«Alla, it’s me!»
Polina’s voice echoed in the narrow hallway. Keys jingled as they fell into a ceramic vase—a ritual established by their mother back in childhood. She slipped off her shoes and smoothed down her tousled hair, then headed to the living room, mentally picturing the meeting with her sister and the aroma of hot tea.
But as soon as she crossed the threshold, she froze as if she had hit an invisible wall. On the old sofa—bought by their parents once for her fourteenth birthday—sat a woman about fifty years old. She looked at the newcomer with obvious interest, almost challengingly. The woman wore a housecoat, a sign that she felt quite at home there.
“Excuse me, but who are you?” Polina asked politely but with a slight confusion, glancing around for her sister.
“And who are you?” the woman responded in the same tone without moving, continuing to scrutinize the guest.
«Stories Within Four Walls» © (1040)
Polina involuntarily laughed at the reply, but the laughter quickly faded into tension.
“Are you seriously suggesting we play the question game? Let’s be adults: who are you and why are you in my sister’s apartment?”
At that moment, from the bedroom where she and Alla once shared a bunk bed, a girl of about sixteen emerged. Her hair was messy, her face sleepy—a typical teenager after lack of sleep.
“Great, another mysterious figure,” Polina muttered, then loudly called out: “Boris! Where are you? Come out and explain this situation!”
“He’s not home,” the girl said calmly, leaning against the door frame.
Polina looked her over carefully—from the tousled hair to the soft slippers.
“Then let’s start with you. What’s your name?”
“Lena.”
Polina nodded toward the woman on the sofa.
“And who is she?”
“My mother.”
Polina slapped her knee and, despite the tension, snorted.
“Probably Polina Stanislavovna? The mother of my future brother-in-law? Right?”
“Yes,” the woman nodded, slightly more animated for the first time. “And you’re Polina, Boris’s sister?”
“Lena,” corrected the girl. “Her name is Lena, not Boris. He’s my brother.”
“Oh, sorry,” Polina Stanislavovna waved her hand. “Age is showing.”
“Nice to meet you,” Polina replied dryly. “Now explain: what are you doing here? And more importantly—whose permission did you have?”
“And what are you doing here?” the mother-in-law responded with a question again.
“Damn it!” Polina exclaimed, beginning to shake with irritation. “Can we get some straight answers or keep swapping questions like a comedy?”
“I can answer,” Polina Stanislavovna said calmly, but no answer followed.
Polina turned to Lena.
“Listen, girl, does your mother speak clearly and to the point? Or does she have trouble with Russian?”
Lena first looked at her mother, then back at Polina and suddenly asked:
“And who are you anyway? Why should I explain anything to you?”
“Maybe I’m a horse in a coat?” Polina retorted sarcastically. “Fine, short: I’m Polina, Alla’s sister—the owner of this apartment. That is, your future relative. Clearer now?”
Meanwhile, Polina Stanislavovna slowly ran her palm over a nearby throw—a gesture of homely comfort that only annoyed Polina.
“Okay, I’ll try again,” Polina sighed. “What are you doing in my sister’s house?”
The mother-in-law looked away from the throw.
“Sitting.”
“Thanks for the important clarification,” Polina said sarcastically. “But I want to know the reason for your presence here.”
“Living,” the woman replied succinctly.
Polina felt her anger boiling inside but composed herself and tested her assumptions: she peeked into the bedroom—there were strangers’ belongings and a suitcase; in the bathroom, toothbrushes and cosmetics were found. Returning to the living room, she sank into an armchair.
“Now the picture’s clearer. Just to clarify: does Alla know you’re here?”
“Yes… well, I’ll tell her tomorrow for sure,” Polina Stanislavovna faltered.
“Simply brilliant!” Polina exclaimed. “First, you move in, get comfortable, and only then decide to warn her. Is your son, my future brother-in-law, aware of your ‘plans’?”
“Of course,” the woman nodded.
“Don’t you find it strange that you didn’t even bother to ask the owner’s permission?”
