“— She has a huge three-room apartment, but she’s stingy about giving up a room and doesn’t want to let me stay,” the sister-in-law complained to her mother.
“Varya, open up! Nastya and I are here!”
Alexandra Yuryevna’s voice over the intercom sounded as if she had arrived with news of a lottery win. Varya froze in the middle of the hallway with a bag of groceries in her hands. Friday, eight in the evening. Oleg was away on a route until Sunday, and she had been dreaming of a quiet evening with a book and a new series.
“Coming,” she breathed, and pressed the button.
Three minutes later, her mother-in-law stood on the doorstep in her usual blue down jacket, with Nastya beside her and three enormous sports bags. Not the ordinary small kind for the gym, but huge ones, stuffed to the brim.
“Come in,” Varya stepped aside, feeling something cold slide down her back.
“Help carry this,” Nastya said, handing her one of the bags.
Varya took it automatically. It was heavy—at least ten kilos. Alexandra Yuryevna walked into the apartment as if it were her own, kicked off her boots, and headed for the kitchen.
“Are you alone? Where’s Oleg?”
“He’s on a route. He’ll be back Sunday evening.”
“Even better,” her mother-in-law nodded and turned to Nastya. “Take your things to the far room.”
Varya set the bag down on the floor.
“Alexandra Yuryevna, what’s going on?”
“Nastya is moving in with you for a while,” her mother-in-law said as casually as if she were talking about the weather. “She’s cramped at my place. We live in a one-room apartment, after all. And you have a huge three-room place, ninety square meters. You’ll free up a room for her, won’t you?”
“For how long?”
“Until she gets back on her feet.”
Varya looked at Nastya. She was studying the painting on the wall as if she couldn’t hear the conversation. Twenty-six years old, working as a cashier in a supermarket for the third year. Her salary was small, but stable.
“Alexandra Yuryevna, we need to discuss this. We only have two bedrooms—ours with Oleg, and the office.”
“Office?” her mother-in-law turned so sharply that Varya flinched. “What do you need an office for? Your husband’s sister has nowhere to live, and you have an office!”
“My documents are there, my computer…”
“You’ll move them into the bedroom. Or work in the kitchen.”
Nastya picked up two bags and walked down the hallway, peering into the rooms.
“This one?” she stopped at the office door.
“Nastya, wait,” Varya stepped forward, but Alexandra Yuryevna blocked her way.
“Varenka, don’t be selfish. Nastya is family now. Help the girl. She’s going through a difficult period. She wants to separate from her mother, become independent.”
“What about renting an apartment?” Varya suggested carefully.
“With what money? You know how much she earns. Rent would swallow her entire salary, and she’d have nothing left for food.”
Varya took out her phone.
“I’m calling Oleg.”
“Call, call,” her mother-in-law nodded. “He told me yesterday himself that he didn’t mind.”
Varya’s fingers trembled as she dialed. Oleg answered on the fifth ring. There was noise on the line, voices in the background.
“Varya, I’m driving. What happened?”
“Your mother brought Nastya here. They say she’s going to live with us.”
“Oh, right, yes. Mom mentioned it yesterday.” There wasn’t a drop of concern in Oleg’s voice. “Nastya wants to move out from Mom’s place. It’s fine. She’ll stay for a week or two.”
“Oleg, your mother said ‘until she gets back on her feet.’ That’s not a week.”
“Varya, I really can’t talk right now. Sort it out somehow. I’ll be home in two days.”
The line beeped—he had hung up. Varya slowly lowered her hand. Sounds were coming from the office; Nastya was clearly rearranging furniture.
“So what did Oleg say?” Alexandra Yuryevna asked.
“He said I should sort it out.”
“Then sort it out. Help Nastya get settled, show her where the clean towels are.”
Varya went into the office. Nastya had already pulled every folder of documents out of the cabinet—tax returns, contracts, receipts—and stacked them on the writing desk.
“Where should I put all this?” she asked, pointing at the mountain of papers.
“Those are my work documents.”
“Well, move them somewhere. I need the closet.”
Varya silently took a cardboard shoe box and began putting the folders inside. Her hands moved automatically, while one thought circled in her mind: how had this happened? Fifteen minutes ago, she had had her own apartment, her own plans for the evening, and now…
“Excellent,” Alexandra Yuryevna appeared in the doorway. “Girls, I’m off. Nastya, call me if anything happens.”
“Mom, wait,” Varya stepped into the hallway. “Does she have her own bed linen?”
“What, are you going to be stingy about bed linen too? Your closets are full of everything.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just want to understand…”
“You’ll understand.” Her mother-in-law put on her boots. “Nastya is a good, tidy girl. There won’t be any problems.”
The door closed. Varya remained standing in the hallway, staring at the closed office door. Sounds came from behind it—Nastya was unpacking. Something fell with a crash.
“Oops, sorry!” her sister-in-law called. “There was a book on the shelf. I knocked it down by accident.”
Varya picked up a thick art history album from the floor. It had been a birthday gift from colleagues two years earlier. The corner of the cover was dented.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly.
In the aquarium in the living room, the fish swam steadily—gold and blue guppies. Oleg had bought them a year ago and said they were calming. Varya sprinkled in some food and watched the fish rise to the surface.
