— Yeah, I’m coming, I’m coming… Of all people—someone just had to show up,” I muttered as I opened the door.
Standing on the threshold was a girl of about eighteen, a scuffed backpack slung over her shoulders and a steady, light-eyed stare. No confusion—just iron determination.
“I’m staying with you for three months. My mom sent me to you. We’re family, right?” she declared without even saying hello, taking a step forward as if she’d already decided she was coming in.
I was stunned by the nerve.
“Hold on,” I said, blocking the doorway, feeling something boil inside me. “Who even are you? And who gave you permission—”
“I’m Dasha. From Kostomuksha. Lena’s daughter.” She adjusted her backpack strap, looking at me like I was the one who was supposed to be waiting. “You’re Anna, right? They gave me your address. Said you’re my third cousin and you’d take me in.”
“No one warned me!” I clenched my fists, her boldness making my blood rise. “And who said I’d take anyone in?”
“Where else am I supposed to go?” Dasha shrugged. There wasn’t a trace of pleading in her voice—only cold practicality. “I came to apply to the institute. I only had money for the trip. Mom said, ‘Go to Anna, she lives in the city, she’ll help.’ So I came.”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Anger flooded me. “I don’t owe you anything! Nothing at all! Go find a hostel, a dorm—”
“With what money?” Dasha smirked, but there was bitterness in it. “Listen, I didn’t come to beg. I’ll work. Clean, cook. Three months—and I’m out. I’ll get a job, rent a room. But right now I’ve got nowhere to go.”
Her bluntness threw me off. People usually apologize, ask, humiliate themselves. She just stood there and said it like it was.
“You do realize I’m married?” I lied, hoping it would scare her off. “My husband’s home sometimes. It’s… inconvenient.”
Dasha looked me up and down—starting with my slippers, all the way to my messy hair.
“Oh yeah?” she drawled skeptically. “Then where are his things? In the entryway it’s all women’s shoes. And it smells like… loneliness in here.”
I froze. How did a provincial kid have that kind of observational skill?
“Don’t mess with me,” Dasha sighed, and for the first time her voice softened. “I can see you’re alone. And I’m not the type to get in your way. On the contrary—you help me, I’ll help you. Honestly.”
Something in her tone made me falter. Behind the audacity was the exhaustion of a girl who’d traveled halfway across the country and was standing at a stranger’s door because she had nowhere else to go.
“Three months?” I repeated.
“Max. Maybe less if I get lucky with work.”
“And no… guests, drinking parties, chaos?”
“I’m not like that,” Dasha shook her head. “I came to study, not to fool around.”
I looked at her again. There was something about her that inspired trust. Maybe it was her honesty. She didn’t play poor orphan, didn’t cry. She just said it straight.
“Fine,” I stepped aside. “Come in. But at the first problem—”
“There won’t be any problems,” Dasha smiled for the first time, and her face immediately transformed. “Thank you, Anna. Seriously, thank you.”
She walked in and started taking off her shoes, glancing around my small two-room apartment.
“It’s cozy,” she said. “And clean. I’m clean too—don’t worry.”
“I don’t have a spare room,” I warned her. “You’ll sleep on the couch in the living room.”
“Works for me,” Dasha nodded. “So how’s work in the city? Where’s the best place to look?”
Just like that, she moved into my life. No tears, no drama—businesslike and grown-up. And strangely enough, her presence didn’t annoy me. If anything, the apartment felt more… alive.
The next day Dasha got a job as a waitress at a café. She came home tired but pleased.
“The owner’s nice,” she told me over dinner. “Said if I work well, she’ll adjust to my student schedule so I don’t have to quit school.”
“So you got into the institute?” I asked.
“I got in on a state-funded spot,” Dasha smiled. “Russian language and literature. I’m going to be a teacher.”
“Seriously?” I blinked. “Why didn’t you stay in Kostomuksha?”
Dasha’s face darkened.
“They don’t really want me there.” She hesitated. “My mom… she’s not my real mother. She took me in when I was little. And her relatives think I don’t owe them anything. So I had to figure things out myself.”
There was no self-pity in her voice—just a statement of fact. I found myself curious.
“And you don’t know your real parents?”
“My mother died when I was born. No one knows anything about my father,” Dasha shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. What matters is finding my place in life.”
A month passed. Dasha really was the perfect housemate—quiet, neat, always helping around the place. We even became friends.
That was when I decided to invite Roman over—a man I’d been seeing for a few weeks.
“Dash,” I said to her in the morning, “I’m having a guest tonight. A man. Could you go somewhere for a while?”
“Of course,” she nodded. “I’ll hang out at a friend’s place. So… is it serious?”
“I don’t know yet,” I felt myself blush. “But I like him.”
“Then good luck,” Dasha winked. “You’ve been waiting long enough for your happiness.”
But there was a line at the store, and I ran late. When I got to my floor, I saw a gloomy Roman coming out of the building.
“Roma!” I called. “I’m sorry, I got held up—”
“Anna,” he stopped, his face like stone. “I didn’t know you were married.”
“What?” I went cold. “Married to who?”
