Lyuda woke up to a loud clatter coming from the kitchen. The digital clock showed half past six. Beside her, Igor was snoring under the blanket with his head covered. She slipped on her robe and stepped out of the bedroom.
Alice was already in the kitchen, making herself completely at home. She was her husband’s twenty-five-year-old daughter from his first marriage. Standing with her back to the door, she was rummaging through the upper cabinets.
“Alice? When did you get here?” Lyuda rubbed her temples, trying to wake herself up.
“Oh, hi,” the girl said, turning around with a jar of coffee in her hands. “I got in late last night. Dad opened the door. Where do you keep the sugar? I’ve already searched through half the kitchen.”
Without saying a word, Lyuda walked over to the sideboard and took out the sugar bowl. Three years earlier, when she married Igor, she could never have imagined that her warm, carefully arranged two-bedroom apartment would turn into a revolving door. It was the only thing her parents had left her after they passed away. Every corner had been arranged with love, every belonging had its own place.
Igor had moved in with her right after the wedding. He had no home of his own—after the divorce, he had left the apartment to his ex-wife. He promised he would respect her space and treat her things carefully. For the first year, he did. Then Alice’s visits began.
“Are you staying over again?” Lyuda asked, watching her stepdaughter make coffee in her favorite cezve.
“Probably. I have an early meeting downtown tomorrow, and it’s too far to drive from my place.”
Alice’s house was out of town—a large cottage she had received from her mother after her mother remarried. It was only forty minutes away by car, hardly an impossible distance, but Alice preferred spending the night in the city.
“Hey, can I borrow your blue blouse?” Alice opened the refrigerator and started inspecting what was inside. “It’ll go perfectly with my suit.”
“Which blouse?” Lyuda frowned.
“The silk one. I saw it in your closet last week.”
Lyuda bit her tongue. That blouse had been a gift from a friend from Italy and had cost a lot of money. But there was no point arguing—Igor always took his daughter’s side.
At first, Alice’s visits were rare. She would drop by once a month for a cup of coffee. Then she began appearing every weekend. Over the last six months, she had started showing up any day of the week, at any hour she pleased. Once, Lyuda came home from work and found an entire group in the living room—Alice had invited five friends over, and they were drinking wine and laughing loudly.
“Alice, your coffee is about to boil over,” Lyuda said, pointing at the cezve.
Her stepdaughter switched off the stove and poured the coffee into a cup. Not her own cup, but Lyuda’s favorite one—a porcelain cup with a gold rim from her grandmother’s set.
“By the way, Maxim and Polina are coming over tonight,” Alice said as if it were nothing. “We’ll sit here in the kitchen. We won’t bother you.”
Lyuda felt the blood rush to her temples. Only yesterday she had specifically asked to leave work early so she could have a peaceful evening—read a book, take a bath. And now there would be noise until midnight again.
“Alice, your father and I both have to get up early tomorrow. Maybe you could meet somewhere in a café?”
“Oh, come on,” the girl said with a dismissive wave. “We’ll be quiet. And besides, Dad doesn’t mind.”
A sleepy Igor appeared in the bedroom doorway.
“Why are you making so much noise so early?” he yawned, then noticed his daughter. “Oh, Ali’s here! How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I was just asking Lyuda if I could borrow her blouse for today.”
“Of course, take it,” Igor said without even looking at his wife. “Lyud, you’re not stingy, are you?”
Lyuda stayed silent. In three years of marriage, she had learned that every attempt to set boundaries ended in a fight. Igor accused her of being selfish, said she refused to accept his daughter. And Alice would pull a wounded face and complain to her father that her stepmother didn’t love her.
At first, Lyuda really tried to make things work. She cooked Alice’s favorite meals, bought her small gifts. But the girl accepted everything as if it were owed to her. She would take Lyuda’s expensive lipstick without asking, wear her gold earrings to a party, then forget to return them.
“I need to get ready for work,” Lyuda said, leaving the kitchen.
In the bathroom, she stared at her reflection for a long time. Thirty-eight years old, faint lines near the eyes, a tired expression. When she married Igor, she had thought at last she would no longer be alone, that she would have someone to grow old with. Instead, she had lost peace in her own home.
Laughter drifted in from the kitchen—father and daughter chatting cheerfully about something. Lyuda already knew what it would be: Alice would tell another story about her job at the advertising agency, and Igor would marvel once again at how talented his daughter was.
