She stood in the hallway, still wearing her outdoor shoes. After a ten-hour day at the tax office crunching quarterly reports, her mind was buzzing and numbers were swimming in front of her eyes. Misha lingered by the living room door, avoiding her gaze and nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
«Zhanna, just listen… It’s only temporary. A month or two, tops. She’s getting divorced, and it’s really hard for her right now. She has a child to care for. Where else can she go? Her mom’s? That place is a tiny one-bedroom on the fifth floor with no elevator. We’ve got two rooms. We can’t just turn her away.»
«We’re not heartless,» Zhanna replied, gripping her purse strap tightly. «That’s exactly why I want you to ask me before handing out keys to our home. Do you even realize what I had planned for this weekend? I wanted to…» She trailed off.
She wanted to tell him about the baby. Three days ago, the test had shown two lines. Just five weeks in, still such a tiny secret. The doctor at the clinic had warned her: no stress, the risk of miscarriage is high in the early weeks. Zhanna had cherished this news like a fragile jewel, waiting for a cozy Saturday morning to sit beside her husband, take his hand, and whisper, «Misha, we’re going to have a baby.» But now, her plans had been invaded by someone else’s divorced wife and her kids.
«What did you want?» Misha asked again.
«Doesn’t matter. I’m not ready to live with your sister. We haven’t even finished renovating the living room. Where are they supposed to sleep? On my new sofa—the one I bought with my bonus? And I’m supposed to tiptoe past them to the bathroom at night? Did you think about that?»
«Zhannochka, Liza is my own sister. She has nowhere else to go. Are you really that cold-hearted?» Misha’s voice quivered with hurt. «I thought you were kind and understanding…»
«I’m not a pack mule here to carry other people’s problems,» Zhanna shot back and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on her stomach. Deep inside, she couldn’t feel anything yet, but she already knew: now she was responsible for more than just herself. And this tiny new life shouldn’t grow up surrounded by constant fighting.
Misha didn’t argue. He just went quiet, and two days later, on Sunday, when Zhanna came back from the store, unfamiliar suitcases were already standing in the hallway. The air smelled of cheap cigarettes and wet dog. Childish shrieks echoed from the living room.
«Oh, Zhannochka, hi!» Liza swept in from the kitchen with a cup of tea, as if she owned the place. «We’ve already made ourselves at home. Misha said you wouldn’t mind.»
Zhanna slowly turned her gaze to her husband. He stood by the window, staring at the floor.
«You said she’d be here with her child,» Zhanna said in an icy tone. «But I see two children.»
«Well,» Liza waved it off casually, «Styopa came too for the holidays. Things are tense at his dad’s place right now, the boy needs some peace. You wouldn’t throw a child out on the street, would you?»
Zhanna didn’t answer. She quietly took off her shoes, walked into the bedroom, and locked the door. From the living room came pounding footsteps, shouting, and the thud of a chair hitting the floor. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. «Calm. For the baby. Just stay calm.»
The first two weeks were a nightmare. Liza acted like Zhanna was a servant in her personal boarding house. She took over the kitchen at the most inconvenient times and cooked separately for herself and her kids, all with groceries Zhanna bought. Dirty dishes piled sky-high in the sink, and every time Zhanna asked her to clean up, Liza would reply, «I’m tired, I have kids, I’m divorced, have a heart.» The boys, aged five and eight, ran wild around the apartment, drew with markers on the wallpaper, and even knocked over the ficus that Zhanna had been growing for four years.
But the last straw was the wedding dress.
One evening, coming home from work, Zhanna heard excited children’s laughter coming from the living room. The door was ajar, so she peeked in. There, in the middle of scattered building blocks, sat a five-year-old girl wrapping a plastic doll in dirty folds of snowy-white fabric. Zhanna recognized it instantly. It was her wedding dress, which she had carefully packed away in a box on the top shelf.
She burst the door open.
«What are you doing?!» she yelled, her voice cracking.
The little girl got scared and started crying. Liza immediately rushed in from the kitchen.
«Why are you yelling at a child? It’s just a game!»
«That’s my wedding dress,» Zhanna whispered, picking up the dirty, crumpled masterpiece of tailoring with a torn lace trim—the dress she had spent half a month’s salary on just a year and a half ago. «Liza, how could you take it? Without asking? It’s not just a rag!»
«Oh, come on,» Liza waved her off. «You’re already married, what do you need it for? It’s just a dress. The kids are happy. Do you not love children at all? I’ll tell Misha how you’re treating us here.»
Zhanna clutched the dress to her chest and felt a lump rise in her throat. She turned and went to the bedroom. There, she carefully folded the ruined dress back into its box and, for the first time in two weeks, quietly cried.
That evening, she tried to talk to Misha.
