Natalia’s morning began the way it always did: coffee, a sandwich eaten on the run, and a rapid-fire sweep through the apartment with a cleaning rag. The kitchen already smelled pleasantly of fresh brew and cleanliness when a voice floated out of her husband Andrey’s bedroom.
“Nata… don’t freak out, okay?” His tone was as guilty as a cat that knocked over a vase and is pretending it was a draft.
“Sure. As if I’m a bride in church who never gets startled,” she grumbled, heading to the door. “What is it?”
And then Inga—Andrey’s sister—peeked out from behind his shoulder. Hair in a mess, a supermarket bag in her hands, with a loaf of bread sticking out like a confession.
“Hi, Nata,” Inga smiled as if they hadn’t talked last night, when “we’ll only be there a little while” had been said—just like last time, when “a couple of weeks” somehow turned into half a year. “Pasha and I are coming to stay with you… I mean, with you both. Just for a bit.”
Natalia froze, but nodded politely. Inside, everything boiled. She could even feel the coffee in her stomach doing a somersault.
“Andrey, could you come to the kitchen for a second?” she said, her voice turning to ice.
In the kitchen she faced him with her arms crossed.
“Are you out of your mind? We agreed: no long-term ‘guests.’ Last time I spent three months scraping grease off the range hood that your sister ‘accidentally’ installed with her entire lifestyle.”
“Nata, come on…” Andrey spread his hands. “They’re struggling. Pasha got fired, and Inga… well, you know.”
“I know,” Natalia rolled her eyes. “Lazy as February sunlight, and a homemaker straight out of an apocalypse series.”
Right then Inga walked into the kitchen—bag gone, smile still in place.
“Oh wow, Nata, that range hood is amazing. This kitchen is a dream.”
“Yeah, I know,” Natalia cut in dryly. “But dreams still need cleaning up—especially when they spill across the stove.”
“Oh, stop,” Inga pouted theatrically. “We’re family. You’re not going to chase us out like tenants.”
“No, of course not,” Natalia snorted. “I just sometimes forget that ‘family’ means people who love you— not people who stress-test your vacuum cleaner.”
At that moment Pavel—Inga’s husband—strolled past with a sandwich clenched in his teeth. He didn’t even say hello. Natalia thought that if rudeness could be sold by weight, Inga and Pavel would’ve bought themselves a summer cottage by now.
By evening, things got worse. Natalia came home from work and found Pavel sprawled on the couch, wearing socks with a hole over his big toe. On the table were two empty pizza boxes, crumbs and ketchup underneath them. Next to him sat Inga, chewing chips.
“Inga, did you cook anything?” Natalia asked evenly.
“We decided to order,” Inga replied. “Your kitchen is so small… kind of inconvenient.”
“My kitchen is inconvenient?” Natalia’s voice wobbled. “What’s next—are you launching a blog called ‘How to Live Off Free Meals’?”
“Oh, relax,” Pavel cut in. “We’re temporary.”
“Temporary was last year,” Natalia shot back. “This is ‘moving in with plans for winter.’ Right?” She turned to her husband.
Andrey lifted his hands. “Don’t start, Nata. I don’t want a scandal.”
“And I don’t want my life turning into a dorm with a gourmet trash dump in the middle of my living room,” she snapped.
“Oh please, drama queen,” Inga rolled her eyes. “We’re not even bothering you. You’re in your room, we’re in the living room…”
“Sure. Except my kitchen’s a disaster, your towels are all over my bathroom, and the trash can is applying for evacuation,” Natalia said, dropping her bag hard.
That night she tossed for hours. The questions tangled in her head: Andrey is a grown man—why is he scared of his sister? Why am I always the bad guy?
She remembered the last time: Inga came “for a couple of weeks,” and then she was impossible to remove. They nearly divorced. Now it was déjà vu—only the stakes felt higher.
The next morning the apartment looked like a train station at rush hour. Natalia stepped around bags and boxes piled in the hallway like a moving company had exploded.
“Inga, what is this, a warehouse?” Natalia pointed at a box with an inflatable flamingo sticking out.
“It’s for the pool,” Inga said calmly, peeling an orange right over the carpet. “We’ll take it to the dacha in summer. Why drag it back and forth?”
“Summer?” Natalia arched an eyebrow. “It’s February. Did you keep last year’s Christmas tree too so you don’t have to buy a new one?”
Pavel, passing by, smirked. “At least we’re economical.”
“Economical is when you live on your own money,” Natalia replied, her voice calm but edged with metal, “not on somebody else’s fridge.”
“Nata, why are you starting again?” Andrey appeared in the hall, sleepy, phone in hand. “Yeah, there are a lot of things, but it’s temporary.”
“Andrey, I’m about to go to work, and to get from the kitchen to the bedroom I have to squeeze through a ‘Secondhand Dream Warehouse.’ Should I book a time slot on your schedule?”
That afternoon Natalia came home early—and immediately regretted it.
In the kitchen soup was boiling—only not inside the pot anymore. Pale foam had run over onto the stovetop. On the table sat a mountain of unwashed dishes; the sink held fish scraps.
“What is this?!” Natalia pulled off her coat, feeling herself boil right along with the soup.
“We cooked,” Inga said, pulling a jar of mayonnaise from the fridge. “We decided to make a dinner. You’ll be happy.”
