The news of her grandfather’s death caught Yana in the middle of the workday. She was sitting at her computer when a message from her mother arrived:
«Grandpa Misha has passed away. His heart. Come as soon as you can.»
Yana didn’t cry — she and her grandfather hadn’t been particularly close in recent years. But something broke inside her, as if a piece of the world she thought unshakable had disappeared. Grandpa Mikhail Stepanovich had always simply been there — with his habit of drinking tea from a saucer, his stories about the war, and the eternal smell of tobacco and apples.
Two weeks after the funeral, Yana learned that her grandfather had left her his house. The very same house where she had spent every summer until she was fifteen. A two-story log house with a veranda and a garden filled with apple and cherry trees. With a small bathhouse at the edge of the property and a well with icy water.
«He drew up the will five years ago,» her mother said, handing Yana the documents. «He wanted the house to stay in the family. He was always afraid it would be demolished or sold.»
Yana remembered the house down to the tiniest details. The creaky stairs to the second floor. The stove that radiated warmth in the mornings. The floorboards that you couldn’t walk barefoot on during especially cold days. The attic where she would hide with a book on rainy days.
The house stood on the outskirts of a small settlement, about half an hour’s drive from the city. A modest six-hundred-square-meter plot with an old but still fruitful apple tree, and bushes of currants and gooseberries. The place was quiet but had good access to transport.
When Yana told her husband Kirill about the inheritance, he reacted with unexpected enthusiasm.
«A country house? That’s fantastic!» His eyes lit up. «How many rooms does it have? Is the plot big?»
«Five rooms, if you count the kitchen,» Yana replied. «The plot is small but cozy.»
«We have to go see it,» Kirill said, already pulling out his phone to check his schedule. «Can we go this weekend?»
Yana had planned to go alone — she wanted to be there by herself, to remember her childhood, to say goodbye to her grandfather. But Kirill’s enthusiasm was so genuine that she agreed:
«Alright, let’s go Saturday morning.»
The house greeted them with the smell of dust and stale air. Yana opened the windows to let in the spring breeze. Kirill walked through the rooms, tapping on the walls, checking the floors.
«It’s a solid house,» her husband concluded. «It needs renovation, of course, but the foundation is good, the walls are dry. You could set everything up nicely here.»
«I wasn’t planning any major renovations,» Yana noted. «I like how everything is here. It’s my grandfather’s memory.»
«I get it,» Kirill nodded. «But it should at least be freshened up. New wallpaper maybe, redoing the floors. And a fresh coat of paint outside.»
Yana agreed — yes, a little updating wouldn’t hurt. They spent the whole day at the house, discussing what could be changed without disturbing the spirit of the place. Kirill eagerly took photos of the rooms, making notes on his phone. Yana liked his excitement.
«It’s great that we now have a country retreat,» Kirill said as they drove home. «We can come out here on weekends, have barbecues. Invite friends over.»
«We,» Yana mentally noted. Well, they had been married for three years already, so technically Kirill had a right to consider the house partly his too. And Yana didn’t mind — they both could use a place to escape the city.
A week later, Kirill unexpectedly suggested:
«Let’s take my mom to see the house? She’s always dreamed of a country place.»
«Of course, let’s take her,» Yana agreed. She had a neutral relationship with her mother-in-law — no great warmth, but no conflict either.
That Saturday, the three of them drove out. Nina Viktorovna, Kirill’s mother, walked through the house with the air of someone assessing a potential purchase.
«Nice place,» she finally said. «But there’s a lot of work to do. The wallpaper’s all stained, the floors creak. And the color is terrible. Who in their right mind paints walls green?»
«Grandpa picked it,» Yana said, feeling a sting of hurt. «He liked that color.»
«Well, Grandpa’s gone now, and you two are the ones who have to live here,» Nina Viktorovna said curtly. «You need to repaint everything. And get new furniture. These Soviet-era wardrobes should go straight to the dump.»
