Natalya was drying her hands with a kitchen towel when the doorbell rang. October evening had already swallowed the city in darkness, and she wasn’t expecting anyone. Her husband, Igor, was in the living room watching the news. On the doorstep stood Alina—Igor’s younger sister—smiling broadly, a box of pastries in her hands.
“Hi! Can I come in?” Alina said, stepping into the entryway without waiting for an answer.
“Hello, Alina. Sure, come in,” Natalya replied, closing the door behind her.
Igor stood up from the couch and hugged his sister. Alina headed straight to the kitchen and set the pastries on the table.
“I was nearby and thought I’d stop in. It’s been forever!”
“Sit down—want some tea?” Natalya offered.
Alina nodded. The women sat at the table, and Igor joined them. At first it was small talk—weather, work, a new series. Then Alina finally got to what she’d come for.
“Listen, I have a favor to ask,” she said, pushing her cup aside. “I’m getting married.”
“Congratulations!” Natalya said, genuinely pleased. “When’s the wedding?”
“In two months. But there’s a problem… We need a loan for the celebration. The banquet, the dress, the rings—you know, we want it to look nice. And the bank requires registration in a good district. Maxim is registered in a dorm, and I’m registered at Mom’s tiny Khrushchyovka on the outskirts. The bank keeps refusing us.”
Igor frowned.
“So what do you want?”
“To register at your address. Just for a little while! Only for the bank—so they approve the loan. Then I’ll deregister right away, I promise.”
Natalya glanced at her husband. The house had been left to her by her parents three years earlier. Every document was in her name—clean, no debts. A spacious two-story home in a good area. She didn’t want to register anyone else there.
“Alina, that’s a serious thing,” Natalya began carefully. “Registration gives a person certain rights…”
“Oh, Natash, I’m not a stranger! I’m Igor’s sister! And it’s truly temporary. Maxim doesn’t need it—only me. Please!”
Igor rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d always felt sorry for his little sister. Alina grew up without a father, their mother worked two jobs. Igor tried to help however he could—money, advice, fixing problems.
“Natash… maybe we should help,” he said softly. “It’s for her wedding.”
Natalya sighed. She didn’t want to say no, but something uneasy stirred in her chest.
“Fine. But only while the loan paperwork is being handled. After that, you deregister.”
“Of course! Thank you so much!” Alina jumped up and hugged Natalya. “You’re saving me!”
A week later, the registration was done. Alina brought the papers, signed what she needed, thanked them again. She swore the moment the bank approved the loan, she’d remove herself from their address.
The wedding took place in early November. Natalya and Igor attended. It was lavish: lots of guests, live music, an expensive restaurant. Alina sparkled in her bright white dress, and her new husband, Maxim, barely left her side.
“See? It worked!” Igor shouted to Natalya over the music. “Good thing we helped!”
Natalya nodded. Alina came up with a glass of champagne and hugged them both.
“Thank you! We couldn’t have done it without you! You’re amazing!”
After the wedding, the newlyweds went on a short honeymoon. They came back a week later. Natalya expected Alina to start the deregistration process, but her sister-in-law didn’t call or text. A month passed. Natalya reminded Igor:
“Igor, your sister forgot what she promised. Will you call her?”
“Sure. I’ll call now.”
He did. The conversation was short. Igor hung up and shrugged.
“She says soon. Just more bank paperwork. When it’s done, she’ll deregister.”
Another month passed. Natalya reminded him again. Igor called again. Alina promised again.
December arrived cold and snowy. Natalya was getting ready for New Year’s—decorating the house, planning the menu. One Friday evening the doorbell rang. Natalya opened the door and saw Alina and Maxim. Behind them were two huge suitcases and several bags.
“Hi!” Alina said cheerfully. “Can we come in?”
“Hello…” Natalya stepped back, stunned.
Alina and Maxim dragged the luggage inside. Igor came out of his office and stared at them.
“Alina? What happened?”
“Igoryok, we’ve got trouble with the rental,” Alina said, taking off her coat and hanging it up. “The owner suddenly sold the apartment. The new buyers move in three days. We didn’t manage to find another place in time. Can we stay here for a bit? Just until we find a new apartment?”