It really had been calming.
Before.
Saturday began with the sound of running water. Varya opened her eyes. Half past seven. The shower was roaring in the bathroom. For twenty minutes. Then thirty. Then forty.
At eight thirty, Varya knocked on the door.
“Nastya, will you be much longer?”
“Yes, just a minute!”
Another twenty minutes passed before the door finally opened. Nastya came out in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel—Varya’s towel, the large fluffy one, her favorite.
“Sorry I took so long. I like to stand under the water calmly in the mornings and think about my own things.”
Varya silently went into the bathroom. The mirror was covered in water droplets, there was a puddle on the floor, and Nastya’s cosmetics had taken over the entire shelf above the sink. Varya’s creams and toners had been pushed into the corner.
At half past nine, Varya came out of the bathroom. Nastya was sitting in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone. In front of her stood a cup of half-finished coffee.
“Varya, do you have any cereal? I couldn’t find any.”
“We don’t eat cereal.”
“Strange. So what’s for breakfast, then?”
“I usually make fried eggs or porridge.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know how to cook.” Nastya lowered her eyes back to her phone. “Could you?”
Varya took eggs from the refrigerator. She cracked four into the pan—two for herself, two for Nastya. She exhaled silently. Alexandra Yuryevna’s voice echoed in her head: “Don’t be selfish.”
“Listen, what are your plans today?” Nastya asked while they were eating.
“I’m meeting a friend at one. Cinema, then we’ll walk around the shops.”
“Will you be home in the evening?”
“Yes, I plan to be back by seven.”
“Got it.” Nastya finished her coffee. “Then I’ll invite my girlfriends over at around five. We’ll sit in the living room, okay?”
Varya opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at Nastya. Nastya was smiling openly, almost childishly, as if she had suggested the most natural thing in the world.
“Nastya, but I’ll be back at seven. Will your friends still be here?”
“Well, we won’t stay too long. Three hours maximum. Everyone will leave by eight.”
“Can we do it another time? I’ll just be tired after a whole day…”
Nastya’s face fell.
“So you’re forbidding me from inviting friends over?”
“No, I’m not forbidding it, it’s just…”
“Just what? Your apartment is big. There’s plenty of space. Is it really impossible to give me one room? We won’t bother you.”
Varya stood and carried the plates to the sink. She turned on the hot water. Let it burn her hands—it was better than this pressure in her chest.
“Fine,” she said without turning around. “Invite them.”
The cinema with her friend was nice. The film, popcorn, then they walked through the shopping center, tried on dresses, laughed. Sveta—her friend since school—noticed that Varya seemed off.
“Did something happen?”
“My sister-in-law moved in with me.”
“For good?”
“I don’t know. My mother-in-law said, ‘until she gets back on her feet.’”
Sveta whistled softly…
Continuation slightly below in the first comment.
“Varya, open up! Nastya and I are here!”
Alexandra Yuryevna’s voice over the intercom sounded as if she had brought news of a lottery win. Varya froze in the middle of the hallway with a bag of groceries in her hands. Friday, eight in the evening. Oleg was away on a run until Sunday, and she had been dreaming of a quiet evening with a book and a new series.
“Coming,” she exhaled and pressed the button.
Three minutes later, her mother-in-law was standing on the threshold in her usual blue puffer jacket, and beside her was Nastya with three enormous sports bags. Not ordinary small gym bags, but those kinds of bags—stuffed to bursting.
“Come in,” Varya stepped aside, feeling something cold slide down her back.
“Help carry this,” Nastya said, handing her one of the bags.
Varya took it automatically. It was heavy—at least ten kilos. Alexandra Yuryevna walked into the apartment as if it were her own, kicked off her boots, and headed for the kitchen.
“Are you alone? Where’s Oleg?”
“He’s on a run. He’ll be back Sunday evening.”
“That’s even better,” her mother-in-law nodded and turned to Nastya. “Take your things to the far room.”
Varya set the bag on the floor.
“Alexandra Yuryevna, what is going on?”
“Nastya is moving in with you for a while,” her mother-in-law said as casually as if she were talking about the weather. “It’s too cramped for her at my place. We live in a one-room apartment, after all. And you have a huge three-room place, ninety square meters. You can clear out one room, can’t you?”
“For how long?”
“Until she gets back on her feet.”
Varya looked at Nastya. She was studying the painting on the wall as if she didn’t hear the conversation. Twenty-six years old, working as a cashier at a supermarket for the third year, with a small but steady salary.
“Alexandra Yuryevna, we need to discuss this. We only have two bedrooms—ours with Oleg and the study.”
“The study?” Her mother-in-law turned so sharply that Varya flinched. “What do you need a study for? Your husband’s sister has nowhere to live, and you have a study!”
“My documents are there, my computer…”
“You’ll move them into the bedroom. Or work in the kitchen.”
Nastya took two bags and went down the hallway, peeking into the rooms.
“This one?” she stopped at the study door.
“Nastya, wait,” Varya stepped forward, but Alexandra Yuryevna blocked her way.
“Varenka, don’t be selfish. Nastya is your family now too. Help the girl. She’s going through a difficult time. She wants to separate from her mother and become independent.”