Yana didn’t argue, although she liked the old wardrobes and chests with their carved details. They had a soul, a history — unlike the standard IKEA furniture her mother-in-law proudly showed off at her place.
The next weekend, Kirill brought his older sister Lyudmila, her husband Sasha, and their children to the house. He only warned Yana at the last moment:
«I told Lyuda that we have a house in the countryside now. She was so excited! Her kids have been begging to get out into nature.»
«We,» Yana noted again, but said nothing. After all, the house was big enough — there would be space for everyone. And it would be fun for the kids to play in the garden.
Then came Kirill’s aunt, Vera Ivanovna, a woman with a commanding voice and a habit of rearranging furniture «for convenience.» She arrived with a tape measure and a notebook, jotting down measurements as she went from room to room.
What are you doing?” Yana couldn’t hold back.
“Oh, just sizing things up,” Vera Ivanovna answered evasively. “You have to know what kind of wardrobe will fit here, what kind of sofa.”
“And why do you need to know that?” Yana asked, puzzled.
“Well, Kirill said that in the summer we’ll all come here to relax. And I don’t like surprises. I prefer to plan everything in advance.”
Yana found her husband, who was tinkering with something on the veranda.
“Kirill, did you tell your aunt she would be living here in the summer?”
“Not literally,” Kirill looked slightly embarrassed. “I just mentioned that the house is big, there’s plenty of room for everyone. You don’t mind if some of the family comes to visit sometimes, do you? There are five rooms, Yanachka!”
Once again, Yana gave in. After all, it was only for the summer, only on weekends. The rest of the time the house would stand empty. Why not share it with her husband’s family?
But within a month, things spiraled out of control. Every weekend, Kirill’s relatives filled the house. They brought belongings and left them, as if marking their territory. At first, it was little things—towels, mugs, books. Then came pillows, blankets, gardening tools.
Kirill’s relatives discussed what furniture to bring, where to put it, and which walls to repaint. They asked Yana’s opinion as a formality, but no one really cared what she thought.
“Maybe we should just knock this wall down?” Ludmila suggested one day. “It would make it more spacious.”
“No,” Yana said firmly. “It’s a load-bearing wall. You can’t touch it.”
“Well, you can reinforce it,” Ludmila’s husband, Sasha, countered. “I talked to some guys at work; they said it’s easy to do.”
“I don’t want anything torn down,” Yana repeated. “The house is fine as it is.”
“Yanachka, don’t be stubborn,” Nina Viktorovna chimed in. “We’re just trying to make it better—for everyone.”
And every time, Kirill sided with his family. First gently, then more insistently.
“Yana, why are you being so difficult?” he asked in the evenings when they were alone. “It’s just little things. Repainting a wall, putting up a shelf. Why hurt the feelings of our family?”
One Saturday, when the house was once again full of Kirill’s relatives, Yana went to the kitchen for some tea and overheard a conversation.
“We absolutely have to put up a partition here,” Nina Viktorovna was saying, pointing to a house plan they had drawn. “Luda and I will settle here, and Sasha can have the far room—he needs quiet.”
“We could turn the shed into a summer kitchen,” Vera Ivanovna added. “It’s right next to the sauna and the pool. It’ll be perfect!”
“We should definitely rip out that old cherry orchard,” said Kirill’s cousin Dima. “It’s useless, just taking up space. Better to have a lawn and a barbecue area.”
Yana leaned against the hallway wall, feeling as if the ground was slipping out from under her. The cherry orchard. The very one her grandfather planted after the war. Where every tree had a name. Where Yana used to hide as a child, picking berries and reading books in the shade.
“What does Yana think about this?” Sasha suddenly asked. “Technically, the house is hers.”
“Oh, Yana—” Nina Viktorovna waved it off. “Kirill will convince her. He always does.”
“And besides, they’re family,” added Ludmila. “That means the house is everyone’s. Kirill has just as much right to make decisions as she does.”
