Why did you drag yourself here again without warning?!” Yana’s voice cracked sharper than she meant it to.
She was standing on a stool in the middle of a damp, unfinished room, putty knife in hand, while chalky plaster dust rained down from the ceiling. A heatwave in December was normal for their southern coast, and the stuffy air made her T-shirt cling to her back as if it had been soaked and never wrung out.
By the wide-open gate stood a battered gray Lada, packed so full the doors barely shut. Bundles, bags, plaid duffels—exactly like people who weren’t moving in for a couple of days, but for good. Next to the car, leaning against the roof, was Galina—her sister-in-law, a big, loud woman with a talent for showing up at the worst possible time. The last time Yana had seen her was during the fight over what was left of the inheritance after Viktor’s father died—and back then Galina had shouted just as loudly.
Beside her, Svetа looked bored—already a fully grown twenty-something, with dark circles under her eyes and long nails the glossy color of raspberry candy. She stood there chewing gum like none of this had anything to do with her.
Yana hopped down from the stool and wiped her hands on a rag, feeling tired irritation already tightening in her chest.
“Gala, what is it with you and your ‘surprises’ again?” The words came out with effort. “We weren’t expecting you. This place is a mess—construction, dirt everywhere. Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
Galina waved a hand, swatting at the heat and the whine of mosquitoes as if she hadn’t heard.
“You don’t expect family, Yanochka,” she drawled with an offended importance. “You welcome family. Where’s Vitya? Tell me honestly—he home, or is he out wandering around again? My own brother is missing God knows where, and you two are here together, probably didn’t even notice we arrived!”
Yana tried to block her path, but Galina pushed past like a bulldozer, bumping her hip.
And that’s when it all began.
The taxi driver popped the trunk and started hauling out the duffels, already smelling in the heat like cheap rubber and something sour. Yana kept repeating, barely keeping up:
“Stop. Stop, Gala. Don’t unload. There’s nowhere to live. We’re renovating a room. The floors are torn up. The toilet is outside. We haven’t even laid the tile—”
“What tile, to hell with it?” Galina swatted the air. “We’re simple people, we don’t need fancy. The doctor prescribed the sea for Sveta—she needs to breathe, her nose is always stuffed up. And anyway—you know how it is. If you’ve got a house by the sea, why shouldn’t we fix our health in it? What, you think I’m supposed to throw money away on hotels?”
Sveta yawned and, without lifting her eyes from her phone, said, “Mom, my battery’s dead. And I’m thirsty. And I need the bathroom. Do you have anything even remotely civilized here?”
“Oh, Auntie Yana will switch on her humanity now—and everything will magically appear,” Galina said, turning back to Yana. “Let us in. We’re exhausted like dogs. Such a long drive… You can’t behave this piggishly.”
Yana felt a cold, heavy knot rise inside her—anger mixed with helplessness.
Kicking them out would be unbearably awkward. Letting them stay was impossible.
She exhaled.
“Fine. Bring things onto the veranda. You’ll have tea—and that’s it. We genuinely have nowhere to live. Don’t argue.”
The next hour felt like slow nerve-burning. Galina poked into every corner, every pot, peered into the ceiling beams, pressed her palm to the walls as if evaluating the price per square meter.
“What kind of food did you cook here?” she jabbed a finger at a pot with a light little soup. “This is water with water! Sveta doesn’t eat like this. She needs real food—meat, chicken. Vitya needs meat too. Are you starving him out here?”
Sveta replied in a lazy drawl, “Mom, seriously… this isn’t a house, it’s a basement. And where’s the sea? You said you could see it from the window.”
“Don’t interrupt adults!” Galina snapped. “Yana, do you have bread? I brought my own homemade sausage. Slice it.”
Yana silently pulled out a cutting board. Inside, everything boiled.
She and Viktor had been working for six months like convicts in a quarry. They’d bought a half-ruined place on the outskirts—cheaper, but close to the sea, quiet, a chance to start over. They replaced the roof themselves, mixed mortar themselves, installed windows themselves—there was no money for a crew.
