Yana turned the key in the lock and let out a sigh of relief. Finally home. Behind her was another exhausting day at the office, where clients demanded the impossible and management pressed with deadlines. Her two-room apartment greeted her with its usual order and silence—everything lay exactly where it was supposed to.
She kicked off her shoes at the door, walked into the living room, and sank into her favorite armchair. Her eyes wandered over the perfectly arranged furniture, the dust-free shelves. This was her kingdom—small, but ideal. No unnecessary people, no chaos.
Oleg was still at work, as usual. Yana wasn’t in a hurry with dinner—let her husband come home first, and then they would eat quietly at the kitchen table, discussing the day.
The sound of keys in the lock came around nine. Oleg entered, tired but cheerful.
“Hi, sunshine,” he kissed Yana on the cheek and went to wash his hands. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Yana began putting salad on the plates. “What’s new with you?”
Oleg sat across from her and stirred the soup absentmindedly with his spoon.
“You know, Maxim called today. My nephew, remember? My brother’s son.”
“Of course I remember,” Yana nodded. “What about him?”
“He had a serious fight with his parents. Left home, can’t rent a place yet. Asked if he could stay with us for a few days, until he makes peace or finds something.”
Yana set down her fork and looked at her husband intently. His eyes carried both a plea and readiness for refusal.
“Of course we can help,” she said softly. “He’s young, hot-headed. Fights with parents happen. Let him come.”
Oleg’s face lit up.
“Thank you, Yanka. I knew you’d understand. Maxim’s a good guy. He won’t get in the way.”
Maxim showed up at their apartment with a small backpack slung over his shoulder. Tall, thin. With a polite smile and grateful eyes.
“Thanks so much for letting me stay. I know this is inconvenient for you. I’ll try not to bother you at all.”
“Oh, come on, Maxim,” Yana showed him the living room. “Make yourself comfortable on the sofa. The blanket’s in the closet, and a pillow too. I’ll give you a clean towel.”
“I’ll be very careful,” the nephew assured, eyeing the spotless room. “And not for long, I promise.”
Yana showed him where the bathroom was, explained how the shower worked, where the towels were kept. Oleg watched with a satisfied smile.
“I’ve got a wonderful wife,” he said to his nephew. “A golden heart.”
A week of shared living passed. Maxim really did try not to disturb them—quietly came home late at night, left early in the morning. Sometimes they crossed paths in the kitchen; he greeted them politely and thanked them for their hospitality.
Yana gradually got used to the presence of a third person in the house. Of course, it was unusual to find an extra cup in the sink or see crumpled cushions on the sofa in the morning, but nothing critical.
“Tomorrow I’m going to make up with my parents,” Maxim announced over dinner on Friday. “I already miss home. And I’ve probably worn out my welcome here.”
“Oh, nonsense, Maxim,” Oleg patted his nephew on the shoulder. “We were glad to help.”
The next day Maxim packed his things and left, thanking them once again for their kindness.
Yana began tidying up the living room and discovered scratches on the coffee table. Deep, noticeable. On the sofa, a greasy stain that definitely hadn’t been there before. In the bathroom, her expensive facial serum was gone, and the mirror was speckled with dried water marks.
Annoyance rose in a wave, but Yana forced herself to calm down. Trifles. The main thing was that they had helped someone in a difficult situation.
“Well,” Oleg asked in the evening, “wasn’t it too hard with Maxim?”
“It was fine,” Yana replied while clearing the table. “He tried not to get in the way.”
“Thanks again, sunshine. Now I know for sure who I can count on in any situation.”
Yana smiled at her husband, but inside, for the first time, a strange thought flickered—about the price sometimes paid for a reputation of being accommodating.
A month later, the phone rang on a Saturday morning. Oleg talked for a long time, occasionally glancing at his wife. Yana was making pancakes, but she already guessed what the conversation would be about.
“That was Sveta,” her husband said after hanging up. “My sister. They’ve got a problem with Liza.”
“What kind of problem?” Yana flipped another pancake, trying to keep her voice calm.
“Liza got into our university, but there’s a hitch with the dorm. No rooms, the waiting list is huge. Sveta’s asking if we can put her up for a while until something opens up.”
Yana slowly set the pan back on the stove. Liza was his eighteen-year-old niece, whom she’d seen only a couple of times at family gatherings.
“For how long?” Yana asked.
“Well, a couple of weeks at most,” Oleg shrugged. “Maybe a dorm spot will free up or she’ll rent something with friends.”
“All right,” Yana said after a pause. “Let her come.”
“Thank you, sunshine!” Oleg hugged her. “She’s family, it’s hard to say no.”
The next day Liza arrived at their apartment with two huge suitcases and a backpack. A tall blonde in bright jeans, she looked around attentively, nodding as if evaluating.
“Nice place you’ve got,” the girl declared, dropping her backpack right on the floor. “So where do I sleep?”
