Lyudmila climbed the stairs as though they were an elastic band stretched upward. Every step sent a warning ache through her knees, a premonition of the awkwardness to come. In her hands was a cake she had bought on the way home from work because “there was no time to bake one herself.” Though she knew Tamara Ivanovna would be sure to make a sarcastic remark about it.
“Valera, I’m begging you, can we please get through today without a scene?” she said quietly, adjusting her scarf.
“Who’s the one making scenes here?” Valery shrugged, but his eyes were already darting around as though he expected an ambush.
“Your mother, your sister, your… those people…” Lyudmila didn’t bother finishing. The list was obvious enough.
The door flew open so abruptly that Lyudmila nearly walked into the doorframe.
“Oh, look who finally showed up!” Tamara Ivanovna drawled, staring at Lyudmila as though she had brought a garbage can with her. “And with a store-bought cake… I’m not surprised.”
“Mom, enough,” Valery muttered, but weakly, like a man who already knew he had no chance of winning the argument.
“What do you mean, ‘enough’?” Tamara Ivanovna stepped aside to let them in. “I’m only telling the truth. A proper woman can always find an hour to bake something with her own hands.”
And a proper mother-in-law can always find a reason to bite, Lyudmila thought, but aloud she said:
“At least this cake is fresh. Straight from the bakery.”
“Yeah, from a bakery where everything is made with margarine,” Oksana, her sister-in-law, chimed in. She was already standing in the hallway with a cup of coffee. “Mom’s right. Lyudka could use some homemaking classes.”
“Oksana, do you even have a husband to bake for?” Lyudmila smiled, but there was something sharp beneath it. “Or are you still practicing on your girlfriends?”
Valery coughed, while Tamara Ivanovna snorted loudly.
“Well, look at those manners… Fine, come in, since you’re already here.”
The apartment was packed with Valery’s relatives: Uncle Sergei Nikolaevich, his wife Elena Petrovna, cousins, and even some neighbors Lyudmila had never seen before in her life. The table was overflowing with salads, but there was barely any room left, and Lyudmila had to sit between Oksana and Elena Petrovna.
“So, Lyuda, how are things at the warehouse?” Elena Petrovna asked in that sugary tone that always made Lyudmila’s hands itch. “Still sorting invoices?”
“Still sorting them,” Lyudmila replied. “Why, are you looking for an opening?”
“Oh, God forbid,” Elena Petrovna laughed. “I suppose with a job like that you’ll never earn enough for an apartment?”
“Well, things are different in our family now,” Sergei Nikolaevich interrupted as he poured himself some cognac. “Lyuda’s a rich heiress now. A three-room apartment downtown is no joke.”
Every pair of eyes immediately turned toward Lyudmila. She felt her ears begin to burn.
“An inheritance isn’t a lottery win,” she said dryly. “And that apartment is a memory of my grandmother.”
“Memories are fine, but people still have to live somewhere,” Tamara Ivanovna scoffed. “Besides, you and Valerka are cramped where you are. Maybe Sergei and I could move in there for the time being? The apartment is sitting empty anyway.”
“Mom!” Valery looked up from his plate.
“What, ‘Mom’?” she challenged him. “Would it really kill Lyudka to help her own family?”
Lyudmila took a deep breath.
“What I find difficult is being ordered around like a piece of furniture,” she said. “The apartment is mine. I’ll move there myself as soon as I can.”
“How greedy…” Oksana drawled, rolling her eyes. “You won’t even help family.”
“So family means moving into someone else’s home without asking?” Lyudmila asked with exaggerated curiosity. “Interesting logic you people have.”
“Lyuda, stop,” Valery said quietly, squeezing her knee under the table. “Don’t ruin the evening.”
“I’m not ruining it,” she replied, removing his hand. “Your mother is.”
A silence settled over the table, heavy as an old carpet after washing. Then someone awkwardly made a joke about the weather, and the conversation started again.
But Lyudmila had already made up her mind.
Today is the last time I’m putting up with this.
A week passed after the “fun” birthday celebration. Lyudmila was sitting in the kitchen with a stack of invoices when her phone vibrated.
“Lyuda, hello!” Tamara Ivanovna’s voice sounded suspiciously sweet. “Listen, Sergei, Lena, and I decided to… help you. We understand you’re very busy with work and don’t have time to check on the apartment. So we went there ourselves. Had a look around. It’s a nice place! Clean, quiet, respectable neighbors.”
“Excuse me, you were inside my apartment?” Lyudmila gripped her pen so tightly it nearly snapped.
“Well, we’re family!” her mother-in-law laughed. “Valery gave us the keys so we could tidy things up. And, you know, we thought… until you decide what you want to do with the place, we’ll move in there. Our home is a little cramped.”
“Tamara Ivanovna,” Lyudmila’s voice turned icy, “you entered my home without permission.”
“Oh, don’t use such frightening words!” she snorted. “We’re relatives, not criminals. Besides, Valerka said you wouldn’t mind.”
Valerka said.
There it was.
Lyudmila ended the call and immediately dialed her husband.
“Valera, did you give your mother the keys to my apartment?” she asked without even saying hello.
“Lyud, what’s wrong with you?” He spoke as though he were talking to a child. “They’re not enemies. They just want to help. The place needs repairs, cleaning… You said yourself you weren’t moving in yet.”
“That doesn’t mean you can move half the village in there!” Lyudmila jumped to her feet. “Do you understand that they’re already bringing their belongings over?”
