The keys gave their familiar jingle in the lock, a sound that had always soothed me. I nudged the door open with my shoulder, balancing my laptop bag in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. The day had drained every last bit of energy out of me: a client presentation, a meeting that dragged on for nearly three hours, and endless traffic on the way home. I wanted only one thing—to kick off my heels, change into something comfortable, and sink onto the couch with a glass of wine.
But the moment I stepped inside, I felt it: something was wrong.
There were чужие shoes in the entryway—neat women’s ankle boots and a pair of men’s sneakers that were definitely not my size, maybe a forty-five. I stopped cold. My exhaustion was instantly replaced by alarm. Voices drifted in from the living room.
“Andryukha, what Wi-Fi do you have here?” a young male voice called out, casual and obnoxious. “Send me the password, I’m almost out of data.”
“Hang on, Lyokha,” Andrey replied. And in his voice I caught a flicker of tension… almost guilt.
Something inside me dropped.
I walked slowly into the living room—and froze.
A man of about twenty-five was sprawled across my couch, the very one I had spent months choosing and paid a small fortune for. Wearing stretched-out sweatpants and a tank top, he stared at his phone with his feet planted right on my coffee table. Beside him, in the armchair, sat a woman in her fifties with flawless hair and a face as cold as glass. She was calmly sipping tea from my favorite mug—the one my best friend had given me.
“What exactly is going on here?” I asked, my voice low but sharp.
Andrey sprang to his feet. His face flushed red, his eyes darting.
“Len… you’re home already? I thought… I thought you’d be later…”
“Andrey,” I said, putting the bags down on the floor as everything inside me turned icy, “explain what these people are doing in our apartment.”
The woman carefully set the mug down and straightened her back.
“Well, this is an interesting way to begin an introduction,” she said coolly. “Not even a greeting. Andrey, didn’t you teach your wife basic manners?”
I turned to my husband.
“That’s… my mother. Valentina Petrovna. And my brother, Alexey,” he muttered.
My mind refused to process what I was seeing.
I had only met my mother-in-law three times in five years of marriage: at our wedding, during one New Year’s holiday, and at Andrey’s birthday. She had always been distant, as if silently evaluating me and inevitably finding fault. As for his brother, I had barely known he existed until the wedding—spoiled, younger, used to living off his mother.
“Andrey,” I said through clenched teeth, “kitchen. Now.”
He followed without a word. I shut the door and turned to him sharply.
“Explain. What. Are. They. Doing. Here?”
“Lenochka, don’t start…” He tried to take my hand.
I stepped back.
“I’m not starting anything. I’m asking.”
He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face.
“Lyokha decided to move to Moscow. He wants to build a career there. There’s no future for him in our town. He convinced Mom to move too. They already put the house up for sale…”
I listened as anger rose hotter and hotter inside me.
“And then?”
“They need somewhere to stay until they find an apartment. It’s only temporary—a week or two at most. I mean, we have plenty of room. I couldn’t exactly send them to a hotel.”
“A WEEK OR TWO?” I exploded. “Andrey, do you even understand what you’ve done?”
“I was just helping my family…”
“You moved two people into MY apartment without even asking me! Without even warning me! I come home and find strangers sitting on my couch!”
“They’re not strangers, they’re my family!”
“To me, they are! I’ve seen your mother three times in five years! Your brother once!”
“You’re exaggerating…”
“No! You didn’t even think to call me!”
Just then the kitchen door opened, and Valentina Petrovna appeared in the doorway.
“What is all this shouting? We can hear everything. Elena, couldn’t you lower your voice?”
“I could,” I replied, “but I won’t. This is my apartment.”
“Your apartment?” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “Andrey told me you were married. Which means the apartment belongs to both of you.”
“No,” I said coldly. “I bought this apartment before the marriage. With my own money. It belongs to me alone.”
Silence fell. My mother-in-law went pale; Andrey closed his eyes.
“Mom, let’s go…” he said quietly.
But she had no intention of backing down.
“So you’re one of those wives who constantly reminds her husband that everything belongs to her?”
“I have never done that,” I said, my voice trembling with anger. “To me, this was our home. Until your son decided otherwise.”
“We’re only here for a couple of weeks!” Alexey cut in as he walked into the kitchen. “Why are you screaming? We’ll sleep on the couch and that’s it.”
“On my couch. And for the record—you’re twenty-five. Live on your own.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” He took a step toward me. “I work, but prices here are insane. My brother said we could stay.”
“He had no right!”
“He did,” Valentina Petrovna snapped. “He’s the man. The head of the family.”
I laughed—short, sharp, almost hysterical.
“The head of the family? In my apartment? The head of the family doesn’t make decisions behind his wife’s back!”
“You are ungrateful!” she barked, pointing a finger at me. “My son provides for you…”
“PROVIDES FOR ME? I make more than he does! I pay for the apartment, the utilities, the food!”
“Lena, enough!” Andrey tried to interrupt.
“No, not enough! It’s the truth!”
“The apartment is huge!” Alexey shouted. “Eighty square meters! What, you’re too selfish to share?”
“This has nothing to do with the size! It’s about the fact that no one asked me!”
“You would have said no anyway!” Andrey suddenly snapped. “Nothing is ever good enough for you!”
Then he straightened up and said:
“My mother and my brother are staying with us. Whether you like it or not. I’ve made my decision.”
I looked at him.
Five years together… and suddenly he felt like a complete stranger.
“I see,” I said quietly.
My mother-in-law smiled with satisfaction.
“That’s right. A family needs order…”
“Pack your things,” I cut in. “All three of you. And leave.”
A dull, heavy silence filled the room.
“You’re serious?” Andrey went pale.
“Completely. You have twenty minutes.”
“You can’t—”
“I can. It’s my apartment.”
“You’re throwing out my MOTHER?”
“I’m throwing all of you out. Including you.”
“How dare you!” my mother-in-law flared.
I stepped toward her.
“You came here without an invitation. Sat on my couch. Drank from my mug. And now you think you can tell me how to live?”
Alexey clenched his fists.
“One more word and—”
“And I’ll call the police,” I said calmly.
Andrey grabbed my arm.
“You’d really do that?”
I pulled out my phone.
“Yes.”
Silence hung over us like a weight.
“I can’t believe this…” he whispered. “All this over what?”
“Over the fact that you didn’t think I deserved to be asked.”
He lowered his eyes.
“We’re husband and wife…”
“We were,” I said.
“Andrey, let’s go!” his mother snapped. “We’re not going to stand here and be humiliated!”
“Fourteen minutes,” I said evenly.
A while later, they were standing in the hallway with their bags. Andrey silently held out his keys. I took them.
“You can pick up the rest of your things on Saturday. Between ten and noon.”
He nodded.
“Lena…”
“Leave.”
The door shut.
I leaned against it and slowly slid down onto the floor. My hands were shaking. Inside, everything burned, yet at the same time I felt strangely empty.
Then I got up, walked into the living room, washed the mug, straightened the cushions, and wiped down the table.
I opened the window.
Cold air rushed into the room—fresh, smelling of rain and freedom.
The apartment was mine again.
And for the first time in a very long while, I felt like I could breathe.
