“Why, exactly, are you wearing my husband’s robe?” Nadya asked. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but from the sheer absurdity of seeing something so completely different from what she had expected. She stood frozen in the doorway, gripping the handle of her suitcase so tightly that her palm instantly grew damp.
“My robe, actually,” the man standing in front of her corrected lazily. He adjusted the belt of the thick terrycloth garment and took a sip of something dark from a mug that, incidentally, belonged to Nadya. “The more interesting question is what you’re doing in my hallway without being invited.”
“I live here. This is my apartment. I’ve been away for four months, and I came back earlier than planned.”
Nadya stepped over the threshold as though she were crossing a battle line.
“Lady, I have a lease. Signed for a year and paid in advance. The owner, Artyom, assured me the apartment was vacant.”
The stranger yawned, making it perfectly clear how tiresome he found this unexpected intrusion.
“Artyom is my husband. And he couldn’t legally rent this apartment to you because it belongs to me.”
Nadya lowered her bag to the floor. The warm happiness she had felt about finally coming home was rapidly being replaced by a cold, sticky sense of dread.
The man introduced himself as Igor, and he turned out to be almost unnaturally calm. Shuffling across the floor in slippers, he disappeared into one of the rooms and returned with a stack of documents, which he casually dropped onto the entryway cabinet.
Nadya read them carefully, but the words seemed to dance before her eyes.
There was a power of attorney.
The signature looked almost identical to hers, but the angle of the handwriting gave the forgery away. A handwriting expert might notice it. Nadya certainly did.
Artyom had not merely allowed another man into her apartment. He had rented out her home, her privacy, and her sense of security as though none of it belonged to her.
She called her husband.
His phone was switched off.
He had apparently vanished along with whatever remained of his conscience.
Igor watched her with mild curiosity, as though she were some unusual animal that had wandered into his living room. He worked as a tester for luxury mattresses and sleeping systems, which meant that peace and quiet were practically sacred to him. A domestic scandal had definitely not been part of his plans.
“Look,” he finally said. “I don’t care who is married to whom. I paid half a million. I’m not moving out until somebody gives me my money back.”
Nadya leaned against the wall.
She did not even have the strength to shout. Four months spent on an expedition tracking the migration of northern reindeer had exhausted her completely. She wanted a shower and a bed, not a war over her own apartment.
“I can’t throw you out this second. The law moves painfully slowly,” she said quietly. “But I’m not leaving either.”
Living under the same roof with a complete stranger soon began to feel like some grotesque stage play.
Nadya moved into the small room that had previously served as a study, while Igor occupied the bedroom and living room as if he were the rightful master of the property. He treated Nadya like an irritating insect—something too insignificant to confront, but annoying enough to ignore deliberately.
Artyom still refused to answer his phone.
Then the downstairs neighbor, a talkative woman who seemed to know everything happening in the building, stopped Nadya near the garbage chute.
She whispered that she had seen Artyom carrying boxes out of the apartment with some heavily made-up woman. The two had been laughing as they loaded their belongings into a taxi.
One of the boxes, Nadya realized with horror from the neighbor’s description, contained her expensive calligraphy set.
Nadya filed a lawsuit.
Unfortunately, the bureaucratic machine moved with the speed of rusted gears.
Every morning she still had to encounter Igor in the kitchen. He cooked oatmeal while somehow occupying nearly every burner on the stove and behaved as though the actual owner of the apartment were invisible.
“Could you at least clean your hair out of the bathroom?” Nadya asked on the third morning, trying to preserve what remained of her manners.
“I could,” Igor replied without turning around. “And you could stop rustling plastic bags at six in the morning. I’m sleeping then. I have a schedule.”
He felt completely secure.
He had a contract in his hands.
Nadya had ownership rights.
And absurdly enough, at that particular moment, ownership alone did not seem sufficient to restore order.
She began locking herself inside the study.
Something inside her was changing. In the place where love for her husband and trust in people had once lived, something cold and sharp was beginning to grow.
Artyom had not simply stolen money.
He had stolen her sense of safety.
One evening, while sorting through old bills, Nadya found a pawnshop receipt that had slipped behind a chest of drawers.
The date was recent.
Artyom had pawned her professional camera before she had even left for the expedition.
That discovery changed everything.
This had not been some sudden, stupid decision.
He had been preparing his escape in advance.
Her contempt for her husband was mixed with disgust at herself.
How had she lived with this man for two years without seeing what he truly was?
How had she failed to notice that she had been supporting a parasite who was simply waiting for the right moment to take as much as possible?
Her patience finally snapped when Igor casually announced that he intended to change the locks because, as he put it, “too many random people keep wandering in.”
That was when Nadya understood that she had to act.