“What about renting a place?” Varya suggested carefully.
“With what money? You know how much she earns. Rent would eat up her whole salary, and she wouldn’t have anything left for food.”
Varya took out her phone.
“I’m calling Oleg.”
“Call him, call him,” her mother-in-law nodded. “He told me yesterday that he didn’t mind.”
Varya’s fingers trembled as she dialed. Oleg picked up on the fifth ring. There was noise on the line, voices in the background.
“Varya, I’m driving. What happened?”
“Your mother brought Nastya. They say she’s going to live with us.”
“Oh, well, yeah, Mom told me yesterday.” There wasn’t a drop of concern in Oleg’s voice. “Nastya wants to move out from Mom’s. That’s fine. She’ll stay for a week or two.”
“Oleg, your mother said ‘until she gets back on her feet.’ That’s not a week.”
“Varya, I really can’t talk right now. Figure it out somehow. I’ll be home in two days.”
The line beeped—he had hung up. Varya slowly lowered her hand. From the study came noises: Nastya was clearly rearranging furniture.
“So, what did Oleg say?” Alexandra Yuryevna asked.
“He said I should figure it out.”
“Then figure it out. Help Nastya get settled. Show her where the clean towels are.”
Varya went into the study. Nastya had already pulled all the folders of documents out of the cabinet—tax returns, contracts, receipts—and stacked them on the desk.
“Where should I put this?” she asked, pointing at the mountain of papers.
“These are my work documents.”
“Well, move them somewhere. I need the wardrobe.”
Varya silently took a cardboard shoebox and began putting the folders inside. Her hands moved automatically, while one thought spun in her head: how had this happened? Fifteen minutes ago she had had her own apartment, her own plans for the evening, and now…
“That’s perfect,” Alexandra Yuryevna appeared in the doorway. “Girls, I’m leaving. Nastya, call me if anything happens.”
“Mom, wait,” Varya stepped into the hallway. “Does she have her own bed linen?”
“What, are you going to be stingy about bed linen? Your closets are full of everything.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just want to understand…”
“You’ll understand.” Her mother-in-law put on her boots. “Nastya is a good girl, very neat. There won’t be any problems.”
The door closed. Varya remained standing in the hallway, looking at the closed study door. From inside came sounds—Nastya unpacking, something falling with a crash.
“Oh, sorry!” her sister-in-law shouted. “There was a book on the shelf. It was an accident.”
Varya picked up a thick album on art history from the floor. It had been a birthday gift from her colleagues two years earlier. The corner of the cover was dented.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly.
In the living room aquarium, the fish swam steadily—gold and blue guppies. Oleg had bought them a year earlier and said they were calming. Varya sprinkled in some food and watched the fish swim up to the surface. It really was calming. It used to be.
Saturday began with the sound of running water. Varya opened her eyes. Half past seven. The shower was running in the bathroom. Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. Then forty.
At eight-thirty, Varya knocked on the door.
“Nastya, will you be much longer?”
“Yes, just a minute!”
Another twenty minutes later, the door finally opened. Nastya came out in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel—Varya’s towel, the big terry one, her favorite.
“Sorry it took so long. I like to stand under the water calmly in the mornings and think about my own things.”
Varya silently entered the bathroom. The mirror was covered in water drops, there was a puddle on the floor, and Nastya’s cosmetics had taken over the entire shelf above the sink. Varya’s creams and toners had been pushed into the corner.
At half past nine, Varya came out of the bathroom. Nastya was sitting in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone, with a cup of half-finished coffee in front of her.
“Varya, don’t you have any cereal? I couldn’t find any.”
“We don’t eat cereal.”
“Strange. So what’s for breakfast?”
“I usually make fried eggs or porridge.”
“Oh, I don’t know how to cook.” Nastya buried herself in her phone again. “Could you?”
Varya took eggs from the refrigerator. She cracked four into the pan—two for herself, two for Nastya. She exhaled silently. Alexandra Yuryevna’s voice echoed in her head: “Don’t be selfish.”
“Listen, do you have any plans today?” Nastya asked while they were eating.
“I’m meeting a friend at one. A movie, then we’ll go shopping.”
“Will you be home in the evening?”
“Yes, I’m planning to be back by seven.”
“Got it.” Nastya finished her coffee. “Then I’ll invite my girlfriends over around five. We’ll sit in the living room, okay?”
Varya opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at Nastya. The girl was smiling openly, childishly, as if she had suggested the most natural thing in the world.
“Nastya, but I’ll be back by seven. Will your friends still be here?”
“Well, we won’t stay too long. Three hours at most. Everyone will leave by eight.”
“Maybe another time? I’ll just be tired after the whole day…”
Nastya’s face fell.
“So you’re forbidding me from inviting friends?”
“No, I’m not forbidding you, it’s just…”
“Just what? Your apartment is big, there’s plenty of room. Can’t you let me have one room? We won’t bother you.”
Varya stood up and carried the plates to the sink. She turned on the water as hot as possible. Let it burn her hands—better that than this pressure in her chest.
“All right,” she said without turning around. “Invite them.”
It was good at the movies with her friend. A film, popcorn, then they walked around the mall, tried on dresses, laughed. Sveta—her friend since school—noticed that Varya seemed off.