“Happy? You’ve set up a bacteria-growing lab in here,” Natalia said, grabbing a cloth and wiping the table in one sharp swipe. “And since when are my pots at your disposal without asking?”
“Oh my God, you’re so nervous,” Inga rolled her eyes dramatically. “Maybe you need a pill?”
“Or maybe you need a suitcase,” Natalia said with a cold little smile.
Pavel, who’d been silent with his phone, finally looked up.
“Nata, we’re family. Why are you treating us like strangers?”
“Because strangers behave better as guests,” she snapped, shutting a cabinet door.
That evening Andrey called a “family meeting.”
They sat in the living room: Natalia in one corner of the couch, Inga and Pavel in the other, and Andrey in the middle—like a schoolteacher between two kids about to fight.
“Guys, can we not get emotional?” he began, rubbing his forehead. “We need to coexist somehow. Nata, just hold on a little.”
“Andrey, I’ve been ‘holding on’ to you for twenty years,” Natalia cut in. “But your sister and her husband are a bonus package I never ordered.”
“You could be gentler,” Inga said, offended on purpose. “I made you soup, by the way.”
“Yeah—and the stove as a side dish. Now I’ll need sandblasting to clean it,” Natalia snorted.
“Listen,” Pavel stood up, “I get it, you’re the lady of the house, but we didn’t do it on purpose. If you want, we’ll clean up.”
“I do,” Natalia said, steel ringing in her voice. “Today. Everything. Including yourselves.”
Andrey stood.
“Nata, what is this with the ultimatums? This is my family.”
“And who am I?” Natalia shot up. “A cook? A maid? Your sponsor?”
“Don’t exaggerate,” he waved her off.
“I’m not. I’m already calculating how much your ‘we’ll stay a little’ is costing me.”
One word led to another, and the argument turned into shouting. Pavel tried to leave the room, but Natalia blocked his way. Andrey grabbed her wrist—she yanked it free.
“Don’t order me around!” she shouted.
Inga jumped up, and it became a scuffle—not punches, but pushing, shoulder bumps, people trying to shove past each other. In the end, Natalia shoved Inga toward the door so hard she almost fell into the hallway dresser.
“You—!” Inga clutched her shoulder. “Andrey, did you see that?!”
“I did,” he said wearily. “Nata, you’re going too far.”
“No, Andrey. You’re the one going too far.” Natalia’s voice was sharp as glass. “And you know what? Tomorrow I’m going to my mom’s. You can have your little paradise here—with your sister and her ‘temporary’ stay.”
Without waiting for an answer, Natalia went into the bedroom, shut the door, and—hands trembling—pulled out a suitcase.
And in that moment she realized the decision was already made. But more importantly, she knew she would come back. And she wouldn’t come back the same way.
Natalia returned a week later.
This time she didn’t knock or ring the bell. She slid in her key, opened the door, and stepped into an apartment that smelled so bad even the building’s stray cat would probably avoid this floor.
A mountain of shoes greeted her in the hall—twice as big as the day she left. Someone had clearly spilled coffee on the rug. Laughter drifted from the kitchen.
“Oh! Nata’s back!” Inga shouted happily, appearing by the table with a mug in her hand. “So? You rest up?”
“Yes,” Natalia said, setting her bag down and surveying the kitchen. “And I see you’ve been running a rule-free version of MasterChef.”
Pavel, chewing on a cutlet, lifted an eyebrow.
“We’ve settled in… comfortably. Freely, you know?”
“I do,” Natalia nodded. “And today we’re saying goodbye to ‘comfortable.’”
Andrey walked out of the bedroom, sleepy and irritated.
“Nata, can we not do scenes? We only just got everything set up here.”
“Set up?” Natalia laughed—coldly. “You didn’t ‘set up.’ You got bold.”
“Come on, what’s the big deal?” Andrey started. “They’re only here temporarily.”
“Andrey,” she cut him off, “temporary is when you visit, drink tea, and leave. Not when you stretch out on my couch for seven months.”
“Seven?” Inga protested. “It’s only been four—”
“Three of which you didn’t even pay for bread,” Natalia smirked. “And I kept quiet. But not anymore.”
Pavel scoffed.
“And what are you going to do about it? Kick us out?”
“Exactly,” Natalia said, pulling two huge black trash bags from her bag and tossing them at Inga’s feet. “Pack up all your ‘temporary’ things and go find something permanent.”
“You’re serious?!” Andrey stepped toward her.
“Dead serious. I was at the service center today. The apartment is registered in my name only. Officially. Legally.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “So your family gatherings happen on your property now, Andrey. If you want to go with them—go. But they are not living here anymore.”
For a couple of seconds the room fell silent—then it exploded into shouting.
“You did this behind our backs!” Inga shrieked.
“No. I did it smart,” Natalia replied coldly. “I’m done being a free hostel. And Andrey—if you think I ruined ‘your’ family, remember: you were the first to choose your sister over your wife.”
Andrey froze as if he’d been punched.
“Either they leave today, or I call the district officer,” Natalia continued. “Believe me, he’ll be happy to come.”
Inga opened her mouth to argue, but Pavel was already silently stuffing their things into the bags. An hour later the hallway was empty.
Natalia closed the door, turned the key, and leaned her forehead against the frame. For the first time in a long while, she heard silence—clean as fresh air.
And then she realized: her life was only just beginning. Without someone else’s clutter, someone else’s voices, someone else’s priorities.
“Hello, freedom,” she whispered to herself.