Lena intervened:
“Why are you interrogating Mom like an investigator? She owes you nothing!”
Polina gave her a teacher’s look.
“Are you in school?”
The girl nodded.
“Then remember the rules: to speak, you must raise your hand like this,” Polina showed the gesture. “So sit on the stool, put your hands on your knees, and stay quiet while adults talk.”
Lena looked at her mother offended but shrugged. The girl pouted but obediently took her place on the stool.
“That’s better. Good. And remember: adults talk, children listen,” Polina approved. “Now, Polina Stanislavovna, let’s get to the point. How did you get here? Who has the keys?”
“Borya gave them!” Lena couldn’t help but blurt out, forgetting the instruction.
“What did I just explain to you?” Polina said sternly. “Too late now. But info received. So Boris gave you the keys. Meanwhile, he himself isn’t here now—that is, a nobody.”
“But he’s your sister’s fiancé,” the mother-in-law argued as if it was irrefutable logic.
“Exactly—a fiancé. But not yet a husband. Those are different categories: legally and morally. Even if he were the lawful spouse, he wouldn’t have the right to manage someone else’s apartment without the owner’s consent. And the owner here is my sister Alla, not your son.”
Polina stood and approached an old cabinet, gently running her hand over its smooth surface.
“See this cabinet? Mom bought it with her first big prize. She won a professional contest and was so happy! And these bookcases—that was Dad’s work. Every Sunday, our whole family went to the bookstore on Nevsky. Dad let us pick any book—any!—then we’d go to the ‘Sever’ café. Parents drank coffee with pastries, and we dove into our book worlds.”
She ran her fingers along the spines of the volumes—about one and a half thousand. Not all read, but that doesn’t matter, Polina thought, surveying the home library.
Stopping in the middle of the room, she slowly scanned the living room: Our carpet, our wallpaper, our lamp… she counted silently, feeling irritation grow.
Turning to the mother-in-law who silently watched from the armchair, Polina asked:
“And what belongs to Boris here?”
The woman was silent, so Polina answered herself:
“Nothing.”
Her voice tinged with bitterness:
“Alla pays utilities, buys food, cleans, runs the household…”
She looked again at the mother-in-law, eyes full of pain and bewilderment:
“And what does your son do?”
A heavy silence hung. Polina Stanislavovna lowered her gaze and whispered almost inaudibly:
“Nothing.”
That word hung in the air like a verdict, confirming everything Polina had thought but hadn’t said.
“Well, go ahead, hit me?” the mother-in-law suddenly challenged.
Lena suddenly started raising her hand energetically, as if tormented by an important question.
“If you want to go to the bathroom—go,” Polina said shortly, without turning around.
The girl jumped up so sharply the stool almost tipped over.
“I don’t want to go to the bathroom! I want you to stop pestering my mom! My brother will soon become your sister’s husband!”
“Stop, girl,” Polina raised her hand. “You weren’t given the floor. Sit back down. Yes, ‘soon.’ Now, back to the main question: what are you doing here, Polina Stanislavovna?”
The mother-in-law stared at her unblinkingly.
“Living.”
“Don’t repeat yourself!” Polina cut her off sharply. “Answer clearly. To make it clearer for you—I will ask the question, and you will answer me syllable by syllable: What a-re you do-ing in this apartment?”
The woman was silent for a while, then straightened and replied defiantly:
“I don’t have to report to you. This is my daughter-in-law’s apartment; my son is getting married in two days and will live here. And I will live here too.”
“I’m amazed by your composure,” Polina ground out through her teeth.
Lena giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
Polina went to the doorframe and knocked.
“Knock-knock,” she said theatrically. “Is anyone home?”
Lena snorted, but Polina Stanislavovna remained impassive.
Polina headed to the exit but turned back at the door.
“I propose this: I go to the store, come back—you’re gone. I pretend nothing happened. But if I come back and you’re still here…”
She paused for a second, then added quietly:
“You better not know.”
Outside, Polina took out her phone and called her sister. Leaning against the building’s wall, she waited for the call to connect.