Otherwise, she might lose not only her apartment but her sanity as well.
Galina Pavlovna lived in a spacious apartment in an old Stalin-era high-rise, inherited from her late husband, a former general.
She did not open the door immediately. Nadya heard her struggling with the security chain for quite some time, as though she were preparing for a siege.
When her mother-in-law finally saw who had come, her lips tightened into a thin line.
“So you’re back,” Galina said instead of greeting her. “Tyoma told me you’d be away for six months.”
“Plans change.”
Nadya walked into the living room without waiting to be invited.
“Where is your son, Galina Pavlovna?”
“How should I know? He’s a grown man. He decides where he wants to be. Maybe he got tired of your constant traveling. A man needs warmth at home, not a wife who disappears for months.”
Nadya looked around.
The walls were covered with photographs of Artyom at different stages of his life: Artyom as a toddler, Artyom holding his first schoolbook, Artyom in military uniform despite having served barely a month before being discharged because of flat feet.
It looked like a shrine dedicated to mediocrity.
“Your grown son rented my apartment to a stranger, took the money, and disappeared,” Nadya said slowly and clearly. “A man named Igor is living there now. He paid Artyom half a million.”
For a fraction of a second, Galina Pavlovna’s eyes widened.
Then she quickly recovered.
The flash of fear disappeared, replaced by her usual shameless confidence.
“So what? He must have needed the money. You earn well. Maybe you should have left your husband enough to live on. You drove the poor boy into a corner, so he had to find a way out.”
“A way out?”
Nadya gave a bitter laugh.
“That’s called fraud. The documents are already in court. Artyom may end up being wanted by the police.”
“Don’t you dare!” Galina Pavlovna shrieked. “Withdraw the complaint! You’ll ruin his life! So he rented out an apartment—big deal. You’re never home anyway.”
“I’ll withdraw nothing unless one condition is met. Igor needs his money back so he can leave my apartment. Artyom obviously doesn’t have it. So you can pay.”
Her mother-in-law turned crimson.
“I live on a pension! Have you lost your mind?”
“Then there’s another option.”
Nadya lowered her voice.
“Igor is a large man, and apparently my apartment isn’t spacious enough for him. I could suggest that he move in here with you. I’ll explain that as Artyom’s mother, perhaps you feel morally responsible for helping settle his debts. You could spend the next year with your sister in Saratov.”
Galina Pavlovna grabbed her chest dramatically.
“You wouldn’t dare! That’s blackmail!”
“No. It’s risk management. Either you tell me where Artyom is and make him return the money, or start preparing a room for Igor. He snores, by the way. And the court case continues either way.”
Artyom appeared two days later.
He stormed into the apartment while Nadya and Igor were eating breakfast in tense silence.
He looked terrible: rumpled clothes, nervous eyes, a dirty windbreaker. Apparently his romantic escape with another woman had become considerably less enjoyable once the money started running out.
“What the hell have you done?!” he shouted from the doorway, completely ignoring Igor. “My mother is practically having a heart attack! Withdraw the court case right now!”
“You seem surprisingly brave now that you’ve decided to show your face.”
Nadya calmly put down her cup.
“Keys on the table. And the money.”
“What money? I compensated myself for the emotional suffering I endured during our marriage!” Artyom yelled. “I’m divorcing you! You don’t deserve me! And I had every right to rent out the apartment. We’re married. Property belongs to both spouses!”
“The apartment was purchased before we got married, genius,” Nadya replied coldly. “You’re not even registered here.”
That was when Igor finally joined the conversation.
He rose slowly from his chair and pushed his plate aside.
“Artyom, my dear friend. You told me your wife was off somewhere in the wilderness and wasn’t coming back anytime soon.”
Nadya turned toward Igor.
There was no surprise in his voice.
Only mocking irritation.
“You promised there wouldn’t be any problems!” Artyom squealed at him. “I settled my debt with you by giving you the apartment for a year! You agreed! Why did you tell her about the money? Now she’s demanding it from me!”
Suddenly everything made sense.
Nadya stared at both men.
Igor had never been an ordinary tenant who had found the apartment through an advertisement.
“So,” she said slowly, “you owed this man money, Artyom, and decided to repay your debt using my apartment?”
“None of your business!” Artyom snapped. “These are men’s affairs! A debt has to be honored!”
“Gambling?”
Nadya looked at Igor differently now.
His arrogance suddenly had an explanation.
“Not exactly cards,” Igor said with a smirk. “Sports betting. This and that. Artyom likes taking risks. But since everything is out in the open now…”
Igor walked around the table and stopped beside Artyom.
For a moment, Nadya thought they looked like two heads of the same creature.