“Your… relative explained everything to me,” Roman shook his head. “Said your husband would be home soon and I should leave. Why did you lie to me?”
My heart dropped. I knew exactly what had happened.
“Roma, wait! It’s a misunderstanding!”
But he was already heading to his car.
“Don’t call me again,” he threw over his shoulder without turning back.
I stormed into the apartment, shaking with rage. Dasha was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, clearly waiting for me.
“What did you do?!” I exploded. “Why did you tell him about a husband?!”
“And don’t you have one?” Dasha asked calmly. “You told me from day one you did.”
I froze. She was right. I’d lied about a husband to scare her off.
“But that was… different,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling like an idiot.
“Anna,” Dasha set her cup down and looked at me seriously. “You want honesty? Then let’s be honest with each other. You don’t have a husband. And that Roman of yours—he’s not right for you.”
“How would you know?” I snapped.
“Because a normal man wouldn’t run away at the first hint of an obstacle. He’d fight for you. That one got scared and bolted. Do you really need someone like that?”
Her words hit home. I sank into a chair, feeling my anger give way to confusion.
“Maybe you’re right,” I admitted quietly. “I just… want someone рядом. Someone close.”
“You’ll find them,” Dasha smiled. “Just don’t grab the first person who shows up. You’re good. You deserve someone who matches that.”
In that moment I realized this eighteen-year-old girl was wiser than me in a lot of things.
A few days later, Dasha brought an injured man home.
“Anna,” she said firmly, “this is Sergey. He was beaten up outside, and he’s partially lost his memory. We need to help him.”
“Dasha, have you lost your mind?” I stared at the stranger’s blood-stained shirt. “What if he’s dangerous? Who even is he?”
“Look at him,” Dasha pointed at the man, who could barely stay on his feet. “Does he really look dangerous?”
And honestly—he didn’t. Even in his battered state, Sergey had something интеллигентное—an air of quiet intelligence.
“Sorry to bother you,” he murmured weakly. “If I can’t stay… I’ll go.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Dasha said decisively. “Anna, let’s at least treat the wound and let him stay until morning. Then we’ll see.”
I sighed. Saying no to Dasha was getting harder and harder.
“Fine. Until morning.”
In the morning Sergey looked better, but his memory still hadn’t returned.
“I can work,” he said. “Do something useful. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Do you even know how to do anything?” I asked.
“I don’t remember exactly,” he frowned. “But my hands seem to work.”
So he stayed. He helped around the house, fixed things, went for groceries. And strangely enough, his presence made our little “family” feel more complete.
One day, walking in the park, we ran into a woman who rushed at Sergey in tears.
“Seryozha! Brother!” she sobbed. “Where have you been? The whole city was looking for you!”
It turned out she was his sister. Sergey was a businessman. He’d taken out a loan from shady people, couldn’t pay it back on time—and that was what he got beaten for.
“Thank you,” the woman kept saying, “for taking him in. Mom and I had practically mourned him already.”
Sergey left with his sister, but the next day he came back.
“Anna,” he said, standing in the doorway with a bouquet. “I remembered everything. And I understood one thing.”
“What?”
“That a home isn’t walls. It’s people you feel good with. And I felt good here.”
He handed me an envelope.
“This is the money I took from you without asking before I left. And extra on top. I’m sorry.”
I took the envelope, but what moved me more than the money was his honesty.
“Anna,” Sergey continued. “Can I stay? Not as a guest, but as… part of the family?”
I looked at Dasha. She stood beside me, smiling.
“I think there are already three of us,” she said. “A fourth won’t hurt.”
And a month later, something came out that turned my life upside down.
My grandmother from the village called, worried about Dasha. And in the conversation she let something slip:
“Anya, do you know Dasha isn’t your third cousin?”
“Then who is she?”
“Your sister. On your mother’s side.”
Then came a long story about how nineteen years ago my mother had a daughter by another man and gave her to a relative in Kostomuksha to raise. My father left because of it.
When I told Dasha the truth, she was silent for a long time.
“You know what’s funny?” she finally said. “From day one I felt we were real family. Not third cousins—real. That’s why I acted so… boldly.”
“Forgive me,” I hugged her. “For not accepting you right away. For being cold.”
“And you forgive me,” Dasha laughed. “For barging into your life and flipping everything upside down.”
“And it’s good that you flipped it,” I smiled, looking at Sergey, who was making dinner in the kitchen. “Otherwise I’d still be living alone in my quiet little apartment.”
Six months passed. Sergey and I got married, Dasha enrolled in the institute and stayed living with us. Now we’re a real family—not by accident, but by choice.
And you know what the most important thing is? Sometimes people burst into our lives not to destroy something—but to build what we were missing.
Dasha brought into my life not only family ties, but the courage to be honest. Not to hide behind a lie about a nonexistent husband, not to push people away out of fear of being used.
And most importantly—she taught me that family isn’t only about blood. It’s about those who choose to stay, and who are ready to take responsibility for that choice.
And yes—I would take in a “distant relative” again. Only this time, I wouldn’t lie about a husband or pretend to be annoyed. Because I learned: honesty is the foundation not just of family, but of happiness.
