The key didn’t work.
Andrey twisted it in the lock again, pressing harder. Sometimes the mechanism just stuck. He pulled it out and held it up to the light — the same key as always, with the little soccer-ball keychain. He slid it back in. The metal scraped, but the cylinder refused to turn.
“What the hell…” he muttered, pressing the doorbell.
Silence. He rang again, longer this time, then knocked. Nothing. The lights were on inside — he’d seen them from downstairs. Marina was definitely home. And Lena too.
He pulled out his phone and called his wife. The ringing dragged on endlessly.
“Hello,” Marina finally answered. Her voice was calm — unnervingly calm.
“Marina, can’t you hear me? I’ve been ringing for five minutes. And my key won’t work. Did the lock jam?”
“It didn’t jam.”
“Then please open the door. I’m dead tired.”
“I’m not opening it.”
Andrey froze, phone pressed to his ear. He could hear her steady breathing on the other end.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, Andrey. It’s not. I changed the locks,” she said evenly, though there was iron in her tone. “And I kept the only key.”
“Have you lost your mind?” He raised his voice, then glanced around the landing and lowered it. “Marina, what is this? Open the door right now!”
“If you refuse to put your sister in her place, then you don’t come in either.”
“What does Lena have to do with this?”
“Everything. I’ve put up with her behavior for two weeks. I’ve asked you for two weeks to deal with it. And you’ve pretended nothing’s happening.”
“Let’s talk inside, like normal people. Open the door.”
“No. If you want to talk, go to your mother’s. Take Lena with you.”
“You can’t just throw me out!”
“I can. And I did. Good night, Andrey.”
The line went dead.
He stared at his phone, stunned. He tried calling again — she declined. Again — same result. He texted: Marina, stop this nonsense! I’m freezing, I’m exhausted, I want to come home! No reply.
The elevator doors banged open behind him. A neighbor from the third floor stepped out, looked at him in confusion, and disappeared into her apartment. Andrey realized how ridiculous he must look — a grown man locked out of his own home.
He went downstairs, got into his car, and slammed his palm against the steering wheel. Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes — though he’d quit half a year ago — cracked the window, and lit one.
What the hell is happening?
Lena had arrived the previous Saturday with a single gym bag and red, swollen eyes.
“He kicked me out,” she sobbed while Marina put the kettle on. “Just told me to grab my stuff and leave. After three years, can you believe it?”
Andrey wrapped his arm around his sister, stroking her hair.
“It’s okay, Lenka. We’ll get through it. Right, Marish?”
Marina nodded as she poured the tea. She genuinely felt sorry for Lena — breakups were painful. Though Andrey had never spoken highly of Lena’s boyfriend: he drank, could be rude, and didn’t earn much.
“Of course,” Marina said. “Stay a few days, calm down. We’ll figure things out.”
“Thank you,” Lena sniffed. “You’re the best. I won’t stay long, I promise. I’ll find something and move out.”
A few days became a week, then nearly two. At first Marina didn’t complain. Their apartment was small — just two rooms — but Lena slept on the living room couch and didn’t seem to cause trouble. Slowly, though, the details began to pile up.
First, Marina’s new dress disappeared. She’d planned to wear it to a corporate event. She opened her closet — gone. She found it on Lena, who was getting ready to leave.
“Oh, this?” Lena looked at herself in the mirror. “I just borrowed it to try on. It’s cute. You weren’t wearing it yet.”
“I was planning to wear it today.”
“Oh, sorry!” Lena didn’t look sorry at all. “You have tons of other things. I’ll just meet a friend and bring it back.”
Marina swallowed her irritation.
“No. I need it. Where are you going?”
But Lena was already out the door. The dress came back the next day — wrinkled and stained with wine.
Then the cosmetics started disappearing. Marina noticed her new mascara had dried out — left open. Her perfume level had noticeably dropped. The expensive face cream was almost gone.