“Hello, Alla? It’s me.”
“Hi, Polina! How are you?” The voice sounded too cheerful to be sincere.
“Explain, finally, what’s going on?” Polina got straight to the point.
“Have you been home yet?” Alla asked cautiously.
“Yes, and I met your mother-in-law. By the way, she and her sister-in-law are rummaging through your bedroom.”
Alla sighed.
“I don’t know what to do with them anymore. She just sits and is silent all day.”
“Where’s Boris?” Polina asked, though she already guessed the answer.
“He…” Alla faltered.
“There’s your ‘he.’ How did you allow this?”
“I come home—she’s already with a suitcase. She hasn’t left for two days.”
“Did Boris give her the keys?”
“He brought her himself.”
“Even worse,” Polina frowned.
“I can’t argue with her—she’s my mother-in-law.”
“A mother-in-law isn’t family,” Polina retorted. “You can negotiate even with your mother. But this woman is no one to you. A stranger. Although the mother of your fiancé. But how did he bring her without telling you? And now that you’re unhappy, he does nothing. Does Polina Stanislavovna have her own place?”
“Yes, a two-room apartment.”
“Then why is she here?”
“She says our apartment is big and central.”
“Our apartment?” Polina stopped. “You already consider it ‘ours’?”
“Boris and I will live here…”
“Alla, you living with him is one thing. But why are his mother and sister living in your apartment? What business do they have here? Tell them to pack up and leave. Are you afraid to say it?”
Alla sighed again.
Polina was silent a moment.
“You’ve always been soft. Mind if I talk to your fiancé?”
“Again?” Alla laughed.
“What ‘again’?”
“Remember when you decided to talk to Arthur at school? They called us to the principal’s office after.”
“He was slow-witted. But his father, seeing who came, immediately dropped all claims. Don’t worry, I’ll just talk to Boris. Promise—he’ll behave.”
Alla laughed.
“Talk, but be careful. After all, he’s my fiancé.”
“I won’t even touch him.”
“Feet then?” the sister teased.
“Enough. Promise—no unnecessary moves. I’ll contact him, then let you know. Meanwhile, don’t come home yet.”
Polina hung up and headed to the entrance. A tough conversation awaited.
Opening the door, she loudly announced:
“Knock-knock! If you didn’t hide—can’t blame me!”
Boris appeared from the corridor—tall, about twenty-eight, with a confused expression.
“Polina! So good you’re here!” He tried to hug her.
Polina stopped him with a gesture.
“No hugs. Come here.”
Boris obeyed. Polina studied him for several seconds, then nodded.
“Looks like a person—hands, legs, head all in place. Now explain: how could you bring your mother into this apartment without your fiancée’s permission?”
“Polina, I respect you, but this isn’t your business,” Boris replied and tried to leave.
Polina grabbed his shoulder sharply.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me—it’s dangerous. I ask politely: why are strangers in this apartment? Don’t tell me about the city center or family ties. I want specifics: what are they doing here?”
“To you they’re strangers. To Alla, no,” Boris stubbornly answered.
“That’s not an answer.”
The mother-in-law intervened:
“Girl, how do you talk to my son?”
Polina looked at her in surprise—it seemed the woman hadn’t moved from the sofa all this time. Lena peeked out of the bedroom again.
Polina stepped close to Boris and poked him in the chest.
“When our parents died, I promised to take care of my sister. I keep my word.”
The mother-in-law spoke again:
“Alla is an adult. She has a man, she decides for herself. She doesn’t need a protector in the form of a sister.”
Polina looked at her with interest.
“Oh! You’re active now! Where’s your off button? I’m not talking to you now. Hands on knees—and be silent.”
“Brat!” Lena couldn’t hold back.
“Girl, you don’t even know me, so sit next to mommy and be quiet,” Polina said calmly but firmly.
“Polina, enough!” Boris interrupted. “I will resolve all family matters only with Alla.”
“Only with ‘yours’?” Polina repeated sarcastically. “You consider her your property now?”