“On the sofa in the living room,” Yana showed her. “Blankets and pillows are in the closet, I’ll give you a towel.”
“Okay,” Liza was already pulling out her phone. “What’s the Wi-Fi? I need good internet for my studies.”
Already on the second day, Yana realized the student was completely different from the polite Maxim. Liza talked loudly on the phone until late at night, laughed, blasted music from early morning. She left dishes in the sink, and her favorite phrase—“I’ll clean up later”—became her trademark.
“Liza,” Yana said gently at breakfast, “could you try talking on the phone a little more quietly? The neighbors have a small child.”
“Oh, come on, Aunt Yana,” the girl waved her off. “It’s not nighttime. It’s only eleven in the evening.”
Oleg kept reading the news on his tablet, ignoring the conversation. Yana cleared the table, swallowing her objections.
Two weeks turned into a month. Liza still hadn’t found a dorm, but she had found a new group of friends. They came over in the evenings, loudly discussing classes, playing music, laughing. Yana wasn’t getting enough sleep and began making mistakes at work she’d never made before.
“Oleg,” she said to her husband one evening, “talk to Liza about some rules. I’m exhausted, I can’t rest properly.”
“Oh, don’t fuss,” Oleg didn’t even look up from the TV. “Young people need to socialize. She’ll move out soon.”
“But this is our home,” Yana tried to object. “We have a right to peace and quiet.”
“Don’t dramatize,” her husband waved her off. “Be patient a little longer.”
Yana silently served him another portion, but inside she knew clearly. Her husband was perfectly fine with the situation—but she was the only one paying the price for family hospitality.
But at last, Liza moved out.
Two months of calm life restored Yana’s strength. The apartment once again belonged only to the two of them, everything in its place, no one making noise at night. Yana treasured this privacy anew, rejoiced in the silence and order. It seemed Oleg had learned the lesson too—no one else asked to stay.
But one evening, the phone rang again. Oleg spoke for a long time, nodding, making promises. Yana froze in the kitchen, making salad, her stomach tightening at the mere thought of another stranger in their home.
“That was Uncle Vova,” Oleg said, ending the call. “Denis is renovating his apartment, he needs a place to stay for a couple of weeks.”
“Denis?” Yana repeated, though she remembered perfectly well her husband’s cousin.
“Yeah, my cousin. They’re redoing the whole apartment with workers, impossible to live there. Uncle asks if we can put him up for two weeks at most.”
Yana slowly set down the knife she’d been using to chop cucumbers. Memories of Maxim and Liza surged back—damaged furniture, sleepless nights, expenses to restore order.
“Oleg, maybe we can find another option?” she suggested carefully. “Remember what it was like with Liza? I can’t keep taking people in all the time.”
“What are you talking about?” Oleg looked at her in surprise. “It’s family, our own people. When did you become so heartless?”
The word heartless cut Yana. Heartless? After all she had endured for his relatives?
“I’m not heartless,” Yana answered more firmly. “I’m just tired of turning our home into a hotel.”
“Denis is coming tomorrow,” Oleg declared in a tone that allowed no argument. “I already gave my word.”
“Without my consent?” Yana’s voice rose. “This is our apartment!”
“Ours, yes,” Oleg said coldly. “But I’m the one who makes decisions here.”
Yana felt the air in the room grow heavier. Her husband looked at her differently now, and that look scared her.
“I won’t tolerate lodgers in my home anymore,” Yana said clearly. “I’ve had enough.”
“You think you’re the mistress here?” Oleg exploded. “Only I make decisions here!”
Her husband’s shout rang in her ears. Yana had never seen Oleg like this—red with rage, eyes burning. The silence after his words was deafening.
“Yes,” Yana replied calmly, looking him straight in the eye. “I am the mistress here. Because this is my apartment, bought with my money.”
“Your apartment?” Oleg’s voice rose even louder. “And who lives in it? Who did the renovations? You’re a greedy selfish woman! Denis will come, whether you like it or not!”
“He’ll come?” Yana felt a strange calmness. “As he comes, so he’ll leave. Because you won’t be here anymore.”
“What did you say?” Oleg took a step toward his wife.
“You don’t live here anymore either,” Yana repeated slowly and clearly. “I’m done bending to others’ needs. It’s time to truly be the mistress in my own home.”
Oleg opened his mouth, but Yana raised her hand, stopping him.
“Pack your things and leave. Go to the relatives you love so much. Let’s see how long they’ll put up with you under their roof.”
“You’ve gone mad!” Oleg hissed. “I’m your husband!”
“You were my husband,” Yana corrected. “Until you decided my opinion meant nothing in my own home.”
Yana turned and headed to the bedroom. Behind her, her husband was shouting about ingratitude and selfishness, but the words no longer reached her. For the first time in many years, Yana knew for certain she was doing the right thing.