And now… this.
When Viktor walked through the gate, Yana knew from his eyes: he was more exhausted than he could show. A sack of cement lay across his shoulders—and behind him trailed the last months of their life.
“Vityusha!” Galina squealed, throwing herself at his neck. “Surprise! We decided to throw you a little celebration!”
Viktor lifted a hand—not to hug her, no—to make a quick gesture: enough. Then he looked at his wife. Saw her pressed lips. And his face went heavy, stone-hard.
“What kind of surprise, Gala?” he asked quietly—calmly—but in a way that could kill a fly. “Why didn’t you call?”
“Oh, this habit—call, call!” Galina flung up her hands. “We’re family! Sveta needs the sea. Her nerves are shot, she’s failing school, her friends in the city are garbage… So we thought we’d bring her to her dear uncle. She’ll help you! She’s a hardworking girl.”
Viktor looked at her “hard work”: long nails, a skirt that clearly wasn’t meant to touch dirt, eyes full of boredom.
“She’ll help?” he repeated.
But Galina was already whispering in his ear:
“Vitya, listen… I need to go back home. Work up to my ears. I can’t leave Sveta alone—she’ll get mixed up with that trash again. Here with you it’s quiet, calm… I’ll leave you food for it! Look, I brought bags—grains, pasta…”
At that, Yana turned around. She was holding a knife, not as a threat—she was just cutting bread.
“So,” she said slowly, “you want to leave your adult daughter with us—so we feed her, babysit her, and entertain her. And all of this on a construction site, where we ourselves work twelve hours a day?”
“Oh, don’t be so rude…” Galina grimaced. “Like family! Plenty of space, huge yard. Pitch a tent if you have to!”
“Mom,” Sveta drawled, “I’m not living in a tent. I want a room. That one with the window. If you put a bed in, it’ll be fine.”
“Hey, Vitya,” Galina perked up, “the child likes it!”
Viktor sighed once—and that was enough to understand everything.
“Gala,” he said evenly. “Drink your tea. Then you go home. You’re not staying.”
Galina choked.
“What… you’re throwing me out?! Your own sister? Because of this—” she jabbed a finger at Yana. “She put you up to it! I—”
“Enough,” Viktor cut her off. “We live here like on a job site, in case you forgot. We do everything ourselves. Did you call even once these past months?”
Galina went pale, then flushed.
“I came to my brother! I’m allowed!”
“You’re not,” he said, tired. “Not like this. Not here. Not now. And not with this.”
Sveta kept tapping at her phone.
Then Galina started coughing, clutching her chest, groaning.
Yana understood immediately: the performance had begun—I’m unwell, pity me.
She walked over, slid the sausage back into the bag, and said quietly—so quietly Galina flinched:
“Ten years—no word, no sign of you. But the second you heard we’re finishing a house by the sea, you came running? Well then…”
She looked her straight in the eyes.
“You didn’t come to us. You came to hide Sveta.”
Sveta jerked.
Galina sprang up. “Nonsense!”
“Nonsense?” Yana lifted an eyebrow. “And the fact your daughter took money at work and now you’re hiding while her father runs around paying off debts—that’s nonsense too?”
Sveta’s lip twitched.
Galina shrieked, “Yana, shut up!”
“I can call our precinct officer,” Yana continued calmly. “He’ll check documents. Right here.”
It was a bluff. But it hit.
Galina fidgeted like a cornered mouse.
“Sveta!” she barked. “Pack up. We’re leaving. Now.”
The packing turned into chaos. Bags flew into the trunk one after another, while the taxi driver leaned nearby, smoking lazily, as if he’d been expecting this ending all along.
Before slamming the door, Galina screamed:
“May everything you have collapse! May you never know happiness! Miserly, ungrateful pigs!”
The car tore off, leaving behind the stink of hot rubber and dust.