Polina Stanislavovna spoke again:
“Why pick on words? I said I live here, my son is marrying, Alla will be his wife.”
“Interesting,” Polina drawled, “when exactly did my sister give you such permission?”
Without waiting for an answer, she went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. From behind came muffled voices of Boris and his mother, but Polina did not hurry back. Thoughts swirled: why did Boris bring his mother here? She understood Alla—she was always soft, rarely said no. That’s why a week ago she called her asking to come early—she didn’t know what to do. Polina had planned to fly to the wedding anyway, but had to change tickets to speed things up.
She stood in the kitchen watching the water boil, taking her time to think. It seemed Boris and his mother were simply trying to wear Alla down.
When the kettle clicked off, Polina took out coffee, scooped a spoonful, added sugar, and began stirring slowly. Thoughts began to form a logical chain. She could call the police—that would be the easiest way. But she decided to act differently.
When Polina returned to the room, all three fell silent. She stood in the doorway holding a cup of coffee, looking at them calmly. Boris was the first to break the silence.
“So, what are you doing here anyway?”
“Came to my sister’s wedding,” Polina answered evenly. “Problem?”
“No, but don’t impose your rules,” he started.
“Better be quiet about rules,” Polina interrupted. “I’m still thinking what to do with you.”
The mother-in-law finally got up—the sofa creaked under her—and headed toward Polina.
“Alla doesn’t have to obey you anymore. She’s an adult, finished college, has a fiancé, will become his wife in two days.”
“Blah-blah-blah,” Polina reacted. “Can you be more specific?”
“Polina, I respect you as Alla’s sister, but please—don’t interfere,” Boris said.
Polina left the room without comment, sat in an armchair, crossed her legs, and looked at her phone. No messages from her sister. After drinking coffee, she slowly went to the kitchen, washed the cup, and carefully put it back.
In the kitchen, Polina mentally sighed: “God, what nonsense is going on in this apartment…” Raising a corner of her mouth, she dialed Alla’s number.
“Hi, baby,” she said hearing her sister’s voice. “I’m talking with your future relatives here. Looks like Plan A failed. You don’t mind if I switch to Plan B?”
Laughter came from the receiver.
“I remember when you switched to Plan B with Vitya—they had to put a cast on him afterward.”
“I didn’t break anything,” Polina said seriously. “He slipped and twisted his leg. Not my doing. Okay, with your silent consent, I’m starting Plan B.”
Alla wanted to say something else, but the line went dead.
Meanwhile, Alla stood by the entrance, had approached the door several times, but kept coming back. The sister asked not to interfere—that meant no interference. She loved Boris. Madly, foolishly, painfully, deeply. So much that she couldn’t sleep—wanted either to howl or to dance. She didn’t understand herself. But one thing was certain—she loved him.
But since Polina Stanislavovna appeared in the house, everything changed. She tried to talk to Boris, but he found many excuses: mom feels better here, air is cleaner, place is convenient. Never asked how she felt about it.
Once, Boris mentioned that his mother wanted to rent out her apartment and split the income half and half—with part for herself and part for her son. Then Alla asked herself: what do I get from all this? No answer found.
She tried talking to the mother-in-law herself—but she sat like a statue, nodded, but beyond short “yes” and “no,” said nothing. No hint she planned to leave.
Alla looked at the clock—it was already eight in the evening. She quickly typed a message: “I’m going to the movies.” A second later came the reply: “Run, I’ll try Plan A again.”
Alla smiled. Talking to Boris had become pointless—he, like his mother, simply ignored her. So she decisively turned and went to the Goodwin mall, where there was a big cinema.
The film seemed to be sci-fi—someone came, someone fought, someone won. Alla barely remembered anything. She returned home cautiously—Plan B might be peaceful or not. That “not” scared her.
Outside was cool. Alla shrugged and quickened her pace. Approaching the entrance, she looked around—no one. Taking her key, she rode the elevator to the fourth floor. She stepped out carefully, listened—silence. She went to the door and opened it.
