So this is where you live, son. You’ve settled in well,
— the woman with dyed chestnut hair looked around the hallway appraisingly, lingering on the antique étagère.
— Spacious, bright. Very cozy, just like in a magazine. I always knew you had good taste, you’ve been reaching for the best since childhood.
— Mom, let me introduce you first,
— Artem looked embarrassed, glancing from his mother to Svetlana.
— Don’t start making remarks right on the doorstep. We’ve just come in, we haven’t even taken off our shoes yet.
— Artem, what’s going on?
— Svetlana froze with a dish towel in her hands.
— You said you’d be back in the evening. It’s only noon, I didn’t expect to see you so soon. You’ve always kept your word, always came back exactly at the time you’d promised.
When the key turned in the lock, she was just finishing the dishes after a late breakfast. It was Sunday, noon. Artem had left on Friday for his village, saying his mother needed help around the house and promising to return by Sunday dinner. They’d been living together for seven months, and his trips to his parents’ home happened regularly, but he usually returned when he said he would. His punctuality was one of those endearing traits she appreciated about him. Now that trait had evaporated.
— The plans changed a little,
— he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, dragging a huge, battered suitcase into the hallway.
— Svetlana, this is my mom, Nina Petrovna, and my sister Viktoria. They came back with me, we decided it’d be more convenient for everyone to be together.
A young girl with the same nose and chin as Artem’s gave a faint smile from behind his shoulder, holding a big travel bag cinched with a strap. Her eyes quickly slid over Svetlana, as if assessing her from head to toe.
— Nice to meet you,
— Svetlana said automatically, though there was very little pleasant about the situation. There was a lump in her throat, and fragments of thoughts rushed through her head, refusing to form a coherent picture.
Why didn’t he warn me? Why are they here with luggage?
— Hello,
— Viktoria nodded, uncertainly extending her hand. Her handshake was limp and cold, as if she were doing it under duress.
— Hello, hello, beauty,
— Nina Petrovna gave Svetlana an appraising look, but did not offer her hand. Instead, she took off her coat and hung it on the hook as if she were at home.
— I’ve heard a lot about you from our Artemka. I finally get to meet my daughter-in-law; it just never worked out before. He’s told us so much about you, we already feel like we’ve known you for ages.
Svetlana flinched at the word “daughter-in-law” — she and Artem had never discussed marriage. The word sounded so strange and out of place, as if it had been tossed into the conversation on purpose just to unsettle her.
— Are you… staying with us for long?
— Svetlana asked, trying to rein in her growing confusion and force her voice to sound steady. She was clutching the towel in her hands, feeling the dampness seeping into her palms.
— With you?
— Nina Petrovna arched an eyebrow and walked into the apartment without taking off her shoes, leaving wet footprints on the clean floor.
— Interesting way to put it. My son lives here, so I came to my son. This is his home too, if I understand correctly? He’s registered here, lives here, keeps his things here.
— Mom,
— Artem raised his voice,
— Svetlana and I live together, this is her apartment. We’ve already talked about this. You know perfectly well how everything is arranged.
— Yes, yes, of course,
— his mother waved him off and walked into the living room, examining every corner with the air of an expert.
— My God, how many books! Who even reads nowadays? They just take up space. Collect dust. But your TV is good, big, modern. And the books… that’s a relic of the past.
Svetlana set down the half-washed plate and slowly wiped her hands, trying to collect her thoughts. What was happening felt like a bad dream she couldn’t wake up from. She glanced automatically at the photograph of her parents on the wall — her father in a tweed jacket was smiling, as if cheering her on, reminding her that this home was her fortress.
— Artem, can I talk to you for a minute?
— she nodded toward the kitchen, feeling she had to sort this out now, before the situation got completely out of control.
In the small kitchen, separated from the living area, Svetlana closed the door and lowered her voice to a whisper:
— You didn’t warn me. Why did they come with suitcases? What’s going on? I don’t understand. You left to help with the housework and came back with your family and all their baggage.
Artem rubbed the bridge of his nose — a gesture that appeared when he was under serious stress and didn’t know what to do.
— It’s just… they ran into some problems. Serious problems. They need somewhere to stay. They can’t remain where they were. The situation has gotten very difficult.
