I threw the windows wide open and let the damp spring air inside.
Then I cleaned.
I scrubbed the floors, wiped away stains, and carried out bags of trash. I washed every centimeter of the apartment as though I were washing that entire month off myself.
That evening, I sat alone in my clean kitchen with a cup of hot coffee.
Nobody demanded food.
Nobody turned cartoons up to full volume.
I felt exhausted.
But free.
Suddenly, someone rang the doorbell.
Long and insistently.
Sergey had his own keys, so it couldn’t be him.
Unless Zhanna had taken his keys?
I looked through the peephole.
Sergey was standing on the landing.
Alone.
He looked worn out.
I opened the door.
— Forget something?
— Marina, can I come in?
— Talk from there.
— I took them to Mom’s place. Mom’s in shock, of course. Her blood pressure is all over the place… Zhanna’s hysterical.
— Fascinating. So why did you come back? I thought family was more important.
— Marina, don’t start. I was only trying to help. I wanted what was best…
— Best for whom? Your sister, who was planning to force me out of my own home? You knew, didn’t you? You knew there wasn’t any renovation?
He looked away.
— I knew. She sold her apartment.
— What?!
— She invested the money in some kind of pyramid scheme. Thought she could make a quick profit. Lost everything. Debt collectors started putting pressure on her, so she had to sell the apartment for next to nothing to pay off the debts. She has nowhere to go. Mom lives in a one-room apartment; there’s no space there. So we thought… since you’re always at work…
I stared at him and barely recognized him.
This man, with whom I had spent five years, had planned behind my back to move his bankrupt sister and her two children into my home permanently.
— And what exactly did you expect? That I’d simply make room for her?
— Well, you’re kind… We thought you’d get used to it. You know, learn to live with it eventually. Zhanna promised she’d help around the house.
I laughed.
Bitterly and angrily.
— Help? By eating my food and telling me what wallpaper I’m allowed to have? Leave, Sergey.
— Marina, forgive me. I’m an idiot, okay? But I love you. Can’t we forget all this? Zhanna can stay with Mom, and we’ll figure something out. I chose you. I came back!
He stepped forward and tried to hug me.
I stepped away.
— You didn’t come back because you chose me. You came back because living in your mother’s one-room apartment with Zhanna and the twins is hell. You just ran back to wherever it’s more comfortable.
— What are you talking about?! — he protested. — I’m your husband!
— You were my husband. Put your keys on the cabinet.
— Are you serious? You’re destroying our family over something so trivial?
— Betrayal isn’t trivial. The keys.
He threw the key ring onto the floor.
— Fine! Sit here alone! You cold-hearted, bitter woman! Zhanna was right—you only care about money!
When he left, I picked up the keys.
I turned the lock twice.
Then I picked up my phone.
Ten missed calls from my mother-in-law.
A message from Zhanna:
“Damn you.”
I blocked both numbers.
A week passed.
I enjoyed being alone.
I bought new curtains and threw out the old sofa the guests had slept on.
Life was beginning to return to normal.
On Friday evening, the doorbell rang.
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
A stranger in an expensive coat stood outside.
— Marina Viktorovna?
— Yes.
— I’m a representative of the bank. We’re looking for Zhanna Petrovna Smirnova. When she took out a loan a week ago, she listed your address as her actual place of residence. No payments have been made, and she isn’t answering our calls.
A chill ran down my spine.
A week ago.
That was while they were still living here.
— She doesn’t live here. And she never did.
— Strange. We have a written statement from your husband, Sergey Petrovich, confirming that she lives here and stating that he is acting as guarantor. The apartment is listed as collateral. Not the entire apartment, of course—only his share, according to him.
The ground seemed to disappear beneath my feet.
— His share? — I repeated in a hollow voice. — He doesn’t have a share in this apartment. It’s registered entirely in my name. We have a prenuptial agreement.
The man frowned and began searching through his folder.
— Sergey Petrovich provided an ownership extract… Hmm. Wait. This is an old extract, from before the prenuptial agreement?
— Apparently. Are you saying he tried to use my apartment as collateral to cover his sister’s debts?
— It looks that way. And not merely to cover her debts. The loan is for five million rubles. For the purchase of real estate. Apparently, they intended to buy her old property back or purchase another apartment. If the documents were forged, Marina Viktorovna, this becomes a criminal matter. Fraud committed by a group of people.
So that was it.
They hadn’t simply intended to stay with me.
They wanted to take out a loan secured against my home, saddle me with the debt—or have my apartment sold if they failed to repay it—and use the money to buy Zhanna a new apartment.
Sergey wasn’t merely some harmless pushover who couldn’t say no.
He was an accomplice.
— Marina Viktorovna? Will you file a police report? — the man’s voice brought me back to reality.
— I will, — I said firmly. — Against both Zhanna and Sergey. And I’ll provide you with copies of all the documents proving that the apartment belongs solely to me.
— Excellent. Then let’s go to the branch.
I threw on my coat and picked up my handbag.
As we walked out of the apartment building, I noticed Sergey’s Lada parked beside the neighboring building.
He was sitting inside, apparently watching my windows.
Waiting for me to “cool down.”
I took out my phone and dialed his number.
I unblocked him for a moment.
— Hello, Marina? — His voice was full of hope. — So, have you missed me? Can I come upstairs?
— Don’t bother, Sergey. You’re about to have some other visitors. Or perhaps they’ll come down to you. I’m going to the police. With a representative from the bank. About forged documents and fraudulent collateral.
— Marina, wait! What are you doing?! It’s a mistake! We just wanted to…
— Get ready, Sergey. Now you’ll have free accommodation. Zhanna too. And they’ll even feed you—on a schedule.
I ended the call and got into the bank representative’s car.
In the rearview mirror, I saw my husband’s Lada suddenly lurch forward, but its path was already blocked by a police UAZ vehicle, which, as it turned out, the vigilant bank security officer had called.
I looked away.
I didn’t feel sorry for them.
Not one bit.
