Outside the window, the heat hung thick and sticky, the kind even the air conditioner could not defeat. Vera was sorting through baby clothes, folding tiny undershirts into neat little piles, when the ring of her phone sliced through the quiet evening and made her flinch. The name on the screen was one she had hoped never to see again.
“Vera, hi, it’s Rita!” her sister’s voice chirped with fake excitement, as if they had parted yesterday and not five years earlier after a huge family scandal. “Mom and I will be at your place tomorrow. The train arrives at seven twenty. Will you meet us? Or should your husband come? We’ve got four suitcases.”
“Rita?” Vera froze, lowering the tiny shirt onto the sofa. “Wait. What train? We never agreed on anything. We already have plans tomorrow. We’re leaving town.”
“Oh, come on, plans,” Rita laughed into the phone. “Family is coming. What countryside trip can be more important than that? Cancel it. Mom really wants to see you. Says she misses you terribly. We won’t stay long. Two weeks, maybe three. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Rita, this has to be discussed,” Vera said, trying to keep her voice gentle but firm. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that conflict was not good for her right now. “We can’t host you. The nursery renovation isn’t finished, there’s dust everywhere, and I’m dealing with terrible morning sickness. I need rest.”
“Stop making things up,” her sister interrupted, and the old familiar irritation slipped into her tone. “We’re already on the train. The internet is bad, so don’t start any tricks. Same address, right? Text it to me. Okay, kisses!”
The call ended.
For several seconds Vera stared at the dark screen, feeling a painful mixture of confusion and resentment rising inside her. Some part of her had hoped the years had changed her relatives, taught them at least a little tact.
“Who was that?” Maxim asked, entering the room with two glasses of cold water.
“Rita,” Vera breathed, taking one of the glasses. “She and Aunt Mara are arriving tomorrow morning. They just announced it. They want to live with us for three weeks.”
“And you told them, of course, that hotels still exist?” Maxim raised an eyebrow, though there was no surprise in his eyes.
“She hung up. Max, they haven’t changed. I remember the nightmare from when they stayed with Mom. I don’t want that again. But I can’t just refuse to open the door. That will start a war.”
“There won’t be any war,” Maxim said, setting his glass on the table. “We stick to the plan. In the morning we go to Katya and Sergey’s place. Phones off. And if they show up and kiss the locked door, that’s their problem. Teaching adults manners is a thankless job, but sometimes it’s necessary.”
The morning did not begin with coffee. It began with the sharp, relentless ringing of the landline they had forgotten to unplug. Vera, grimacing from a headache, pulled a pillow over her head. The phone rang for a long time, with almost fanatical persistence.
“It’s them,” Vera whispered. “The train arrived.”
“Let them ring,” Maxim muttered without opening his eyes.
Ten minutes later, Maxim’s mobile phone started ringing. An unknown number. He rejected the call, but a message immediately came through:
“Open up. We’re outside your door. The neighbor said you’re home. The light was on. Don’t disgrace yourselves.”
“They’re here,” Vera said, sitting up in bed as her heart began pounding against her ribs. “They’re not at Mom’s. They came straight to us. Who gave them the address?”
“Most likely your mother,” Maxim said, pulling on his jeans. “She doesn’t know how to say no. Vera, we don’t have to open the door.”
But the plan collapsed when Vera’s phone lit up with the word “Mom.” She answered, already fearing the worst.
“Verochka, sweetheart,” Galina Nikolaevna’s voice trembled, and Vera immediately understood that her mother was crying. “They called me from the station and shouted because you didn’t meet them. I said I would come get them myself, but then they said they were already on their way to me. Vera, my blood pressure is two hundred. I can’t handle Mara and her accusations. Please…”
Vera closed her eyes. All the softness and patience she had tried to keep inside herself that morning evaporated.
“We’re coming to you,” she said into the phone. “Don’t let anyone in until we get there. Do you hear me? Lock the door.”
“It’s too late… they’re already ringing the intercom,” Galina Nikolaevna sobbed.
Vera looked at her husband. There was no confusion left in her eyes.
“We’re not going to the countryside,” she said. “We’re going to evict the occupiers.”
“Finally,” Maxim nodded, grabbing the car keys. “I’ve been waiting for you to get angry.”
Her mother’s apartment smelled of someone else’s heavy perfume and fried onions. In the hallway, four enormous suitcases blocked the passage like barricades. From the kitchen came Aunt Mara’s loud laughter and the clatter of dishes.
Vera entered first, without taking off her shoes. Maxim stayed in the doorway, ready to step in at any moment.
Chaos ruled the kitchen.
Aunt Mara, a heavyset woman in a bright house robe, was standing at the stove, frying the cutlets Galina Nikolaevna had most likely prepared for herself for the entire week. Rita was sitting at the table with her feet on an empty chair, chewing an apple and shaking the peel straight onto the tablecloth. Galina Nikolaevna sat in the corner, pale, clutching a cup of water in both hands.
“Oh, look who decided to show up!” Rita exclaimed, not even bothering to lower her feet. “We thought you’d keep hiding in your fancy little city nest. Your mother is completely useless, wouldn’t even offer us tea. We had to search for everything ourselves.”
“Get up,” Vera said quietly.
“What?” Rita stopped chewing.
“I said, get up and leave the table,” Vera repeated, her voice growing stronger, taking on a metallic edge. She stepped closer and sharply knocked her sister’s feet off the chair.
“Are you insane?” Rita shrieked, jumping up. “Mom, did you see that? She hit me!”
Aunt Mara slowly turned away from the stove, holding a greasy spatula in her hand. Fat dripped from it onto the clean floor. Her face twisted into a fake expression of surprise.