“Did something happen?”
“My sister-in-law moved in with me.”
“Forever?”
“I don’t know. My mother-in-law said until she gets back on her feet.”
Sveta whistled.
“Well, look at you. Does Oleg know?”
“He knows. He says I should figure it out myself.”
“Men,” Sveta snorted. “They only know how to stand aside. Listen, maybe you should come stay with us for a couple of days? You can get some rest from all this.”
Varya shook her head. Running away from the problem wasn’t a solution. She needed to somehow reach an agreement. Or endure it. Or… she didn’t know. She simply wanted everything to go back to the way it had been three days ago.
At half past seven, Varya opened the door to her apartment. Laughter and loud music were coming from the living room. She went in. Five girls were sitting on the sofa and in the armchairs. Plates of pizza, empty cola cans, and someone eating chips straight from the bag were on the table.
“Oh, Varya’s here!” Nastya waved. “Girls, this is my brother’s wife. Varya, meet Liza, Kristina, Yulia, and Margo.”
“Hello,” Varya forced out.
“Hi!” the girls answered in chorus.
“Varya, we thought you were going to stay overnight at your friend’s,” Nastya said in an apologetic tone, but sparks were dancing in her eyes. “So we made ourselves comfortable.”
Varya looked at the clock. Twenty to eight.
“I told you I’d be back by seven.”
“Yes, but we thought…”
“All right, never mind,” Varya turned around. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
She locked herself in the bedroom. She lay down on the bed. The music kept playing; the girls’ voices rose into squeals, then laughter. At half past nine, she went into the bathroom. Nastya’s cosmetics were scattered all over the shelves, someone’s hairpin was lying in the sink, and there was a wet towel on the floor.
Nastya’s friends left only at midnight. Varya couldn’t sleep. She listened as they said goodbye and promised to call one another tomorrow. The door slammed. Silence.
She went into the kitchen. A mountain of dirty dishes, greasy stains on the table, food scraps. The floor was sticky—apparently someone had spilled cola and not wiped it up. Varya took out a rag.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Nastya appeared in the doorway in pajamas.
“The dishes need washing.”
“Oh, come on, I’ll wash them in the morning.”
“No need. I’ll do it myself.”
Nastya shrugged and left. Varya washed plates, glasses, forks. She scrubbed the table and scoured the stove. She washed the floor on her knees. She finished at one in the morning. She went to bed. Oleg would be back tomorrow. He would explain everything to his mother. Everything would work out.
Oleg arrived on Sunday at six in the evening. Tired, unshaven, in a dirty work jacket. Nastya rushed to him and hugged him.
“Olezhenka! I missed you!”
“Hi, sis,” he ruffled her hair. “So, did you get settled?”
“Yes, Varya helped me a lot.”
Varya stood in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands with a towel. Oleg came over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Hi. How are things?”
“Fine. Are you tired?”
“Dead tired. I’ll take a shower and sleep.”
“Oleg, we need to talk.”
“Varya, let’s do it tomorrow, huh? My head is really splitting.”
He took off his jacket and went into the bathroom. Varya heard the water running. Nastya passed by and smiled.
“I’m going to my room. I’ll watch a series.”
An hour later, Oleg came out of the bathroom, collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep instantly. Varya lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would definitely talk.
On Monday morning, Oleg woke up early—by seven he was already getting ready for work. His own car was in the garage; after long runs, he usually let it sit for a couple of days and took public transport.
“Oleg, we need to talk about Nastya,” Varya intercepted him by the door.
“Varya, I’m late.”
“This is important.”
He stopped and looked at his watch.
“All right. Speak.”
“Your mother said Nastya will live with us until she gets back on her feet. That could be a very long time. We didn’t discuss this together.”
“What’s there to discuss? Nastya is my sister.”
“I understand. But she took over the study. I had to drag all my documents into the bedroom. She spends an hour in the bathroom every morning. She brought friends over on Saturday, and they made noise until midnight.”
“So what? She brought friends over once.”
“Oleg, you don’t understand…”
“What don’t I understand?” A hard note appeared in his voice. “My sister has nowhere to go. Mom has a one-room apartment, it’s cramped there. And we have a three-room apartment, ninety square meters. Or do you begrudge her one room?”
“I don’t begrudge her a room!” Varya raised her voice for the first time in the conversation. “I begrudge losing our space with you!”
“Don’t shout!” Oleg barked. “The neighbors will hear.”
They stood facing each other. Varya felt her cheeks burning, her heart pounding. Oleg jerked the zipper of his jacket.
“I’ll talk to Mom,” he threw out and left.
The door slammed. Varya leaned against the wall. From Nastya’s room came the melody of an alarm clock—her sister-in-law was waking up.
Work was hard. Varya worked as a manager in a small trading company that dealt with construction materials. Usually she liked it—communicating with clients, negotiations, calculations. But today everything slipped from her hands.
“Varvara, you mixed up the invoices,” her colleague Tamara said, placing a stack of papers in front of her. “This order is for Svetlogorskaya Street, and you put Svetlaya.”
“Sorry, I’ll fix it now.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Tamara pulled her chair closer. “Did something happen?”