Kirill, who had been silently listening the whole time, finally spoke:
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her. Yana will understand. She always agrees in the end.”
Yana silently backed away from the door. A cold fury welled up inside her. The house where she had spent her childhood. The house her grandfather had guarded all his life and left specifically to her, knowing she would preserve its soul. And now these strangers were deciding what to tear down and rebuild.
Yana returned to the veranda where Kirill’s relatives were sitting. She smiled and joined the conversation, but inside she already knew what she had to do.
When the group moved to the kitchen, Vera Ivanovna came up to her:
“Yanachka, we all talked and decided we need to do some remodeling. What do you think about the idea?”
Yana smiled her most friendly smile.
“Yeah, sounds like a great idea.”
But deep down, she had already made a decision that would turn this entire story upside down.
For the rest of the day, Yana was unusually quiet. Kirill’s relatives continued making plans, dividing up rooms, discussing future renovations. Kirill cast worried glances at his wife from time to time, but Yana just smiled and nodded.
When everyone finally left, Yana said to her husband:
“I’m going to stay here until tomorrow. I want a bit of quiet.”
“Alone?” Kirill was surprised. “Maybe I should stay too?”
“No, you have work tomorrow. I have the day off,” Yana kissed him on the cheek. “Go on. I’ll come back tomorrow evening.”
As soon as Kirill’s car disappeared around the bend, Yana took out her phone and opened the search engine. First, she found the contact information for the nearest locksmith service. Then, for a company that installs video surveillance systems.
“Good afternoon,” Yana said when someone answered. “I need to change the locks urgently. Tonight, if possible.”
The locksmith arrived two hours later, an older man with a sharp, attentive gaze.
“Changing all the locks?” he asked, inspecting the front door.
“All of them,” Yana nodded. “And on the gate too. Something more secure, if possible.”
By nine in the evening, the work was done. Brand new locks gleamed in the light of the setting sun. Yana slipped the keys into her pocket and felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time in a long while, the house was hers again. She also arranged for the installation of security cameras the next day.
In the morning, Yana returned to their city apartment. Kirill had already left for work, leaving a note on the table: “Hope you had a good rest. Mom’s asking when she can bring wallpaper samples for the far room.”
Yana chuckled. Nina Viktorovna wasted no time. But now the rules of the game had changed.
That evening, when Kirill returned from work, Yana was setting the table.
“Kirill, about the house,” Yana began as she laid out the plates. “No one can go there for the time being. I’ve ordered a renovation.”
“Renovation?” Kirill raised his eyebrows in surprise. “But we didn’t decide anything specific. Mom thought—”
“I decided,” Yana interrupted calmly. “First, we need to reinforce the foundation and fix the roof. Without that, any cosmetic renovation is pointless.”
“But why didn’t you discuss it with me? With us?” Kirill looked bewildered.
“And did your family discuss anything with me when they planned to tear out the cherry orchard and build a pool?”
Kirill fell silent, clearly not knowing what to say.
«The house is currently closed for renovations,» Yana added. «I think for two or three months.»
«Mom wanted to stop by tomorrow to show some curtain catalogs,» Kirill said uncertainly.
«Tell her it’s not relevant right now,» Yana said, placing a salad on the table. «Are you staying for dinner?»
Two days later, Yana’s phone started blowing up with calls — first from her mother-in-law, then from Lyudmila, then from Vera Ivanovna. Yana politely explained the same thing to everyone: the house was under renovation, and there was no point in visiting yet. By evening, Kirill called.
«Mom and I came by the house,» he said tensely. «The gate is locked, the keys don’t work. What’s going on?»
«I told you — the house is under renovation,» Yana answered calmly. «I changed the locks for security. The whole electrical system is being redone.»
«But why didn’t you give us the new keys?» Kirill’s voice was indignant.
«Don’t worry, I’m handling everything. It’s just that things are different now.»