Yana and Viktor stood in silence for a long time.
Only the neighbor’s cement mixer clattered—like the soundtrack to their life.
Viktor dropped heavily onto the step.
“Sorry, Yan. For this whole circus.”
“Vitya…” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t you. It’s them.”
They went inside. The smell of sea air slowly replaced the lingering scent of чужие духи—someone else’s perfume. Yana brewed fresh tea, cut a slice of smoked pork from the fridge.
“Let’s have a proper dinner, without that farce,” she said. “And tomorrow we keep setting the beams. You’ll manage?”
“If you’re рядом,” Viktor smirked, “I’ll manage.”
They ate in silence—but for the first time all day, it was peaceful.
Late in the evening they went outside, sat on stacked boards, listening to the old fence rust, to wind pushing dust along the street. The sea was still visible from here—a narrow blue strip beyond the roofs.
And Viktor suddenly said, “You know… we’re actually happy.”
“Happy?” Yana blinked.
He smiled—tired, but real.
“Because everything we have is ours. Nobody can shove it in our face. And we’re not lying to anyone.”
Yana smiled too.
And inside, it became very, very quiet.
But in the morning, neither of them knew that Galina’s visit was only the beginning.
That what was ahead would be much harder.
And that the truth in this story was far bigger than it seemed.
“Vitya, wake up. Something’s wrong,” Yana said as she turned over onto her other side.
He opened his eyes at once, without his usual morning grumbling. It was around six; the December sun was only just starting to push through the torn plastic on the window. Cool air seeped into the house—a beam they hadn’t lifted last night was still lying by the doorstep, keeping the door from closing properly.
Outside, there were voices. First men’s—hard, clipped. Then a woman’s—shrill with panic.
Yana already knew: the problems that drove away yesterday in that gray Lada had needed only one night to come back.
Viktor sat up and threw on a shirt.
“Stay here for now,” he said.
“Are you crazy?” Yana jumped up. “I’m not staying anywhere.”
In the yard stood two men—locals, about fifty each. Practically identical in track pants and puffy vests. Red noses, puffy faces—clearly fans of late-night “relaxation.” Between them was the same Lada, but now the hood was up, and by the door squatted Sveta—sleepy, terrified, eyes swollen. Galina was nowhere in sight.
Yana came closer.
“What’s going on?”
The older man glanced back. “And who are you supposed to be?”
“The owner. That girl left from here yesterday. What’s the problem?”
He snorted, rolling a sunflower seed in his mouth.
“So she was at your place yesterday? Good. Then explain. Is this your car?”
“No. They came—” Yana stopped herself. “They arrived by taxi. This is… probably their own car.”
“Their own?” The man grinned. “It was in a BOLO last night as stolen.”
Sveta burst into sobs and grabbed her head.
“I didn’t take anything! It wasn’t me! It was Mom! She said we had to leave fast, that the taxi driver was a thief, that he’d rob us! I… I… I can’t even drive! She was the one turning the wheel!”
Viktor stepped closer.
“Where’s your mother?”
Sveta swallowed.
“I don’t know… We fought at night. She went somewhere, said she needed air… I fell asleep. I woke up—she’s gone. The car’s by the gate, and they were already here.”
“And I’m telling her,” the second man cut in, “we found the car by the fence with no driver. Plates come back—stolen. Girl’s crying. So we brought her over. To sort it out.”
Viktor dragged a hand down his face.
“Alright. Come inside. We’ll figure it out.”
The men exchanged looks.
“Inside?” the first one said warily. “We’re not the police. We know the owners. We were asked to keep an eye out. You understand? Around here everyone knows everyone.”
“So you’re neighbors?” Yana asked. “Or—”
“Or,” he said shortly. “Not your business.”
The air thickened, like before a storm.
Sveta was sobbing out loud now, smearing mascara down her cheeks.