— To stay?
— Svetlana felt a cold wave wash over her from the inside, as if she’d been doused with ice water.
— For how long? Couldn’t the problem be solved some other way? Maybe help them financially?
— Not for long,
— he averted his eyes, staring at the pattern on the tiles.
— A month, maybe two. Max. I couldn’t offer them money, we don’t have that much ourselves. And here there’s a roof over their heads, a place to sleep.
From the living room came the sound of furniture being dragged — apparently the guests were already settling in, making themselves at home in a space no one had offered them.
— What kind of problems exactly?
— Svetlana tried to keep her voice calm, though her heart was hammering.
— And why didn’t you discuss this with me in advance? We’re partners, we’re supposed to make decisions like this together.
Artem lowered his voice even more, almost to a whisper:
— Mom invested all her money in some investment company. “Golden Sprout” it’s called. They promised to triple the deposit in six months.
— He sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair.
— The company vanished with all the money. Mom talked the neighbors into investing too. Now there’s a scandal in the village, they’re threatening them. They had to leave urgently. They had nowhere else to go.
— And you decided to bring them here? Without a single call to me? You didn’t even try to discuss it with me, didn’t give me a chance to prepare.
— I was afraid you’d say no,
— Artem admitted honestly.
— But they really have nowhere to go. They’re my family, I can’t abandon them in trouble. You understand, family is the most important thing.
Svetlana leaned against the fridge, feeling her knees start to buckle. She and Artem had met in a bookstore where she worked as an editor. He repaired the cash registers. Two months later he had moved in with her — his rented apartment had gone up in price, and getting a new one was too expensive. Back then it had seemed like a logical step, a sign of trust and love.
— Artem, this is my home,
— she said quietly, looking him straight in the eyes.
— The apartment came from my parents. I can’t just…
She faltered, searching for words that wouldn’t sound cruel but would reflect how she felt.
— I can’t just allow them to settle in here without my consent.
— Sveta, are you really that stingy?
— he stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders.
— She’s my mom. You know what she means to me. She raised me alone, gave me everything. I can’t turn away from her now.
Did she know? In seven months he had gone to the village several times and talked about his mother and sister, but without many details. In recent weeks, the conversations had become more frequent — he mentioned that his mother was having a hard time and that his sister couldn’t find work in their settlement. Svetlana listened with half an ear, not attaching much importance, thinking it was just ordinary family hardship.
— So how bad is it really?
— she stepped away from his hands, suddenly feeling a sharp irritation.
— Are they really being threatened with physical violence? Maybe you should have gone to the police?
— For now it’s only words, but the men there are tough, especially Vasilych, he invested more than anyone,
— Artem began to explain, but at that moment the door swung open and Nina Petrovna appeared on the threshold.
— Sorry to interrupt your sweet little chat, but where’s your bathroom? It was a long trip, we’re tired from the road, I’d like to freshen up.
Svetlana silently pointed toward the door at the end of the hallway. Nina Petrovna nodded and left the kitchen, leaving behind a trail of cloying perfume that mingled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Artem looked guilty, but in his eyes Svetlana saw no remorse — only a stubborn resolve that frightened her.
— I hope you understand what situation you’re putting me in,
— she whispered once they heard Nina Petrovna’s footsteps fade behind the bathroom door.
— You’re confronting me with a fait accompli. That’s disrespectful to me and to our relationship.
— They’re my family,
— Artem answered, as if that explained everything and relieved him of any responsibility for his choices.
They went back to the living room. Viktoria had already made herself comfortable on the couch with her legs up, leafing through a magazine from the bookcase that she had taken without asking. The suitcases were still standing in the hallway — a mute reminder of the uninvited guests who clearly intended to stay for a while.
— You’ve got a nice life here,
— Viktoria remarked, looking around with poorly concealed envy.
— We don’t have anything like this in the village. All this space, such pretty furniture. Just like in the movies.
— This was my parents’ apartment,
— Svetlana answered, feeling the need to explain, even though she understood it was pointless.
— They left it to me when they died. It’s all I have left of them.
— Ah, so you’re an heiress,
— Viktoria drawled, barely hiding her envy.
