The key wouldn’t turn. Polina jiggled it, pushed harder, and only then realized the door was already unlocked. She was certain she’d locked it with two turns that morning.
From the second room came a rustling sound and someone’s voice. Polina walked down the hallway without taking off her boots and stopped in the doorway.
In the middle of the room was Vera Petrovna, her mother-in-law, holding a yellow measuring tape. She measured the wall by the window and wrote something in her notebook.
«Two ninety,» she muttered to herself. «The bed will fit. And the desk by the window. The wardrobe will go right here.»
«Vera Petrovna?»
Her mother-in-law turned around without the slightest embarrassment.
«Oh, Polya! You’re home. I thought you’d be back later. I’m just looking at where to put things. It’s best for Valerik to be by the window, good light for studying.»
«How did you get in?»
«With a key, of course.» Vera Petrovna stuffed the tape measure into her sweater pocket. «Seryozha made me one last month. Just in case. You never know—maybe you’ll feel unwell, or a pipe will burst while you’re at work.»
Polina stood in the doorway of her own room, watching a stranger with a notebook. There was barely anything in this room yet. An ironing board, boxes with books, a folding sofa she’d bought for guests, and an armchair she planned to reupholster. And those pale walls she’d painted herself two years ago, after spending so much time choosing the right shade that the hardware store clerk started to recognize her.
«Vera Petrovna, who is Valerik, and why will it be better for him here?»
Polina bought her apartment at twenty-nine—a two-room place in a panel building, forty-nine square meters, fifth floor, the second room with access to the balcony. For five years before that, she’d rented a room from a landlady who checked how much water she used, saving almost everything she earned. She worked as a dental technician in a private lab, making crowns and bridges, took home jobs in the evenings, working on models late into the night, and sometimes helped out at a friend’s lab on weekends. She hadn’t taken a vacation in five years. Once, a friend invited her to Turkey for a week, all expenses paid—she just needed to buy the ticket. Polina said no. The ticket cost as much as two months’ worth of her savings payments.
A million four hundred for the down payment, the rest was a mortgage. She paid off the mortgage early, in four years, putting more than half her salary into it. The final payment was made a year before she met Sergey.
She hadn’t touched the second room from the start. Painted the walls, put in an armchair, and decided she’d furnish it when there was someone to use it. She wanted a family. She wanted a child. But for a long time, there wasn’t even anyone to dream about it with.
Sergey showed up when Polina was thirty-four. He was installing stretch ceilings for her friend’s company—funny, good with his hands, and called her Polyushka. He rented a one-room apartment and was always complaining that half his salary went to the landlord.
«I make sixty grand, twenty-five goes for that little hole,» he’d say. «Then there’s the car, my mom always asks for help. I never make it to payday.»
It was Polina who first suggested he move in with her—just three months after they met. It just felt right to her. Six months in, they got married, skipping the big restaurant and white dress. Instead, they celebrated at home with their closest family: her mom traveled in from Ishim, his mother brought a cake, and Sergei’s brother Vyacheslav sent congratulations from Tyumen, where he lived with his girlfriend at the time.
The first few months together felt almost perfect. Sergei fixed all her leaky taps, put up shelves, and made coffee every morning. Polina would come home from the lab and truly feel she was coming back to someone who cared.
Then Vera Petrovna started stopping by.
She lived in a one-bedroom apartment across town with her second husband, Gennady Ivanovich, a retired military man. On weekends, she would come over, bringing homemade pies, inspecting every corner of the apartment, and often just standing in the doorway of the second room for a long time.
«It’s just sitting there empty,» she would sigh. «A whole room. Such a shame.»
And now, she stood in the middle of that room with a measuring tape.
«Valerik is my sister Tonya’s son,» Vera Petrovna explained, as if Polina was supposed to know. «From Tobolsk. He’s a good boy, starting at our construction institute this year. The school is only three stops from here. They only give dorms from the second year, and renting is expensive. So I thought—the room here is empty, and he’s quiet, really, he won’t be any trouble. Just for five years while he studies.»
«Five years,» Polina repeated.
«Well, maybe four. We’ll see,» Vera Petrovna shrugged.
