“Surely you understand, Nyuta, it’s only temporary. She’s lonely over there by herself. The walls are closing in on her, and we’ve got plenty of space,” Vladimir said, crouching beside a huge travel bag as he struggled to tighten its straps. His voice was gentle, carrying that pleading tone he always used when he wanted his way.
“Volodya, we already talked about this,” Anna replied, standing against the doorframe, nervously twisting the edge of her house tunic. “We had an agreement. Your mother can stay here while you’re away on shift, or until she finds some kind of hobby. But this apartment is mine. And the rules here are mine too.”
“No problem at all!” he said, straightening up. Broad-shouldered, self-assured, he smiled the same smile that had once made her fall in love with him. “My mother is a quiet woman, old-school. She’ll probably bake you cookies. Come on, don’t be so gloomy. I’m flying out to the platform for two months. The connection will be bad. I’ll feel calmer knowing the two of you are here together.”
“All right,” Anna sighed, feeling a small worm of doubt twist inside her, though love and the habit of giving in won out. “Let her stay. But Volodya, if some domestic war begins…”
“It won’t! I swear!” he laughed, grabbed her, and spun her around. “That’s it, I have to go. The taxi’s downstairs.”
Anna watched the elevator doors close, and a chill spread through her chest. She was a soft person. Too soft for the harsh world that, as it turned out, was already standing right at her doorstep.
Anna had a rare profession, one that demanded absolute silence. She restored antique geographic maps. It was delicate, almost jewelry-like work: cleaning centuries-old paper millimeter by millimeter, reviving faded ink, strengthening fragile sheets. She needed light, calm, and sterile cleanliness.
The apartment they lived in was her fortress. The story of how she got it was like a complicated puzzle assembled by Anna’s entire family. Long before her marriage, she had inherited a solid country house from her aunt in another region. Anna sold it without hesitation. Her father, Viktor Sergeyevich, a stern but endlessly loving man, learned that his daughter was drifting from one rented place to another and made a sacrifice that still brought tears to Anna’s eyes: he sold his brick garage, the motorcycle he had dreamed of half his life, and his beloved car.
“Young people need a start,” he had said then, hiding his eyes. “I can take the tram.”
Her mother, Elena Pavlovna, emptied all her savings, money she had collected over years of working as a deputy headmistress. Anna gave all the money to her mother. In the end, they had just enough to invest in an apartment building while it was still nothing more than a foundation pit. It was a risk, but it paid off. When the building was completed, her mother transferred the apartment to Anna as a gift. It was her property. Her personal space, where every nail had been paid for by her parents’ sacrifices.
Vladimir came into her life after the walls were already standing. He was good with his hands, that much was true. He helped with the renovation, laid the laminate flooring himself, hung the chandeliers. His mother, Inna Sergeyevna, had also visited back then. She washed windows and cooked soups for the renovation crew. At the time, she seemed like a sweet, slightly fussy woman.
And now Inna Sergeyevna stood in the hallway with two suitcases and a potted ficus.
“Annushka, dear, I’ll just keep to the side,” she cooed, taking off her coat. “You work, work. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
The first two weeks passed in a state of patient survival. Her mother-in-law really did try to be invisible, but it was the kind of invisibility that spreads like gas. She was everywhere. She rearranged jars in the kitchen — “It’s more ergonomic this way, sweetheart” — watered Anna’s plants until their roots began to rot — “They’re thirsty” — and sighed constantly.
One evening, after finishing work, Anna came into the kitchen for tea and found Inna Sergeyevna sitting at the table with a calculator.
“Anyuta, I’ve been thinking,” she began from afar, rubbing her plump hands together. “Your apartment is good, no argument there. But the neighborhood… it’s a bit noisy. And I have my one-room flat in the center just sitting there. Perhaps we should think strategically?”
“What do you mean?” Anna asked, instantly tense.
“Well, if we sold your three-room apartment and my one-room apartment, we could buy a beautiful four-room place in a wonderful residential complex. There would be enough space for everyone, and the status would be different. A family should grow.”
Anna set her cup on the table. The sound was dull and heavy.
“Inna Sergeyevna, this apartment is not for sale. And we are not combining assets. This was a gift from my parents.”
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips until they looked like a puckered knot.
“Why are you getting prickly right away? I only want what’s best. The husband’s mother suggests something sensible, and she turns up her nose.”
“This subject is closed,” Anna said sharply.
Her softness was beginning to turn into patience stretched tight like a string. She called Vladimir, who was somewhere in the middle of the Barents Sea on an oil platform. The line crackled.
“Volodya, your mother is suggesting that I sell my apartment.”