— Lucky you. Some people get everything just like that, by inheritance, and others work all their lives and have nothing.
Lucky. Svetlana felt a hot wave of outrage rising inside her. Lucky that her parents had died three years ago, leaving her alone? Lucky that she had spent months sorting out documents, paying off debts, going through probate court because of a lost will? Lucky that every night she woke up to the suffocating silence of this apartment where once her parents’ voices had always sounded?
Nina Petrovna came out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on a towel with embroidery — a housewarming gift from Svetlana’s grandmother. She hung it back on the hook, leaving it wet.
— Artemushka, maybe it’s time for a bite to eat? We’re tired from the trip. My stomach is asking for food, and it smells so good in your kitchen. I suppose you cook wonderfully, Svetlana. You’ll have to share some recipes.
Svetlana caught the look mother and son exchanged. Too confident, too casual. As if they had long since decided everything, and she was just an extra in their play, assigned the role of the hospitable hostess.
— Mom, maybe we should first sort out the luggage?
— Artem suggested cautiously.
— Decide who’s going to sleep where. We need to understand how to get everyone settled comfortably.
— What is there to decide?
— Nina Petrovna went over to the window, drew the curtain aside and looked out.
— You’ve got two rooms. You in one, we with Vika in the other. Simple. Like a hotel. No problem.
Svetlana’s breath caught. She felt the ground slipping out from under her feet.
— I’m sorry, what?
— she looked at Artem, expecting him to step in and explain that this was impossible.
— The second room is my study. I’m an editor, I need a place to work. My computer is there, my books, my manuscripts. I can’t just give up my workspace.
Nina Petrovna smirked, turning toward them, and irritation flashed in her eyes.
— Darling, when we’re talking about a roof over a family’s head, what kind of “study” is that? You can work in the kitchen. We won’t disturb you. We’re quiet, modest. You won’t even notice we’re here.
— Mom, let’s not rush things,
— Artem tried to smooth it over, but his voice sounded uncertain.
— Svetlana’s right, she needs a place to work. She works a lot from home, she needs peace and quiet.
— And we need a place to live,
— Nina snapped, her voice turning firmer.
— Surely your…
She paused, as if searching for a word.
— Your girlfriend can squeeze up a little? We’re not strangers. We’re family. Family should always help each other.
Strangers. That was the word pulsing in Svetlana’s head. These people were complete strangers to her. Seven months with Artem, and not once — not a single time — had she met his relatives. Only conversations, hints, complaints about their hard life. And now here they were in her home, demanding their share of her sunlight.
— Let’s sit down and calmly talk this through,
— Svetlana suggested, trying to keep her sanity and find the strength for a dialogue.
— I understand you’re in a difficult situation, but we need a solution that works for everyone. Maybe we can help you find temporary accommodation, rent an apartment nearby.
— What is there to discuss when people have nowhere to live?
— Nina shook her head as if amazed by Svetlana’s heartlessness.
— Especially since, as I understand, Artem has been living here for a while. You’re practically a family. And in a family everything is shared: joys and sorrows. And the roof over your head too.
— We’re dating,
— Svetlana said firmly, feeling her patience wearing thin.
— Artem has lived here seven months, but this is my apartment. I am its sole owner. That’s important to understand.
— Oh, come on, Sveta,
— Artem suddenly cut in, and there were notes of irritation in his voice.
— We’re together, aren’t we. What difference does it make whose name is on the place? We’re building a relationship, we’re partners. You can’t keep dividing everything into “mine” and “yours.”
Svetlana looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. The man she’d woken up beside every morning for months, with whom she’d shared joys and sorrows, suddenly seemed unrecognizable. A stranger. His words grated on her ears, making her doubt their relationship had ever been real.
— A big difference,
— she answered quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
— A very big difference. This is my home, and I decide who lives in it.
The phone ringing sliced through the tense atmosphere. Nina flinched and quickly pulled the mobile out of her pocket. Seeing the screen, she went deathly pale, and her confidence vanished.
— Who is it?
— Artem asked, noticing her fear.
— Vasilych,
— she whispered, and for the first time Svetlana heard real, unfeigned terror in her voice.
