Natasha was wiping down the kitchen table when Dmitry walked in, phone in hand, wearing a strange half-smile.
“Natash, there’s something I need to tell you. Aunt Galina called. She wants to come stay with us for a few days. Says she needs to see some specialists in the city.”
“Aunt Galina?” Natasha straightened up. “Is that the one who lives three hundred kilometers away? I’ve never even met her.”
“Yeah, that one. She’ll come with her husband and daughter. Boris and Victoria. I thought, well, why not? Let them come. The apartment has enough space.”
Natasha nodded, remembering how Dmitry’s other aunt, Svetlana, had stayed with them the previous year with her daughter Kristina. They had spent four days in the apartment so tactfully that, after they left, the place somehow felt even warmer than before.
“Remember when Svetlana visited?” Natasha said dreamily. “Kristina used to warm up her voice in front of the mirror every morning before choir rehearsal, and Svetlana embroidered in the evenings and told stories from her youth. Such lovely people.”
“Well, Galina is family too. I think it’ll be fine.”
“All right, Dima. I’m glad you have relatives who want to visit us. I’ll make something special for their arrival.”
Natasha smiled. Two years of marriage had taught her to cherish any opportunity for family warmth, especially since her relationship with her mother-in-law, Lyudmila Petrovna, remained as cold as autumn water in a well.
“When should we expect them?”
“The evening after tomorrow.”
“Perfect. Then I’ll do the shopping tomorrow and start cooking the morning after.”
Natasha approached everything thoroughly. She made a menu, visited three stores, bought fresh fish, good meat, vegetables, and herbs. She prepared four dishes and baked an apple-cinnamon pie. She put fresh sheets on the sofa in the living room, laid out towels, and placed flowers on the bedside table.
“Dima, look. What do you think?” she asked, showing him the set table.
“Beautiful. Auntie will be stunned.”
“I hope they’ll like it.”
The doorbell rang at half past seven in the evening. Natasha opened the door with a welcoming smile and immediately took a step back. A large woman in a bright jacket stood in the doorway. Behind her were a heavyset man holding a worn suitcase and a young girl with headphones around her neck.
“Well, hello, hosts!” Aunt Galina stepped inside, scanning the hallway with a sharp, assessing look. “Not bad, this little apartment. Small, of course, but livable.”
“Welcome,” Natasha said, offering her hand. “I’m Natasha. I’m very happy to meet you.”
“Mm-hmm,” Galina gave her hand a weak shake, already looking around the corridor. “Boris, bring in the bags. Victoria, stop digging around in your phone.”
Dmitry came out of the room and hugged his aunt.
“Aunt Galya, I’m so glad to see you! Uncle Boris, hello! Vika, look how grown up you are!”
“Dima!” Galina patted his cheek. “Now show us where we’ll be sleeping. We’re exhausted from the road.”
“I made up the sofa for you in the living room,” Natasha said. “It folds out and it’s very comfortable. The sheets are fresh.”
“In the living room?” Galina frowned. “No, dear, that’s not what we agreed on. Boris and I need a proper bed. My back is bad. Show me the bedroom.”
Natasha looked at Dmitry in confusion.
“Aunt Galya, that’s mine and Natasha’s room,” Dmitry said.
“So what? You’re young. You can manage on the sofa. We’re older. We need a proper bed.”
“Boris Valentinovich, maybe the sofa will be comfortable for you?” Natasha suggested gently. “It’s orthopedic. I chose it specially.”
“I don’t care,” Boris muttered, dropping the bag on the floor. “My wife decides.”
“Galina, that is our bedroom,” Natasha said calmly, without raising her voice. “Please make yourselves comfortable in the living room.”
For ten minutes, Dmitry tried to persuade his aunt. She snorted, sighed, and shook her head. At last, she agreed, but with the air of someone who had been deeply insulted. Meanwhile, Victoria found the TV remote and turned on some show at full volume.
“Vika, could you please turn it down a little?” Natasha asked. “The neighbors downstairs are an elderly couple.”
“What do I care about your neighbors?” Victoria didn’t even turn around.
Natasha invited everyone to the table. She placed the dishes out and set the cutlery. Aunt Galina sat down first and immediately reached for the fish with her fork.
“What’s this?” Boris asked, poking a spoon into the salad.
“Avocado and shrimp salad.”
“What kind of weird food is that?” Boris grimaced. “Don’t you have normal food? Fried potatoes? A proper chunk of meat?”