«Misha, this isn’t living. Your sister doesn’t respect me or our home. She took my wedding dress without asking. The kids destroyed the living room. I can’t do this anymore.»
«Zhann, why are you obsessing over little things?» Misha sat at the kitchen table, glued to his phone. «Liza is really tired, she needs help. The dress—it’s not new anymore, just let it go. Hang in there, things will calm down soon.»
«Little things?» Zhanna couldn’t believe her ears. «So me working from ten in the morning until eight at night to pay off your car loan and then coming home to clean up after someone else’s kids—that’s just a little thing too?»
«No one’s making you clean,» he muttered.
«Of course! If I don’t clean, we’ll drown in filth! Your sister won’t even wash her own plate!»
Misha put his phone down in irritation.
«Listen, Zhann, can we not have a fight? I’ve got a seven a.m. shift tomorrow. Just go to bed.»
He got up and left the kitchen, leaving her alone. Zhanna watched his back as he walked away and felt an icy wall rise up between them.
Three days later, the money was gone. Zhanna kept their savings in a jewelry box on the top shelf of the closet—fifty thousand rubles that she and Misha had been putting aside for their summer vacation. She opened the box to grab some cash to pay the utility bills, only to find it empty. The only thing left was a crumpled chocolate wrapper.
Her first thought was, ‘Liza.’ The second was, ‘Misha must have told her where it was.’ Letting out a noisy sigh, she walked out into the living room.
«Liza, where’s the money from the bedroom?» she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
«What money?» Liza dramatically widened her eyes. «Are you accusing us of stealing? Misha! Come here and listen to what your wife is saying!»
Misha showed up, looking sleepy and annoyed.
«What is it now?»
«Fifty thousand is missing from the jewelry box,» Zhanna crossed her arms. «You knew where it was. Did you tell anyone?»
«Zhanna, calm down,» Misha grimaced. «Maybe you moved it? Or spent it and forgot?»
«I’m an accountant!» she exploded. «I don’t forget anything! The money was there yesterday. Today, it’s not. No one but Liza could’ve taken it!»
Liza gave a theatrical sniffle and hugged the younger girl close.
«I’m telling mom everything! How could you shame me, a poor single mother? I’ve never taken a penny that wasn’t mine! It’s probably your drinking buddies who came by while you were gone!»
Zhanna clenched her fists. She hadn’t invited friends over in a month because she was ashamed of the mess. But she had no proof. Burning with helpless anger, she turned and marched back to the bedroom. An hour later, while checking notifications on her phone, she saw a message from the bank. From their shared debit card—registered to Misha but linked to their joint account—45,120 rubles had just been spent. The purchase? A children’s goods store called ‘Sunny Circle.’
Zhanna dashed into the living room. In the corner stood a giant box with a picture of a playset—slide, swings, a ball pit.
«What is this?!» she demanded, jabbing a finger at the box.
«Misha bought it for his nephews,» Liza replied, hands on her hips and chin held high. «So the kids don’t get bored while their own father abandoned them! He has a heart, unlike some people.»
«Misha!» Zhanna shouted.
Her husband walked in, saw the box, and his face fell.
«I didn’t buy…» he began.
«He let me use the card for small expenses,» Liza cut him off without blinking. «And the kids need a playset. It’s good for their development.»
«You spent forty-five thousand without asking!» Zhanna pressed her. «That’s theft! I’m blocking the card now and calling the police!»
«Misha, tell her!» Liza shrieked. «It’s family money, you have every right!»
Misha stood there pale, looking back and forth between his wife and his sister.
«Zhanna, come on… it’s for the kids…» he mumbled. «I’ll pay you back…»
«You’ll pay me back?» Zhanna laughed in his face. «Your salary barely covers the loan payment! That was my bonus money, what I’ve been saving! You didn’t just let yourself be robbed, you’re covering up a crime!»
She decisively pulled out her phone, opened the banking app, and blocked the card. Liza shrieked:
«What have you done! My grocery delivery isn’t paid for! The kids won’t have dinner because of you!»
«I don’t care,» Zhanna said quietly. «Tomorrow we’re having a family meeting. I’ll invite your mother. We’ll settle everything once and for all.»
The next day, Anna Sergeevna, the mother-in-law, arrived. She was a tall woman with a stern gaze and tightly pursed lips. She went straight to Liza, hugged her, and sat down on the couch like a judge on her throne.
«Well, let’s hear it,» she addressed Zhanna. «What kind of concentration camp have you set up here?»
Zhanna stood across from them, holding a folder of documents for the apartment in her hands.
«Anna Sergeevna, please, no insults. I invited you here so I could announce this in your presence: if Liza doesn’t move out within a week, I’m filing for divorce and selling my share of this apartment.»