— How did he get my new number? I only bought this SIM yesterday, no one knew it.
The phone kept ringing, insistent and menacing. After a moment’s hesitation, Nina pressed “decline” and immediately switched the phone off, as if afraid it would ring again.
— How did they find out?
— Viktoria asked in panic, jumping off the sofa and hurrying to her mother.
— You said you changed your number! You promised no one would find us! What happens now?
— I don’t know,
— Nina sank into an armchair, suddenly looking ten years older. Her arrogance had evaporated, leaving only fear and confusion.
— Maybe through Klavdiya Stepanovna. She works in the village council, she has access to the records. She always tells everyone everything.
Svetlana looked from mother to daughter, beginning to grasp the true scale of the problem. This was not just an awkward situation — it was a full-blown crisis they had dragged to her doorstep.
— How many people invested money on your recommendation?
— Svetlana asked, trying to get to the bottom of it.
Nina pressed her lips together, then narrowed her eyes, that familiar aggression flickering back into them:
— And how do you know about the investments? Artem already reported everything, did he? You two managed to whisper about it in the kitchen?
— We talked in the kitchen,
— Svetlana kept her irritation in check, understanding that emotions would only make things worse.
— So, how many?
— What difference does it make? What’s done is done. You can’t turn water back into milk. The past is the past.
— Half the village,
— Viktoria said quietly, staring at the floor.
— Mom convinced everyone. She said she’d invested herself and was already getting interest. Everyone believed her because she’s always been an authority in the village.
— Vika!
— Nina snapped, but it was too late.
— What about Vika?
— the girl snapped back, tears in her voice.
— You think they won’t find out? Vasilych put in five hundred thousand — everything he had. And Grandma Zina — three years of her pension. We can’t go back to the village now. They’ll just kill us if we do.
Svetlana felt nausea rising in her throat. These people hadn’t just gotten into trouble — they had deceived an entire village, ruined people’s lives, and now were seeking refuge in her home, without the slightest hint of remorse.
— And how long are you planning to stay here?
— she asked, already knowing the answer but hoping they would at least be honest about this.
Nina and Artem exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them.
— Until things calm down,
— Artem answered evasively.
— Until the storm blows over. We can’t send them back now, it’s dangerous.
— And when will that be?
— Svetlana pressed, feeling despair closing in.
— In a month? In a year? In five years? When they decide they’ve forgiven you?
Nina suddenly straightened her shoulders, as if coming to a decision, and her face once again became arrogant and assured.
— Let me tell you something, dear,
— her voice turned sickeningly sweet, but there was no warmth in her eyes.
— There’s no going back for us now. No money, no home. So you’ll just have to learn to live with us. You’re not going to throw the mother of your man out onto the street, are you? That would be wrong from a moral standpoint. You’re a good girl, I can see that.
Something in her tone, in that self-satisfied look, made Svetlana go cold. She understood: this was not a temporary measure. These people had come here for good. They didn’t see her as a person, but as a resource, a convenient solution to their problems.
— I’m not throwing anyone out,
— Svetlana tried to keep her voice level, though inside everything was shaking from anger and hurt.
— But you can’t just take and move into my home. Without warning, without discussion. This is a violation of my boundaries, of my personal space.
— But you’re not against helping your man’s mother, are you?
— Nina came closer, resting a hand on her son’s shoulder, emphasizing their unity.
— Artemushka, tell your girl that this is not how you treat family. Family is sacred. We have to stick together, especially in hard times.
Svetlana turned her gaze on Artem. He stood there, eyes lowered, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. The same man who had once seemed reliable and loving now looked like a frightened boy, unable to stand up for himself or for her.
— Sveta, honestly, let’s find a compromise,
— he finally said, still not looking at her.
— Just for a while. They’ll stay in the study, and you can work in the bedroom or the kitchen for now. You can put up with it. We’re adults, we can work it out.
— Put up with it?
— Something inside Svetlana finally snapped. Once and for all.
— You know, Artem, I’ve put up with a lot. Your socks all over the place. Your friends dropping by without warning. Your habit of never screwing the cap back on the toothpaste. But this —
She gestured around them, indicating his mother and sister, their luggage.
