Irina was sitting at her desk when someone knocked on the office door. Oleg peeked inside, looking at the familiar space with a somehow new gaze.
“May I come in?” he asked, though he had already stepped over the threshold.
She nodded without taking her eyes off the screen. The house had been inherited from her aunt Lida five years ago. Spacious, bright, with three rooms. Irina had turned one of them into the perfect workspace — here, order and silence reigned.
“Listen,” her husband began, sitting on the edge of the sofa, “my parents are complaining again about the city hustle.”
Irina finally turned to him. Over ten years of marriage, she had learned to recognize his intonations. There was some uncertainty in his voice now.
“Mom says she sleeps badly because of the noise,” Oleg continued. “And Dad keeps saying he’s tired of all this running around. Plus, the rent keeps going up.”
“I see,” she replied shortly, returning to her work.
But the talks about his parents didn’t stop. Every evening Oleg found a new reason to mention their problems. Sometimes it was the pressure that spikes due to city air, sometimes noisy neighbors upstairs, sometimes the staircase in the building was too steep.
“They dream of quiet, you know?” he said once at dinner. “Of peace, of a real home.”
Irina chewed slowly, pondering. Oleg had never been talkative. Such attention to his parents’ troubles seemed strange.
“So what do you suggest?” she asked cautiously.
“Nothing special,” he shrugged. “Just thinking about them.”
A week later, Irina noticed her husband coming into her office more often than usual. At first, under the pretext of looking for documents, then just because. He would stop by the wall, as if measuring something with his eyes.
“Nice room,” he remarked one evening. “Bright, spacious.”
Irina looked up from her papers. There was something new in his tone. Something like an evaluation.
“Yes, I like working here,” she answered.
“You know,” said Oleg, approaching the window, “maybe you should think about moving your workspace to the bedroom? You can set up a workspace there too.”
Something tightened inside her. Irina put down her pen and looked carefully at her husband.
“Why should I move? It’s comfortable here.”
“Well, I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Just thought about it.”
But thoughts of moving would not leave her alone. Irina began to notice how Oleg scanned the office, mentally rearranging the furniture. How he lingered at the doorframe, as if already seeing something different here.
“Listen,” he said a few days later, “isn’t it time to free up your office? Just in case.”
The question sounded as if it were a given decision. Irina flinched.
“Why should I free up the room?” she asked more sharply than she intended.
“Just thinking,” Oleg hesitated. “I thought we could have a room to put guests.”
But she already understood. All these talks about his parents, all these casual remarks about the office — parts of one plan. A plan in which her opinion was somehow not taken into account.
“Oleg,” she said slowly, “tell me straight. What’s going on?”
He turned away to the window, avoiding her gaze. Silence stretched on. Irina realized — something had already been decided. Without her.
“Oleg,” she repeated firmly, “what’s going on?”
Her husband slowly turned, his face frozen in embarrassment. But a flicker of resolve flashed in his eyes.
“Well, my parents are really tired of the city bustle,” he began cautiously. “They need peace, you know?”
Irina got up from the desk. Anxiety grew inside her, one she had tried to ignore for weeks.
“And what do you suggest?” she asked, though she already guessed.
“We’re one family,” Oleg said, as if that explained everything. “We have an extra room.”
Extra. Her office, her refuge, her space — an extra room. Irina clenched her fists.
“This is not an extra room,” she said slowly. “This is my office.”
“Yes, but you can work in the bedroom,” shrugged her husband. “And my parents have nowhere else to go.”
The phrase sounded rehearsed. Irina understood — this conversation was not the first. Just not with her.
“Oleg, this is my house,” she said sharply. “And I never agreed to your parents moving in.”
“But you don’t mind, do you?” he countered, a note of irritation in his voice. “We’re family, right?”
Again that excuse. Family. As if belonging to a family automatically deprived her of a voice. Irina stepped toward the window, trying to calm down.
“And what if I mind?” she asked without turning around.
“Don’t be selfish,” Oleg threw. “It’s about elderly people.”
Selfish. For not wanting to give up her workspace. For thinking such decisions should be discussed. Irina turned to her husband.
“Selfish?” she repeated. “For wanting my opinion to be considered?”
“Come on,” Oleg waved his hand. “It’s a family duty. We can’t abandon them.”
Family duty. Another pretty phrase meant to shut her up. But Irina was no longer going to stay silent.
