Lena set the kettle on and leaned against the refrigerator, eyes closed. The December evening had dragged on forever—work meeting ran late, the subway was a stampede, and at home there was nothing waiting for her except an empty fridge and the need to improvise dinner fast.
A key turned in the lock.
“Len, you home?” Dima’s voice sounded strangely cheerful.
“In the kitchen,” she answered without opening her eyes.
Dima burst in as if he’d just walked through the door with a jackpot. Lena opened one eye, then the other. Her husband was glowing.
“What is it?” she asked carefully.
“You won’t believe it—Sveta called!” Dima yanked off his jacket right in the middle of the kitchen and tossed it onto a chair. “She finally did it. She broke up with Maxim.”
Svetlana. Dima’s little sister. Of course.
“How is she?” Lena poured water into a mug and dropped in a teabag—she needed something to keep her hands busy.
“Seems okay. Upset, obviously. But the main thing is she’s finally free of that idiot. I told you he was no good.”
Lena stayed quiet. She’d seen Maxim only twice—once at Sveta’s birthday, and once by accident in a mall. A perfectly ordinary guy: worked in IT, wore trendy sneakers, talked about cryptocurrency. He hadn’t looked like an “idiot” to Lena, but what did she really know about Sveta’s relationship?
“So what now?” Lena asked, though she already had a pretty good idea.
“That’s exactly it.” Dima sat on the edge of a chair and took her hand. “She was living at his place. Now she’s got nowhere to go. She doesn’t want to go to Mom’s—you know how that would be. Mom will start in with, ‘I told you he wasn’t right for you.’ Sveta doesn’t need that right now.”
Lena nodded. Her mother-in-law really did know how to finish someone off at the worst possible moment. It was one of the few things Lena and Dima agreed on completely: keep his mother at arm’s length.
“So she’s going to stay with us?” Lena tried to keep her voice neutral.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. A week or two, until she gets sorted and finds something. You don’t mind, do you?”
Lena took a sip of scalding tea. Of course she minded. Their tiny place in Butovo was their fortress—their refuge from everything. Thirty-eight square meters where they could shuffle around in old stretched-out T-shirts, skip makeup, binge shows until three a.m., and kiss in the kitchen just because they felt like it.
But how do you say “no” when it’s someone’s sister? Someone who truly has nowhere to go?
“Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “When is she coming?”
“Tomorrow evening. Thank you, sunshine! I knew you’d understand.”
Dima kissed her cheek and dashed off into the room—probably to message his sister. Lena stayed on the kitchen floor with her mug, thinking that “a week or two” had a way of turning into something much longer.
Svetlana arrived with three huge bags and the expression of a beaten puppy. Her long hair was tangled, her eyes red, mascara smeared. Dima immediately rushed to hug her, soothe her, carry her bags inside.
“Hi, Len,” Sveta said quietly. “Sorry it’s so sudden.”
“It’s fine,” Lena said, hugging her sister-in-law. “Come in—make yourself at home.”
Make yourself at home. The irony of those words hit Lena the very next morning when she tripped in the dark over Sveta’s bags in the hallway. Then she discovered a whole battalion of creams, toners, and serums had appeared in the bathroom. Then she learned Sveta was a night owl—at seven in the morning, when Lena was getting ready for work, the girl was dead asleep on their couch, sprawled across it at full length.
For the first few days Sveta barely crawled out from under the blanket. Lena came home in the evenings and found her in the same position—phone in hand, tearful eyes, a guilty little smile. Dima hovered: ordered takeout, put on comedies, tried to make her laugh.
“She needs time,” he explained to Lena when they whispered in the kitchen. “She lived with him for three years. That’s not nothing.”
Lena understood. But understanding didn’t make it easier. They couldn’t talk about work—what if Sveta got upset? They couldn’t turn the music up—what if she felt worse? They couldn’t even argue in the kitchen the way couples normally do after a hard day, because someone was suffering behind the wall, and next to that suffering their petty disagreements felt wrong.
A week later Sveta “came back to life.” She started going to the store. She started cooking too—once Lena came home to find the kitchen in chaos: three frying pans, two pots, and a mountain of dirty dishes, while Svetlana lay on the couch scrolling her feed.