— This is beyond the limit. This is no longer minor everyday annoyances; this is an invasion of my life.
Nina snorted, folding her arms across her chest, her face twisted into a contemptuous smirk.
— Not very hospitable,
— she observed.
— Artemushka, and you said she was kind and nice. But I see she only thinks about herself. About her own comfort.
— Mom, stop it,
— Artem muttered, but his voice was weak, unconvincing.
— I’m just saying what I see!
— Nina’s voice rose, tinged with hysteria.
— Your father was right. These city folks think only of themselves. She’s got a three-room apartment and can’t share one room! Three whole rooms, and we’re asking for just one!
— Two-room,
— Svetlana corrected automatically, feeling a strange calm settle over her.
— And it’s mine. It’s not just square meters, it’s my home, my memories, my life.
— What’s the difference?
— Artem interjected, irritation finally creeping into his voice.
— Sveta, I live here, don’t I? So my family has the right to some space here too. We’re not strangers; we were planning a future together.
Svetlana suddenly felt a flare of white-hot anger. That sentence was the last straw.
— So what then? You’ve lived here seven months and you think that gives you the right to dispose of my apartment? The apartment my parents left me? You think living together automatically makes you a co-owner?
— Well, I do help with the utilities,
— he muttered, lowering his eyes.
— I contribute.
— Help?
— Svetlana almost laughed, but the laugh came out bitter and harsh.
— You’ve paid for the internet twice in all this time. And your “help around the house” is taking out the trash once a week. On good weeks. You haven’t paid rent, you haven’t bought groceries, you haven’t contributed to major expenses. You just lived here, using everything that was here.
A heavy, oppressive silence settled over the room. Svetlana could feel her pulse pounding in her temples, the blood rushing to her face. Her gaze fell on the photo of her parents on the wall — her father in his favorite tweed jacket and her mother with that warm, encouraging smile. What would they say now? They would support her; they would tell her she was right to defend her home.
— Artem,
— Svetlana straightened up, suddenly realizing exactly what she needed to do. Realizing there was no other way.
— Can we talk in the bedroom? Alone. Without an audience.
In their — her — bedroom, Svetlana shut the door tightly, shutting out the uninvited guests. Artem sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at her in bewilderment, as if he couldn’t believe she could be this firm.
— Listen, I know you’re angry, but… we can find a way. Don’t make any rash decisions. Let’s calm down and talk everything through.
— I’m not angry,
— Svetlana interrupted him, and it was true. The anger had receded, replaced by a cold, steely resolve.
— I just realized who you are. Who we are, really. I realized that our relationship was an illusion.
— What are you talking about?
— He tried to stand up, but her look made him stay put.
— We love each other. We were making plans for the future.
— Tell me, did you plan this move from the very beginning? Was that your plan all along? Did you move in with me specifically to bring your family here later?
Artem looked away, and that small gesture was enough for everything to become painfully clear. He couldn’t look her in the eye because he couldn’t lie outright.
— They’re my family,
— he repeated like a memorized mantra that justified anything he did.
— I couldn’t leave them in trouble. You have to understand that.
— And what about me?
— Svetlana crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her confidence grow with every word.
— Who am I in this story? Your girlfriend? Your partner? Or just a way to solve your family’s housing problem?
He said nothing, and his silence spoke louder than any words.
— Do you know what that’s called, Artem?
— she walked over to the wardrobe and swung the door open.
— It’s called using someone. You used me. My apartment. My feelings. You allowed yourself and your family to invade my space without asking my opinion.
— That’s not true!
— he jumped up, his face contorted with anger.
— I love you, you know that! I just wanted to help my family! Is that a crime? Is it wrong to help the people you care about?
— No,
— she shook her head, looking at him with bottomless sadness.
— I don’t know anymore. And now I never will know whether it was love or just calculation. I’m sorry, but the trust between us is destroyed.
She pulled his shirts out of the wardrobe — the ones she used to iron lovingly, hanging them carefully on hangers — and tossed them onto the bed. Then she moved on to his trousers, T-shirts, sweaters.
— Pack your things. All of your things. And your relatives’ things too.
— What?
— Artem stared at her in disbelief.