Tamara had worked at the company for fifteen years. She knew everyone and everything about everyone. Sometimes it was annoying, but now Varya suddenly felt like she wanted to talk.
“My sister-in-law moved in with me.”
“Forever?”
“My mother-in-law said until she gets back on her feet.”
“Oh, no,” Tamara shook her head. “Girl, I had the same thing happen to me. My husband’s sister asked to stay for a month—and lived with us for three years. Three years, Varya! They’ll sit on your neck if you don’t stop it right away.”
“But she’s Oleg’s sister…”
“So what? Does she not have arms and legs? Let her rent. Or live with her mother. It’s convenient for her—settling in where everything is ready.”
The department head, Igor, entered the office. Tall, thin, wearing glasses. Strict but fair.
“Shugayeva, is your estimate for the Zarechnaya site ready?”
“I’ll print it now.”
Varya opened the file on her computer. The numbers swam before her eyes. She made two mistakes in the formula and had to redo it.
“Shugayeva,” Igor stood over her desk, “is everything all right with you? This is your third mistake today.”
“I’m sorry. There have been problems at home.”
“Family matters are understandable, but work shouldn’t suffer. Pull yourself together.”
He left. Tamara gave her a sympathetic look. Varya stared at the monitor. She wanted to cry. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
That evening Oleg came home late, around nine. Nastya was sitting in the kitchen, eating something from a plate. Varya was in the bedroom, working with papers—checking the calculations she had messed up during the day.
“Varya, I talked to Mom,” Oleg sat on the edge of the bed.
She looked up.
“And?”
“Mom says Nastya pays her for utilities. So everything is fair, like family.”
“What utilities? Nastya hasn’t paid me anything.”
“She paid Mom. Mom will pass it on to you.”
Varya slowly put down her pen.
“So Nastya pays your mother, and your mother promises to pass the money to me?”
“Well, yes. What difference does it make?”
“The difference is that I won’t see that money. Alexandra Yuryevna will say she bought us something as a gift, or that she needed the money urgently herself, or she’ll come up with something else.”
“Varya, you’re talking about my mother!”
“I’m telling the truth!”
Oleg stood up.
“You know what? I’m tired of your whims. Can’t you help my sister? She’ll stay a week, maybe two, then move out. Is it really so hard for you to endure it?”
“A week? Your mother said until she gets back on her feet! That could be six months, a year!”
“All right, enough,” Oleg waved his hand. “I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He left the room. Varya remained sitting at the desk. The papers lay in front of her, but the letters blurred. She covered her face with her hands. Sat like that for a minute, then two. Then she gathered the papers into a folder and went to bed. Oleg came in an hour later, lay down on the edge of the bed, and didn’t even touch her.
Wednesday began with an unpleasant discovery. Varya took yogurt from the refrigerator—the very natural yogurt she bought at a little shop two blocks away. She opened it. Empty container. In the container where there should have been salad for two days, there were three leaves and a crust of bread.
Nastya came into the kitchen, yawning.
“Good morning.”
“Nastya, did you eat my yogurt?”
“Huh?” her sister-in-law scratched the back of her head. “Probably. Sorry, I thought it was shared.”
“And the salad too?”
“Well, I came home late yesterday and was hungry. I’ll go today and buy some.”
“You’ll go,” Varya repeated.
“Yes, definitely!” Nastya smiled. “Do you have bread? I’ll make a sandwich before work.”
Varya silently handed her the package of bread. She sat down at the table. Nastya spread butter on three slices and put them in a bag.
“I’m running late!”
The door slammed. Varya sat alone in the kitchen. There was no yogurt. No salad. Oleg had already left for work—in recent days he had been trying to leave earlier, apparently to avoid crossing paths with her in the mornings.
The next day, Thursday, Nastya bought nothing. Varya came home from work. The refrigerator was as empty as before.
“Nastya, did you forget to buy groceries?”
“Oh, Varya, sorry!” her sister-in-law slapped her forehead. “I had such a day yesterday! It completely slipped my mind. I’ll definitely go tomorrow.”
“What about today?”
“I can’t today. I’m meeting the girls. We planned it six months ago.”
Friday. Nastya came home at ten in the evening. Varya was sitting in the bedroom, checking documents. Oleg was away on a run until Saturday.
“Nastya, come here,” Varya called.
Her sister-in-law appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“Yes?”
“You promised to buy groceries.”
“Oh, right!” Nastya slapped her forehead. “You know, my salary is only next week. Things are really tight with money right now.”
“Next week,” Varya repeated slowly. “So you ate my groceries, promised to replace them, and now you’re saying you won’t buy anything until next week at the earliest?”
“Well, sorry,” Nastya shrugged. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I can write you an IOU saying I’ll buy them.”
“No need for an IOU.”
“Then what’s the problem? It was just some yogurt.”
Varya closed her eyes and counted to ten.
“The problem isn’t the yogurt. The problem is that you don’t keep your word.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t make a scene over nothing.”
Nastya went back to her room. Varya remained sitting at the desk. Her hands were trembling. She clenched them into fists.