She started talking about how Maxim had “really been selfish” and how wonderful it was to be free.
“You know, Len, it’s actually pretty nice here with you,” she said one evening while the three of them drank tea. “Peaceful. Cozy. And you two are so great—so welcoming.”
Dima lit up. Lena forced a smile.
Another week and a half went by.
“So… when is she going to start looking for an apartment?” Lena asked one morning as she and Dima got ready for work and Sveta was still asleep.
“Give her time,” Dima said, tying his shoelaces. “You can see it’s hard for her.”
“It’s been three weeks.”
“So what? She’s my sister. Is she really bothering you that much?”
Lena fell silent. Of course it bothered her. It bothered her that the apartment no longer felt like theirs. It bothered her that she couldn’t walk out of the shower wearing only a towel. It bothered her that in the evenings she and Dima had to whisper about work in the kitchen. It bothered her that food constantly disappeared from the fridge because Sveta “forgot to buy more” or “didn’t know it was yours.”
But how do you explain that to a husband who looks at you like you’ve suggested throwing his sister into the snow?
On December 20th, Lena came home from work in a rare good mood. Her boss had called her into the office and told her she was getting a year-end bonus—120,000 rubles. For a project completed successfully, for overtime, for practically carrying the department through its hardest period.
One hundred and twenty thousand!
Lena was already assigning the money in her head: a new coat (the old one was shiny at the elbows), a pool membership she’d been dreaming about for six months, gifts for her parents for New Year’s. And there would still be enough left for a weekend escape—some cozy place outside Moscow.
She flew into the apartment, glowing, not even noticing Sveta’s slippers in the hallway (new ones—fluffy, pink. There were four pairs now).
“Dim!” she called. “Where are you?”
“Here!” he answered from the room.
Sveta was on the couch with a laptop. In three weeks she’d settled in so thoroughly the couch had become her personal territory—blanket, pillows, mugs, books.
“Hi,” she muttered without looking up.
Dima stepped out smiling, and Lena immediately realized—he had news too.
“Guess what?” he began.
“I got a bonus!” Lena blurted, not letting him finish. “One hundred and twenty thousand—can you imagine?”
“No way!” Dima hugged her and kissed her. “That’s amazing. I always knew you were the best!”
“I was already thinking how we could spend it,” Lena said, leaning into him. “We could go somewhere for a couple of days. Or—”
“Your bonus is perfect timing!” Dima cut her off with so much enthusiasm Lena’s stomach tightened. “I found Sveta the cutest little apartment!”
Time seemed to freeze. Lena pulled away and stared.
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking about what to do,” Dima rushed on, speaking fast like he was afraid she’d stop him. “Sveta can’t live here forever. And I found a place—a small one-bedroom, inexpensive. The landlords seem decent, not the kind who demand a year upfront. We just need first month plus a deposit—that’s eighty thousand. And we’ll need basics because it’s completely empty. At least a fridge, a couch… you know.”
Lena didn’t know. Or rather, she understood perfectly—and couldn’t believe he was saying it.
“You want me to… you want my bonus…” she stumbled.
“Yeah.” Dima’s confidence slipped. “I mean, not all of it. Just for the apartment and essentials. You’ll keep the rest.”
“About twenty thousand,” Lena said slowly. “Out of my bonus. The one I earned.”
“Len, don’t start,” Dima’s voice hardened. “Sveta is my sister. She’s in a bad situation. We can’t abandon her.”
“Abandon her?” Lena felt heat surge up her chest. “She’s been living here for a month. For free. Eating our food. Taking over our couch!”
“She was really not okay!”
“And now she’s fine!” Lena raised her voice. “She sits on her phone all day, doesn’t look for a job, doesn’t look for housing—and now you want me to pay for an apartment for her?”
Svetlana came out of the room, pale, eyes wet.
“Lena, I didn’t mean… I understand that I…” her voice trembled. “I truly had nowhere else to go.”
“Sveta, don’t explain yourself,” Dima cut in. “You did nothing wrong.”
He turned to Lena.
“Are you seriously that stingy? This is family—my sister—and you’re sorry about money?”