«Vera Petrovna, no.»
Her mother-in-law lowered her notebook.
«What do you mean, no?»
«I mean Valerik can’t live here. Sergei and I are planning to have children. This room is for our baby.»
«Children,» Vera Petrovna scoffed. «Who knows when those will happen. And the boy needs a place to study right now.»
She put her notebook away, pulled on her coat, and left without saying goodbye. That evening, Sergei listened to the story in silence and just shrugged his shoulders.
«Come on, Polya, Mom meant well. Valerka really is a good kid.»
«Sergei, you gave her the key to my apartment without telling me.»
«So what? She’s my mother. Just in case.»
Vera Petrovna took it hard. For three weeks, she didn’t call either her son or her daughter-in-law. When Sergei did try to call, she spoke to him in brief, cold sentences. For Polina’s birthday, she just sent a messenger card with a kitten and roses, no words at all.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she started calling again. A month later she phoned with a new request.
«Sergei, Gena’s second cousin Zhanna—her husband kicked her out, just picture it. Out on the street with two bags. She just needs a place to stay for a month, until she finds a room. You do have that empty space.»
Sergei relayed all this over dinner, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
«It’s just for a month, Polya. She’s in a tough spot.»
«I’ve never met this Zhanna in my life.»
«So what? I’ve only met her a couple of times too. She’s totally fine, works at a pharmacy.»
«No, Sergei.»
«Why not?» he set his fork down. «The room is just sitting there. Are you really that against it?»
«This is my home. I want to share it only with people I actually know.»
«Yours, yours,» Sergei pushed away his plate. «How many times are you going to say that?»
They had their first serious fight, complete with slamming doors. Sergey spent the night on the couch in the other room. In the morning, he left without even having breakfast.
Ever since then, every conversation about his mother and her relatives ended the same way. Polina refused, Sergey got upset. At first, he at least tried to understand, saying, «Alright, let’s think about it.» But eventually, he stopped. Now he just stayed silent when his mother called Polina «your queen» over the phone. Or he would just nod when she said, «In normal families, people help each other out.»
Then one day, when Polina said «no» yet again, Sergey said something she couldn’t forget for a long time.
«You just don’t know what it’s like to live out of charity. Everything came easy for you. The apartment, the comfort. And here you are, sitting like a dog in the manger, turning your nose up at everything.»
«Easy?» Polina slowly put down her cup. «Sergey, you know how I lived. I’ve told you. Five years in my grandmother’s room, where she measured every drop of water I used. Passing on a trip to Turkey. Dental crowns done at night.»
«Well, you worked. Everyone works. But not everyone ends up with their own apartment.»
He said that, and it seemed like he realized he went too far. But he didn’t apologize.
Polina remembered last November. Her mother, Antonina Fyodorovna, had come from Ishim for the wedding of Polina’s cousin. She stayed three nights, slept in the spare room on a fold-out chair because there was nothing else. She got up before everyone, made pancakes, washed everyone’s dishes. Sergey was grumpy all three days, and when her mom finally left, he said with relief, «Well, finally. I thought she’d never leave.» Polina was hurt then, but stayed silent, deciding he just had a tough time at work.
Now she understood that his stressful period at work had nothing to do with it.
At home, Polina began to feel strange. Like she was a guest. Like someone was always standing behind her, waiting for her to move out. She’d come home from work, open the door, and listen carefully, expecting to find someone in the second room with a measuring tape.
In February, Vyacheslav came back.
Sergey’s younger brother had spent four years living in Tyumen with his girlfriend Alina, in her apartment. He worked shift jobs: a month at the field, a month at home. In January, they broke up. While he was on shift, Alina packed his things and left the bags with the neighbor. Vyacheslav returned to his hometown with two bags and fifty thousand rubles to his name.
He had nowhere to stay with his mother. Vera Petrovna’s one-bedroom was already crowded with her and Gennady Ivanovich, and Gennady Ivanovich hadn’t spoken to his stepson for ten years—not since Slava crashed his car at seventeen.
Polina didn’t hear about any of this from her husband.