“Lena, have you been using my makeup?” Marina asked one morning.
Lena shrugged, chewing toast with the last of Marina’s favorite cherry jam.
“Yeah. I don’t have any of my own. I thought you wouldn’t mind. We’re family.”
“Family doesn’t mean taking things without asking.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be stingy.”
Andrey looked up from his phone. “Marish, don’t fight with her. She’s going through a tough time.”
Marina clenched her teeth and left the kitchen. Staying silent was becoming harder.
The refrigerator emptied at alarming speed. Yogurts Marina bought for herself disappeared. Expensive cheese she’d saved was eaten at night. When she brought it up, Lena snapped:
“I have no money! Do you want me to starve? Maksim gave me nothing when he kicked me out. I thought at least here I’d be understood.”
“I’m not saying starve,” Marina said. “But at least ask.”
“Why are you so uptight?” Lena flared. “Andrey, tell her!”
As usual, Andrey tried to smooth things over.
But nothing changed.
In private, Marina tried talking to her husband.
“She acts like it’s her apartment,” Marina said one evening.
“She’s my sister. She’s struggling,” Andrey replied.
“She’s been struggling for two weeks. When is she going to look for work? Move out?”
“She is looking.”
“Really? Because all I see is her on the couch watching shows.”
When Marina suggested Lena move in with their mother, Andrey stiffened.
“She won’t go there.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t get along.”
“And here is fine? Using my things, our food, not even helping?”
“She’ll help if you ask.”
“I shouldn’t have to ask. She’s twenty-six!”
He promised to talk to Lena — but never truly did.
The breaking point came Thursday. Marina came home with heavy grocery bags. The apartment smelled of frying meat. Lena was cooking.
“You’re cooking?” Marina asked tiredly.
“Yeah, starving,” Lena said. “You don’t mind if I used the beef? I’m sick of chicken.”
The beef had been expensive — Marina had planned to make beef stroganoff.
“Maybe that’s enough,” Marina said quietly.
“Enough of what?”
“Acting like this is your home. It isn’t. You’re a guest.”
Lena turned slowly. “It’s my brother’s home.”
“And mine too.”
“I thought I wasn’t a stranger.”
“You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you can take everything.”
“Oh, stop nagging! I’m having a hard time and you’re making scenes over food!”
“It’s not about food. It’s about respect.”
They argued. Lena stormed out. When Andrey returned, he once again defended his sister.
Three more days passed. Nothing changed.
So Marina made a decision.
After being locked out, Andrey drove to his mother’s apartment — a worn five-story building across town. He explained everything. His mother listened, a mix of judgment and satisfaction in her eyes.
“Maybe Marina has a point,” she said unexpectedly. “Lena needs to grow up.”
He texted Lena to come to their mother’s place. She resisted, but had few options.
The next morning Marina called.
“Come over. Without Lena.”
He returned home. Marina looked calm — even lighter.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Tired of being the bad one for wanting boundaries.”
She explained that Lena had joked the night before: Why rush? It’s nice here.
That was it. Marina had needed to feel at home again.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Resolve this. For good.”
He agreed.
He met Lena at a café.
“You need to find somewhere else to live,” he said.
She stared at him. “You’re on her side?”
“I’m on the side of common sense.”
He told her plainly: she’d crossed lines. She needed a job, responsibility.
“You’re twenty-six,” he said. “When will you take control of your life?”
She cried — but finally nodded.
“What do I do?”
“Apologize to Marina. Find work. Move in with Mom for now.”
She reluctantly agreed.
That evening Andrey returned home.
“Well?” Marina asked.
“She’s moving to Mom’s. She’ll look for work. She wants to apologize.”
Marina nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I should have listened.”
“I forgive you,” she said, stepping closer. “But if it happens again — I’ll change the locks again.”
He laughed and held her tight.
“It won’t happen again.”
And this time, he meant it. Because he had nearly lost what mattered most — and he wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