— You’re joking, right? You’re actually planning to kick us out? All of us? Where are we supposed to go?
— I’ve never been more serious,
— Svetlana continued methodically taking his clothes out and stacking them on the bed.
— You’ve got half an hour. After that, I’ll call the police. I don’t want a scandal, but I’m prepared to go that far to protect my home.
— The police? For what?!
— his voice cracked.
— We haven’t done anything! We just came to visit!
— For unlawful entry. For an attempted illegal move-in. This is my apartment. I am the only lawful resident here. You aren’t registered here, you have no ownership rights. And your relatives are uninvited guests, whom I did not invite and don’t want in my home.
— Svetlana, you can’t!
— Artem grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to force her to look at him.
— Think, where are we supposed to go? They don’t have money, they don’t know anyone in the city! They’ll be out on the street! Is that what you want?
His touch had once brought warmth and a sense of safety. Now she felt only disgust, cold and sharp. Svetlana pulled free and stepped back, putting distance between them.
— Not my problem,
— her voice was even and cold as steel.
— They’re your family, as you’re so fond of saying. So you take care of them. But not in my home. Find another place. Rent a room, an apartment. But my home is closed to them.
Artem opened his mouth to argue, to bring out new reasons, but at that moment the door flew open and Nina burst in without knocking, her eyes blazing with fury.
— What’s going on here?
— she demanded, looking at the clothes scattered around and folded piles.
— What does this mean? Why are you packing his things?
— You’re leaving,
— Svetlana answered in a firm, no-nonsense tone.
— All of you. Gather your belongings and leave my apartment.
— What do you mean — we’re leaving?
— Nina turned to her son, seeking support.
— Artemushka, explain to your girl that you can’t treat family like this! Tell her we’re staying!
— Enough!
— Svetlana raised her voice so sharply and loudly that both women froze, stunned by her sudden strength.
— Enough pretending this is normal! You burst into my home uninvited, plan to take over my room, manage my property, and now you’re trying to make me out to be the one in the wrong? This is my home! Do you hear me? Mine!
— How dare you talk to me like that!
— Nina stepped closer, but Svetlana didn’t back down, meeting her gaze with unshakable firmness.
— No, how do you dare?
— her voice thundered, filling the entire room.
— What, you decided you’re the mistress of this place now?
She turned to Artem, putting all her pain and disappointment into her words.
— You came here with nothing, not a penny to your name, without a roof over your head, and now you think you can dictate terms to me? You came in a pauper, and you’ll leave a pauper!
Viktoria appeared in the doorway, drawn by the shouting. Her face showed curiosity mixed with fear, as if she realized their little plan was collapsing.
— What did you say?
— Nina stepped even closer, clenching her fists, but Svetlana stood her ground, immovable as a rock.
— You heard me,
— she replied, not raising her voice, but each word hit with dead-on precision.
— I will not let you take what’s mine. My parents built this life, saved up for this apartment, created this comfort. And you think you can just walk in and claim it all? You think you have that right? You don’t. You have no right.
— Artemushka!
— Nina cried, turning to her son with a mix of pleading and anger.
— Are you going to let her talk to your mother like that? Won’t you defend your family? Stand up for us!
But Artem was silent, looking at Svetlana with new eyes — surprised, hurt, and, it seemed, with a reluctant respect. He was seeing in her a strength he’d never noticed before, and it left him speechless.
Svetlana walked out of the bedroom, went into the living room and started dialing on her phone. Her fingers didn’t tremble.
— Taxi?
— her voice was calm and businesslike.
— I need a car. Prospekt Mira, building 42. Three passengers with luggage. Yes, as soon as possible.
— You’re really kicking us out?
— Artem finally found his voice as he came out of the bedroom. His face was pale.
— After everything we’ve had together? After these months we spent together? Can you really just wipe it all out like that?
Svetlana ended the call with the dispatcher and turned to him. There was no hatred or malice in her eyes — only endless weariness and determination.
— And what have we had, Artem?
— she asked softly, so only he could hear.
— Can you honestly say you didn’t plan this “move”? That you hadn’t been preparing the ground all this time? That your frequent trips to your mother weren’t part of this plan? Look me in the eyes and say it.