“And what about my duty to myself?” she asked.
“Stop dramatizing,” her husband waved off. “It’s not a big deal, just move the computer to another room.”
Not a big deal. Her many years of hard work creating the perfect workspace — not a big deal. Irina suddenly saw her husband as if for the first time.
“When did you manage to decide everything?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t decide anything,” Oleg began to justify himself. “Just thinking about options.”
“You’re lying,” she said. “You’ve already discussed it with your parents, haven’t you?”
The silence was more eloquent than any words. Irina sat down in her chair, trying to process what was happening.
“So, you consulted with everyone except me,” she stated.
“Stop it,” Oleg exploded. “What difference does it make who talked to whom?”
What difference. Her opinion, her consent, her home — what difference. Irina realized her husband was acting like the owner, ignoring her ownership rights.
The next morning Oleg came into the kitchen looking like a man who had made a final decision. Irina sat at the table with a cup of coffee, waiting for the continuation of yesterday’s conversation.
“Listen,” he began without preamble, “my parents have finally decided to move.”
Irina looked up. There was no room for discussion in his tone.
“Clear out a room in the house, now my parents will live there,” he added, as if giving an order.
For Irina, this was a moment of revelation. They hadn’t even consulted her. Her husband didn’t just not ask — he excluded her from the decision.
The cup trembled in her hands. Inside, everything turned over as she realized the scale of betrayal. Oleg stood waiting for her reaction as if giving orders to servants.
“Are you serious?” she said slowly. “You just took it upon yourself to decide for me? I clearly said yesterday I’m against it!”
“Calm down,” her husband waved off. “It’s logical. Where else can they live?”
Irina put the cup on the table and stood up. Her hands trembled slightly from accumulated anger.
“Oleg, you betrayed me,” she said directly. “You put your parents’ interests above our marriage.”
“Don’t dramatize,” he muttered. “It’s family.”
“And what am I, a stranger?” Irina’s voice sharpened. “You violated my boundaries and ignored my voice in my own home!”
Oleg turned away, clearly not expecting such a reaction. All these years she had obediently agreed to his decisions. But now something had broken.
“You treat me like the help,” Irina continued. “You decided I should endure and be silent.”
“Stop hysterics,” her husband snapped irritated. “Nothing serious is happening.”
Nothing serious. Her opinion ignored, her space taken away — and that’s nothing serious. Irina stepped closer to her husband.
“I refuse to give up my room,” she stated firmly. “And even more so to let your parents into the house when nobody invited them.”
“How dare you?” Oleg exploded. “They are my parents!”
“And this is my house!” Irina shouted back. “And I’m not going to live with a man who sees me as a nobody!”
Her husband stepped back, seeing her truly enraged for the first time in many years. In her eyes burned a resolve he had never noticed.
“You don’t understand,” he began confusedly. “My parents are counting on us.”
“And you don’t understand me,” Irina cut in. “Ten years and you still don’t get that I’m not a toy in your hands.”
She walked across the kitchen, gathering her thoughts. Words that had been building up for years finally burst out.
“You know what, Oleg?” she said, turning to him. “Get out of my house.”
“What?” her husband was taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m no longer willing to live with a man who doesn’t consider me,” Irina said slowly and clearly.
Oleg opened his mouth but found no words. He clearly didn’t expect such a turn.
“This is our house,” he mumbled.
“Legally, the house belongs to me,” Irina reminded him coldly. “And I have every right to kick you out.”
Her husband stood as if not believing what he heard. In shock, he realized he had crossed some invisible line.
“Ira, let’s talk calmly,” he tried. “We can come to an agreement.”
“Too late,” she cut in. “The agreement should have been made before you decided.”
Oleg tried to object but saw such stubbornness in her eyes that the words stuck in his throat. Irina was no longer the compliant wife who had made concessions for years.
“Pack your things,” she said calmly.
A week later, Irina sat in her office enjoying the silence. The house seemed bigger without the presence of strangers. The order she so valued was finally restored.
She felt no regret. Inside settled a sense that what happened was right. For the first time in many years, she defended her boundaries and self-respect.
The phone rang. It was Oleg’s number. Irina declined the call and returned to work. Love and family are impossible without respect. And no debts to relatives give anyone the right to trample on the person next to them.
She understood that. Finally.