Irina checked the grocery list one last time before closing the trunk. Cans of stew, pasta, grains, vegetables for salad—enough for a week of peaceful rest. Their son, Artyom, was already in the back seat with his tablet, and her husband, Nikolai, was starting the car.
“Finally we’ll make it to the dacha,” Irina said, settling into the front seat. “A whole week of quiet, no city fuss.”
The autumn air was cool, but the sun was still warm. It was the perfect time for one last trip to the country before winter. Irina was mentally making plans: in the morning she would pick the last apples from the trees, in the afternoon cook something tasty over the fire, and in the evening read by the fireplace.
“Mom, can I fish in the pond?” eight-year-old Artyom asked.
“Of course, sweetie. The rods are in the shed, where we left them last time.”
The drive to the dacha took two hours. Irina was already picturing herself opening the gate, breathing in the scent of pines, and seeing the neat garden beds she’d weeded in September. The dacha had come to Irina from her grandmother three years earlier, and since then it had become a true family refuge.
But when Nikolai turned onto the familiar road, Irina frowned. Smoke was rising over the property, and loud voices and children’s laughter drifted from behind the fence.
“Strange,” Irina muttered. “Someone’s on the property.”
Nikolai stopped the car by the gate and turned off the engine. Through the cracks in the fence they could see people sitting on the veranda, and children’s toys scattered across the lawn.
“Maybe the neighbors are celebrating something?” Nikolai ventured, though his voice sounded uncertain.
Irina got out of the car and walked to the gate. The sight that met her made her stop dead. Running the place was Svetlana, Irina’s sister-in-law, along with her husband Valery and their two children. The table on the veranda was crowded with plates of leftover food, the grill was smoking nearby, and a makeshift tent was strung between the apple trees.
Svetlana’s children—nine-year-old Katya and seven-year-old Maksim—were racing across the lawn with a ball, trampling the last flowers in the flowerbed. Valery was sprawled in a garden chair with a can of beer, while Svetlana rummaged through a basket of things.
“What is going on here?” Irina said quietly.
Svetlana looked up and saw Irina standing at the gate. Her face changed at once—her relaxed smile gave way to an irritated scowl.
“What are you doing here with your maggots?” she shouted crudely, jerking her chin toward Nikolai and Artyom. “No room! Get lost!”
Irina slowly opened the gate and stepped onto the property, trying to keep her voice even.
“Svetlana, this is my dacha. Who gave you permission to set up here?”
“Your dacha?” Svetlana set the basket on the table and planted her hands on her hips. “Got the papers to prove it? Maybe you forged them.”
Nikolai and Artyom appeared behind Irina. The boy pressed himself to his mother, staring fearfully at his shouting aunt.
“Nikolai,” Irina addressed her husband, “tell your sister that the dacha belongs to me under my grandmother’s will.”
Nikolai stood silent, shifting from foot to foot and staring at the ground. He clearly didn’t want to get involved in a conflict between his wife and sister.
“Well, what are you standing there for, Kolya?” Svetlana chimed in. “Explain to your wife that family matters more than some pieces of paper.”
Valery got up from the chair and sauntered over. The smell of alcohol hung about him, though it was only the start of the day.
“Listen, Irka,” Valery began, “we’ve been set up here for three days now. The kids are resting, breathing fresh air. Don’t chase us off like dogs.”
“Three days?” Irina repeated. “So you’ve been living here three days without permission?”
“Permission for what?” Svetlana snorted. “We’re relatives! Or did you forget that Nikolai is my brother?”
Artyom tugged at his mother’s sleeve.
“Mom, why is Aunt Sveta so mean?” the boy whispered.
Svetlana heard and swung toward the child.
“And you, squirt, better keep quiet! The adults are talking!”
Irina instinctively shielded her son, stepping between him and Svetlana.
“Don’t you dare yell at my child!” Irina said sharply.
“Whoa, look at you go!” Svetlana laughed. “You show up with your brood without warning and then have the nerve to complain!”
“Svetlana,” Irina said slowly, struggling not to lose her temper, “let’s settle this peacefully. Pack your things and clear out. We came to rest, as planned.”
“We’re not packing anything!” Svetlana shouted. “There’s room for everyone here. Pitch your tent somewhere in the corner and don’t bother normal people trying to relax.”
Irina looked to her husband for support, but Nikolai still said nothing. He even turned away, pretending to study the apple trees.
“Nikolai,” Irina called, “did you hear what your sister just said?”
“Well…” Nikolai mumbled, “maybe we really could work something out? There’s a lot of space…”
Irina froze. Her own husband was taking the side of the squatters who had moved in without asking.
“Work something out?” Irina repeated. “On my own dacha?”
Svetlana’s children kept running around the lawn, oblivious to the growing conflict. Katya accidentally stepped onto the late carrots, crushing several plants.
“Katya, watch the garden beds!” Irina shouted.
“Don’t boss my kids around!” Svetlana snapped. “This isn’t some museum, it’s a dacha. Kids need someplace to play.”
Valery went back to his chair and popped open another beer.
“Ladies, enough yapping,” he said. “Irka, go peel some potatoes. We’re making shashlik.”