“Stingy?” Lena laughed, and the laugh sounded hysterical even to her. “Dima, it’s my bonus. I earned it. I worked like a dog for six months, stayed late, practically dragged that project across the finish line alone. And you think you can just take that money and spend it on your sister?”
“She’s family!”
“Family who’s been sitting on our neck for a month and can’t even say thank you properly!”
“Lena!” Svetlana sobbed and ran back into the room.
Dima stared at his wife as if he’d never seen her before.
“You know what,” he said coldly. “I didn’t realize you were like this. We’re a family. Families help each other. But you only think about yourself.”
He turned and walked into the room to comfort his sister. Lena stood in the hallway, trembling with anger and hurt.
For the next few days the apartment fell into tense silence. Dima spoke to Lena only when necessary, clipped and formal. Svetlana walked around with red eyes and a guilty expression, but she didn’t move out. Lena came home from work, ate in silence in the kitchen, and went to bed earlier than usual.
On December 23rd, Dima tried to reopen the topic.
“So… have you thought about it? The apartment for Sveta?”
Lena looked at him over her cup of tea.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. I’m not spending my bonus on a rental apartment for your sister.”
“But she has nowhere to live!”
“Dima, she’s twenty-six. She’s an adult. She has a job…”
“A garbage job. Terrible pay!”
“Then let her find a better one. Or let her live where she can afford. Or go back to her mother.”
“She’s not going back to Mom!”
“Then it’s her problem,” Lena said, setting her cup down. “You know, I once rented a tiny room in the middle of nowhere for fifteen thousand. I lived there two years, saved money, searched for better work. Nobody rented me an apartment.”
“She doesn’t even have money for a deposit!”
“And I don’t have a bonus I want to spend on someone else’s life,” Lena stood up. “Sorry, but my decision is final.”
Dima clenched his jaw.
“So I’m supposed to tell my sister my wife is a greedy selfish woman?”
“Tell her your wife earned that money herself and has the right to spend it the way she chooses.”
The bonus hit her account on the 25th. Lena stared at the number and felt a strange mix of relief and bitterness. The money was hers. She earned it. So why did it still feel heavy?
The atmosphere in the apartment became unbearable. Dima answered in single words. Sveta performed sadness—sighing, staring into space. Lena felt like the villain in her own home.
On the 27th, she cracked.
She got up early, dressed, and left without saying goodbye. In the subway she pulled out her phone and started making a list.
First: a coat. She’d been eyeing a gray wool one—elegant, classic. Forty-five thousand rubles. It used to feel like insane luxury. Now it felt like fair payment for half a year of grinding.
The coat fit perfectly. The saleswoman wrapped it in a branded bag, and Lena walked out with the feeling of a small victory.
Next: cosmetics. She went into a beauty store and bought everything she’d always been afraid to splurge on—French face cream, a Swiss serum, a highlighter from some wildly trendy brand. And perfume—the one she’d tested in October and couldn’t forget. Fifteen thousand for a bottle. Madness—and also, happiness.
Then a bookstore. She’d always postponed buying paper books, sticking to e-readers. But suddenly she wanted the real thing: paper, the smell of ink, the rustle of pages. She picked up a stack—classics and new releases. Let them live on the shelf. Let them make the place feel warm.
By evening she came home carrying four bags, light, almost happy. Dima and Sveta were in the kitchen having tea. Both went quiet when she walked in.
“What’s all that?” Dima asked, staring at the bags.
“Shopping,” Lena said and walked into the room.
He followed.
“Did you blow your whole bonus?”
“Not all of it. About seventy thousand.”
“Seventy thousand? On clothes?” He sounded genuinely shocked.
“On a coat, cosmetics, books,” Lena said, hanging the coat in the closet. “And tomorrow I’m going to a salon. I’ve wanted a proper haircut for ages. And I’m booking a massage—ten sessions.”
“So you feel sorry spending money on my sister, but on yourself you can spend whatever you want?”
Lena turned to him.
“Exactly. Because it’s my money. I earned it. And I have the right to spend it the way I want.”
“But Sveta—”
“Sveta is an adult,” Lena cut him off. “She needs to learn to solve her problems herself instead of dumping them on other people.”
“Other people meaning me?”