When Lyuda came home that evening, she heard music before she had even reached the apartment door. The place was full of people. Besides the promised Maxim and Polina, there were three more strangers she had never seen before. Bottles of wine and snacks were spread across the kitchen table. Alice had clearly put everything together—Lyuda recognized her own dishes and the food from her refrigerator.
“Oh, Lyudmila’s home!” Alice came toward her wearing the same blue blouse. Around her neck was a pearl necklace—also taken from Lyuda’s jewelry box. “Want to join us?”
“No, thank you. I’m tired.”
Lyuda walked into the bedroom. Igor wasn’t there—he had probably stayed late at work. She called him.
“Hello, Lyud? What happened?”
“Igor, your daughter has brought people over again. They’re making noise, blasting music.”
“So what? They’re young. They need somewhere to spend time. Don’t be such a bore.”
“This is my apartment!” Lyuda finally snapped. “I have the right to peace in my own home!”
“Enough with the hysteria. Alice is my daughter, and she has every right to come see her father. If you don’t like it, she and I can move out.”
Lyuda ended the call. He used that threat regularly, but they both knew he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t afford to rent an apartment, and he didn’t want to move into Alice’s country house because it was too far from work.
The guests left only around midnight. Alice didn’t even think about cleaning up after them—dirty dishes, empty bottles, crumbs on the table. Lyuda silently started putting everything back in order.
“Why are you banging around in here?” Igor appeared in the kitchen. He smelled of alcohol—clearly he had been drinking somewhere after work.
“I’m cleaning up after your daughter and her friends.”
“You’re always unhappy. Another wife would be glad that her husband has such a good relationship with his daughter.”
“Another wife with her own apartment might be glad,” Lyuda answered. “I want to live peacefully in my own home.”
Igor stepped closer, and Lyuda instinctively drew back from the smell on his breath.
“You know what? I’m sick of all this. Tomorrow Alice is moving in with us for good. Renovations are starting at her house.”
“What? What renovations?”
“A major renovation. At least six months. So get the second room ready.”
Lyuda braced herself against the table. The second room was her office—her computer was there, her bookshelves, her sewing machine. It was the only place in the apartment where she could be alone.
“Igor, that’s impossible. It’s a two-room apartment. There’s no space.”
“We’ll make space. We’ll move all your junk from the office onto the balcony.”
“That’s not junk! Those are my things, my books!”
“Your daughter has a home of her own, so go there with her,” Lyuda burst out suddenly, blocking his way into the hallway.
Igor froze. In three years of marriage, his wife had never raised her voice like that, never spoken so sharply. He blinked in confusion and tried to get around her, but Lyuda remained standing in the doorway.
“Have you lost your mind? That’s my daughter!”
“And this is my apartment. The one you promised to respect when you moved in.”
The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell. Alice had forgotten her keys and was now drumming impatiently at the door. Igor shoved his wife aside and went to open it.
The next two weeks passed in a thick atmosphere of tension. Igor pointedly refused to speak to his wife, while Alice acted as though Lyuda didn’t exist. Her stepdaughter came and went whenever she wanted, left her things everywhere, and monopolized the bathroom in the mornings while Lyuda was trying to get ready for work.
On Friday, Lyuda came home earlier than usual—she had asked her boss to let her leave, pretending she didn’t feel well. Even on the stairwell, she noticed an unfamiliar perfume in the air. Sharp, sweet, nothing like her own.
A large suitcase stood in the hallway. Pink, covered in stickers and charms. Lyuda stopped dead, staring at the enormous thing that took up half the corridor.
Voices came from the kitchen. She walked in and saw Alice with some girl she didn’t know. On the table stood cups with unfinished coffee—not just any cups, but the same porcelain ones from the grandmother’s set.
“Oh, you’re home already,” Alice said without even turning toward her. “This is Vika, my friend. Vik, this is Dad’s wife.”
Vika gave an awkward nod and quickly excused herself. As soon as the girl left, Lyuda pointed at the suitcase.
“What is this supposed to mean?”
“Dad didn’t tell you? I’m moving in. The renovation is starting at the house.”
“What renovation? Your house is practically new—it’s only five years old!”