The brazenness took Irina’s breath away. She clenched her fists, feeling the anger swell.
“Listen carefully, all of you,” Irina said, clear and loud. “Either you pack up and leave within an hour, or I’m calling the police.”
Svetlana burst out laughing.
“The police? For what? Because relatives came to the dacha? What are they going to tell you—‘live in harmony’?”
“For unlawfully occupying someone else’s property,” Irina replied. “It’s called trespassing on private land.”
“Ooh, I’m terrified!” Svetlana kept laughing. “Kolya, hear how smart your wife is? A real armchair lawyer!”
Artyom tugged at his mother’s clothes again.
“Mom, are we going to live here?” the boy asked quietly.
Irina looked at her son, then at the strangers’ things strewn around the yard, then at her husband, who still hadn’t said a word in defense of his family. She understood: a scene in front of the child would do no good. But she didn’t want to back down either.
“Artyom, get in the car,” she said softly. “For now we’re going back to the city.”
“Now that’s more like it!” Svetlana called out. “Too many freeloaders around here… Think a piece of paper lets them boss everyone around.”
Irina turned and walked to the gate. Nikolai hurried after his wife.
“Ira, where are you going?” he asked. “Maybe we really should stay? I’ll talk to Sveta…”
“You’ll talk?” Irina stopped and looked at her husband. “Three days ago your sister took over my dacha and you said nothing. She’s rude now and mouthing off, and you propose negotiating. What is there to talk about?”
“She didn’t mean any harm… It’s just Sveta’s nature.”
“Her nature?” Irina shook her head. “Nikolai, that’s not ‘nature.’ It’s basic disrespect.”
Her husband lowered his head. Behind them, Svetlana was loudly telling Valery something, waving her hands.
“What do you want to do?” Nikolai asked.
“Think,” Irina answered curtly. “And plan.”
She got into the car beside her son. Artyom looked at his mother questioningly but didn’t ask anything.
“Mom, are we coming back tomorrow?” he asked quietly.
“Absolutely,” Irina said firmly. “It’s our dacha, and we’ll be the ones to relax here.”
Nikolai started the car and pulled away from the property. In the rearview mirror, Irina saw Svetlana waving her hand as if shooing away pesky intruders.
On the drive back to the city, Irina stayed silent, thinking things through. A direct confrontation had led nowhere—her sister-in-law and Valery had no intention of yielding. Nikolai clearly wasn’t ready to stand up to his sister. That meant she would have to act herself—smarter and craftier.
“Nikolai,” Irina said when the car stopped at a traffic light, “tomorrow morning we’re going back.”
“Why?” her husband was surprised. “They won’t leave.”
“You’ll see,” Irina replied shortly.
At home she sat at the computer for a long time, studying information about a dacha owner’s rights. Then she called a lawyer she knew and clarified a few important points. By evening, she had a plan.
Svetlana clearly thought she had scared Irina and there would be no more trouble. But she was badly mistaken. Tomorrow Irina would return, and the overconfident occupiers would find out who they were dealing with.
All night Irina replayed her sister-in-law’s insolent words and her husband’s empty silence. Lying next to peacefully sleeping Nikolai, she thought about how Svetlana had crudely insulted Artyom, how Valery had demanded she peel potatoes as if she were the help. What upset her most was her husband’s behavior—Nikolai had just stood by while his wife and child were being treated with contempt.
In the morning Irina got up before everyone else and opened the phone directory. She needed to find a locksmith who could change the locks at the dacha that very day.
“Hello, locksmith service?” Irina spoke quietly into the phone so as not to wake the family. “I need the locks changed at a country house. Today, as soon as possible.”
The locksmith agreed to come in two hours. Irina packed quickly, left a note for her husband saying she’d gone to run errands, and headed to the dacha alone.
On the way she considered her next steps. Simply changing the locks wasn’t enough—she needed to remove all the squatters’ things from the property. Otherwise Svetlana would make such a scene the neighbors for a kilometer around would hear it.
When Irina drove up to the gate, the property was empty. Valery’s car was nowhere in sight, and their things still lay scattered around the veranda and lawn. The sister-in-law’s family had apparently gone out for groceries, counting on continuing their unlawful vacation.
“Perfect timing,” Irina murmured, opening the gate with her old key.
Half an hour later the locksmith arrived—a man in his forties with a toolbox.
“Hello,” Irina greeted him. “I need the locks changed on the house and the gate. Strangers have the old keys.”
“Got it,” the locksmith nodded. “Do you have the documents for the house?”
Irina showed him the certificate of inheritance and the extract from the property registry. He studied the papers carefully and got to work.
While he removed the old locks, Irina walked around the property gathering the others’ belongings. Children’s toys, Svetlana’s clothes, a makeup bag, even toothbrushes—all of it went neatly into large bags.
“All set,” the locksmith said, handing Irina the new keys. “These are quality locks—you won’t open them without the right key.”
Irina paid him and was left alone on the property. Holding the gleaming keys, she felt for the first time in twenty-four hours that she had things under control. The dacha belonged only to her again.
She carefully set the packed bags outside the gate. Let Svetlana understand at once that the days of free vacations were over.