“I’m not guilty… I just wanted to get away. She said you threw her out, that you’re злые, that you humiliated her on purpose… Then we stopped at a store, she bought cigarettes, got out—and… and…”
Yana exhaled slowly.
“Did those same men dump you on the highway?”
“She said everything was under control…” Sveta whispered. “That she needed to talk to ‘some guys.’ Then we’d come back to you. She said… if you saw us again, you’d get scared. That you’d break. That you’d beg us to stay.”
Viktor snapped his head toward the men.
“Alright then. The car goes back to its owners. The girl stays with us until we find her mother—until we understand what’s happening.”
“What are we, a daycare?” the first man snarled. “We came for the car. That’s it. Let whoever wants take the girl. You. A neighbor. Anyone.”
“You’d leave her on the highway?” Yana asked.
He spat. “Not our problem.”
And for some reason, that broke the last of Yana’s calm.
“Vitya,” she said quietly, “take Sveta inside. We’ll escort these… gentlemen ourselves.”
Viktor laid a palm on her shoulder—I’m here.
The men tried to argue, but Yana stepped forward and said:
“Listen closely. The precinct officer will deal with this whether you like it or not. Take the car. Don’t touch the girl.”
The older one squinted.
“You’ve got a backbone, woman.”
“I’ve got a house,” Yana corrected. “And we protect our house. Understood?”
He snorted, waved his hand—let’s go. They shut the hood, shoved the Lada forward—its engine could barely pull anyway—and rolled it out through the gate.
When the gate slammed shut, silence fell.
Only then did Yana hear her own heartbeat.
Sveta sat on the threshold, hugging her knees to her chest.
“I didn’t know…” she whispered. “Honestly…”
“Yeah,” Yana said. “Get up. We’re talking.”
Viktor put the kettle on. Yana sat across from Sveta.
“Tell me everything. No filters.”
Sveta wiped her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie.
“Mom… she’s been like this for a long time. When things go bad, she runs to someone. Lies. Gets what she wants. Then disappears. I’m used to it. But this time… she said you have paradise here. That Uncle’s rich now, building a house by the sea… that you’re obligated to help. That you owe her.”
Yana gave a short, humorless smile.
“We don’t owe anyone anything.”
“I know…” Sveta whispered. “But she… she said otherwise we’d go to jail. That the money… that it was all because of me. And I didn’t take it! My friend took it! But she said if I confessed, I’d get expelled. Mom called Dad, said he had to urgently ‘fix it.’ He went… We ran. She said we’d come to you and you’d cover for us. That family has to stick together. And then… then she met those men at night by the store. I was afraid to get out of the car.”
She covered her face with her hands.
“And how did the car end up stolen?” Viktor asked.
“I don’t know… She said it had to be done. That her ex-husband needed to understand we could manage without him. That the car was ‘compensation.’ I thought… I really thought it was legitimate…”
Yana stood up slowly.
“Got it.”
A heavy pause.
“Vitya,” she said, “we need to call. Enough circus. We need to find Galina. And tell her husband. And Sveta’s father.”
Sveta jolted upright.
“No! Don’t! He’ll kill me! He’ll say it’s my fault! He always does!”
“He has a right to know his wife stole a car,” Viktor said. “And that his daughter can get caught in the crossfire at night. That’s his family. He’ll decide.”
Sveta started pacing the veranda.
“No! No! I won’t go to him! It’s worse there than with Mom! He… he…”
She stopped, biting her lip.
Yana stepped closer.
“What does he do?”
Sveta looked away.
“Does he hit you?”
She didn’t answer. But she didn’t have to.
Yana exhaled.
“Okay. Then you’re not going to him.”
Viktor turned sharply. “Yana—”
“Vitya,” she said firmly. “I said she’s not going. But we’ll look for Galina. And we’ll make it clear we’re not getting dragged into this.”
Sveta suddenly stepped closer and said softly, “Thank you.”