“So let them,” Valery sighed. “Temporarily. We’re family…”
“No. We were a family,” she snapped, and hung up.
An hour later, Lyudmila was standing outside her apartment.
The door was open.
There was a stack of boxes in the hallway, unfamiliar jackets hanging on the coat rack. In the kitchen, Elena Petrovna was wiping the cabinets as though she owned the place, while Sergei Nikolaevich sat at the table drinking tea.
“Oh, the lady of the house has arrived!” he smirked. “So, happy to see your guests?”
“Get out,” Lyudmila said calmly, though her hands were trembling. “Right now.”
“Lyudochka, why are you acting like this?” Elena Petrovna spread her hands. “We’re doing all this for you! I even bought new curtains!”
Lyudmila nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.
“Use them in your own home. Somewhere else. Paid for with your own money. I’ll say it again: get out.”
At that moment, Tamara Ivanovna appeared in the hallway carrying a jar of pickles.
“Lyudmila, I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn,” she said as though speaking to a slow student. “This is temporary. We’ll fix everything up, and later you’ll move in yourself and thank us.”
“I’ll thank my lawyer when he files a complaint about your unauthorized occupation of my apartment,” Lyudmila shot back.
“What kind of woman are you?” her mother-in-law cried, throwing up her hands. “Greedy as an old spinster.”
“And you’re shameless as…” Lyudmila bit her tongue. “Never mind. You have ten minutes.”
Tamara Ivanovna gave a contemptuous snort and walked into the room.
Five minutes later, Valery burst into the apartment. His face was red.
“Lyud, what the hell are you doing?!” he shouted from the doorway. “These are my relatives! My mother! How dare you throw them out?!”
“This is MY apartment!” she shouted back. “Not my grandmother’s anymore, not yours, not theirs. Mine. And I decide who lives here.”
“I thought we were a family…” he said quietly, sounding so offended that one might have thought she had betrayed him.
“Family means supporting each other, not trying to snatch someone’s home out from under them,” Lyudmila replied. “Whose side are you on, Valera?”
He said nothing.
And that silence was louder than any yes or no.
Lyudmila woke to the sound of drilling.
At first, she thought she was dreaming, but no. Somewhere deep inside the apartment, something was banging and buzzing loudly enough to make the windowpanes vibrate.
It was eight in the morning.
She rushed into the hallway and nearly tripped over bags of cement.
In the living room, Sergei Nikolaevich, wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts, was hammering at the wall. Strips of torn wallpaper lay scattered across the floor.
“What are you doing?!” Lyudmila shouted as she stormed into the room.
“Renovating,” he replied calmly without even looking at her. “Valery said you agreed.”
“I swear I…” Lyudmila swallowed. “Where’s Valera?”
“In the kitchen with Mom,” he said, waving a hand.
The scene in the kitchen was even more “amusing.”
Tamara Ivanovna stood there with a notebook, dictating a list of “necessary household purchases” to Elena Petrovna, while Valery poured tea for everyone.
“Oh, you’re awake,” her mother-in-law said casually. “We decided to make the place nicer so you’ll enjoy living here. We’ll redo the kitchen, replace the floors…”
“Start by replacing your greed with a conscience,” Lyudmila interrupted. “I told you clearly yesterday: you do not belong here.”
“Lyud, don’t start,” Valery rolled his eyes. “Mom only wants what’s best.”
“She wants what’s most convenient for her!” Lyudmila pointed toward her mother-in-law. “And you know that perfectly well.”
“Oh, stop it,” Tamara Ivanovna waved dismissively. “You have extra housing and refuse to let anyone use it?”
“I have a home I never invited any of you into,” Lyudmila said coldly. “EVERYONE OUT. Right now.”
“What kind of person are you, Lyuda?” Elena Petrovna began. “We’re working so hard for you, and you—”
“No, you’re working for yourselves,” Lyudmila cut her off. “At my expense.”
Valery stood and stepped toward his wife.
“Lyudmila, you’re going too far. This is my family.”
“And what am I?” she asked, looking straight into his eyes.
“Well… my wife…” he hesitated.
“Was.”
Silence fell instantly.
Even the drill stopped, as though it understood that the moment was serious.
“What do you mean, ‘was’?” Valery said slowly.
“It means I’m filing for divorce. And every single one of you is leaving this apartment right now.”
“Oh, really?” Tamara Ivanovna snorted. “You think that without Valera you’ll—”
“I think I’ll finally stop supporting people who have been living off me,” Lyudmila interrupted. “Valery, take your relatives and go.”
Valery stepped closer, but Lyudmila backed away.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. “You betrayed me the moment you gave them the keys.”
Sergei Nikolaevich muttered something under his breath, but fell silent under Lyudmila’s stare. Elena Petrovna stood up and grabbed her bag.
“Come on, Seryozha. We’re clearly not welcome here.”
Tamara Ivanovna was the last to rise. She gave Lyudmila a poisonous look.
“You’ll regret this,” she hissed.
“No,” Lyudmila replied. “You’ll regret mistaking my silence for consent. The free ride is over.”
They left.
Lyudmila closed the door, leaned her back against it, and exhaled for what felt like the first time in years.
The apartment became quiet.
Almost too quiet.
She walked into the living room and stood among the scattered wallpaper and bags of building materials.
It was chaos.
But now it was her chaos.
And, damn it, she was ready to put everything back in order.
The End.