“Anya, she’s just an old woman dreaming out loud,” her husband’s voice came through the static. “Don’t take it seriously. She means well. Be patient, I’ll come back and sort everything out. You’re smart, don’t hurt her feelings. She’s already… lonely.”
Anna hung up. Her hope of being understood melted like March snow.
A week passed. Life in the apartment began to resemble a cold war. Her mother-in-law kept silent demonstratively and clattered pots exactly when Anna sat down at her microscope.
Then, suddenly, her tone changed. Inna Sergeyevna became suspiciously affectionate. She made Anna’s favorite salads and asked about her work. Anna exhaled. Maybe she had understood? Maybe she had accepted the boundaries?
But one Tuesday, as Anna was getting ready to go to the archive for some documents, her mother-in-law blocked her way in the hallway. Her face looked tragic, her eyes filled with theatrical tears.
“Anechka, there’s trouble,” she whispered. “Ira called. Volodya’s sister. Everything has fallen apart with her husband. The bastard has been cheating, he won’t give her any money, and she has little Lizonka on her hands. She’s only five. They have nowhere to live.”
“Irina has a husband, and as far as I know, there’s his parents’ apartment where they were living,” Anna said carefully.
“They threw her out!” her mother-in-law cried, throwing up her hands. “Right into the street. And my apartment…” She stopped, her eyes darting. “My apartment is occupied for now. I rented it out.”
“Rented it out? When?” Anna was stunned.
“Well, a week ago. Good people came along, shift workers, paid six months in advance. Money is never extra. I wanted to help you, for future renovations… And now this disaster. Anechka, where can they go? Only to us. To her own brother.”
“No,” Anna said firmly. “Inna Sergeyevna, this apartment may have three rooms, but it is not made of rubber. I work from home. I need silence. A child, a sister, you… it’s impossible.”
“You’re heartless!” her mother-in-law shrieked, instantly forgetting the tragic performance. “A cold, selfish woman! A small child is freezing in the street, and she talks about silence! I’m calling Volodya!”
Vladimir called an hour later.
“Anya, what are you doing?” There was none of his usual softness in his voice. “Mother is crying, Ira is hysterical. That’s my sister! My own blood!”
“Volodya, your mother rented out her apartment to collect money, and now she wants to move your family into mine. You think that’s normal?”
“What difference does it make? People are in trouble! You should understand. It won’t be for long. Ira will find a job, rent a place. Don’t be a bitch, Anya. I’m asking you. For me.”
Anna ended the call. Her hands were trembling. She dialed her mother. Elena Pavlovna listened, stayed silent for a moment, then sighed wisely.
“Daughter, the situation is awful. But if you throw them out now, Volodya won’t forgive you. Family means compromise. Maybe you should try? There is a child, after all. But set strict conditions.”
Anna gave in. It was a mistake she understood the moment the door opened.
Irina, her husband’s sister, was Anna’s complete opposite. Loud, heavily made up, with a hard stare and the manners of a market vendor. With her came Liza, a spoiled little girl who kicked Anna’s shoes as soon as she entered and announced that she wanted cartoons.
“Well, why are you standing there?” Irina said, throwing her bags on the floor. “Show us the palace. Not bad. Livable. A bit cramped for such a crowd, of course, but we’ll manage.”
They gave her the guest room. Now four people lived in the apartment. Silence died.
Then hell began. Irina did not simply live there; she occupied territory. In the mornings, she took over the bathroom for an hour, singing loudly. Liza drew with markers on expensive wallpaper. When Anna objected, Irina only snorted.
“She’s a child, why are you making such a fuss? You’ll clean it. You sit at home anyway, you’ve got plenty of time.”
Inna Sergeyevna blossomed. Now she had an ally. The two of them spent hours in the kitchen, drinking tea and discussing Anna in the third person, even when she was in the next room.
“Oh, she’s never lifted anything heavier than a pen,” Irina’s booming voice carried through the walls. “And Vovka is breaking his back up north, earning money. She’s settled in nicely, the little princess.”
Anger gathered inside Anna slowly, like static before a storm.
In the middle of the second week, the washing machine broke. Anna walked into the bathroom and saw water all over the floor. Irina stood beside it, smoking right there in the apartment, flicking ash into the sink.
“Listen, Anka, your machine died. I shoved a blanket in there, and it started rattling and stopped. Call a repairman. I need to do laundry.”
“You’re smoking in my bathroom?” Anna felt her breath catch.
“Oh, don’t start. The vent is open. Better call the repair guy, seriously. Liza’s tights are dirty.”
