The apartment smelled of sandalwood and a barely perceptible hint of dry vanilla. Alexander sat at a broad desk lined with rows of tiny test tubes, using a pipette to measure out an amber liquid. He created food flavorings, and his nose was more precise than any chromatograph. Silence in the house was not merely the absence of sound; it was an essential tool for his work.
Marina entered his study silently, like a shadow, careful not to let the teacup clink. She restored antique dolls, and her fingers were accustomed to painstakingly delicate work. Alexander looked up from the new “Spiced Biscuit” formula he was developing. He immediately noticed that his wife’s shoulders were drooping more than usual and that her gaze wandered uneasily over the shelves.
— You don’t seem like yourself today, — he observed quietly, setting the pipette aside. — Did something happen to that French porcelain head?
Marina sighed and sat down on the edge of an armchair.
— No, the dolls are fine. Aunt Lyudmila called. Do you remember her? That distant relative on my father’s side who lives near Voronezh?
Alexander frowned, trying to recall the loud, boisterous woman who had attended their wedding.
— Vaguely. What does she want? Money?
— Worse. It’s about her daughter, Katya. She wants to conquer the capital. Aunt Lyuda begged us to take her in, — Marina said, looking guiltily at her husband. — She says the girl has talent but no money to get started. They’re asking for only a month, until she finds a job and somewhere to live.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, feeling a dull resistance rising inside him. Their world was too fragile, too finely tuned to its own special frequency, to allow foreign vibrations into it. But he could see how much Marina was suffering. She had been raised to believe that relatives must always help one another.
— Marina, you know I need a sterile environment for my work. One unfamiliar smell, one unexpected noise, and the entire formula goes into the trash.
— I understand, Sasha. I tried to refuse, but Aunt Lyuda started crying on the phone. She promised Katya would be as quiet as a mouse. I’ll take care of everything. You won’t even notice her. Please. It’s only one month.
Alexander looked into her pleading eyes. He wanted to protect his peace, but he wanted even more to restore his wife’s emotional balance.
— All right. Exactly thirty days.
— Thank you! — Marina exhaled as though a heavy backpack had been lifted from her shoulders. — I’ll tell her to behave modestly.
— Call her. But warn her not to touch my chemicals or go anywhere near my worktables.
Their illusions vanished the moment a gigantic pink suitcase and its owner crossed the threshold of their apartment. Katya was nothing like the modest young woman Marina remembered from old photographs. A hurricane of cheap, sickly sweet perfume swept into the hallway, immediately making Alexander’s throat burn.
— Holy crap, what a palace! — the guest exclaimed, dropping her bag directly onto the parquet floor. — Mom said you two were living large, but I didn’t realize it was this luxurious.
Marina tried to smile, but the result was strained.
— Hello, Katya. Come in and take off your shoes.
Ignoring her, the young woman walked into the living room in her outdoor sneakers, leaving dirty marks across the pale carpet. She dropped onto the sofa and pulled out her smartphone.
— Hold on, I need to post a story. Aunt Marina, what’s the Wi-Fi password? I’m almost out of mobile data.
Alexander emerged from his study, closing the door tightly behind him to protect his essences from the perfume attack.
— In this home, we take our shoes off at the entrance, — he said evenly, staring at the dirty streaks.
Katya rolled her eyes but lazily kicked off her sneakers, pressing one heel against the other without even bending down.
— Oh, lighten up, Uncle Sasha. I’m exhausted from the trip. Is there anything to eat?
By evening, the kitchen had turned into a battlefield. Katya shamelessly inspected the refrigerator, commenting on everything she found.
— Broccoli, spinach… What are you, rabbits? Don’t you have any proper sausage? Or dumplings?
Trying to maintain her composure, Marina began preparing dinner.
— We try to eat healthily. Katya, tell us about your plans. What kind of job are you going to look for?
— I’ll look around first, — her niece replied with her mouth full, biting directly into a block of cheese. — I’m actually a blogger. I need inspiration. Working for some boss is for losers.
Alexander stopped chewing.
— Blogging is wonderful, but you promised your mother that you would find stable employment. Inspiration will not pay the rent in this city.
— I’ll figure it out, — Katya snorted and started playing a video on her phone at full volume. — Stop nagging me.
The first week was a continuous nightmare. Alexander found his professional journals in the bathroom. The bathtub was constantly full of floating hair, and Marina’s expensive shampoos disappeared at an astonishing rate. But the worst part was something else: Katya had absolutely no respect for anyone else’s work.
— Katya, why did you touch the box of doll eyes? — Marina stood in the doorway of the room they had given their guest. — You mixed up all the sizes. Those are antiques!