“I’m home!” she said loudly, so as not to cause sudden noises.
No answer.
She took off her shoes and entered the room.
“Who’s here?”
“Don’t shout,” Polina whispered.
Alla turned on the light. Everything was in place—furniture, glass, pictures. No bedding on the sofa, the suitcase was gone. The apartment looked almost perfect.
“Where are they?” Alla asked.
“Left. Polina Stanislavovna—no idea.”
“And Boris?”
“Somewhere outside.”
Alla sat down next to her.
“I didn’t know what to do. Tried to talk to Polina Stanislavovna and Boris—they seemed not to hear me.”
“You don’t argue with a virus. Though they’re more like parasites. And parasites aren’t cured—they’re destroyed. Tell me, what did you find in Boris? He’s like a rag—neither yes nor no. Not a man, but…”
“I love him.”
“Fool. Wake up before it’s too late. They’ll eat you alive and you won’t even notice. You take after Mom—soft, compliant. That can’t be in this world, Alla.”
“I know, but I can’t.”
Polina waved her hand.
“I know. So, how was the movie?”
“Don’t remember. I think I didn’t watch it at all.”
“Then let’s eat. I found some potatoes, made mashed, fried mushrooms. And a good jar—your mushrooms taste great.”
Polina stood and turned to her sister. Alla gasped.
“What happened to you?”
“That was, I think, Plan B,” Polina said calmly.
Alla came closer. On her sister’s face were signs of bruising: a black eye, a torn sweater.
“You fought?”
“No, what are you talking about,” Polina waved it off. “Just had to throw out the sister-in-law by the scruff—she kicked like a cat. And Boris… acted strangely. Kept grabbing my chest and looking under my bra. Imagine, a pervert!”
“He…”
“Yes, but I felt awkward fighting him—it’s still your fiancé. Decided to spare him—who knows, might still be useful. But your mother-in-law… had to be a bit tougher. Sorry, pulled her hair.”
“Damn, you’re crazy!” Alla exclaimed. “What do I say to them now?!”
“Sis, look around,” Polina interrupted.
Alla looked around and shrugged confused.
“Do you see your mother-in-law here? Sister-in-law? Fiancé?”
“Why did you throw Boris out?” Alla reproached.
“Maybe you’ll make up. But I couldn’t stand that impudence. Honestly—it’s beyond me.”
Polina paced the room, then suddenly stopped.
“Damn, I wanted to beat them up! If not for my promise to you…”
She walked again.
“If I hadn’t promised, long ago…”
Alla approached and hugged her sister.
“Calm down, please.”
They were silent for a minute. Then Alla quietly said:
“Let’s have dinner, I’m hungry.”
“Now that’s real! By the way, you have beer. We’ll get drunk.”
“What expressions you use…”
“Translate it: drink, get drunk, binge,” Polina added seriously.
Alla laughed.
The next morning, around ten, Alla stood at the entrance of Polina Stanislavovna’s house. She knew Boris should be there since he didn’t sleep at home. The sisters talked all night, not about the fiancé or mother-in-law, but about childhood, parents, trips, and how long since they’d been to the sea. Just talked about everything, like before.
Alla crossed herself mentally and spat over her left shoulder. Then pressed the doorbell. After a few seconds, hurried steps sounded—the door opened slightly, and Lena’s face appeared. Seeing her sister-in-law, the girl immediately slammed the door.
Alla waited a moment, then kicked the door open with a bang. Boris appeared on the threshold.
“Hi,” he said unhappily.
“And you, too,” Alla replied shortly and entered without asking.
Polina Stanislavovna peeked from the corridor.
“Good afternoon,” Alla greeted.
The woman muttered something and disappeared into her room.
Alla looked at the fiancé.
“We need to talk.”
“Do you know what happened yesterday? Your sister…”
“Shut up,” Alla cut him off sharply.
She stared at the man whose lips she had kissed, knew every wrinkle on his face, counted his eyebrows before they turned gray. A strange, almost mad smile appeared on her face.
“You hit my sister?” she asked.