“You will pay for the repair,” Anna said in an icy voice.
“What do you mean?” Irina stared at her. “Your place, your machine — you pay. Are you crazy? We’re guests here. We don’t have money. Everything goes on food.”
Food was a separate subject. The groceries Anna bought — cheese, fruit, meat — disappeared instantly. Irina and her mother-in-law bought nothing except cheap crackers for the child.
“We’re saving up so we can rent a place later,” Inna Sergeyevna said, spreading a thick layer of butter on bread. “And you’re rich. Your parents gave you everything.”
Anna called her friend Marina just to vent. Marina, a sharp and practical woman, listened to everything and said:
“Anya, are you stupid? They’re eating you alive. Your kindness is weakness to them. Throw them out.”
“Volodya comes back in three days,” Anna said. “I’ll wait for him. Let him see for himself what our life has turned into.”
She waited for her husband like a savior. She believed he would see the walls covered in drawings, smell the tobacco, notice his wife’s pale face, and restore order.
Vladimir came back tanned, weather-beaten, and loud. His relatives swarmed him at the door. His mother cried with happiness, Irina hung around his neck, Liza shouted, “Uncle Vova!” Anna received only a routine kiss on the cheek.
That evening there was a feast. The table groaned under food bought, of course, with Anna’s money. Vladimir poured cognac, flushed and pleased.
“Well, how were you here, my girls? No fighting?” he asked, gnawing on a chicken leg.
“Oh, son,” Inna Sergeyevna began, sorrowfully shaking her head. “It’s been hard for us. Anya has worn us down completely. Don’t touch this, don’t take that. Poor Ira is afraid to go to the toilet one extra time in case she disturbs Her Majesty. The washing machine broke, and Anya demanded money from Irochka! Can you imagine?”
“Yeah, brother, your wife’s got quite the temper,” Irina added, pouring herself a third shot. “She pinches every penny. We’re family. Her own people. And she treats us like strangers.”
Vladimir frowned and turned to his wife.
“Anya, seriously? You started a scandal over a washing machine repair? I earn good money. You could have fixed it quietly. Why be petty? They’re already having a hard time.”
Something inside Anna snapped. The thin thread that still tied her to this man broke with a dry, ringing sound.
“A hard time?” she asked quietly. “Your mother receives a pension and rent from her apartment. Irina receives child support, though she hides it. They live here for free, eat at my expense, damage my belongings, and insult me in my own home. And you call that being petty?”
“Shut your mouth!” Vladimir roared, slamming his palm on the table. “Don’t count other people’s money! This is my family! My mother! My sister! And you? You’re a wife. You’re supposed to keep the home, not start squabbles. Shame on you, Anya.”
“Shame…” she repeated, looking at him as if he were a stranger.
The final break came the next morning. Anna was returning from the store when she saw a cat near the entrance. Thin, dirty, trembling all over. Anna had always had a soft spot for animals. She picked up the little creature, pressed it to her coat, and went upstairs.
A delegation met her in the hallway.
“What is that garbage?” Irina grimaced. “Disgusting, flea-ridden thing! Get rid of it immediately! Liza could be allergic!”
“This animal is staying here. I’ll wash her and treat her,” Anna said calmly, taking off her shoes.
Vladimir came out of the room. He looked at the cat, then at his wife.
“Anya, throw the cat out. Ira is right. We don’t need some infection here.”
“No,” Anna said, walking past him toward the bathroom.
Vladimir caught up with her, grabbed her by the elbow, and turned her around. His eyes were cold and angry.
“You don’t seem to understand. I said no. And one more thing. Ira and Mother are cramped in one room. Clear out your workshop. Move your papers into the storage room or the bedroom. My sister needs space.”
It was an order. An order from a master to a slave. He did not even doubt that she would obey.
Anna looked at his hand on her elbow. Then she raised her eyes. There was no love left in them, no softness, no fear. Only the emptiness of the Arctic.
“I heard you,” she said.
She carefully placed the cat on the bathroom floor, poured some food into a saucer, and closed the door. Then she stepped back into the hallway.
“So, it finally got through to you?” Vladimir smirked. “Should’ve listened earlier.”
Anna silently went into their bedroom. She took large black trash bags from the closet. Then she swept Vladimir’s things off the shelves: sweaters, jeans, shirts.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Vladimir stood in the doorway, not understanding. “Doing laundry by hand? The machine’s broken, remember?”
Anna did not answer. She walked into the hallway, where her mother-in-law’s and sister-in-law’s jackets hung on the rack. She threw them onto the floor in a pile. Then she opened the front door wide.
“GET OUT,” she said.