On Friday evening, the last straw came. Varya returned from work early—at six. She wanted to take a bath and relax. She went up to her floor and heard voices. She opened the door. Laughter was coming from her and Oleg’s bedroom.
She pushed the door open. Nastya and her friend Liza were sitting on their bed. In front of them was Varya’s wardrobe, wide open. In Liza’s hands was a blue dress—the very one Varya had worn to her father’s anniversary.
“Look how cool it is!” Liza pressed the dress to herself and twirled in front of the mirror. “Nastya, do you think she’ll let me try it on?”
“I don’t know,” Nastya noticed Varya in the doorway. “Oh, hi! We were just…”
“Get out,” Varya said quietly.
“We’ll be right out,” Liza started hanging the dress back.
“I said get out. Now.”
Her tone made both girls jump up. Liza quickly hung the dress, and they slipped past Varya into the hallway.
“Varya, we didn’t mean anything bad,” Nastya began. “Your dresses are just pretty, and I wanted to show Liza…”
“This is Oleg’s and my bedroom. You have no right to come in here without permission.”
“Oh, come on, we’re family!”
“Get out.”
“Why are you so angry?” Nastya’s voice broke into a squeal. “We didn’t even touch your dress!”
“Get out of my room.”
Nastya spun around and flew into the hallway. Varya closed the door and leaned her back against it. She was breathing quickly and unevenly. Her hands were shaking.
Half an hour later, the front door slammed—Liza had left. Nastya locked herself in her room. Varya went into the kitchen. She sat on a chair and stared out the window.
At eleven in the evening, Oleg came home. She heard him talking to Nastya in the hallway. His sister was saying something quickly, agitatedly. Oleg answered in short phrases.
He came into the bedroom.
“Nastya said you two had a fight.”
“She and her friend were digging through our wardrobe.”
“So what? Maybe she needed advice on what to wear.”
“Oleg, this is our bedroom!”
“Varya, do you even hear yourself? She’s my sister!”
“So what? Does that mean she can do anything?”
“She didn’t steal anything! She just looked!”
Varya stood up. She walked to the window. She was silent for a long time. Then she turned around.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“What exactly?”
“She eats my food. She spends an hour in the bathroom. She brings friends over without warning. She goes through our things. And you are always on her side.”
“I’m not on her side. I just don’t understand what the problem is. She’ll stay for a while.”
“How long is ‘a while’? A week? A month? A year?”
“I don’t know! Until she moves out.”
“And what if she doesn’t move out?”
Oleg rubbed his face with his hand.
“Varya, I’m tired. Let’s not talk about this now.”
“When, then? You’re always tired. Or on a run. Or you don’t want to talk.”
“Because there’s nothing to talk about!” he raised his voice. “Nastya is my sister. She has nowhere to go. Period.”
“And what about me? Does my opinion not matter at all?”
“It matters. But you’re acting selfish.”
The word hung in the air. Selfish. Exactly what Alexandra Yuryevna had said. Apparently, she and Oleg had been discussing Varya behind her back.
“I see,” Varya took a pillow from the bed. “I’ll go to the sofa.”
“Where are you going?”
“To sleep on the sofa. You need room to rest, after all. Sleep.”
She left the room and closed the door. She lay down on the sofa in the living room. The fish in the aquarium moved steadily through the illuminated water. Varya watched them. Tomorrow was Saturday. Oleg would be home. They needed to talk seriously.
Saturday. Ten in the morning. Alexandra Yuryevna stood on the threshold with a pot in her hands.
“Girls, I brought stuffed cabbage rolls! Fresh, I made them today.”
Nastya happily scampered over to her mother. Oleg came out of the bedroom and stretched.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Olezhek, my son. Well, how are things? Nastya isn’t bothering you too much?”
“No, everything’s fine.”
Varya stood by the kitchen door. Alexandra Yuryevna’s gaze slid over her, then turned away.
They sat down to drink tea at the large table. Alexandra Yuryevna talked about the neighbors, about the school where she worked. Nastya laughed and talked about work. Oleg silently ate the cabbage rolls. Varya sat looking out the window.
“Varenka,” Alexandra Yuryevna finally addressed her, “why are you so sad? Did something happen?”
“Alexandra Yuryevna, I think we need to talk about how long Nastya will be living with us.”
Silence hung in the air. Nastya stopped chewing. Oleg tensed.
“What is there to talk about?” her mother-in-law set her cup on its saucer. “Nastya will live here as long as she needs to.”
“But we haven’t discussed any time frame. A week? A month?”
“What difference does it make?” Alexandra Yuryevna leaned forward. “You have a huge three-room apartment, ninety square meters. One room is occupied, and that’s a problem?”
“It’s not about the room.”
“Then what is it about?” her mother-in-law raised her voice. “What is the problem, Varvara? Explain it to this old fool!”
“Mom, calm down,” Oleg put his hand on the table.
“I will not calm down!” Alexandra Yuryevna stood up. “She has a huge three-room apartment, and she begrudges one room! No children, only those fish, and she can’t shelter her husband’s sister!”
“I’m not refusing to shelter her,” Varya tried to speak evenly. “I just want to understand for how long.”
“And why should you have to understand that?” Nastya suddenly spoke. “He’s my brother, not yours! He’s my family!”