Natalya opened her mouth to object, but Igor answered first.
“Of course. A couple of days—no problem.”
“Thank you! You’re saving us!” Alina hugged her brother.
Maxim only nodded, grabbed the suitcases, and hauled them upstairs. Natalya watched them go, then turned to her husband.
“Igor, we need to talk.”
“Natash, it’s temporary. Literally just a few days. They’re in a tough spot.”
“And you couldn’t ask me first?”
“She’s my sister. I can’t refuse her.”
Natalya pressed her lips together. She didn’t argue. She hoped the newlyweds really would leave in a couple of days.
But days turned into weeks. Alina settled into the guest room upstairs, unpacked, hung her clothes, made herself at home. Maxim disappeared at work all day, while Alina stayed around the house—and little by little she started acting more and more entitled.
First, she rearranged the furniture in the living room.
“Nata, it was uncomfortable like that! The couch should go by the window and the table in the center. It feels bigger this way!”
Natalya said nothing. Then Alina began treating the appliances like they were hers—running the washing machine three times a day, claiming the TV, taking dishes without asking.
“Alina, could you at least tell me if you’re going to use something?” Natalya asked carefully.
“Oh, come on, Natash! Why be so formal? We’re family. Or are you being stingy?” Alina laughed as if it were a joke.
Natalya didn’t answer. She realized talking was pointless.
Alina started inviting friends over. Loud groups took over the kitchen, laughing late into the night. Natalya tried to work in her office, but it was impossible to focus.
“Igor, talk to your sister,” she asked him. “This can’t keep going.”
“Natash, just hold on a little longer. They’re looking for an apartment.”
“It’s been three weeks. How long are we supposed to ‘hold on’?”
“You know how hard renting is right now. Everything’s expensive, the conditions are awful. Give them time.”
Natalya turned and left the room. Igor didn’t even try to understand. He kept defending his sister and ignoring his wife’s requests.
The next day Alina took one of Natalya’s dresses without asking—an expensive new one she hadn’t even worn yet. Alina was going to a friend’s party; she went into Natalya’s bedroom, opened the closet, and pulled it out.
“Alina! What are you doing?!” Natalya walked in and saw her sister-in-law posing in front of the mirror.
“Oh, Natash, sorry! I thought you wouldn’t mind. I need something nice urgently, and all my stuff is wrinkled. You won’t say no, will you?”
“I do mind. That’s my dress.”
Alina twisted her mouth.
“Don’t be greedy. I’ll wear it once and return it. What’s the big deal?”
“Take it off. Now.”
Alina snorted, but she removed it. She tossed it onto the bed and stormed out, slamming the door. Natalya picked up the dress and checked it—seemed fine. But the aftertaste was bitter.
That evening she tried again with Igor.
“Igor, your sister is completely out of line. She takes my things without permission, moves furniture around, acts like she owns the place. I’m done.”
“Natash, you’re exaggerating. Alina’s just energetic. She’s bored sitting at home.”
“Then she should go to her friends. Or look for an apartment faster.”
“She is looking. I asked. There’s just nothing suitable yet.”
“And when will there be? In a year?”
Igor grimaced.
“Stop dramatizing. Just hang on a little longer. She’s my sister—I can’t throw her out onto the street.”
Natalya went quiet. She understood her husband wasn’t on her side. For Igor, “family” meant blood relatives. His wife, apparently, came second.
Another week passed. Alina grew even more comfortable—walking around in pajamas until noon, leaving dirty dishes in the sink, hogging the bathroom for an hour. Maxim apologized sometimes and tried to calm his wife down, but Alina brushed him off.
“Max, relax. This is my brother’s house. We’re not strangers here.”
Natalya stopped confronting Alina directly. It was useless—Alina didn’t listen. She began avoiding common rooms, staying in the bedroom or office. But even there she couldn’t find peace: Alina would barge in without knocking to ask something—or to take something.
Igor didn’t notice the tension. Or pretended not to. He’d come home from work, eat dinner, watch TV with his sister and Maxim. Natalya sat off to the side, silent, watching her own home turn into a place where she felt like an outsider.