He looked away, unable to withstand her piercing gaze, and that was the most honest and bitter answer she could have received.
— Get out,
— she pointed to the door with the unbending authority of a judge.
— The taxi will be here in fifteen minutes. I suggest you hurry so you don’t keep the driver waiting.
Nina flushed crimson with rage. All her fake nobility vanished, replaced by malice.
— Good riddance!
— she hissed venomously, gathering her things.
— With a character like yours, you’re meant to live alone! You don’t deserve Artem one bit! Think you’re a queen just because you’ve got an apartment? You’re empty, cold, incapable of real feelings! You’ll never understand what family is!
Svetlana smiled for the first time that horrible day. It was a sad, but liberating smile.
— Better to be alone than with such “family.” Better to be alone than with someone who sees you not as a person, but as a convenient opportunity. And now,
— she picked up Viktoria’s bag and set it by the door,
— out. All of you.
Fifteen minutes later they were standing outside by the entrance. Artem looked lost and broken, Viktoria — frightened and confused, and Nina — indignant to the core, her face flushed with anger. From the window Svetlana watched the taxi pull up, watched them reluctantly, slowly load their things into the trunk and argue with the driver about something.
Before getting into the car, Artem looked up at her window. Their eyes met through the glass — for a second Svetlana thought she saw remorse there, a realization of the mistake he’d made. But she no longer believed those eyes. The trust was gone for good.
When the taxi disappeared around the corner, Svetlana locked the door with all the deadbolts and called a locksmith she knew, arranging to have the locks changed first thing the next morning. Then she slowly walked through the apartment, opening the windows to let in the cool evening air, washing away the smell of foreign perfume and other people’s problems. In the kitchen she stopped in front of her parents’ photograph.
— I did it,
— she whispered, running her finger along the dusty frame.
— I protected what you left me. I didn’t let them use me. I’m sorry if I was too harsh, but there was no other way.
From the hallway came the sound of the doorbell. Svetlana froze — had they come back? Had they decided to keep arguing? With a pounding heart she walked to the door and looked through the peephole. To her relief, she saw her elderly neighbor, Elena Vasilievna, who lived a floor above.
— Svetlanochka, I heard noise,
— Elena said when she opened the door.
— Are you all right? I saw some people leaving with luggage. Nothing bad happened?
— Yes,
— Svetlana nodded, suddenly feeling weak.
— Everything’s fine now. Just some unwanted guests came to visit. But now they’re gone.
— And your young man… I saw him leaving with his things,
— the neighbor looked at her with concern.
— He’s no longer my young man,
— Svetlana said firmly.
— Our paths have parted.
— And good for you!
— Elena exclaimed unexpectedly, slapping her knee.
— Your parents didn’t leave you this apartment so that various freeloaders could…
She didn’t finish the sentence, but shook her gray head meaningfully.
— A self-reliant girl should decide for herself whom to let into her home and whom to keep out. You’re strong, you’ll manage.
Later that evening, sitting in the kitchen with a big mug of hot tea, Svetlana felt a strange — almost unfamiliar — sense of relief. It was as if some huge pressure had left her life, a weight she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying until she threw it off. Her phone was silent — no calls, no messages from Artem. Somewhere deep down she might have hoped for an apology, for all this to turn out to be a terrible dream, a misunderstanding.
But it wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a clear, cold calculation, dressed up in words about love and family.
She picked up an old, worn key from the table — her father’s key, the one from the oak box with important family documents. That key had always been a sort of talisman, a symbol of their family. Her father used to say when he put it in her hand:
“While we have the key to our secrets, to our home, we decide ourselves whom to let into our life and whom to leave outside the door. Never give this key to strangers.”
Svetlana clenched it in her fist, feeling the warmth of the metal that had absorbed the warmth of her father’s hands.
Outside, a light autumn rain was tapping against the windowpane, and inside the apartment it was quiet. Unusually, deafeningly quiet. But in this silence there was no longer the oppressive loneliness — only calm, peace, and the certainty that tomorrow belonged to her alone, and that she would decide for herself what her life would be like, and who would walk beside her on her path.
And sometimes the most important key is not the one that opens a door, but the one that lets you lock it against those who have no place inside.