“Nastya, Oleg and I are family too.”
“Real family helps each other!” Alexandra Yuryevna banged her fist on the table. “And you only think about yourself!”
“I work, I pay for this apartment equally with Oleg…”
“Oh, don’t make me laugh!” her mother-in-law interrupted. “Oleg earns three times more! This apartment was bought with his money!”
“We both worked for the down payment! We both pay the mortgage!”
“You pay! You put in five thousand, and Oleg puts in fifteen!”
“Because I earn less! But I still contribute!”
“Exactly—less!” Alexandra Yuryevna nodded triumphantly. “So you have fewer rights!”
Varya felt a lump rise in her throat. She looked at Oleg. He was sitting there, staring at his plate.
“Oleg, say something.”
He raised his head. There was exhaustion in his eyes.
“Mom, you’re wrong. Varya earns too, she pays too. But…”
“But?” Varya stood up. “But what?”
“But Nastya is my sister. She really has nowhere to go.”
“What about renting a place?”
“Varya, with what money?” Nastya sobbed. “My salary is twenty-five thousand! Rent for a one-room place is twenty! I won’t have anything left for food or transport!”
“Then live with your mother!”
“We have a thirty-meter one-room apartment!” Alexandra Yuryevna stepped closer. “We’re climbing on top of each other there! And your huge apartment is standing empty!”
“It isn’t empty! We live here!”
“The two of you in ninety square meters? Your fish have more space than they need!”
“Enough!” Oleg stood up from the table. “Enough, all of you!”
Silence fell. He looked at his mother, his sister, his wife.
“Mom, Nastya, pack your things. I’ll take you home.”
“What?” Nastya jumped up. “Are you kicking me out?”
“Pack your things,” Oleg repeated dully.
Alexandra Yuryevna straightened. Her face turned to stone.
“So that’s how it is. You got married and forgot your mother and sister.”
“Mom, don’t.”
“I will!” she pointed a finger at Varya. “Do you see what you’ve done? A brother is kicking out his own sister! Because of you!”
Nastya burst into loud, choking sobs. She rushed to Oleg.
“Olezhenka, please! I’ll sit quietly, honestly! I won’t even leave the room!”
“Nastya, pack,” Oleg pulled away from her. “Stop crying.”
Alexandra Yuryevna slowly headed to the door. At the threshold, she stopped and turned around. She looked at Varya for a long time.
“Remember my words, Varvara. Family remembers things like this. And when you need help, don’t expect it from us. Ever.”
The door closed. Nastya cried in her room while packing her things. Oleg silently helped her carry the bags. Varya stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wall.
An hour later, they left. Oleg didn’t say goodbye. He simply took the car keys and walked out.
Monday at work passed in a fog. Tamara came over several times and asked whether everything was all right. Varya nodded. Igor made a comment about one of her calculations—she had made a mistake in the formula and failed to notice that the final sum didn’t add up.
“Shugayeva, you’ve been making mistakes for the third day in a row. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, Igor Petrovich. There were family problems.”
“Were there, or are there?”
“There were. They’ve been resolved.”
“Good. Because if there’s one more mistake, we’ll have to talk about a fine.”
He left. Tamara perched on the edge of her desk.
“So? Did you kick her out?”
“Oleg took them home.”
“And what now?”
“I don’t know,” Varya stared at the monitor. “He isn’t talking to me.”
“It’ll pass. Men always sulk when they’re made to choose. But you did the right thing. Otherwise they would’ve sat on your neck forever.”
Varya wanted to believe it would pass. But that evening, Oleg came home late, ate in silence, and went to bed. He answered questions in monosyllables. It went on like that all week.
On Friday, he left on another run. Varya remained alone in the apartment. Quiet. Peaceful. No one spent an hour in the bathroom. No one ate her food. No one went through her things. It should have felt good, right?
But for some reason, it didn’t. It felt empty.
That evening, Varya met her neighbor Lena on the staircase—a young woman with two small children. They lived one floor below.
“Varya, hi!” Lena was glad to see her. “Listen, thank you so much!”
“For what?”
“What do you mean, for what? It’s finally quiet at night! The children sleep peacefully and don’t wake up every hour. Did you have guests or something?”
“My husband’s sister was living with us. She left now.”
“Oh, how good!” Lena took her hand. “Don’t think we’re being stingy, but when children don’t sleep enough, they get cranky during the day. And my youngest is only one.”
“I understand. Sorry it happened that way.”
“Oh, come on, what do you have to do with it?” Lena smiled. “Listen, if you need anything, just ask. My husband is an electrician. He can help if an outlet is acting up or there’s a wiring issue.”
“Thank you.”
They said goodbye. Varya went upstairs to her apartment. She sat on the sofa and looked at the aquarium. The fish swam, shimmering in the lamp light. Beautiful. Peaceful.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Alexandra Yuryevna. Varya stared at the screen for a long time before opening it.
“Oleg said you’re satisfied now. Nastya cries every day. I hope you understand that.”
Varya put the phone face down. She didn’t answer.
Two weeks passed. Oleg was still cold. He only talked about household matters—what to buy, who would pay utilities, when to expect the plumber. In the evenings, he sat on his phone or watched television. He went to bed turned away toward the wall.