«What?» The mother-in-law shot up from her seat. «What share? This is my son’s apartment! We helped him pay for it from our savings!»
«The purchase agreement,» Zhanna opened the folder and showed a copy, «clearly states: half of the property belongs to me. I put in half the money from selling the room I inherited. You know this perfectly well. My half is my property. I have the right to sell it—and I will. Imagine: strangers moving in here, possibly not the nicest people, and living with you in the same apartment.»
Liza turned pale. Anna Sergeevna clutched her heart.
«Misha!» she cried. «Tell your snake to shut up! She’s threatening us!»
Misha sat on a chair, holding his head in his hands.
«Zhanna, stop…» he whispered.
«No, Misha,» she looked at him coldly. «You need to stop turning our home into a train station. Either she leaves in a week, or I go to court tomorrow.»
«You wouldn’t dare,» Liza hissed. «Mom and I will destroy you. I’ll tell everyone what a greedy monster you are.»
«Go ahead,» Zhanna shrugged. «And I’ll file a police report for theft from my card. The sum is forty-five thousand. That’s a criminal case. And for stealing cash. An investigation will show who went through my things.»
Liza visibly tensed. The mother-in-law shot her daughter a quick glance.
«We’ll think about it,» Anna Sergeevna muttered through clenched teeth. «But Zhanna, you’ll regret this deeply.»
They left, slamming the door. The apartment fell into a ringing silence. Misha wouldn’t look up.
«How could you do that to my mother?» he managed to say.
«How could you betray me?» she answered his question with another and walked into the bedroom.
A few days passed. Liza had quieted down. She no longer made scenes, cleaned up after the kids, and even washed the dishes a couple of times. Zhanna understood this was the calm before the storm, but hoped her ultimatum had worked and that her husband’s sister would leave in a week. But on Wednesday morning, as she was getting ready for work, Zhanna took her favorite white blouse out of the closet—the same one she wore for important meetings—and froze. The blouse was now a delicate pink. Someone had washed it with red socks. Zhanna searched the laundry basket—no socks, but nearby was a note in messy handwriting: «Helped with cleaning. Your loving sister.»
That evening, after Zhanna came back home, she discovered her ficus—miraculously revived after the kids invaded it—completely drenched in something yellow that smelled strongly of vinegar. The soil in the pot was bubbling, its leaves wilted. But the next day, Thursday, things went from bad to worse. Zhanna was working from home on her quarterly report. The data was almost complete—just the final balance to add, then send it to her boss. She went to the kitchen to make tea. When she returned five minutes later, her laptop screen was glowing a neon green, with a pulsing pop-up in the center demanding a ransom. She’d been hit by ransomware. All her files were locked.
Zhanna rushed to her computer. Standing nearby was Liza, looking innocent while giving juice to the little one.
“What did you do?!” Zhanna shouted.
“Nothing,” Liza blinked her eyes. “I just wanted to watch a cartoon. I pressed some button, and it just happened. Don’t worry, it’ll probably go away on its own.”
The report hadn’t been saved to the network drive. Zhanna lost two weeks of work. On Friday, the director called her in and curtly told her that, due to missing deadlines, she’d lose her quarterly bonus. That was 120,000 rubles—the money she’d planned to spend on a new crib and save for her maternity leave.
That evening, stumbling home in a daze, Zhanna stopped at the pharmacy. Her head was spinning and her lower abdomen ached. The pharmacist recommended a herbal sedative. As Zhanna took her change, she noticed a box of strong sleeping pills on the counter—and suddenly remembered. For the past three evenings, after dinner, she’d felt unusually sleepy. Sleepy enough that she couldn’t finish a movie, passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow. She’d wake up groggy, with a heavy head. And then there was the taste: everything cooked in the shared kitchen had a strange bitter aftertaste that Liza explained away as a ‘new spice’.
Zhanna bought a tiny battery-powered recorder from the electronics store—a little gray cube, easy to hide on a kitchen shelf. At home, she waited until everyone was asleep and set up the camera so it captured the stove and dinner table. She hit the record button at 2 a.m.
The next evening, Saturday, Liza announced she’d make dinner. “I want us to make peace,” she said sweetly. Zhanna agreed but said she wasn’t hungry and skipped the meal. When everyone left for the living room, Zhanna took the memory card out of the camera and put it in her computer. Her heart was pounding. The video appeared: Liza fussing over the stove, stirring the soup. Then, glancing at the door, she pulled a tiny packet of white powder from her pants pocket and dumped it into the pot. She stirred, then, looking straight into the camera, whispered almost affectionately: “Die, you wretch. The apartment is mine.”