Natasha felt something tighten inside her, but she kept smiling.
“The meat is right here. I baked it in the oven for four hours. Please try it.”
“A bit dry,” Galina said, chewing with a judging expression. “I suppose Svetka cooked for you too when she came?”
“No, we cooked together. It was wonderful.”
“Well, Svetka is like that. Always sticking her nose in, trying to help everywhere,” Galina snorted.
Natasha said nothing. Dmitry poured himself some beer.
The next morning, Natasha was getting ready to leave for work. On the kitchen table lay a sheet of paper covered in large, round handwriting.
“What is this?” Natasha asked, picking it up.
“I wrote down what you need to buy,” Galina said, coming out of the bathroom wearing Natasha’s robe. “We ate everything yesterday. Get full-fat cottage cheese, not that watery stuff from the store. And proper sausage, not salami.”
“Galina, that’s my robe,” Natasha said, staring at the silk fabric on another woman’s shoulders.
“So what? Your towel was wet. I grabbed whatever was handy.”
“Natash, don’t start a scene first thing in the morning,” Dmitry said from the kitchen doorway, a bottle of beer in his hand.
“Dima, it’s eight in the morning. Are you serious?”
“I’m on vacation.”
Natasha left. All day she tried to focus, but her thoughts kept drifting back home. In the evening, she opened the apartment door and froze.
The hallway was covered in shoes and bags. In the kitchen, a mountain of dirty dishes filled the sink. The refrigerator was almost empty. Everything had vanished, including the food Natasha had bought for the entire week. Wet towels were lying on the bathroom floor, the mirror was splattered, and the faucet hadn’t been fully turned off.
“Dima!” Natasha walked into the living room.
Dmitry was lying on the sofa in front of the television. Three empty bottles stood nearby.
“What?”
“What happened here?”
“Nothing. We had lunch.”
Natasha looked into the bedroom and froze. The bed was crumpled, the pillows had been moved, and the bedspread was lying in a heap on the floor.
“Dima,” she said when she returned to the living room, her voice quiet and icy. “Someone was in our bedroom.”
“Oh, Boris and Aunt Galya lay down there during the day. They said the sofa was too hard.”
“They slept in our bed?” Natasha said slowly, as if pronouncing each word separately.
“Why are you acting like a child? They lay down for a bit, that’s all.”
At that moment, Boris came out of the bathroom wearing only underwear and a tank top.
“Oh, the hostess is back. Listen, you should wash less often, you know? Once a week is enough. Otherwise there won’t be enough hot water for you.”
Natasha looked at him with a long, still gaze.
“Boris Valentinovich, this is my apartment. I will shower as often as I want.”
“Oh, listen to her — my apartment,” Boris laughed. “Hey, Dima, your wife’s got a temper!”
“Natash, enough,” Dmitry said without lifting his head from the pillow.
Natasha went into the kitchen, washed the dishes in silence, and wiped down the counters. Then she called Svetlana. She still had her number from the previous visit.
“Aunt Svetlana, good evening. This is Natasha, Dima’s wife.”
“Natashenka! How lovely to hear from you! How are you?”
“Tell me, does Galina always behave this way when she’s a guest?”
There was a pause.
“Natasha, dear,” Svetlana’s voice became cautious. “How long has she been with you?”
“Second day.”
“Listen to me carefully. Galina stayed with us once for a week. Afterward, I had to change the locks and have all the upholstered furniture professionally cleaned. I wanted to warn Dima, but Lyudmila said I was exaggerating.”
“Did Lyudmila Petrovna know Galina was coming to us?”
“Of course she knew. She gave her your address herself.”
Natasha slowly put down the phone.
On the third day, Aunt Galina still had not made an appointment with any of the specialists she had supposedly come to see. That morning, Natasha asked directly:
“Galina, when are you planning to go to the clinic? I can help you make an appointment.”
“Oh, don’t fuss. I still need to gather some test results. I’ll make an appointment later. Maybe next week.”
“Next week? You said you were coming for a few days.”
“So what? We’re comfortable here. Right, Borya?”
“Mm-hmm,” Boris said, spreading butter on his bread in a thick layer. “Only the bread is stale. Buy fresh.”
Natasha turned to her husband.
“Dima, I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“In private.”
They went into the hallway.
“Dima, this cannot continue. They aren’t planning to leave. Galina isn’t even trying to see any specialists. They are living here like it’s a hotel — except people pay for rooms in hotels.”