On Sunday, Vera Petrovna came over for lunch. She invited herself, calling Sergey on Saturday to say they needed a family talk. Polina made roast chicken with potatoes and salad. Her mother-in-law arrived with a pie and in a good mood.
At the table, they talked about the weather, about Gennady Ivanovich and his blood pressure, about buckwheat prices. Then Vera Petrovna dabbed her lips with a napkin and said:
So, Slava is moving in on Saturday. I’ve arranged everything with Gena—he’ll bring the stuff in his car. They’ll be here in the morning, around ten. Polya, please clear some space in the room for him and move your boxes someplace else, including that ironing board.
Polina set down her fork.
«Where is he moving to?»
«Here, where else?» Vera Petrovna looked at her, surprised. «Didn’t Seryozha tell you?»
Polina turned to her husband. Sergey was cutting the chicken, eyes lowered.
«Seryozha?»
«Yeah,» he said, still slicing. «Mom and I decided. Slava has nowhere to live. Let him stay with us for now.»
He didn’t even look up. He said it as casually as if he were announcing he’d bought bread.
«For now—how long is that?»
«As long as needed. Until he gets back on his feet.»
«No,» said Polina. «I don’t want my apartment turned into a hostel. First Valerik, then Zhanna, now Slava. I’m not going to live with strangers in my own home.»
Vera Petrovna pushed her plate away, annoyed. The chicken slid to the edge.
«Oh, look at you! What, you can’t spare one room for your husband’s brother? Or is your precious apartment going to collapse?»
Polina stared at her mother-in-law and suddenly saw it all so clearly. The tape measure. The key made behind her back. The kitten with roses instead of a congratulations. Saturday, already arranged with Gena and his car.
«Vera Petrovna, I saved for five years for this apartment,» she said. «I lived in a room with a strange old woman for five years. Then I paid the bank more than half my salary for another four. I haven’t been on vacation in nine years. I didn’t win this apartment in a lottery.»
«Here we go again,» Vera Petrovna rolled her eyes. «All that ‘I saved, I scrimped.’ It’s petty, Polya. Counting every penny when a family member needs help. That’s just petty, that’s what it is.»
«Mom’s right,» Sergey finally looked up. «How long can this go on, Polya? It’s always the same. You said no to Valerka, no to Zhanna. Now you’re saying no to your own brother-in-law. You humiliate us with all your refusals. Enough already.»
Polina looked at her husband. Suddenly, she understood what was going on. Those nine years meant nothing to Sergey. Not the rented room, not the insomnia, not the trip to Turkey she gave up. He came into this apartment with two bags, and after two years felt he could do what he liked with it. Hand out rooms, make keys for his mother, choose his brother’s moving date. For him, it all just made sense, like it was the natural way.
He didn’t have to pay for any of it. That was the real issue.
«Fine,» said Polina. «Let’s try another way. Slava needs a place to live, we get it. Rent him an apartment, Seryozha. Just a studio. Studios start at twenty thousand now. You make sixty, don’t pay for housing, and I cover utilities. You can support your brother for half a year while he gets on his feet.»
Sergey stared at her.
«Are you crazy? Twenty thousand a month? That’s my money!»
«Exactly.»
«I’m saving for a car! I need to replace the tires!»
«And I’m supposed to give up my room for free. Indefinitely.»
«That’s different! Your room is empty!»
«Empty because it’s mine. I decide who gets to live in it.»
Vera Petrovna got up from the table.
«Here’s the deal,» she said quietly, her voice chilling. «If you don’t let Slavik in, I’m done with all of you. That means you, and Sergei too, since he’s the one who chose a wife like this. I won’t see any future grandchildren—so be it. Do you hear me, Sergei? It’s your choice.»
Sergei stood up too.
«Polya, you heard her. Make your decision now. Either Slavka moves in on Saturday, or…»
He didn’t finish the sentence. He thought the threat itself was intimidating enough. It always worked this way. He’d leave things unsaid, Polina would get scared, and then she’d start looking for a compromise.
Polina stood up from the table. Calmly, without any sudden movements. She pushed in her chair.
«Fine,» she said. «I’ve made my decision.»
She raised her hand and pointed at the hallway door.
«That’s the front door. Please, both of you.»