Alice shrugged and walked into the living room. Lyuda followed her and stopped in the doorway. Her favorite cashmere sweater—a gift from her sister in France—was lying crumpled on the armchair. There was a coffee stain on the sleeve.
“You took my sweater?”
“Oh, that’s yours? I thought it was Dad’s. I was cold this morning.”
Lyuda stepped closer and picked up the ruined piece of clothing. The cashmere was hopelessly damaged—besides the stain, there was a snag across the back, probably from some piece of jewelry.
“Alice, this was expensive! How could you?”
“Oh, come on. It’s just some sweater. Dad will buy you a new one.”
Just then, Igor came home. He strode into the apartment in high spirits, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and only then noticed his wife.
“Oh, Lyud, you’re already home. Good. Alice is moving in with us. I gave her the keys.”
“The keys?” Lyuda felt everything go cold inside her. “You gave her the keys to my apartment?”
“To our apartment. And what is this interrogation for? Alice is my daughter. She should be able to come home whenever she wants.”
“This is not her home!” Lyuda’s voice trembled. “This is my apartment, the one I inherited from my parents! Alice has a home of her own!”
“So what?” Igor said irritably, waving his hand. “She needs to stay here while the renovation is going on. Just six months.”
“Six months? The three of us in a two-room apartment?”
“What’s the big deal? Other people live in one-room apartments with bigger families. Stop being selfish, Lyuda. Alice is family. Let her feel at home.”
Igor grabbed his daughter’s suitcase and dragged it toward Lyuda’s office. She rushed forward and blocked the doorway again.
“No. Enough.”
“What do you mean?” Igor frowned.
“I mean take your things and your daughter’s things and leave. Both of you.”
He laughed, but the laugh came out tense.
“Lyuda, stop this hysteria. Move aside.”
“This is not hysteria. I put up with this for three years. I put up with your daughter showing up without asking, taking my things, ruining them, bringing friends over. I put up with you ignoring every request I made. Enough.”
“You’re kicking me out? Your own husband?”
“A husband who respects neither me nor my home. Yes, I am.”
Alice came out of the living room, holding her phone.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“Your stepmother’s lost her mind. She’s throwing us out.”
“What do you mean, throwing us out?” Alice stared at Lyuda. “Dad is registered here!”
“No, he isn’t,” Lyuda answered calmly. “When Igor moved in, he refused to handle the registration. Said it was too much trouble.”
Igor’s face turned red. It was true. Three years earlier, he had brushed off his wife’s offer to do the paperwork. At the time, it seemed unnecessary.
“Lyuda, think about this! Where am I supposed to go?”
“To your daughter. She has a wonderful house outside the city. Spacious, three stories. Plenty of room.”
“But there’s a renovation!” Alice protested.
“A week ago I saw your photos on social media. You were throwing a party at your house. No renovation is happening, and none is planned.”
Alice opened her mouth, then shut it again. The truth was simple: she had invented the renovation story so her father would agree to let her move in. City life was more fun—friends nearby, cafés, clubs. The country house was great for parties, but boring for everyday living.
“Lyuda, let’s talk calmly,” Igor said, trying to take her hand, but she pulled away.
“We’ve talked enough. Pack your things. You have one hour.”
“One hour? Are you serious?” He tried to sound outraged, but it came off weak.
“I’m completely serious. Most of your things are just clothes. Alice hasn’t even unpacked that suitcase. One hour is more than enough.”
Lyuda held out her hand.
“The keys.”
“What keys?”
“The keys to my apartment. The ones you gave Alice without telling me.”
Igor reached into his pocket and pulled out the keyring. Lyuda took it and checked—every key was there. All four of them. The two sets that had belonged to her husband and that he had passed on to his daughter.
“Lyuda, don’t be like this… we can still talk everything through…”
“You should have wanted to talk earlier. When I asked you to set boundaries. When I asked you to speak to Alice about her behavior. But you chose to ignore me.”
“Dad, do something!” Alice tugged at his sleeve. “She can’t just throw us out like this!”
“She can, and she is,” Lyuda said, taking out her phone. “If you’re not gone in an hour, I’ll call the police and tell them that outsiders are refusing to leave my apartment.”
“Outsiders? I’m your husband!”
“A husband who put his grown daughter’s interests above his wife’s. A husband who let her behave in my home as if it belonged to her. Time’s up. Pack.”