“Natash, they’re my relatives. I can’t just throw them out.”
“But you can throw me out? Because in case you haven’t noticed, there’s no room left for me in this apartment. Your aunt is wearing my robe. Your uncle is sleeping in my bed. Your cousin is eating my food. And my husband is drinking beer and pretending nothing is happening.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Dmitry. Look me in the eyes. I’m asking you once. Talk to them. Set a deadline. Otherwise, I’ll do it myself, and you will not like the way I do it.”
“All right, all right. I’ll talk to them.”
Natasha went to work. She came home at six in the evening, opened the door, and found two unfamiliar women in her kitchen. One, about fifty, was sitting on a stool eating grapes from a bowl with her hands. The other stood by the window, holding Natasha’s coffee mug.
“Hello,” Natasha said evenly. “Who are you?”
“They’re my friends!” Galina floated out of the living room. “Zinaida and Tamara. I invited them over.”
“To my apartment? Without my permission?”
“Oh, please. It’s just an apartment. It’s already cramped enough in here, and now you’re giving orders too.”
“Natashenka, don’t be greedy,” one of the women smiled. “Galochka has told us so much about you.”
“I wonder what exactly.”
“Well, that you’re not a bad girl, just a little foolish,” Galina said casually, as if it were obvious. “And stingy. There’s no decent food in the house, the TV is small, the towels are thin.”
Natasha stood motionless. Then she slowly turned to Dmitry, who had just come out of the bathroom.
“Did you talk to them?”
“Natash, well…”
“I see.” She nodded. “Thank you, Dmitry. You’ve made everything clear.”
“Oh, stop sulking,” Galina waved her hand. “You’d be better off making tea for the guests.”
Natasha said nothing. She went into the hallway, opened the overhead storage cabinet, and took out a small bag she had bought the evening before after speaking with Svetlana. She had known this moment would come. She had prepared for it.
Natasha went into the bathroom and locked the door. From the bag, she took out swimming goggles, the tight kind that sealed around the face. Then a construction respirator she had bought at a hardware store. Finally, she pulled out an aerosol canister, a powerful spray intended for protection against wild animals. The label read: “Effective range — up to four meters. Causes intense tearing, coughing, temporary disorientation. Safe for health with short-term exposure.”
She put on the goggles. She pulled on the respirator. She looked at herself in the mirror. Behind the lenses, her eyes were completely calm.
Then Natasha opened the door and walked into the living room.
Victoria saw her first.
“Mom, look at this clown! What are you wearing, Natasha?”
Galina turned around and burst out laughing.
“Boris, look! The daughter-in-law has completely lost her mind!”
“What’s that on her face?” Boris raised himself from the sofa.
Dmitry stood by the wall with a beer in his hand.
“Natash, what are you doing?”
“I’ll explain,” Natasha said, her voice muffled and steady through the respirator. “You have thirty seconds to leave my apartment. All of you. Including you, Dmitry.”
“She’s insane!” Galina slapped her palm on her knee. “Dima, you really found yourself a normal wife, didn’t you?”
“Twenty seconds.”
“Natasha, put that nonsense away,” Dmitry said, setting the bottle on the table. “Enough of this circus.”
“Ten seconds.”
“What do you think you’re going to do to us—” Galina began.
Natasha pressed the valve. A powerful stream shot from the canister, filling the living room with a biting cloud. Victoria screamed first — high and piercing. Boris jumped up from the sofa, clutching his eyes. Galina gasped for air, pushing away her friends, who were shrieking and shoving each other toward the door. Dmitry dropped the bottle and stumbled toward the exit.
Natasha sprayed every corner methodically. The cloud spread through the apartment. The guests tumbled out onto the stairwell, coughing and yelling. Boris cursed loudly enough for the whole building to hear. Victoria sobbed. The two unfamiliar women were already running downstairs, cursing the day they had ever met Galina.
Natasha shut the front door. She locked both locks. Then she took her phone out of her pocket and dialed the locksmith from the neighboring building.
“Andrei Nikolaevich, good evening. Remember I called you yesterday? Yes, to change the locks. Can you come right now? In twenty minutes? Perfect.”
She opened all the windows and turned on the fan. While the apartment aired out, she gathered the guests’ belongings, carelessly stuffing them back into their suitcases by the handful. Her husband’s things went separately into a gym bag. She stepped out onto the balcony and lowered everything down with a rope. It was only the third floor.