“Verochka, why are you so nervous? Pregnancy hormones acting up? We came with open hearts, and you…”
“With open hearts?” Vera stepped toward her aunt. “You forced your way in without an invitation. You pushed my mother into a hypertensive crisis. You’re eating her food without even asking. Pack your bags right now and get out.”
“And where exactly are we supposed to go?” Mara snorted, planting her hands on her wide hips. “Galya is glad to have us here. Right, Galya? Tell your daughter not to give orders in your home. We’re family. We have a right to be here!”
Galina Nikolaevna lifted her tear-filled eyes but said nothing, shrinking into her shoulders.
“She’s silent because she’s afraid of you,” Vera said sharply. “But I am not. You have five minutes to pack.”
“Or what?” Rita smirked arrogantly, stepping right up to Vera. “Will you set your little husband on us? Or call the police on your own aunt? You have no shame, Verka. Got comfortable in the city and forgot where you came from. Now move, let me…”
Rita reached for the fruit bowl behind Vera, deliberately shoving her shoulder into her.
The decision came cold and instant, pushing fear aside.
Vera caught her sister’s hand and gripped her wrist hard enough to make Rita gasp.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” Vera hissed, staring straight into her eyes. “And don’t you dare go near my mother.”
“Let go, you psycho!” Rita tried to pull free, but Vera held firmly. Despite her pregnancy, adrenaline was surging through her body.
“Maxim!” Vera called without turning around. “The suitcases!”
Her husband nodded silently. He went into the hallway, grabbed the two nearest suitcases, and placed them out on the landing.
“Hey! What are you doing? There’s crystal in there!” Aunt Mara yelled, throwing the spatula onto the floor and rushing toward the exit.
Vera used that moment. She pushed Rita forcefully toward the door.
“Out. Both of you.”
“You’ll regret this!” Rita screamed, trying to grab the doorframe. “We’ll tell everyone what kind of monster you are! Turning your own mother against her sister! Galya, say something!”
Suddenly, Galina Nikolaevna stood up. Her face was white as chalk, but something bright and unfamiliar appeared in her eyes.
“Leave, Mara,” she said quietly. “Vera is right. I’m tired. I don’t have the strength or the desire to feed you.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is?” Mara froze in the doorway, red patches of rage spreading across her face. “You’re throwing us out? Your own blood? May you…”
“Will you carry your suitcases yourselves, or should I help them down the stairs?” Maxim asked in an icy voice as he returned for the remaining things. He grabbed Rita’s bag and threw it on top of the suitcases in the hallway.
The bag had not been zipped shut. Its contents spilled out across the floor: a makeup pouch, some clothes, and… a small jewelry box.
Vera recognized it instantly. It was her mother’s jewelry box, the one that always sat inside the bedroom dresser, in the room where guests had no reason to enter.
“What is this?” Vera stepped toward the scattered belongings and picked up the box.
The hallway went very quiet.
Even Rita, who had been screaming about human rights moments earlier, fell silent and took a step back.
“That’s… that’s mine!” Rita cried, but her voice cracked. “A gift!”
“A gift?” Vera opened the lid. Inside were her mother’s gold earrings and her great-grandmother’s antique ring. “You managed to search the bedroom while Mom was taking her pills?”
“You’re thieves,” Maxim said. Now there was real threat in his voice. “You have exactly one minute to disappear before I call the police. And believe me, I will file a report.”
“Mom let me borrow it!” Rita shouted, frantically gathering her things and stuffing them back into the bag. “Galya, tell them!”
Galina Nikolaevna came to the door. She looked at her sister and niece without the old veil of pity in her eyes.
“I did not even give you permission to enter my bedroom,” Vera’s mother said clearly. “Get out. And forget this address.”
Aunt Mara realized the situation could now bring real consequences. She grabbed her daughter by the arm.
“Come on, Rita. I will never set foot here again! Cursed, greedy egoists! Choke on your gold!”
They tumbled out onto the stairwell, dragging suitcases and shouting curses.
Vera stepped after them to close the door, but then she saw Rita’s bag strap catch on the railing. Rita yanked the bag with all her anger.
The fabric gave way. With a sharp tearing sound, the bottom of the bag split open.
What spilled down the concrete stairs was not underwear.
Bundles of cash, tied with rubber bands, bounced cheerfully from step to step, along with several small boxes bearing pawnshop logos.
Aunt Mara froze. Slowly, she turned her gaze from the money to her daughter.
“Rita…” she whispered. “What is this? Is this the money we ‘lost’ after selling the garage? The money you said was stolen? The reason we had to come here begging?”
Rita went so pale she looked like a ghost. She tried to cover the cash with her body.
“Mom, I can explain… I wanted to invest it…”
“Invest it?!” Mara roared so loudly that the echo flew through the stairwell. “You told me we were robbed! You told me we didn’t have a single coin left! I’m begging my sister for a piece of bread, humiliating myself, while you…”
Mara grabbed her own suitcase and swung it down hard onto Rita’s back.
Rita howled. A disgraceful scuffle broke out right there on the dirty stairwell floor, among the scattered bills and belongings.
Vera watched the scene in silence for five seconds. Then she calmly pulled from the door the set of keys Rita had managed to steal from the hallway table and slammed the heavy metal door shut with a final, hollow thud.
She turned both locks and slid the chain into place.
The shouting continued outside, but now it sounded like a television murmuring in a neighbor’s apartment — distant and meaningless.
Vera leaned her back against the door and exhaled. Maxim came over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. Her mother sat on the small hallway bench, one hand pressed to her heart, but a faint, liberated smile trembled on her lips.
“Shall we have tea?” Vera asked. “With lemon balm.”
“Yes,” her mother replied. “And tomorrow we’ll change the locks.”