Yana looked at her—and for the first time she didn’t see a rude girl with pink nails. She saw a terrified, beaten-down kid who was twenty, but had never lived a calm day in her life.
They found Galina only by evening.
A neighbor from Third Street called Yana.
“There’s some woman—blue sundress—sitting by the store, yelling that she’s been betrayed. Drunk as a pig. Come get her. We don’t need that circus here.”
Viktor started their old Ford outside the gate.
Yana looked at Sveta.
“Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to see her…”
“Not up for debate,” Yana said. “She’s your mother. And we need to put a period on this—for all of us.”
The drive took ten minutes.
Galina was sitting on the steps, hugging a bottle of cheap beer. Red face, inflamed eyes. When she saw Yana, she screamed:
“A-ha! You came! Happy, aren’t you! Wanted to hand me over to those jackals! But I won’t let them take me! I’m strong! I—”
She started to sway.
Viktor grabbed her by the elbow.
“Gala. Get up. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going!” she shrieked. “You threw me out like trash! I… I’ll show you yet!”
Sveta whispered, “Mom…”
Galina froze, turned—and fear flashed in her eyes.
“Sveta, sweetheart… what… what are you doing here… You were… you…”
Sveta stood with her lips pressed tight.
“Mom, you almost got us killed. Do you understand that?”
Galina flared up.
“Me?! I do everything for you! I was saving you! I—”
“From who?” Sveta asked. “From yourself?”
Silence—heavy as lead.
And for the first time all day, Galina had nothing to say.
She dropped back onto the step and began to cry. Not the usual shrieking kind—real, quiet, heavy sobs into her knees.
Viktor and Yana exchanged a look.
Yana said, “Gala. We didn’t abandon you. We threw you out—yes. Because you showed up like it’s a resort and sat on someone else’s neck. You lie to everyone. You hide. You steal. You drag your daughter into trouble. You’re not family. You’re a disaster. And we can’t do this anymore.”
Galina lifted her head.
“I know…” she whispered. “I know that I… that I don’t know how… But nobody… nobody ever… taught me…”
Sveta hugged herself.
“Mom… please. We need help. Both of us.”
Yana sighed.
“Come on. We’ll take you to the city. Then you deal with it. No more running. No more inventing.”
Galina got up, unsteady—but she walked.
The drive was long and silent. No one spoke. Only the engine hummed, and outside the windows, empty December streets flashed by.
They dropped Galina and Sveta off at the house where Galina’s ex-husband lived. A man came out—tall, exhausted, eyes holding more loss than all of Galina’s words.
“Take them,” Viktor said. “Deal with it. But without us.”
The man nodded, without emotion, as if accepting yet another burden.
Sveta came up to Yana.
“Can I… can I call you sometimes?”
Yana nodded gently.
“Call. But you won’t live with us. We’re not your parents. If you need to talk—call.”
Sveta nodded. And for the first time—truly for the first time—she smiled, sincere and almost childlike.
Galina, standing by the gate, called out:
“I… I’ll pay you back! Everything! Forgive me… if you can…”
Yana answered, “Start by dealing with yourself.”
And they drove away.
The house greeted them with silence. It smelled of unfinished tea, fresh wood shavings, and the sea—which always sounded steadier by evening.
Viktor sat down on the step.
Yana sat beside him.
They stayed quiet so long the sky faded from orange into deep blue.
Then Viktor said, “I never thought it would turn out like this.”
“Me neither,” Yana replied.
He put a hand on her back.
“But you know what?”
“What?”
“We held on. That’s what matters.”
Yana nodded.
“Yes. We held on.”
The wind stirred the plastic sheeting. The beam by the threshold still waited for its hour.
“Tomorrow,” Viktor said, “we’ll lift it.”
“Tomorrow,” Yana agreed.
They fell silent.
And in that silence there was everything—fatigue, fear, anger, and, most importantly, the feeling that the house was finally theirs again. Only theirs. And no one else’s.
And for the first time in a long while, it felt easy to breathe.
The End