Anna looked at the mess in the living room. Empty bottles, dirty plates, crumbs, and ashes on the couch—an all-too-familiar sight after another of Dmitry’s get-togethers. The clock read three in the morning, yet loud music and raucous laughter still filled the apartment. How had the neighbors not shown up yet?
Anna rubbed her temples, trying to soothe her headache. Tomorrow she had an important project presentation—one that could determine her career at the architecture firm—and she couldn’t even get a decent night’s sleep in her own home.
“Dim, maybe that’s enough?” Anna poked her head into the kitchen, where her husband and three of his buddies were enthusiastically discussing some grand business plan.
“Anya, come on, we’re working out a brilliant idea here!” Dmitry waved his hand, spilling some of his drink. “Kostya wants to start a construction company. He’s got connections in the local administration, and Seryoga has management experience…”
“Dim, it’s almost four in the morning. I have work tomorrow,” Anna tried to keep her voice calm, though inside she was boiling.
“Relax, it’s important! We’re building our future here!” Dmitry winked at his friends. “Right, guys?”
“Exactly!” Kostya agreed, raising his glass. “To our future!”
Anna turned and left. She remembered how many times “promising ventures” had been brainstormed in her kitchen. And how had they all ended? Right—dirty dishes and a splitting headache.
The next morning, Anna nearly overslept. She rushed to work with barely enough time for a strong cup of coffee. The presentation went well, but her bosses noticed how exhausted she looked.
“Anna, are you alright?” asked Yelena Viktorovna, the bureau’s director. “You look worn out.”
“I’m fine, just… didn’t sleep well,” Anna forced a smile.
She managed to come home early, only to find the same scene—a kitchen full of Dmitry and his friends, bottles everywhere, overflowing ashtrays.
“Dim, we need to talk,” Anna said, sitting down on the edge of a chair.
“Sure, babe! Just imagine, Kostya found a perfect space for our office, really cheap!” Dmitry sounded fired up. “But we do need some initial capital…”
Anna’s stomach dropped. She already knew where this conversation was heading.
“No, Dim. I’m not giving you any money for another risky scheme.”
“What scheme?” Dmitry frowned. “This is a real business! We’ve crunched the numbers!”
“Like that building supplies store? Or the delivery service? Or the online shop?” Anna listed his previous “genius ideas.” “How much of my money have you already burned on your projects?”
“So what? Business is a risk! Not everything works out the first time!”
“And when are you planning to actually start working?” Anna couldn’t hold back. “It’s been three months you’ve been at home, blowing through my salary and spinning these grand daydreams with your…”
“Hey, watch it!” Kostya cut her off. “Dude, your wife has no faith in you at all.”
“Yeah, Dim,” Sergey chimed in. “My ex was always nagging, too. That’s why she’s my ex.”
Anna felt her blood boil. She jumped up from her chair.
“Get out of my apartment! All of you!”
“Anya, what’s gotten into you?” Dmitry tried to hug her, but she pulled away.
“I said—out! That’s enough! I’m tired of this circus! This is my apartment, I paid for it, I furnished it!”
“Guys, maybe you should go,” Dmitry said, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. “As you can see, not a good time.”
When his friends left, Dmitry turned to his wife:
“What was all that about?”
“‘All that about?’” Anna said bitterly. “You’re the one who turned my home into a circus! I bought this apartment before I even met you. It was my space, my success, my pride! And now what? A revolving door for your…”
Dima cut her off:
“They’re my friends! And we’ve got serious plans!”
“Dim, I can’t take it anymore. I’m not getting enough sleep, I’m drained at work, and I can’t even come home and relax! It’s always some plan, some project, some new idea… Enough!”
“Alright, calm down. Let’s just go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“No, Dim. I said—enough.”
But the next day was a repeat. Anna got home from work and saw the same boots in the entryway. From the kitchen, she could hear Dmitry and his friends talking. The table was littered with bottles, snacks, and trash.
She realized she was exhausted—exhausted from all the arguments and shouting. Anna silently made her way to the bedroom.
“What are you doing? Not even a hello?” Dmitry appeared in the doorway.
“Because I can’t do this anymore. I’ve asked you, begged you, demanded it. But nothing works. You don’t care about me at all!”
“What’s with the drama? So my friends dropped by…”
“Every single day, Dim! Every day! I can’t work, I can’t rest! I can’t even invite my own friends over because yours are always here!”
Dmitry simply waved her off, returning to his buddies. Anna heard glasses clinking again in the kitchen. She couldn’t fall asleep; their loud laughter kept drifting down the hallway.
After a sleepless night, Anna could barely stand. Everything went wrong at the office, and she still had an important client meeting that evening.
“Anna, maybe we should reschedule the meeting?” Yelena Viktorovna asked, noticing Anna’s condition.
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Anna assured her boss.
She stayed late at the office to finish her sketches. Despite being tired, at least it was quiet and peaceful there.
When she got home late that evening, she froze in the doorway. The apartment was crammed with strangers—apparently Dmitry had found some new friends. The music was so loud the windows rattled, and the air was thick with smoke.
Picking her way through the crowd toward the bedroom, Anna spotted some man fast asleep on her desk. Empty bottles lay scattered around, and her project drawings were covered in crushed chips.
“Dima!” Anna burst into the kitchen, where her husband was chatting enthusiastically with a group of people.
“Oh, hey, babe! We got a bit carried away,” Dmitry grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll wrap it up soon.”