Varya tried to talk several times. He brushed her off.
“I’m tired. Let’s do it later.”
But “later” never came.
On Friday evening, while Oleg was once again away on a run, Varya sat on the sofa with a book. She wasn’t reading—just holding it in her hands. The fish in the aquarium moved slowly, hypnotically. A call lit up on her phone: Alexandra Yuryevna.
Varya looked at the name on the screen. Her hand reached for the answer button. Stopped. The phone kept ringing. One ring. A second. A third. A fourth. A fifth.
She didn’t pick up.
A minute later, a message came from Nastya. Varya opened it without thinking.
“I found myself a boyfriend. He has his own one-room apartment. I’m moving in with him next week. You can be happy you got rid of me.”
Varya read it. Read it again. Put the phone on the sofa. Got up and went to the window. Streetlights burned below, rare passersby hurried about their business. The city lived its own life, not knowing or caring about her problems.
She took the phone, deleted the message. Didn’t answer. Why? What could she say? “Congratulations”? “I wish you happiness”? It would sound like mockery. “Thank you for understanding”? But there had been no understanding.
Varya returned to the sofa. She opened the book to a random page. Letters formed words, words formed sentences, but the meaning didn’t reach her. She closed the book.
She got up and went to the aquarium. Sprinkled in food. The fish immediately rushed to the surface—gold, blue, red. There were ten of them. Oleg had chosen them a year ago and said they calmed the nerves. Watching fish. He said there should be life in the apartment, even if it was quiet life.
“And now he’s silent himself,” Varya thought.
The phone vibrated again. She didn’t even look. She knew it was either Alexandra Yuryevna or Nastya. Maybe both at once. They would never forgive her. Never. And Oleg…
Varya sat down on the sofa. Wrapped her arms around her shoulders. She felt cold. Even though the apartment was warm, the radiators hot.
“I did the right thing,” she said aloud.
Her voice sounded uncertain. She repeated:
“I did the right thing.”
This time, more firmly. And it was true—what was she supposed to do? Endure it? Stay silent? Live in her own apartment like a guest? Wake up to strangers’ voices, eat leftovers, find her things scattered around, listen to reproaches?
No. She had done what she had to do. Protected her space. Her home. Her life.
Let Alexandra Yuryevna be offended. Let Nastya cry. Let even Oleg stay silent and turn away. She was not to blame for the fact that they had been unable to discuss things normally. That her mother-in-law had decided for everyone. That her sister-in-law had behaved as if everyone owed her something.
Varya took her phone and looked at the unread message. Deleted it without reading. Turned off the sound. Put it on the table.
She stood up and went to the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. Her groceries were there. Her yogurt. Her salad. No one would eat them without asking. No one would later say, “Sorry, I forgot to buy more.”
She poured herself some water and drank it slowly. Washed the glass, put it on the shelf. Dried her hands. Went into the bathroom—no чужие bottles on the shelves. No wet towels on the floor. Order. Her order.
She returned to the living room. Sat in the armchair by the window. The fish swam in the aquarium. The city hummed softly outside. The apartment was quiet. Peaceful. Empty. But it was her emptiness. Her silence. Her peace.
“Oleg will forgive me or he won’t. Alexandra Yuryevna will stay offended—and let her. Nastya will find herself another place to live—apparently, she already has. And I… I’ll simply go on living.”
Varya closed her eyes. For the first time in three weeks, she felt the tension leaving her shoulders. Her breathing became even. Her head stopped splitting from endless thoughts.
Not all conflicts end in reconciliation. Not all family stories have happy endings. Sometimes you have to choose: your own peace or your relatives’ approval. She had chosen the first.
And she knew she had done the right thing. Even if Oleg returned from his run just as silent. Even if Alexandra Yuryevna never spoke to her again. Even if Nastya told everyone what a greedy and cold sister-in-law she had.
Varya opened her eyes and looked at the aquarium. The fish swam peacefully, unaware of human dramas. Not caring who was right or who was guilty. They simply lived their lives in their little world.
“Maybe they’re right,” Varya said quietly to the fish. “Just live. Just keep swimming.”
She stood up, turned off the main light, and left only the floor lamp by the sofa. She took the book. This time, she truly began to read. Letters formed words, words gained meaning. The story pulled her in, carried her away from reality.
The phone was silent. The apartment was silent. The fish were silent. And in that silence, there were more answers than in all the words she and Oleg and his family had exchanged over the past few weeks.
Varya read. Page after page. One hour passed, then another. At half past eleven, she closed the book and placed it on the table. She stood up and stretched. Went to the aquarium one last time.
“Good night,” she said to the fish.
She turned off the aquarium light. Went into the bedroom. Lay down on her side of the bed. The other half was empty—Oleg would return only tomorrow evening.
Varya closed her eyes. Her soul was calm. Empty, but calm. She had protected her home. Her right to live the way she wanted. And even if she had had to pay for that with her relationship with her husband’s relatives—she had paid. Consciously. And she did not regret it.
Because sometimes the right choice does not make you popular. It does not bring applause. It does not end in reconciliation and embraces. Sometimes the right choice simply gives you the ability to breathe freely in your own home.
And that was enough.