She didn’t have to wait long. An hour later an engine roared, and Valery’s car pulled up to the gate. Irina sat on the veranda with a cup of coffee, watching.
Svetlana leapt from the car first and saw the bags by the gate. Her face flushed with fury.
“What is the meaning of this?!” she screamed, flailing her arms. “They kicked me out like a stranger!”
Valery went to the gate and tried the old key. Naturally, it didn’t fit.
“Hey, Irka!” he shouted. “Did you change the locks?”
“Exactly,” Irina answered evenly, walking up to the fence. “This is my property, and I won’t let you run it anymore. If you want shashlik, have it at your own place.”
“You’ve lost your mind!” Svetlana screeched. “We’re relatives! How can you treat your brother’s family like this?”
“Relatives usually ask permission before moving into someone else’s dacha,” Irina replied calmly. “And they don’t insult the owners or their children.”
Katya and Maksim stood beside their parents, not understanding why the adults were fighting. The kids were tired from the long grocery trip and wanted to go back into the house where they’d spent the last few days.
“Mom, why can’t we go in?” Katya asked.
“Because Aunt Ira’s gone crazy!” Svetlana snapped. “She decided the dacha belongs only to her!”
“It does belong only to me,” Irina said coolly. “I have all the documents to prove ownership.”
Valery made as if to climb over the fence, but Irina warned him:
“Valery, that will be considered unlawful entry onto private property. I advise you not to risk it.”
“And what are you going to do?” he snorted, but he stepped away from the fence.
Svetlana pulled out her phone and started dialing.
“I’m calling the police right now!” she threatened. “Let them decide who’s right!”
“Excellent idea,” Irina agreed. “You can explain to them why you lived on someone else’s dacha for three days without permission.”
Twenty minutes later the local district officer’s car pulled up to the gate. A middle-aged man in uniform got out.
“Good afternoon,” the officer said. “We got a complaint about an unlawful seizure of property. Who owns the dacha?”
“I do,” Irina replied, passing her documents through the fence. “Here’s the certificate of inheritance and the registry extract.”
The officer examined the papers carefully and compared Irina’s passport details with the property documents.
“Everything checks out,” he said. “And what are your complaints against the owner?”
“She kicked us out!” Svetlana protested. “We’re relatives—we have the right to rest here!”
“Family ties do not grant the right to use someone else’s property without the owner’s permission,” the officer explained. “The owner has full authority to decide who may be on her premises.”
“But we were already living here! Our things were inside!” Svetlana persisted.
“Their things are by the gate,” Irina pointed to the bags. “Everything was gathered carefully and not damaged.”
The officer nodded.
“The owner acted properly. Unlawful occupation of someone else’s dacha is indeed a violation. I recommend resolving this peacefully and not allowing such situations again.”
Svetlana realized the police weren’t going to force Irina to let relatives onto the property. She grabbed the bags, slammed the car door, and drove off with her family.
Irina watched the car disappear and went back inside. The property was quiet again. She walked through the rooms, opened the windows to air the house out, and sat by the fireplace with a book.
An hour later Nikolai arrived with their son. He looked bewildered.
“Ira, Svetlana called me,” Nikolai began. “She says you changed the locks and threw them out.”
“That’s right,” Irina confirmed without looking up from her book.
“But why didn’t you warn me? We could have worked something out another way…”
Irina closed the book and looked at her husband.
“Nikolai, yesterday your sister called our son a maggot, was rude to me, and demanded that I leave my own dacha. And you kept silent. What kind of ‘working things out’ are we talking about?”
“Well… Sveta has a difficult personality, but she didn’t mean any harm…”
“Stop,” Irina cut him off. “I don’t care what kind of personality your sister has. What matters is that the dacha belongs to me, and I will decide who gets to be here.”
Nikolai sat down across from his wife.
“So what now? Svetlana’s mad at me, says I don’t keep my wife in line.”
“Do you want to ‘keep me in line’?” Irina asked.
“No, of course not… It’s just awkward. We’re family.”
“Family is you, me, and Artyom,” Irina said firmly. “Your sister needs to learn to respect other people’s property. Either you understand that, or the next bag of belongings by the gate will be yours.”
Nikolai turned pale. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how serious his wife was.
“You’re not joking?” he asked quietly.
“Not in the least,” Irina replied. “I’m tired of my opinion not counting in my own house. Either you’re on my side, or you can join your sister.”
Artyom, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, came over to his mother.
“Mom, are we going to live here by ourselves now?” he asked.
“Yes, sweetie,” Irina smiled. “Now it’ll be quiet and peaceful here.”
Nikolai understood that his wife wasn’t bluffing. He nodded and never brought up reconciling with his sister again.
That evening the family sat by the fireplace. Irina read, Artyom built with his construction set, and Nikolai silently watched the flames. The dacha was once again what it was meant to be—a quiet family refuge where no one would be rude or lay down their own rules.
From that day on, Svetlana never showed up at the dacha again. She realized Irina wasn’t someone who could be intimidated or forced to yield. And Nikolai learned an important lesson: sometimes you have to choose between your wife and your relatives—and you need to choose correctly.