“You too,” Lena said. “Dima, she’s been living here a month. A full month. And she still isn’t truly looking for a place. You know why? Because it’s comfortable here. Because you baby her and pity her. And I’m supposed to give up my plans because of that?”
“Your plans are clothes and makeup?”
“My plans are my business,” Lena said, her voice turning firm. “And by the way, I’m buying tickets to Kazan for the January holidays. To see my parents. I haven’t seen them in ages.”
“So you’re leaving me too?”
“I’m not leaving you. I’m visiting my parents. Come with me.”
“And Sveta?”
“Sveta can solve her own situation. Or go to her mother. Or find a friend and rent a room together. There are options. She just doesn’t want them because this is easier.”
Dima stood there, digesting her words. Then he turned and walked out.
On the 28th Lena went to a salon. The stylist gave her a new haircut, color, and blowout. She stared at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman looking back. When was the last time she’d spent this much time and money on herself? A year ago? Two?
Afterward she went to a café, ordered coffee and a croissant, and sat by the window. Snowflakes swirled outside, New Year lights glowed, people hurried past with gifts, smiling. New Year was coming—season of miracles and hope.
Lena took out her phone and bought tickets to Kazan: round-trip, January 8th. One ticket—just for herself. If Dima wanted to come, he could buy his own.
That evening she returned home late. Dima and Sveta were watching a movie. Lena went into the kitchen without greeting them, made tea, opened her new book.
Dima came in about ten minutes later.
“Listen,” he began. “You can’t do this.”
Lena looked up.
“Do what, exactly?”
“Just… decide everything for everyone. Without asking. Without discussing.”
Lena set the book down.
“Dima, I’ve spent three weeks tolerating a stranger in my own apartment. I tolerated it when you invited her to live here without my consent. I tolerated her taking over our couch and our bathroom and emptying our fridge. I tolerated you deciding my bonus should pay for her apartment—without my consent. Without asking. Without discussing. And now you’re lecturing me about ‘you can’t do this’?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“She’s leaving tomorrow,” he said at last.
“Where?”
“To a friend’s. She worked it out. They’re going to rent a room together in South Butovo.”
“Great.”
Dima sat down across from her.
“You know… maybe you’re right. A little. I really didn’t think. About you. About how hard it was for you too. I’m sorry.”
Lena nodded. She’d been waiting for those words for a month.
“I’m sorry too,” she said. “For snapping. But, Dim—understand this: I can’t live only for other people. Even for family. I have wants and needs too. And I have a right to what I earn.”
“I get it.” He reached across the table and covered her hand. “Forgive me. Seriously.”
They sat in silence.
“Will you show me what you bought?” he asked, unsure.
Lena smiled.
“Come on. I’ll show you.”
On December 31st Svetlana moved out. She hugged Lena goodbye and said softly:
“Thank you for putting up with me. And… you were right. I should have started acting sooner instead of sitting around waiting for someone to fix everything for me.”
Lena shrugged.
“It happens. The important thing is you learn from it.”
When the door closed behind Sveta, Lena leaned against the wall and let out a long breath. Their apartment was theirs again.
Dima wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“Just us,” he murmured. “Finally.”
“Finally,” Lena agreed.
That evening they set the table for two. Lena put on a new gray dress—another purchase from that oddly liberating spree—and a thin chain necklace. Dima wore the shirt she’d given him last New Year’s.
“You know,” he said over a glass of champagne, “I’ve been thinking. Next year, let’s go somewhere. The sea. A week. Just… rest.”
“I’m in,” Lena said, raising her glass. “To us.”
“To us,” Dima repeated.
They clinked glasses. Outside the first fireworks rose into the sky. The New Year was claiming the night—a year that, Lena hoped, would belong to the two of them. A year where they’d remember what it meant to be a family of two. A year where she would learn not to feel guilty for thinking about herself.
Deep down, she knew the problems hadn’t vanished. Dima would always have a sister, and she could end up in trouble again. His mother would never disappear with her demands. And Lena and Dima would clash again over boundaries and priorities.
But tonight, in the final minutes of the year, she wanted to believe.
To believe that the new coat hanging in the closet wasn’t a mistake. That the tickets to Kazan were the right choice. That having wishes—and the right to her own money—was normal.
That she had the right to be happy.
And no bonus was too high a price for that right.