“Listen, Nadya,” Igor said, his tone becoming openly crude. “I honestly don’t care how the two of you settle this. I have a contract. I live here. And since you’re back anyway… maybe you could work off your husband’s debt. The apartment is big enough for all of us. You could take care of the place… and maybe take care of us in other ways too. You know what I mean.”
Artyom flushed but said nothing.
He did not defend her.
He simply looked away.
“You’re suggesting that I become some kind of shared servant—and sleep with you too?” Nadya asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Why make it sound so ugly?” Igor laughed. “Call it a compromise. You withdraw the complaint, stay here, cook, clean, do the laundry… make life more enjoyable. Artyom can stay too. I don’t mind.”
“Have you lost your mind?!” Artyom suddenly exploded.
Not because his wife had been insulted.
Because his pride had been wounded.
“She’s my wife! What are you implying?”
“What kind of husband are you? You haven’t even seen her in months!”
Igor shoved Artyom in the chest.
Within seconds they were grappling in the middle of the kitchen—two pathetic, greedy men fighting over something that had never belonged to either of them.
Nadya watched for exactly one second.
Then she ran into the hallway toward the backpack she still had not fully unpacked.
Inside the outer pocket was a gift from a friend: a heavy black stun device.
“For stray dogs in the tundra,” her friend had joked when she gave it to her.
Nadya rushed back into the kitchen.
The men were no longer fighting properly. They were pushing each other and breathing heavily. Igor had one hand around Artyom’s throat.
“Get away from each other!” Nadya ordered.
Igor turned, noticed what she was holding, and burst out laughing.
“What are you going to do with that thing? Scare mosquitoes?”
He stepped toward her and reached for her wrist.
Nadya did not retreat.
She reacted using a defensive move she had learned from a self-defense instructor years earlier and shocked Igor in the side when he tried to grab her.
A sharp crack filled the kitchen.
Igor cried out and collapsed onto the tiled floor.
Artyom stood motionless, his mouth hanging open.
“Nadya! What are you doing? You killed him!”
“Your turn,” she said.
Artyom immediately backed away.
“Nadya, come on! We can talk about this! I’ll fix everything!”
“You already did.”
Her voice was calm.
“You cured me of my illusions.”
He suddenly tried to run for the door.
Nadya intercepted him before he reached the hallway and used the device again, striking his shoulder.
Artyom screamed and slid down the wall, gasping.
Igor had already started recovering and was attempting to push himself onto his hands and knees.
Nadya reached into her pocket and pulled out another surprise—a canister of defensive spray she had carried for emergencies during field expeditions.
She sprayed Igor in the face.
“My eyes!” he screamed, rolling across the floor.
“Get OUT,” Nadya said loudly and clearly, as though giving instructions during an emergency drill. “Right now. OUT!”
Artyom clutched his shoulder, coughing from the irritating mist hanging in the air.
He opened his mouth to argue.
Nadya simply raised the stun device again.
A bright spark crackled between the contacts.
“OUT!”
Artyom panicked.
He grabbed Igor and helped drag him to his feet. The two men stumbled out of the apartment, swearing, coughing, and complaining.
Nadya threw Igor’s sneakers and Artyom’s jacket after them.
Then she slammed the door shut and locked every lock she had.
In court, Artyom looked far less impressive.
His attempt to portray Nadya as unstable collapsed quickly once the neighbors testified and the forged power of attorney was introduced as evidence.
Even the judge seemed visibly unimpressed by his excuses.
The consequences were serious.
Artyom received a suspended sentence for document-related fraud. He was also ordered to compensate Igor for the financial loss connected with the invalid agreement, pay Nadya damages, and cover the cost of repairs required after another person had been living in her apartment without proper authorization.
Igor, it turned out, had previous problems with the law.
He disappeared almost immediately after the confrontation and never appeared in court. Apparently, he was far more afraid that questions might be asked about illegal betting and his other activities than he was interested in recovering the money.
Artyom was left owing money not only to his former wife but also to people connected to Igor.
Galina Pavlovna took her son back into her apartment.
Their life together quickly turned miserable.
Artyom’s mistress vanished the moment it became clear that there was no money left.
Soon the walls of Galina Pavlovna’s apartment echoed with arguments every day. She blamed her son for his conviction and debts, while Artyom blamed Nadya, Igor, the government, bad luck, and even the weather.
Everyone, apparently, was responsible except him.
He genuinely could not understand where his life had gone wrong.
Nadya changed every lock in her apartment.
She renovated the rooms, replaced the things that reminded her of Artyom, and finally made the place feel like her own again.
Later, she got a dog—a huge black terrier.
After everything she had been through, Nadya discovered that understanding human behavior was not so different from studying wild animals.
The main difference was that wild animals rarely pretended to be something they were not.