«What do you mean ‘different’?» her husband pressed. «Mom’s upset — she even took a day off to—»
«Kirill,» Yana interrupted him. «I said — the house is closed. Go back to the city.»
That evening, a storm broke out — not a meteorological one, but a family one. Kirill burst into the apartment, slamming the door.
«Can you explain what’s going on?» he demanded from the doorway. «Why are you acting so strange? Why are you hiding your plans from us?»
«From ‘us’?» Yana raised an eyebrow. «Or from you and your family?»
«Come on, Yana! You know what I mean! They just wanted to help with the house!»
«Help?» Yana smirked. «They wanted to remodel it for themselves. Uproot the garden my grandfather planted. Tear down walls. Build a pool. All without asking what I wanted.»
«You’re exaggerating,» Kirill shook his head. «They were just sharing ideas. Besides, it’s our house. I’m your husband — I have a say too.»
«Really?» Yana crossed her arms. «And when you decided that Nina Viktorovna and Lyudmila would share one room, and Sasha would get the far one, was that also just ‘sharing ideas’?»
Kirill froze. It was clear from his face he hadn’t expected Yana to know about that conversation.
«You were eavesdropping?» he tried to go on the offensive.
«No, I just happened to overhear you dividing up my house — as if I didn’t exist.»
Yana left the room and returned with her phone.
«Here, take a look,» she said, showing him the screen. «Your aunt and mom are already discussing what appliances to buy for the summer kitchen. Your sister’s picking out tile for the bathroom. Your cousin found a company to cut down the trees in the garden. All without a single word to me.»
Kirill stared at the photos of the chat messages, looking stunned.
«Where did you get this?»
«From your family group chat, of course — the one you didn’t add me to,» Yana shook her head. «Your sister left her phone on the table when she stepped away. I saw the notifications and took pictures.»
«But it was just talk, Yana,» Kirill tried to sound convincing. «Nothing was decided. They just got excited about the idea of a summer retreat.»
«You wanted a pool?» Yana looked him straight in the eye. «Fine. Build one somewhere else.»
«Yana, you don’t understand—»
«No, you don’t understand,» she said quietly but firmly. «That house is mine. It holds my childhood. My grandfather lived there. I won’t let it be turned into an entertainment center for your family.»
«But we’re family!» Kirill exclaimed. «My mom, my sister — they’re your family too now!»
«Family respects each other’s boundaries,» Yana replied. «Your relatives acted behind my back. And you enabled them.»
Kirill looked confused, clearly not expecting such resistance from the wife who usually compromised.
«Look,» he finally said in a conciliatory tone. «I admit, they got carried away. I didn’t know they were going that far. Let’s just sit down and talk — you can tell us what you want, and we’ll find a compromise—»
«No, Kirill,» Yana shook her head. «Compromises are over. I’ve made my decision — and locked it in place with new locks and a security system.»
«Security system?» Kirill was surprised.
«Yes. I installed video surveillance and motion sensors. Now I’ll know who comes and goes.»
«You’re serious?» Kirill looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time. «You trust me that little?»
«This isn’t about trust,» Yana said. «It’s about respect for my wishes and my property. Something I didn’t see from you or your family.»
The next day, Yana’s phone was flooded with calls. Her mother-in-law, Lyudmila, Vera Ivanovna — everyone wanted to know why Yana had suddenly become so «unreasonable,» why she was «setting herself against the family.»
«You turned your whole family against me?» Yana asked Kirill that evening.
«I just told them what happened,» Kirill shrugged. «They’re worried.»
«Worried they lost their free summer house,» Yana remarked.
«Don’t say that,» Kirill protested. «They genuinely wanted to help!»
«Alright,» Yana nodded. «Let’s make things clear once and for all. The house belongs to me. I appreciate your care and support, but all decisions about the house are mine. If your relatives want to visit, they may — by invitation only. No unannounced visits, no remodeling, no planning behind my back.»
«And what about me?» Kirill asked, hurt. «Do I have to ask permission too?»