Boris slowly raised his eyes.
“She started it.”
“You hit my sister?” Alla repeated.
“Yes! I hit her. So what? Do you know what she did? She…”
He didn’t finish. In the next moment, Alla slapped him hard across the face. Boris flew back against the wall from the force.
“Wow,” flashed through her mind.
The mother-in-law ran out, eyes wide with surprise—she didn’t understand what was happening: her son was lying on the floor, and the bride stood over him like a victor.
“You hit my sister?! That’s like hitting me! You attacked me, you…” Alla said calmly but every word was clear and terrifying.
“She started it first! And she…” Boris shouted.
Again, he was cut off. Alla sharply turned her palm and struck him on the nose. Boris, unprepared, recoiled, overturned a chair, and crashed to the floor.
Alla entered the room.
“You seem to have forgotten how dangerous women are when you hurt them. You hit my sister!”
She grabbed a nearby laptop and smashed it against Boris. He didn’t even have time to dodge.
Polina Stanislavovna finally realized what was happening—her son was being beaten by a girl half his size. She lunged at Alla, but the latter deftly put a chair in the way. The mother-in-law flew over the back and loudly fell to the floor.
Lena watched from the side all this time—unable to laugh, interfere, or even sigh.
Alla dusted off her hands and addressed her ex-fiancé lying among the furniture debris.
“How dare you bring your mother into my house when I told you no? You spat on me. Your mother spat on me. You mocked me, and now you complain that my sister hurt you?”
Boris tried to stand up, holding his bleeding lip.
“Alla, what are you doing?! I…”
“What a pathetic, disgusting man you are,” she said disdainfully. “I really loved you. Until you said your mother would stay here.”
She stepped forward, and Boris immediately backed away, tangled in the debris.
“Do you think I’ll grovel before you?” Alla continued quietly. “No, I’m not Polina. She replaced our parents after they died. But I can be tough, too.”
“Alla, calm down!” Boris yelled, trying to get up. “You’re crazy!”
“You’re a beast,” she said coldly. “Fighting with my sister… how low.”
Polina Stanislavovna finally got up, leaning on her bruised hip.
“What do you think you’re doing, little bitch?! Beating my son?!”
Alla didn’t even turn around. She still held the broken laptop—the screen cracked, the body bent—but she didn’t care. She swung and threw it at the wall. Boris instinctively covered his head.
“There will be no wedding,” Alla said calmly. “Go to hell. And don’t you dare come near me.”
Turning, she headed for the exit. Passing Lena, she winked. The girl unexpectedly winked back.
The mother-in-law, still on her knees, clung to the chair trying to get up.
“Wait! What about the wedding?”
Alla stopped at the door. Hearing the word, she laughed loudly.
“What a family! Brilliant!”
With those words, she left, carefully closing the door behind her.
A minute later she was outside, walking quickly without looking back. She knew Boris would run after her. The door slammed behind, footsteps hurried. But as soon as Alla saw Polina, the steps stopped. She smiled to herself.
“Coward.”
Polina came over, took her sister’s hand, and examined her palm.
“I was just about to come help you.”
“No need. I managed,” Alla replied.
“I see,” Polina glanced at Boris standing at the entrance, holding a handkerchief to his nose. “Hope you didn’t break anything?”
Alla didn’t answer. Pressing close to her sister, she quietly cried.
They walked silently for about ten minutes. Polina knew sometimes it’s better to let it out. She herself had gone through that.
Finally, Alla straightened, wiped her tears, and confidently said:
“Listen, did we have breakfast today?”
Polina shook her head.
“Then I’m hungry. I want to eat.”
“There’s a place to have a tasty breakfast,” Polina smiled.
The girls laughed—loudly, freely, easily. Their laughter carried even to Boris, who still lingered at the entrance. He cursed himself, Polina, Alla, then himself again. Sometimes he thought of his mother—and cursed her too. Sometimes thought of his sister—cursed her, though not knowing why.
And Alla and Polina had long since disappeared around the corner.