The young woman did not even look up from the messages on her phone.
— I just wanted to see them. Why are you so obsessed with that old junk? Those dolls of yours are creepy. You should have thrown them away ages ago.
Alexander heard the conversation from the hallway. His patience, normally as strong as steel, was beginning to crack. He saw Marina spending her nights sorting through the ruined materials, swallowing her tears but remaining silent because she did not want to provoke a scandal.
By the third week, Alexander decided to take decisive action. An acquaintance of his owned a chain of luxury chocolate boutiques and was looking for an administrator. The work was not physically demanding, but it required responsibility and a neat appearance. Alexander arranged an interview, sacrificing a considerable amount of his own time.
He entered Katya’s room that morning. The air was heavy with the stale smell of unwashed clothes and potato chips.
— Get up. You have a job interview at eleven. I sent you the address in a message.
Katya pulled the blanket over her head.
— I didn’t get enough sleep. I was streaming until three in the morning. Reschedule it.
Alexander yanked the blanket away.
— That wasn’t a request. I vouched for you. Get up, make yourself presentable, and go. This is your chance to remain in the city.
Katya returned two hours later. Her face was red with anger, and she slammed the front door loudly behind her.
— Where the hell did you send me?! — she shouted from the entrance, failing to notice that Alexander was working with his study door open. — That jerk said my “dress code was inappropriate”! And that I would have to smile at a bunch of freaks for practically nothing!
Alexander came out holding a bottle of expensive oud oil. The expression on his face promised nothing good.
— Forty thousand rubles as a starting salary is not “practically nothing” for someone without an education. And as for the dress code… did you go there wearing ripped jeans and a top that barely covered you?
— It’s called style! — Katya declared. — You old people don’t understand anything! I’m a queen. I wasn’t born to work as somebody’s servant! Mom said you would help me, but instead you’re trying to force me into slavery!
— A queen? — Alexander’s voice rose above her hysterical shouting. — There is only one queen in this house: my wife, who has been tolerating your disgusting behavior! You live here with everything provided for you, demand expensive food, and haven’t lifted a finger to do anything yourself!
— Oh, really?! — Katya planted her hands on her hips, her face twisting with fury. — You owe me! You’re rich, so what’s the problem? Family is supposed to help!
— Nobody owes you anything! — Alexander roared. — You are exploiting our kindness. You have until tomorrow morning. Pack your things and get out of here.
Marina came running at the sound of the shouting, pressing her frightened hands against her chest.
— Sasha, Katya, what is going on? Please, keep your voices down!
— No, Marina, I will not keep my voice down! — Alexander turned toward his wife. — I will no longer allow anyone to turn our home into a pigsty. She insulted my friend and spat on the opportunity I arranged for her.
Katya demonstratively dropped onto the sofa.
— I’m not going anywhere. I don’t have any money. Throw me out and I’ll report you to child services… I mean, the police! I’ll tell them you sexually harassed me!
Alexander froze. This was no longer simple insolence. It was war.
The evening passed in a suffocating atmosphere. Marina cried in the kitchen, repeatedly trying to call Aunt Lyudmila, but she refused to answer. Katya barricaded herself in her room and blasted loud music. Alexander sat in his study, but he could not work. He understood that Marina’s pity was now their greatest enemy.
The next morning, he entered the kitchen. Katya was sitting at the table as though nothing had happened, spreading pâté on a piece of toast. She looked triumphant. She was certain they would complain for a while and then calm down. After all, throwing a relative into the street was supposedly “inhumane.”
— You’re still here? — Alexander asked in an icy tone.
— Where am I supposed to go? — Katya smirked. — There aren’t any tickets, and I don’t have any money. You’ll just have to live with it. Aunt Marina said I could stay until Mom sends me a transfer.
Alexander looked at his wife. Marina lowered her eyes.
— Sasha, seriously… Where can she go? Lyuda promised to send money in a week.
— In a week? — Alexander gave a bitter laugh. — Marina, open your eyes. You’re being used. Both of us are being used.
He walked directly up to Katya.
— GET UP. GET DRESSED. AND GET OUT.
— Nope, — Katya said insolently, taking another bite of her sandwich. — You won’t do anything to me. You’re just a damn intellectual. People like you are only capable of talking.
Alexander abruptly but carefully seized her by the elbow and pulled her out of the chair.
— You have ten minutes to pack. If you are not out of here in ten minutes, I will carry you out together with all your belongings.
— Get your hands off me! — Katya shrieked, trying to slap him across the face with her free hand.
Alexander caught her wrist.