One evening Alina cooked dinner using Natalya’s pots, spices, and food from the fridge. Natalya walked into the kitchen and saw the mess. Alina stood at the stove, stirring something in a pan.
“Alina, at least clean up after yourself,” Natalya said.
“I will, don’t worry. I’m not an animal.”
But after dinner Alina vanished upstairs, leaving the dishes piled up. Natalya washed everything herself. Her hands shook with anger. But she didn’t want to scream. She didn’t want a scandal.
Natalya went upstairs, lay on the bed. Igor was at the computer going through work emails.
“Igor, I need Alina and Maxim to move out,” she said firmly.
“Natash, not today. I’m exhausted.”
“No—today. I can’t take it anymore. Your sister acts like she owns this place, she doesn’t respect me, she takes things without asking. This is my house, and I want to live here in peace.”
Igor turned to her, his face hardening.
“Your house? Seriously? We’re married. I live here too. And my sister has the right to stay with us.”
“To visit, yes. Not to live here for months and behave like everything belongs to her.”
“They’re looking for an apartment! It takes time!”
“It’s been a month and a half! Maybe she isn’t looking at all.”
Igor stood and went to the window, his back to her.
“Natalya, I’m not throwing my sister out. If you don’t like it—put up with it. Or… you can find somewhere else to stay.”
Natalya froze. The words hit her like a slap. He was telling her to leave—her own home.
“Igor… do you hear yourself?”
“I do. I don’t want conflict. Alina is my sister, and I’m not abandoning her when she’s struggling.”
Natalya lay back down and turned to the wall. Igor returned to his computer. Conversation over. But inside her everything boiled. The house was legally hers—documents in her name. No one had the right to tell her where she should live.
The next morning Natalya got up earlier than usual. Igor was still asleep. She washed, dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen, hoping for coffee in silence. But Alina was already there—sitting at the table with her phone, a cup of half-finished tea in front of her.
Natalya walked to the coffee machine without a word. Alina lifted her head and stared at her. Her face was cold.
“Natalya, we need to talk,” Alina said.
“About what?” Natalya didn’t turn around, measuring coffee into the pot.
“About the house. Maxim and I are registered here. That means we have the right to live here. And honestly, this house is ours too now. So pack your things and get out. I’m tired of looking at your sour face.”
Natalya went still. She turned to her sister-in-law. Alina sat with her arms crossed, chin lifted—bold, smug, convinced she was untouchable.
Natalya set the coffee pot down slowly. Her breath caught—not from fear, but from shock at the sheer audacity. She looked at Alina like she was watching someone who had completely lost touch with reality.
“What did you say?” Natalya asked quietly.
“You heard me. The house is mine now. Registration gives rights. You can leave. I’m sick of your complaints.”
At that moment Igor walked into the kitchen. He looked half-awake, hair messy.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Your sister just said the house belongs to her,” Natalya said evenly. “And suggested I leave.”
Igor looked at Alina. She shrugged.
“Well, yeah. We’re registered here, so we have the right to live here. And Natalya keeps whining that we’re in her way. Let her move out if she’s so unhappy.”
Igor opened his mouth to respond, but Natalya raised a hand.
“Igor, don’t. I’ll handle this.”
She left the kitchen and went upstairs to the bedroom. From the top shelf of the closet she pulled down a blue folder. Inside were all the house documents: the ownership certificate, cadastral papers, and an extract from the real estate registry. Her parents had transferred the house to her while they were still alive—one year before the fatal car accident. The house was hers alone. No shared property. No rights for Igor or his relatives.
Natalya returned to the kitchen. Igor and Alina were sitting at the table; Alina was talking animatedly, gesturing. When she saw Natalya, she stopped.
Natalya placed the folder on the table, opened it, took out the ownership document, and set it in front of Alina.
“Read,” she said calmly.
Alina frowned, took the paper, and scanned the lines. Her expression changed—confidence draining into confusion.
“So what?” she tried to regain her bite. “That was before marriage. That means it’s shared now.”
“No,” Natalya said, pulling out the registry extract. “The house is registered to me. It was gifted to me by my parents. It isn’t marital property. You and Maxim are only registered here—temporarily. And registration does not give you ownership.”