Her voice was not loud, but it carried such terror that Irina choked on an apple.
“Are you insane?” the sister shrieked.
Anna began methodically throwing shoes onto the landing. Boots, sneakers, slippers flew into the shared corridor.
“Anya, stop this hysteria!” Vladimir stepped toward her, trying to grab her hands.
She sharply dodged him and picked up the stun gun from the small cabinet — the one her father had given her a year earlier “just in case.” The crack of electricity made Vladimir jump back.
“One step back,” Anna said. “If you stay here, I will file a report for unlawful entry and threats. The apartment is mine. I have the documents. None of you are registered here. Out.”
“Son, she’s gone mad!” Inna Sergeyevna wailed, clutching her heart.
“Get out of here, psychopath!” Irina screamed.
“Vladimir,” Anna said, looking only at her husband. “You made your choice. You wanted your family to be comfortable. Now find them comfort somewhere else. You’ve got money, don’t you? You’re the big shift worker. Rent a place. Support the freeloaders. I’m filing for divorce.”
Vladimir stared at her, seeing a stranger for the first time. A hard, merciless mistress of her own life. He tried to smirk, to press her with authority.
“Where will you go? Who’s going to put up your shelves?”
“Out,” Anna repeated and threw his backpack onto the landing. It crashed and rolled down the stairs.
Irina, realizing the joke was over, began screaming and having hysterics, collapsing onto the floor. Liza started crying. Anna stood still, gripping the stun gun.
“Keys. On the cabinet. All sets.”
Vladimir, red with rage and humiliation, hurled the keys down.
“You’ll regret this.”
“You have two minutes left,” Anna said, glancing at the clock.
They left in disgrace. Her mother-in-law dragged the ficus, Irina hauled the bags while cursing everything in the world, and Vladimir walked last, his fists clenched, but not daring to approach his former wife.
Anna slammed the door shut. The locks clicked.
Silence.
Blessed silence.
From the bathroom came a timid “meow.”
Anna smiled through her tears. She was home. And now it truly was her home.
A month passed.
Anna sat in her restored workshop — the former guest room, which had to be disinfected after the relatives. The cat, now clean and fluffy and named Lynx, slept on the windowsill. The divorce was underway, and Anna’s mother’s lawyer was working precisely and ruthlessly.
The fate of Vladimir and his “holy family” unfolded in a predictably miserable way.
That evening, after finding themselves out on the street with their belongings, they could not go to his mother’s apartment. Tenants were living there, and their lease had been written so that if the owner terminated it early, she would have to pay triple compensation. Inna Sergeyevna did not have that kind of money. She had already spent everything on some Chinese supplements.
Vladimir had to look for housing urgently. Renting a three-room apartment for such a crowd in a decent neighborhood turned out to be insanely expensive. Whenever landlords saw scandalous Irina and a small child, they either raised the price or refused outright.
In the end, they moved into an old “grandma-style” apartment on the outskirts, at an inflated price.
Vladimir’s financial cushion began melting at a catastrophic speed. Irina did not want to work — she believed she was under too much stress. Inna Sergeyevna constantly demanded medicine and better food because, as she put it, “we’ve been through so much.”
One evening, in the cramped, smoke-filled kitchen of the rented apartment, a scandal broke out.
“Vova, give me money. Liza needs new boots. That Anya witch threw them out so badly we never found one of them!” Irina whined, scrolling through her phone.
“I don’t have any money!” Vladimir exploded. He looked thinner, unshaven, and furious. “Everything went to the deposit and the realtor!”
“Then go back to work on shift!” his mother declared. “Why are you sitting here? A man is supposed to earn.”
“And who’s going to sit here with you? You’ll devour each other!” Vladimir shouted, throwing a mug into the sink — luckily, it was metal. “I did everything for you! I lost my family! I lost my wife!”
“Oh, as if you need that pale little moth,” Irina snorted. “We’ll find you a normal woman. One with an apartment.”
“Shut up!” Vladimir looked at his sister with hatred. “This is your fault. You barged in and climbed onto our necks. Anna was… she was normal. You ruined everything with your greed!”
“You ungrateful beast!” his mother cried. “We are family!”
“To hell with a family like this!” Vladimir grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the apartment into the night, into the rain, into nowhere.
He understood that Anna would never take him back. He knew her character — she took a long time to make a decision, but once she did, it was forever. He was left alone, with debts, parasites on his neck, and a miserable rented apartment. It was his own personal hell, one he had built with his own hands.
And at that very moment, Anna was drinking mint tea, looking at Lynx, and for the first time in many long months, she felt absolutely, unbelievably free.