Zhanna paused the recording. Her hands were shaking—this was nothing like what she’d expected. She’d thought Liza just wanted her to be quiet and stay out of the way. But hearing the word ‘die’ felt like a death sentence. This wasn’t just rudeness, boldness, or theft. It was an attack. A crime against her life—and the life of her unborn child.
She didn’t cry. Instead, she called her neighbor, Uncle Kolya—the former local police officer she sometimes greeted in the yard—and asked him to come over in an hour. Then, she phoned her mother-in-law and, in an icy voice, told her to come immediately. ‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ she said. She also asked Misha to stay home.
Once everyone was gathered in the living room, Zhanna connected her computer to the big TV.
«Now I’m going to show you a little movie,» she announced. «About our happy family.»
Misha frowned. Anna Sergeevna opened her mouth to protest, but Zhanna had already started the video. On screen, Liza was stirring soup. Then she took out a packet, poured it in—and a voice said: «Die, you wretch. The apartment is mine.»
The room went dead silent. Liza jumped up from the sofa.
«That’s edited!» she screamed. «She recorded this herself—she faked it!»
«Uncle Kolya,» Zhanna turned to her neighbor, «I asked you here as a witness. You’re a former police officer, you know the procedure. If I call the police right now, they’ll confiscate the camera, send the soup for testing, and analyze the recording. They’ll find out soon enough if it’s fake or not.»
«Don’t call the police!» Anna Sergeevna clutched her head. «Zhanna, please don’t do this! She has kids!»
«Kids,» Zhanna nodded, «are the only reason I haven’t dialed 112 yet. But I will, unless Liza packs her things and leaves this house in an hour. Forever. And you, Anna Sergeevna, too. Because helping a criminal is a crime as well.»
«You have no right…» began her mother-in-law.
«I do. This is my apartment. My share. And my life. If I file a report right now, Liza will be arrested for attempted murder. Child protection will take the kids. Is that what you want?»
Liza fell to her knees. Tears ran down her cheeks, but Zhanna saw no remorse in them—only fear. Fear of prison.
«I’ll go,» Liza whispered. «I’ll leave right now.»
«The right decision,» Zhanna said, turning off the TV. «You have one hour.»
Forty minutes later, Liza, Anna Sergeevna, and the kids loaded their suitcases into a taxi and left. Only Zhanna and Misha remained in the apartment. He stood by the window, pale, his lips trembling.
«Zhanna…I didn’t know…I swear, I didn’t know about the pills…»
«Didn’t know?» she said bitterly. «What did you know at all? Did you know your sister was stealing money? That she ruined my dress, my flowers, my computer? Did you know I lost my bonus because of her? You closed your eyes. You asked me to put up with it. You betrayed me, Misha.»
«I’ll make it right,» he took a step toward her. «Let’s start over. We were planning a family…»
«We did plan it,» Zhanna replied, pulling a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. It was a blood test result confirming her pregnancy. «I’m pregnant, Misha. Two months now. I wanted to tell you that Friday, the day you announced Liza was coming. But I didn’t get the chance. And you know what? I’m glad I didn’t. Because you would’ve let your sister poison the mother of your future child. You’re weak. Worse than they are. At least they’re strangers to me. But you—you’re my husband.»
He froze, staring at the paper. Then he covered his face with his hands and began to cry. But Zhanna didn’t feel pity. Just exhaustion.
«You should leave too,» she said. «Right now. I’m filing for divorce.»
A week later, she changed the locks. A month after that, she filed for divorce. Misha tried to make peace, sent messages, showed up with flowers, but Zhanna stayed firm. She sold her share of the apartment. By law, she offered Misha the chance to buy out her half first, but he didn’t have the money, so she sold to an outside buyer—a retired couple who weren’t afraid of any drama. The money from the sale was just enough for a small studio in a new building on the city’s edge. Bright, quiet, with not a single reminder of the past.
Zhanna moved in when her belly was already showing. She put flowers on the windowsill, hung up curtains, and for the first time in months, felt peace. In the evening, sitting in her armchair with a cup of herbal tea, she cradled her belly and smiled.
«Sorry, little one, that your dad turned out to be weak. But your mom is strong. Mom will take care of us.»
A year and a half passed. One warm spring evening, as Zhanna was putting her daughter to bed, she heard the ding of an incoming message. The number was unfamiliar, but the text made her heart stop for a moment.
«Zhannochka, it’s Anna Sergeyevna. Liza was arrested for fraud and saddled Misha and me with huge loans. We have nowhere to live. You’re the only one we have left. Please forgive us and help us for Christ’s sake.»
Zhanna read the message twice. Then she calmly deleted it and blocked the number. Outside, the young leaves rustled; her daughter slept peacefully in her crib, and nothing in the world could disturb Zhanna’s quiet now.