Alina went quiet. Igor stared at the papers, his face turning pale. For the first time, he understood his sister had crossed a line.
“Alina, what are you—” he started, but Alina cut him off.
“Whatever! We’re registered here! You can’t just kick us out!”
“I can,” Natalya said, sliding the papers back into the folder. “Registration can be canceled through the court—especially when people have no legal right to use the property, and were registered only for a specific temporary purpose.”
Alina jumped up.
“You’re going to sue your own relatives?!”
“I am. Today.”
“Igor! Say something!” she snapped at her brother.
Igor sat silently, staring at the table. Natalya took the folder and walked out.
Upstairs she changed, grabbed her bag. Igor followed her into the bedroom.
“Natash, let’s not go to court. I’ll talk to Alina. She’ll move out.”
“When? In a year? Two?”
“No—seriously. I’ll tell her to look for an apartment faster.”
“Igor, your sister just claimed my house as hers and told me to leave. You heard that.”
He nodded.
“She overreacted. Alina says things without thinking sometimes.”
“Without thinking? She tried to throw me out of my own home—and you still defend her.”
“I’m not defending her. I just don’t want it to become a court mess. She’s family.”
Natalya zipped her bag and looked at him.
“Family is people who respect you. Not people who try to steal your home.”
She left the house, got into her car, and drove downtown. She found a law office and booked a consultation. The lawyer listened, reviewed the documents, and nodded.
“This is straightforward,” he said, a middle-aged man with gray at his temples. “The registration was done to obtain a loan—temporary and purpose-based. You can file to terminate their registration at your address. Grounds: they have no right to use the property.”
“How quickly can this be done?”
“We’ll file today. The hearing is usually scheduled in a week or so. If everything is clean, the court will rule in your favor.”
“And my husband? He’s registered here too.”
“A spouse may live with you. But if the marriage ends, he can be removed as well. The house is not joint marital property.”
Natalya nodded. She signed the necessary paperwork. The lawyer certified copies and said he’d submit everything the same day.
She returned home that evening. Alina was in the living room watching a series. Maxim was reading something on a tablet. Igor was in the kitchen heating up dinner.
“Where were you?” Igor asked.
“With a lawyer. I filed.”
Igor froze, spoon hanging in midair.
“Natash… are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“But that’s… family!”
“Igor, your sister told me to get out of my own house. What family is that?”
Igor set the spoon down and leaned against the counter.
“I’ll talk to her. Withdraw the filing.”
“No.”
“Natalya!”
“No. I’m done putting up with this. Alina crossed every boundary—and you’ve enabled her.”
Natalya left the kitchen and went upstairs. Igor didn’t follow. She lay on the bed and closed her eyes. Inside there was exhaustion—hollow, heavy—but also relief. She’d finally done what she should have done long ago.
A week later a court summons arrived. The hearing was set for Monday. Natalya informed Alina and Maxim. Alina snorted.
“You won’t get anything. We’re registered legally.”
“We’ll see,” Natalya replied calmly.
On Monday all four went to court: Natalya with her lawyer; Alina with Maxim and Igor. The courtroom was small and smelled of old furniture and paper. The judge—a tired-looking woman in her fifties—reviewed the file.
“Plaintiff, state your claim,” the judge said.
Natalya’s lawyer stood and summarized: the registration was arranged solely to secure a loan, as a temporary measure. The defendants were abusing that arrangement, refusing to deregister voluntarily, and even claiming ownership rights.
The judge turned to Alina. “Defendant, what is your response?”
Alina stood and tried to look helpless.
“We just… asked for help with registration. Then we had housing trouble. Natalya let us stay. We thought that was normal. We’re relatives.”
“Do you have any documents granting you the right to use the house? A lease, a formal agreement, written consent from the owner?”
“No… but we’re registered here!”
“Registration is not ownership,” the judge replied. “And it does not automatically grant you the right to occupy a property when the owner objects.”
The judge examined Natalya’s documents: ownership certificate, registry extract, gift deed. Everything was clean. The house belonged to Natalya alone.
