“You do understand, Nyuta, that this is only temporary, right? She feels lonely there all by herself. The walls are closing in on her, and we’ve got plenty of room,” Vladimir said, crouching on the floor as he struggled to tighten the straps around a huge travel bag. His voice was soft, carrying that pleading tone he always used when he wanted to get his way.
“Volodya, we already talked about this,” Anna said, leaning against the doorframe and nervously twisting the edge of her house tunic. “We had an agreement. Your mother stays here while you’re away on shift, or until she finds some hobby to keep herself busy. But this apartment is mine. And my rules apply here.”
“No problem at all!” He straightened up, broad-shouldered and confident, flashing the very smile she had once fallen in love with. “My mother is a modest woman, old-fashioned. She’ll probably bake cookies for you. Come on, don’t be so gloomy. I’m flying out to the platform for two months. The connection will be terrible. I’ll feel much calmer knowing you two are here together.”
“Fine,” Anna exhaled, feeling a small worm of doubt stir somewhere inside her. But love, and her old habit of giving in, won again. “Let her stay. But, Volodya, if a household war starts…”
“It won’t! I swear!” he laughed, scooping her into his arms and spinning her around. “That’s it, I have to go. The taxi’s downstairs.”
Anna watched the elevator doors close, while a chill spread slowly through her chest. She was a gentle person. Too gentle for the harsh world that, as it turned out, was already standing right on her doorstep.
Anna had a rare profession, one that demanded absolute silence. She restored antique geographical maps. It was painstaking, almost jeweler-like work: cleaning centuries-old paper millimeter by millimeter, restoring faded ink, strengthening fragile surfaces. She needed light, peace, and sterile cleanliness.
The apartment where they lived was her fortress. The story of how she had acquired it was like a complicated puzzle assembled by Anna’s entire family. Long before her marriage, she had inherited a solid country house in another region from her aunt. Without hesitation, Anna sold it. Her father, Viktor Sergeevich, a stern but endlessly loving man, found out that his daughter had been moving from one rented place to another and did something that still brought tears to Anna’s eyes: he sold his brick garage, the motorcycle he had dreamed of for half his life, and his beloved car.
“Young people need a start,” he said back then, hiding his eyes. “And I can get around by tram.”
Her mother, Elena Pavlovna, emptied all the savings she had put aside during her years working as a deputy school principal. Anna handed all the money to her mother. In the end, there was enough to invest in a new building at the foundation stage. It was risky, but the risk paid off. When the building was finished, her mother transferred ownership of 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 had come into walls that were already hers. He was handy, that was true. He helped with the renovation, laid the laminate flooring himself, and hung the chandeliers. His mother, Inna Sergeevna, had also come over back then. She washed windows and cooked soup for the workers. At the time, she seemed like a sweet, slightly fussy woman.
And now Inna Sergeevna was standing in the hallway with two suitcases and a potted ficus.
“Annushka, dear, I’ll just stay in a little corner,” she cooed, taking off her coat. “You work, you 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 invisibility of gas filling a room. She was everywhere. She rearranged jars in the kitchen “because it’s more ergonomic, dear,” watered Anna’s plants until their roots began to rot “because they were thirsty,” and sighed constantly.
One evening, after finishing her work, Anna came into the kitchen for tea and found Inna Sergeevna sitting at the table with a calculator.
“Anyuta, I’ve been thinking,” she began from afar, rubbing her plump hands together. “Your apartment is nice, no argument there. But the neighborhood… it’s a bit noisy. And I have a one-room apartment in the city center just sitting there. Maybe we should think strategically?”
“What are you talking about?” Anna stiffened.
“Well, it’s obvious. If we sell 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 completely different. A family should grow, after all.”
Anna set her mug on the table. The sound was dull and heavy.
“Inna Sergeevna, this apartment is not for sale. And we are not merging assets. This was a gift from my parents.”
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together until they looked like a shriveled knot.
“Why are you bristling right away? I only want what’s best. The husband’s mother suggests a practical idea, and she turns up her nose.”
“This subject is closed,” Anna said sharply.
Her softness had begun 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 connection crackled.
“Volodya, your mother is suggesting we sell my apartment.”
“Anya, she’s just an older woman. She dreams out loud,” her husband’s voice broke through the static. “Don’t take it seriously. She wants the best. Be patient, I’ll come back and sort everything out. You’re smart. Don’t offend her. She’s already lonely enough.”
Anna hung up. Her hope of being understood melted like March snow.
A week passed. The atmosphere in the apartment resembled a cold war. Her mother-in-law demonstratively kept silent and rattled pots exactly when Anna sat down at her microscope.
Then, suddenly, her tone changed. Inna Sergeevna became suspiciously affectionate. She made Anna’s favorite salads and asked about her work. Anna relaxed a little. Maybe she had understood? Maybe she had accepted the boundaries?
But one Tuesday, as Anna was getting ready to go to the archive for documents, her mother-in-law blocked her path in the corridor. Her face looked tragic, and artificial tears glistened in her eyes.