— I warned you. Your time starts now.
He turned around and walked into her room. Grabbing the pink suitcase, he began throwing her belongings inside without caring how they landed. Cosmetics, clothes, chargers—everything went into the same pile.
— You have no right! — Katya screamed as she ran around him. — This is robbery! Aunt Marina, tell him!
Marina stood silently in the doorway, her face pale. She looked at the scattered belongings and at her niece’s face, distorted with malice, and suddenly realized that Alexander was right. Katya was someone else’s burden, and that burden was breaking their backs.
Alexander closed the suitcase, even though the sleeve of a sweater was still sticking out. He wheeled it to the front door and threw the door open.
— Out.
Katya braced her feet against the doorframe.
— I’m not leaving! You’re monsters! I’ll call my mother, and she’ll curse both of you!
— Go ahead, — Alexander said calmly. — And while you’re at it, explain to her what you did with the twenty thousand rubles she transferred to you three days ago so you could rent a room.
Katya froze, her mouth falling open.
— How did you…
— I know how to find information. I also contacted your mother from someone else’s number last night. She believed you had already rented a room.
— You’re lying! — Katya shouted, but fear flashed in her eyes. She realized that the game was over.
She grabbed her handbag from the coat rack and glared furiously at her relatives.
— Choke on your apartment! You miserable cheapskates! I hope you die in your precious sterility!
She snatched the suitcase from Alexander’s hand and marched toward the elevator, its wheels rattling loudly across the floor. Just before the elevator doors closed, she gave them the middle finger.
Alexander closed the apartment door and turned both locks. Completely exhausted, Marina sank onto the bench in the hallway.
— What a disgrace… What will happen to her now?
— She’ll be fine, — Alexander exhaled and went to the bathroom to wash his hands, as though he wanted to cleanse himself of all the filth. — She’ll learn her lesson.
That evening, as they drank tea in the restored silence, the doorbell rang. It was not the intercom downstairs but the bell directly outside their apartment. Someone was pressing the button insistently.
Alexander looked through the peephole. A police patrol was standing on the landing, together with Katya. Her appearance was disheveled, and her mascara was smeared across her face.
Alexander opened the door.
— Good evening, — the sergeant said dryly. — This citizen claims that you are unlawfully withholding her property and that you physically assaulted her.
Katya stood behind the police officer, smirking.
— He hit me! And he took my other suitcase—the one with my laptop!
Alexander looked calmly at the sergeant.
— We have a security camera in the hallway. It records both video and sound. I can show you the footage right now. It will demonstrate that this woman left the apartment by herself, taking all her belongings with her, and that nobody laid a finger on her. It will also show how she attempted to strike me.
The smile instantly vanished from Katya’s face. She had not known about the camera. Her eyes darted nervously from side to side.
— A camera? — the sergeant repeated. — That would be useful. Young lady, filing a false report is a criminal offense.
— I… I might have forgotten… Maybe… — Katya muttered as she began backing toward the staircase.
— Stop, — the sergeant ordered sharply. — Show me your identification.
Katya reluctantly began rummaging through her handbag. She pulled out her passport, and a small bundle wrapped in soft fabric suddenly fell from the bag. It struck the floor, the fabric came undone, and the delicate porcelain head of an antique doll rolled across the tiles.
Marina gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
— That’s a Jumeau… Nineteenth century… I’ve been looking everywhere for it…
The police officer picked up the porcelain piece.
— Does this belong to you? — he asked Marina.
— Yes, — she nodded. — It disappeared from my workshop this morning. It is worth as much as a used foreign car.
Katya turned so pale that she began to resemble the porcelain doll herself.
— I didn’t take it! She gave it to me! She gave it to me as a present! Tell them!
Alexander stepped forward and looked directly into Katya’s eyes.
— We will be filing a formal complaint, — he said firmly. — This is theft involving property of exceptionally high value.
Katya let out a howl and tried to rush toward her aunt, but the police officer expertly caught her arm and snapped handcuffs around her wrists.
— Come with us, young lady. We’ll sort out who gave what to whom at the station.
After they had taken her away, Alexander embraced his wife. Marina was trembling.
— Was she… Was she planning to sell it?
— It looks that way. Apparently, she spent her mother’s money a long time ago, and she needed something to live on.
They returned to the apartment. Alexander approached his worktable, picked up the bottle containing his unsuccessful fragrance, and threw it into the trash.
— We’ll start with a clean slate, — he said. — And we’re changing the locks. Right now.
For the first time in a month, the air in the apartment was clean. And in that cleanliness, there was neither fear nor pity—only the peace they were now prepared to defend with their fists.