Anna spun on her heel and locked herself in the bathroom. Her hands were shaking with anger. She turned on the tap and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. She was burning with fury and resentment.
When the guests finally left, Anna marched up to her husband with resolve:
“Dim, we need to talk.”
“Not now. My head is splitting,” Dmitry winced.
“No, we’re talking now. This has to stop. I can’t keep living like it’s a dormitory.”
“Anya, why are you blowing this out of proportion? So friends drop by once in a while—”
“‘Once in a while?’” Anna raised her voice. “They’re here constantly! My apartment’s become a free-for-all! I’m demanding that it end right now.”
“Fine, fine,” Dmitry said, raising his hands in surrender. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
But a couple of days later, it happened again. Anna came home from work and heard the same voices coming from the kitchen. Deciding to take a shower, she went into the bathroom and stopped in disgust. The tub was filthy; wet towels littered the floor; the sink was full of unidentifiable trash.
Quietly, Anna went to the bedroom and started packing Dmitry’s things. She dragged a suitcase into the hallway. Then she headed to the kitchen.
“What is this? Dmitry, look at what they did to the bathroom!”
“Chill,” he waved her off. “We’ll clean it up later.”
“When later? Like the last time, when I spent three days scrubbing the apartment after your friends left?”
“Stop nagging!” Dmitry slammed his fist on the table. “You’re acting like such a killjoy!”
“‘Killjoy?’” Anna choked on her outrage. “This is my apartment! I’m the one in charge here! And I demand that your ‘friends’ leave immediately!”
“Hey, Dim,” one of the friends sneered, “is your wife for real?”
“Out. Everyone, get out!” Anna shouted. “Or I’m calling the police!”
“What’s your problem?” Dmitry jumped up.
“No, what’s your problem?” Anna grabbed her husband’s friends’ jackets and threw them into the hallway. “Out! All of you!”
Reluctantly, they shuffled to the door, muttering under their breath. Dmitry tried to stop her, but Anna stood firm.
“Take your things and go with them,” she hissed, shoving the suitcase into his hands.
“Anya, are you serious?” Dmitry looked at her, bewildered.
“Absolutely. Sleep wherever you want—even at your precious friends’ place.”
Anna slammed the door, leaned against it, and slowly slid down to the floor. Dmitry knocked and rang the bell a few more times before everything went silent.
In the morning, her phone was blowing up with calls and messages. Anna didn’t answer. For the first time in ages, she had slept peacefully, without the sound of other people’s voices or loud music.
By midday, someone rang the doorbell. Standing on the threshold was Dmitry’s mother, Valentina Sergeevna.
“What’s going on, Anya? Dima spent the night at our place. He’s very upset.”
“Upset?” Anna gave a bitter smirk. “And when I asked him not to bring friends over every single day, did he ever think about my feelings?”
“Well, you know how men are… They need to socialize,” her mother-in-law tried to take her hand, but Anna pulled away.
“Socialize? Valentina Sergeevna, they turned my apartment into a madhouse! I work all day, I come home, and it’s filth, stench…”
“Sweetheart, can’t you find a compromise—?”
“No. I tried for four years. That’s enough.”
That evening, Dmitry called.
“Anya, I’m sorry. I get it now. It won’t happen again.”
“Dim, you’ve said that before. A hundred times.”
“No, I’m serious this time. I even found a job. Can you believe it?”
“Really?” Anna asked skeptically. “Where?”
“Kostya offered me a position at his new firm…”
“Kostya? The same guy who, a week ago, wanted to open a business using my money?”
“Come on, Anya, he’s a real businessman…”
“That’s it, Dim. I’m filing for divorce.”
A week passed. Anna systematically cleaned every trace of those endless parties from her apartment. She threw out the burned rug, washed all the curtains, scrubbed the bathroom. Day by day, the place began to resemble the cozy haven Anna had once worked so hard to create for herself.
Her work started to flourish, too. Without the late-night gatherings and lack of sleep, Anna became more productive. Yelena Viktorovna even offered her the position of lead architect.
“You’ve got a spark in your eyes,” her boss observed. “Did something change in your life?”
“Yes,” Anna replied with a smile. “I finally started respecting myself.”
Dmitry tried several more times to reconcile—showing up with flowers, waiting outside her building, sending friends as emissaries. But Anna stood her ground.
“You see,” she explained to her friend Tanya, “it’s not that I’m against friends. But when your home turns into a revolving door, when no one respects you or cares about your opinion… that’s no longer a family.”
“Maybe give him one more chance?” Tanya suggested.
“To what end? So that in a week it all starts again? No, I refuse to be the unpaid maid for Dmitry’s friends.”
The divorce went by quickly and relatively smoothly. By then, Dmitry was already living with his mother. Without an apartment or money, he was of no interest to his so-called friends.
Half a year later, Anna sat in her armchair, cup of tea in hand. The apartment smelled fresh, her favorite flowers in a vase. On the table lay sketches for a new project—finally, she could work peacefully at home.
Somewhere else in the city, Dmitry was still freeloading at his mother’s place, spinning new pipe dreams and complaining about his “ungrateful” ex-wife. But that was no longer Anna’s problem.
At long last, Anna had learned to value herself and her space more than the questionable company of people who had no respect for boundaries.
She no longer feared being alone. Better to be by yourself than with someone who doesn’t appreciate you—or your home. She had learned that lesson too late, but now she knew for sure: she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