“Anechka, there’s trouble,” she whispered. “Irochka called. Volodya’s sister. Things have completely fallen apart with her husband. The scoundrel started cheating, gives her no money, and she has little Lizonka on her hands. Five years old, poor child. They have nowhere to live.”
“Irina has a husband. And as far as I know, they were living in his parents’ apartment,” Anna said carefully.
“They threw them out!” her mother-in-law flung up her hands. “Straight into the street. And my apartment…” She stopped, her eyes darting around. “My apartment is occupied at the moment. I rented it out.”
“You rented it out? When?” Anna was stunned.
“Well, a week ago. Some decent tenants came along, shift workers, paid six months in advance. Money is always useful. 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 Sergeevna, this is a three-room apartment, but it is not made of rubber. I work from home. I need silence. A child, a sister, you… It’s impossible.”
“You are heartless!” her mother-in-law shrieked, instantly forgetting her tragic act. “A selfish, cold woman! A little child is freezing in the street, and she talks about silence! I’m calling Volodya!”
Her husband called an hour later.
“Anya, what are you doing?” Vladimir’s voice no longer had its usual softness. “Mother is crying, Irka is hysterical. This is my sister! My own blood!”
“Volodya, your mother rented out her own 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 have to understand the situation. It won’t be for long. Irka 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 shaking. She dialed her mother. Elena Pavlovna listened, stayed silent for a moment, then gave a wise, weary sigh.
“My dear, this is a nasty situation. But if you throw them out now, Volodya won’t forgive you. Family means compromise. Maybe you should try. There is a child involved, after all. But set strict conditions.”
Anna gave in. She realized it was a mistake the moment the door opened.
Irina, her husband’s sister, was the complete opposite of Anna. Loud, heavily made-up, with a hard stare and the manners of a market vendor. With her was Liza, a spoiled little girl who kicked Anna’s shoes the moment she entered and announced that she wanted cartoons.
“So, why are you standing there?” Irina said, dropping the bags on the floor. “Show us the palace. Not bad. We can live here. A bit cramped for this crowd, of course, but we’ll manage.”
They gave her the guest room. Now four people lived in the apartment. Silence died.
What followed was hell. Irina didn’t simply live there. She conquered territory. In the mornings, she occupied the bathroom for an hour, singing loudly. Liza drew on expensive wallpaper with felt-tip pens. When Anna objected, Irina only snorted.
“She’s a child. Why are you making such a drama? You’ll clean it. You sit at home anyway, you’ve got plenty of time.”
Inna Sergeevna blossomed. Now she had an ally. They spent hours sitting 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 wall. “And Volodka works himself to the bone up north, bringing in money. She’s settled in nicely, the princess.”
Anger accumulated inside Anna slowly, like static electricity before a storm.
In the middle of the second week, the washing machine broke. Anna went into the bathroom and saw water all over the floor. Irina was standing beside it, smoking right inside the apartment, tapping ash into the sink.
“Hey, Anka, your machine’s dead. I stuffed a blanket in it, and it started making some weird noise and stopped. Call a repairman, I need to wash clothes.”
“You’re smoking in my bathroom?” Anna felt her breath catch.
“Oh, don’t start. The window’s open. Better call someone for the machine, seriously. Lizka’s tights are dirty.”
“You’re paying for the repair,” Anna said in an icy voice.
“What do you mean?” Irina stared at her. “Your apartment, your machine. You pay. Are you confused or something? We’re guests here. We don’t have money. Everything goes on food.”
Food was another subject entirely. 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 later,” Inna Sergeevna would say, spreading a thick layer of butter on her bread. “And you’re rich. Your parents gave you everything.”
Anna called her friend Marina just to let it all out. Marina, a sharp and practical woman, listened 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 become.”
She waited for her husband like a rescuer. She believed he would see the scribbled walls, smell the tobacco, notice his wife’s pale face, and put everything right.
Vladimir came home tanned, weather-beaten, and loud. His relatives swarmed him at the door. His mother cried with happiness, Irina hung on his neck, Liza screamed, “Uncle Vova!” Anna received only a routine kiss on the cheek.
That evening there was a feast. The table was loaded with food, naturally bought with Anna’s money. Vladimir poured cognac, red-faced and pleased.
“So, how have you been here, my girls? No fighting?” he asked, gnawing on a chicken leg.
“Oh, son,” Inna Sergeevna began, shaking her head mournfully. “It has been so hard for us. Anya has worn us out completely. Don’t touch this, don’t take that. Poor Irka is afraid to even go to the bathroom in case she disturbs Her Majesty. And when the washing machine broke, Anya demanded money from Irochka! Can you imagine?”
“Yeah, brother, your wife’s got a temper,” Irina added, pouring herself a third glass. “Clings to every penny. We’re family, our own people. But she treats us like strangers.”
Vladimir frowned and turned to his wife.
“Anya, seriously? You started a whole scandal over a washing machine repair? I earn good money. You could’ve just 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, final sound.
“A hard time?” she repeated quietly. “Your mother receives a pension and rent money from her apartment. Irina receives child support, even though she hides it. They live here for free, eat at my expense, ruin my things, and insult me in my own home. And you call me petty?”