For a moment the kitchen fell silent. Then Vera Petrovna burst into laughter. Loud, full of amusement.
«Oh, I’m so scared! Did you hear that, Sergei? She’s kicking us out! Alright, alright, enough yelling. Let’s just cut the pie.»
Polina didn’t reply. She walked out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. She opened the closet, grabbed Sergei’s large blue suitcase from the top shelf—the one he brought with him when he moved in. She rolled it into the hallway and set it down right by the kitchen door, directly in front of her husband.
Sergei looked at the suitcase. Then at his wife. The smile slowly faded from his face.
«Wait, are you serious?»
«I’m serious.»
«Polina, what are you doing?» he started speaking quickly, his voice rising. «Over Slavka? Over a single room? You’re betraying me, do you get that? Your own husband! All because of your precious square meters! I’ve given you two years of my life!»
Polina didn’t answer. She went back into the bedroom and began to pack his things. Shirts from hangers. Jeans from the shelf. Socks from the drawer. His razor and toothbrush from the bathroom. His phone charger. Even the sweater she gave him last New Year. She folded everything carefully, methodically, as if preparing him for a business trip.
Sergei followed her around, trailing her every step.
«Polina, stop this. Please, that’s enough! Alright, let’s talk. Maybe Slavka could stay for a little while…»
«You never even told me he was moving in,» Polina said without turning around. «You made plans with your mom and with Gena. You picked a date. You were only going to tell me when he was standing in the hallway with his bags.»
«I was going to tell you!»
«When?»
He didn’t answer.
The suitcase was stuffed full. Polina put the rest of his things in two big supermarket bags and placed everything outside the apartment door, on the landing. Then she turned to her mother-in-law, who was still standing in the hallway, no longer laughing.
«And the key, Vera Petrovna. Please.»
Her mother-in-law stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, she unzipped her purse, took out her keychain, found the small brass key with the pink tag—one Polina never used— and set it on the console table.
«Let’s go, Sergei,» she said to her son. «Let her sit by herself and think. She’ll call within a week. And if she doesn’t, then that’s that.»
She took Sergei by the arm and led him out the door. Sergei looked back as if he wanted to say something, but Vera Petrovna pulled him toward the elevator.
Polina closed the door and turned the key twice to lock it.
Then she returned to the kitchen. Plates with leftover chicken and Vera Petrovna’s untouched pie stood on the table. Polina cleared everything into the sink, washed the dishes, wiped down the table. She wrapped the pie in a bag and took it to the trash chute. Then she sat by the window and stayed there for a long time, until the streetlights came on outside.
A week later, she didn’t call. Instead, she booked a consultation with a lawyer. The lawyer, an older woman with attentive eyes, looked over the apartment documents and said it was all straightforward. Bought before the marriage, mortgage paid off before the marriage, renovations done pre-marriage. There was no reason for the apartment to be divided—it’s your personal property. As for the rest of the jointly acquired property—if there’s no dispute, then there’s no issue.
Polina filed for divorce through the government service portal. Sergey received a notification inviting him to confirm. That same evening, he called her.
“Polya, are you serious? I thought you’d cool off.”
“I was never angry.”
“Look, let’s talk properly. My mom lost her temper, I lost my temper. Let me come back and we’ll discuss everything.”
“And Slava?”
Sergey hesitated.
“Well… Slavka is at Goshka’s, a friend of his, for now. But it won’t be for long, Goshka’s wife isn’t happy about it. Polya, could he at least stay for a month? Just one month, okay? He’ll find something after that, I promise.”
“No, Seryozha.”
“Why are you being like this?” There was irritation in his voice again. “I’m offering a reasonable solution!”
“You’re offering the same thing you did on Sunday. Just for a month this time.”
He kept calling several more times. Once, he even showed up at her door with flowers, rang the bell, and when Polina didn’t answer, he stood in the hallway for a long time, saying things through the door. About love, about how his mother wouldn’t interfere anymore, about how he understood everything now. Polina sat in the kitchen and listened. Then he said, “But Slava really has nowhere to go, Polina,” and she got up, went to the bedroom, and closed the door behind her so she wouldn’t hear any more.