Lyuda went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Her hands were trembling slightly, but inside she felt surprisingly calm. This was right. Finally right.
Noises came from the rooms—Igor packing things, muttering under his breath. Alice complained loudly, calling someone, ranting about injustice.
Forty minutes later, Igor appeared in the doorway with two bags.
“Lyuda, this is a mistake. You’ll regret it.”
“Maybe. But it will be my mistake in my apartment.”
“I’ll file for divorce!”
“Wonderful. I’ll see a lawyer tomorrow. There’s nothing to divide—the apartment is mine from before the marriage. We have no children. It’ll be quick.”
Alice rolled out her pink suitcase and shot Lyuda a furious look.
“This is your fault Dad is suffering!”
“Your father is a grown man. He could have taught his daughter to respect other people’s boundaries. Instead, he chose the easiest path.”
Igor lingered a moment longer, clearly hoping his wife would change her mind. But Lyuda said nothing, just stared out the window.
“Dad, let’s go already!” Alice stamped her foot impatiently. “The taxi is waiting.”
He turned around and left. Lyuda waited until the front door downstairs slammed shut, then went to the window. Below, Igor and Alice were loading their things into the car. The daughter was speaking emotionally, throwing her hands in the air. The father nodded with slumped shoulders.
The car drove away. Lyuda walked slowly through the apartment. Silence. Blessed silence. No чужие вещи, no strange smells, no unwanted people.
She picked up the ruined sweater and threw it in the trash. Then she gathered the cups from her grandmother’s set, washed them carefully, and put them back in the cabinet.
That evening, her friend called.
“Lyud, how are you? Haven’t heard from you in forever.”
“You know, Olya, for the first time in a long while, everything is actually good. I threw Igor out.”
“Seriously? What happened?”
“His daughter decided she was moving in with us for six months. Supposedly because of renovations at her house.”
“At that same three-story mansion?” her friend snorted. “She threw a birthday party there just a month ago. I saw the pictures.”
“Exactly. She decided it would be more convenient to live in the city. And of course Igor couldn’t say no to his precious daughter.”
“You did the right thing by kicking him out. Remember how you used to live? Calm, peaceful. This last year, every time we talked, you were complaining about Alice.”
“Yes, you’re right. You know, I’m sitting in the kitchen right now, drinking tea from my favorite cup, and no one is barging in, making noise, or touching my things. It feels like heaven.”
“Then let’s celebrate your freedom. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Let’s go to our favorite little restaurant.”
“I’d love that,” Lyuda said with a smile.
That night, she slept peacefully. For the first time in a long while. No one snored beside her, no one burst in during the night, no one turned on loud music.
In the morning, Lyuda made herself breakfast and drank her coffee slowly. She walked through the apartment, putting everything back in its place. Order had returned to her office—the books on the shelves, the documents in their folders, the sewing machine where it belonged.
A week later, Igor tried to come back. He showed up with flowers, said he had overreacted, said he was ready for dialogue. Lyuda didn’t open the door.
“Igor, I’ll send the divorce papers through my lawyer. We have nothing left to discuss.”
“Lyuda, open the door! Alice won’t come anymore!”
“It’s not only about Alice. It’s about the fact that you never respected me or my home. Leave.”
He stood there for a little while longer, then left.
The divorce was finalized two months later. Igor didn’t fight it—there really was nothing to divide. Lyuda kept his last name. She was already used to it, and all her work documents were in that name.
About six months later, she ran into one of Igor’s former coworkers at a store.
“Lyudmila Sergeyevna! How have you been?”
“Wonderful, thank you.”
“I heard you and Igor Petrovich split up?”
“Yes, we got divorced.”
“He’s living with his daughter now. Complains it’s hard. Says the commute is long, and from what people say, Alice is showing her true character. She’s used to him doing everything for her, and now she’s expected to take care of him too.”
Lyuda only smiled. You reap what you sow.
At home, silence and peace were waiting for her. Her apartment. Her rules. Her life. And no more uninvited guests, borrowed belongings, or strangers sitting around her kitchen table.
Lyuda made herself tea in her favorite cup, picked up a book, and settled into her armchair. Outside, warm summer rain tapped softly against the windows. Inside, the apartment was quiet, cozy, and peaceful.
Exactly the way a home is supposed to be.