“Natasha!” Dmitry banged on the door. “Open up! This is my home too!”
“The apartment is registered in my name, Dmitry. The documents are in the folder on the shelf if you want to check. Your things are downstairs by the entrance. Don’t come back for a week.”
“You have no right!”
“I have the right not to live with people who humiliate me. And with a man who allows it.”
“Dima, see what kind of woman she is?” Galina sobbed on the landing. “I told you she wasn’t right for you!”
“Shut up, Auntie!” Boris suddenly roared.
The stairwell went silent.
“What did you say?” Galina’s voice trembled.
“I said shut up! I’ve been silent for twenty-two years. Twenty-two years you’ve been doing the same thing! We went to Svetlana’s — you disgraced us. We went to Lyudmila’s — you disgraced us. Now here. The girl set a table for us, made up a bed for us — and you give her a grocery list? Drag random friends into someone else’s home? Climb into another person’s bedroom?”
“Borya, what are you…”
“That’s enough, Galina. I’m done. Victoria, take the suitcase. We’re going home. Without your mother.”
“Dad, I’m coming with you,” Victoria said quietly but firmly.
“What, have you all conspired against me?” Galina looked from her husband to her daughter. “Borya! Vika! You’re abandoning me?”
“You abandoned yourself when you decided everyone owed you something,” Boris said, grabbing the suitcase.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The locksmith had arrived. Natasha let him in through the door the guests could no longer open. Fifteen minutes later, the locks were new.
Natasha cleaned the apartment for two hours. Three huge bags of trash. Greasy stains on the countertop. Crumbs in the sofa cracks. Strange hair on the pillows. She stripped the bed, shoved the sheets into the washing machine, and set it to the highest temperature.
The phone rang around eleven at night. It was Lyudmila Petrovna.
“Natasha,” her mother-in-law said, her voice unusually quiet. “Dima called me. He told me everything.”
“And what do you want to say to me, Lyudmila Petrovna?”
A pause.
“I want to say… that you did the right thing.” Another pause. “I should have done the same fifteen years ago when Galina lived with us for two months. But I couldn’t. I was afraid. And then I spent a year putting the apartment back together.”
“You knew what she was like. Why did you give her our address?”
“Because I’m a fool, Natasha. An old, cowardly fool who is still afraid to say no to her own sister. Forgive me.”
“Lyudmila Petrovna…” Natasha sat down on a stool. “Thank you. That is the first honest thing I’ve heard from you in two years.”
“I know. And I’m ashamed.”
“Dmitry can come back in a week. If he wants to. But if he chooses beer and silence over me again, then he shouldn’t come back at all.”
“I’ll tell him. And Natasha… I’ll come next week. Alone. Without Galina. If you don’t mind.”
“Come.”
Natasha ended the call. She looked around at the clean, washed, empty apartment. For the first time in five days, she felt like she could breathe.
In the morning, Dmitry called.
“Natash, forgive me. I understand I was wrong. Please…”
“One week, Dmitry. Not a day earlier. Use that time to decide what kind of husband you are — the one who hides behind a bottle, or the one who stands beside his wife.”
She hung up.
Half an hour later, a message came from Svetlana:
“Kristina wrote a song about you. It’s called ‘The One Who Wasn’t Afraid.’ Do you want us to come this weekend so she can sing it for you?”
Natasha smiled. For the first time in days, it was real.
And at the train station, in the waiting hall, Galina sat alone with a plastic bag instead of a suitcase, because Boris had taken both suitcases with him. Her phone was silent. None of her friends answered her calls. The two “guests” sent a joint message:
“Galina, you owe us for dry-cleaning two coats. Four thousand seven hundred rubles. Card number attached.”
The next train wasn’t for another seven hours, and she had no money to buy a ticket. Her wallet was in the suitcase Boris had taken.
Galina dialed her sister’s number.
One ring. A second. A third.
“Lyudmila, it’s me…”
“Galina, I’m busy.”
“Lyudmila, wait! I need help! Borya left me. I’m alone at the station. I have no money, no—”
“You haven’t helped a single person in twenty years, Galina. Not one. You only took from people. So now sit there and think about what it feels like when there’s no one beside you. Goodbye, Galina.”
The line went dead.
Galina slowly lowered the phone. On the departures board, the letters blinked:
“Delayed. Estimated departure time to be confirmed.”
No one came for her after one hour.
No one came after three.
No one came after seven.