Ten days later, Vyacheslav himself called from an unknown number.
“Polina? This is Slava. Listen, I’m sorry to call you. I just wanted to say… Mom told me you agreed. That you and Sergey discussed everything and the room was ready for me. I honestly didn’t know you weren’t aware. I feel so awkward, you can’t imagine.”
Polina was silent.
“I don’t blame you, Slava.”
“I found a place. I’m renting a room on Lesnaya with a guy who works on rotational shifts. It’s fine. I wouldn’t have stayed with you for long anyway… So, yeah. Sorry. Things fell apart for you guys because of me.”
“It wasn’t because of you,” Polina said.
Vyacheslav apologized again and hung up. Polina sat with the phone in her hand, realizing that, through all this time, the only person from Sergey’s family who ever apologized to her was the very brother they’d wanted her to let stay.
At the end of February, Sergey confirmed the joint application. In March, they came to the registry office. Vera Petrovna stayed waiting in the hallway and, when Polina walked by, she deliberately turned away to look out the window. Sergey signed, took the divorce certificate, and left without looking at his ex-wife even once.
Through a mutual friend, Polina heard that Sergey was now living with his mother and Gennady Ivanovich, sleeping on a cot in their kitchen. Vera Petrovna told everyone that her son had been kicked out by his wife—all just over a single room. Gennady Ivanovich wasn’t happy, but he kept his thoughts to himself. When Polina listened, she didn’t feel any spite or pity. She was just surprised at how quickly all of this had become so distant from her.
On the first Saturday after the divorce, she went to the furniture store and spent almost the entire day there. She picked out a sofa bed—one with a real orthopedic mattress that was actually comfortable for sleeping, unlike an old armchair. She got a bookshelf that reached the ceiling, a small desk, a floor lamp with a warm yellow shade, and a soft carpet in a beige checkered pattern.
The furniture arrived on Wednesday. Polina spent two evenings putting it all together by herself, following the instructions and using the electric screwdriver Sergey had forgotten in the storage closet. Once everything was ready, she unpacked her books and lined them up on the shelf, put fresh sheets on the sofa bed, and turned on the lamp. The room, which had stood empty for so long, suddenly felt warm and full of life.
Then she called her mom.
«Mom, come visit in April. You don’t have to stay forever, just for a month. You can live with me.»
Antonina Fyodorovna was silent for a moment on the phone.
«Polya, what about Seryozha? He doesn’t like it when I stay too long.»
«Seryozha’s not here, Mom. We got divorced.»
Her mom was quiet for a long time. Then she asked only one thing:
«How are you, my dear?»
«I’m good, Mom. Really, I am. Come visit. I have a sunny balcony where you can plant your seedlings—tomatoes, peppers, anything you want.»
«Oh, I still have seeds—’Bull’s Heart’ tomato seeds from last year, and they’re good,» her mom said with excitement. «And I’ll bring soil, too. Ours is so much better than that store-bought stuff.»
Antonina Fyodorovna arrived at the start of April with a plaid rolling bag holding a five-liter bucket of soil, a bag of seeds, and a jar of raspberry jam. Polina met her at the station. At home, her mom walked into the second room, stopped on the threshold, and stood looking at the sofa, the lamp, the wall of books.
«Is all this for me?»
«For you, Mom. Well, and for everyone, really.»
Her mom put her bag down on the carpet, sat on the edge of the sofa, and stroked her hand over the throw blanket.
«So soft,» she said. «Last time I stayed, my back was so sore from that chair. I never told you before.»
That evening, they sat in the kitchen, portioning soil into plastic cups. Her mom showed her how to plant the seeds just below the surface—not deeper than a fingernail. They lined up twenty-four cups on the sunny windowsill in the second room. Mom labeled each one with a marker: ‘Bull’s Heart,’ ‘Siberian Early,’ ‘California Pepper.’
Before bed, Polina peeked into the room. Her mom was already asleep, wrapped up to her chin in the blanket. On the windowsill in the darkness, twenty-four cups of earth stood lined up, and the open window let in a breath of spring air.
Polina lingered quietly in the doorway for a moment, then softly closed the door and went to her own room.