“Shut your mouth!” Vladimir roared, slamming his palm onto the table. “Don’t count other people’s money! This is my family! My mother! My sister! And you? You’re my wife. You’re supposed to keep the home together, not start quarrels. 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 coming back from the store when she saw a cat near the entrance. Thin, dirty, trembling all over. Anna had always had a soft heart for animals. She picked up the small creature, pressed it to her jacket, and brought it upstairs.
A delegation was waiting for her in the hallway.
“What is that garbage?” Irina grimaced. “Ugh, flea-ridden! Get it out of here right now! Liza could be allergic!”
“This animal is staying here. I’ll wash her and take care of 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 an infection here.”
“No,” Anna said and walked past him into the bathroom.
Vladimir followed her, grabbed her by the elbow, and spun 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 bedroom. My sister needs space.”
It was an order. The order of a master to a servant. He didn’t even doubt that she would obey.
Anna looked at his hand on her elbow. Then she raised her eyes. There was no love in them anymore. No softness. No fear. Only the empty cold of the Arctic.
“I heard you,” she said.
She gently placed the cat on the bathroom floor, poured some food into a saucer, and closed the door. Then she returned to the hallway.
“So, it finally got through to you?” Vladimir smirked. “Should’ve done it earlier.”
Anna silently went into their bedroom. She took large black garbage bags from the closet and swept Vladimir’s things off the shelves: sweaters, jeans, shirts.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Vladimir stood in the doorway, confused. “Doing laundry? By hand? The machine doesn’t work, remember?”
Anna did not answer. She went into the hallway, where her mother-in-law’s and sister-in-law’s coats were hanging. She threw them into a pile on the floor. Then she opened the front door wide.
“GET OUT,” she said.
Her voice was not loud, but something in it was so terrifying that Irina choked on her apple.
“Are you insane?” the sister shrieked.
Anna began methodically throwing shoes out onto the stairwell. Boots, sneakers, slippers flew into the shared corridor.
“Anya, stop this hysteria!” Vladimir stepped toward her, trying to grab her hands.
She dodged sharply and picked up the stun gun from the small cabinet, the one her father had given her a year earlier “just in case.” The crackle of electricity made Vladimir jump back.
“One step back,” Anna said. “If you stay here, I’m filing 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 crazy!” Inna Sergeevna wailed, clutching her heart.
“Get out of here, you psycho!” Irina screamed.
“Vladimir,” Anna looked only at her husband. “You made your choice. You wanted your family to be comfortable. Now find their comfort somewhere else. You have money, don’t you? You’re such a successful shift worker. Rent a place. Support your freeloaders. I’m filing for divorce.”
Vladimir stared at her and, for the first time, saw a stranger. A hard, merciless woman who owned her life. He tried to smirk, to press down with authority.
“Where will you go? Who’ll even put up a shelf for you?”
“Out,” Anna repeated, and threw his backpack onto the landing. It crashed loudly and rolled down the stairs.
Irina, realizing the joke was over, began screaming and throwing a fit, collapsing onto the floor. Liza started crying. Anna stood motionless, gripping the stun gun.
“Keys. On the cabinet. Every set.”
Vladimir, red with rage and humiliation, threw 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 with her. Irina hauled the bags, cursing everything in the world. Vladimir walked last, fists clenched, but did not dare 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 was truly her home.
A month passed.
Anna was sitting in her restored workshop, the former guest room that had to be disinfected after the relatives. The cat, washed and fluffy now, named Lynx, slept on the windowsill. The divorce was underway, and Anna’s mother’s lawyer was working with precise, ruthless efficiency.
Vladimir and his “holy family” met a predictably miserable fate.
That evening, after finding themselves outside with all their belongings, they could not go to his mother’s apartment. Tenants were living there, and the contract had been written in such a way that early termination required the landlady to pay triple compensation. Inna Sergeevna did not have that kind of money. She had already spent everything on some Chinese dietary 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. Every landlord, seeing scandalous Irina and a small child, either raised the price or refused.
In the end, they moved into an outdated old apartment on the outskirts at an inflated price.
Vladimir’s financial cushion began melting at a catastrophic speed. Irina refused to work — she said she was under stress. Inna Sergeevna constantly demanded medicine and better food because “we’ve been through so much.”
One evening, in the cramped, smoke-filled kitchen of the rented apartment, a scandal exploded.
“Vova, give me money. Liza needs new boots. That witch Anya 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 gaunt, unshaven, and furious. “Everything went to the deposit and the realtor!”
“Then go back to work!” his mother snapped. “Why are you sitting here? A man is supposed to earn.”
“And who’s going to stay with you? You’ll eat each other alive!” Vladimir shouted, hurling a mug into the sink — thankfully, it was metal. “I did everything for you! I lost my family! I lost my wife!”
“Oh, who needs that pale little moth?” Irina scoffed. “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 my neck. Anna was… she was normal. You ruined everything with your greed!”
“You ungrateful beast!” his mother cried out. “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, with parasites on his neck, and in a pathetic rented apartment. It was his own personal hell, built by 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 completely, unbelievably free.