«No, Kirill,» Yana sighed. «You’re my husband. I’ll give you the key. But only you. And under one condition — that you respect my boundaries and my decisions.»
The following week was tense. Her mother-in-law called every day, alternating between threats and appeals to Yana’s conscience. Lyudmila sent a long message calling Yana selfish and saying she had disappointed the whole family. Even Sasha called, trying to «explain man-to-man» how wrong Yana was.
Kirill bounced between supporting Yana and trying to persuade her to give in a little.
«Just give Mom a key,» he pleaded. «She promises she won’t touch anything, just breathe some fresh air now and then.»
«No,» Yana answered firmly.
«But why are you so stubborn?» Kirill couldn’t understand.
«Because it’s my house,» Yana repeated every time.
After a month, things calmed down a bit. Her mother-in-law stopped calling daily. Lyudmila went silent altogether. Yana kept her promise and gave Kirill the key to the new lock. Sometimes they would go to the house together on weekends. Sometimes Yana went alone when she needed peace and quiet.
By midsummer, the cherry trees in the garden were ripe. Yana picked the first harvest and made jam — following her grandfather’s recipe, adding almonds. When Kirill tasted it, he couldn’t hide his amazement.
«I’ve never eaten anything so delicious,» he admitted. «Now I understand why you cherish this garden so much.»
Yana smiled. Maybe not everything was lost after all.
In August, they celebrated Kirill’s birthday. Yana suggested throwing a party at the house.
«We can invite your family,» she said. «I think it’s time to mend fences.»
«Are you serious?» Kirill was thrilled. «Mom will be so happy!»
«On one condition,» Yana added. «No talk about remodeling, pools, or cutting down the garden. Just a family gathering, nothing more.»
Kirill agreed. He called his mom, sister, and aunt — all happily accepted the invitation.
On the day of the party, Yana greeted guests at the gate. The garden table was set with snacks, cool drinks, and a large cake. Garlands hung between the trees.
Nina Viktorovna approached Yana with a strained smile.
«Thank you for inviting us. It’s… very nice of you.»
«I’m glad you came,» Yana said sincerely. «Please, come in.»
Gradually, the atmosphere relaxed. Kirill’s relatives, though cautiously, joined the conversation, joked, and congratulated the birthday boy. After lunch, Yana suggested a walk through the garden.
«The cherries are especially good this year,» she said, showing the trees heavy with dark-red fruit. «Grandpa would’ve been proud.»
Nina Viktorovna silently looked at the garden she had once planned to destroy. Then, unexpectedly, she said:
«It’s beautiful here. Very… peaceful.»
«Thank you,» Yana nodded. «This place is special to me. Full of memories.»
In the evening, as the guests were leaving, Nina Viktorovna lingered at the gate.
«You know, Yana,» she began unexpectedly softly, «I guess I was wrong. We all got a bit carried away. We didn’t think about your feelings.»
Yana looked at her mother-in-law in surprise — she hadn’t expected such an admission.
«I understand now that the house is your memory, your history,» Nina Viktorovna continued. «And I respect that. Truly.»
«Thank you,» Yana managed to say.
When the last car disappeared down the road, Kirill hugged his wife.
«See? Things are getting better. Mom even apologized — in her own way, but that’s a big step for her.»
«Yes,» Yana agreed. «I think things really will be different now.»
And she was right. Relations gradually improved. Kirill’s relatives no longer tried to take over the house; they only visited when invited. No one mentioned remodeling or cutting down the garden again.
And a year later, when Yana and Kirill had a daughter, they named her Viktoria — but among themselves, they called her Cherry, in honor of the grandfather’s garden that had weathered all storms and continued to gift them its sweet fruits year after year.
«You know,» Kirill said one day, watching Yana rock their daughter under the cherry trees, «I’m glad you stood your ground. I can’t imagine if we had actually cut down this garden.»
Yana smiled.
Sometimes, you just have to defend what’s dear to you — even if it means changing all the locks.