“Court decision: the plaintiff’s claim is granted. The registration at the address is terminated for the defendants Alina and Maxim…” the judge read out the address. “The defendants have no right to use the property. The decision takes effect immediately.”
Alina went pale. Maxim lowered his head. Igor sat with clenched fists. Natalya listened in silence. Her lawyer nodded, satisfied.
Outside the courthouse, Alina spun on Natalya.
“You destroyed the family! Happy now?!”
“I didn’t destroy anything. You did.”
“Igor! Say something!”
Igor stood off to the side, silent. Alina huffed, grabbed Maxim’s hand, and stormed away. Natalya looked at her husband.
“Igor, I need to think about our marriage.”
“Think about what?”
“Whether you can be a husband… or whether you’ll always only be Alina’s brother.”
Natalya got into her car and drove off. Igor remained alone on the courthouse steps.
That evening Natalya came home. Alina and Maxim were packing. Suitcases waited in the hallway, bags scattered across the floor. Alina shoved clothes into a case with a dark expression; Maxim carried boxes out.
Natalya walked past them and went upstairs. An hour later she heard the front door slam. She looked out the window: Alina and Maxim were loading the car. Igor helped. A few minutes later, they drove away.
Igor came back inside and went up to the bedroom. Natalya was sitting on the bed.
“They left,” Igor said.
“I see.”
“Natash… let’s forget this. Start over.”
“Igor, you never once stood on my side. You defended your sister and ignored me. You told me to leave my own house.”
“I didn’t mean it like that…”
“You did. Exactly like that.”
Igor sat beside her, silent for a moment.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to respect me. I want my voice to matter more than your sister’s. I want you to protect me, not her.”
“I’ll try.”
“I don’t need promises, Igor. I need actions.”
Natalya stood and left the room. She went downstairs. The house felt empty—quiet. But it was the right kind of quiet. No чужие voices, no чужие things, no чужие claims.
She went to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and looked out the window. Snow fell in thick flakes in the December night. She poured tea and sat at the table. Her phone buzzed—a message from Alina: “Thanks for throwing us onto the street. You’re heartless.”
Natalya deleted it and blocked the number. She was done explaining, justifying, listening to accusations.
A few days later Igor moved out. He rented an apartment and took his belongings. Natalya didn’t stop him. She understood the marriage hadn’t survived the test. He’d made his choice—and it hadn’t been her.
A week later Igor called.
“Natash, can we meet? Talk?”
“About what?”
“About us. About the future.”
“Igor, you chose your sister. You’ll always choose her. I don’t want a marriage like that.”
“But I love you.”
“Love isn’t only words. It’s what you do. And your actions have said something else.”
Natalya ended the call. A month later she filed for divorce. Igor didn’t fight it. The divorce was finalized quickly and quietly. There was nothing to divide—the house was Natalya’s, and everything else they split peacefully.
Alina never called again. She and Maxim moved to another city and found new jobs—Natalya heard it accidentally from a mutual acquaintance. She was glad she’d never have to cross paths with her again.
In spring, Natalya renovated the house. New furniture, fresh paint, updated appliances. She removed everything that reminded her of the past. The house became different—bright, cozy, truly hers.
One evening Igor showed up at the door. He looked tired, older.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“Why are you here?”
“I want to talk. Natash… I realized I was wrong. Forgive me.”
Natalya stood in the doorway, looking at the man she’d spent years with—the man she’d once loved, planned a future with.
“Igor, the past can’t be undone. And I don’t want it back.”
“But maybe we could try again?”
“No. You made your choice. I made mine. We’re not a couple anymore.”
Igor nodded, turned, and left. Natalya closed the door and leaned against the frame. Inside, everything was calm—no regret, no pain—only lightness.
She went into the living room, turned on the fireplace, and sank into the armchair with a book. Outside, the first leaves were opening on the trees. A new life was beginning—a life where the house belonged only to her, where no one could claim what wasn’t theirs, where the documents were kept safely, and the door opened only for people she truly wanted to see.
Natalya smiled and turned the page. There were so many possibilities ahead—and not one of them included people who mistake kindness for weakness, or hospitality for a right to take over someone else’s life.
