The bedroom door swung open at 7 AM without a knock.
“Rise and shine, youngsters!” Valentina Petrovna threw open the curtains, flooding the room with light. “Just because it’s Saturday doesn’t mean you get to lounge around until noon. Nikita, get up—I need your help moving the wardrobe in the hallway.”
Alina pulled the blanket over her head. Nikita sat up in bed, yawning.
“Mom, it’s only seven in the morning.”
“And I’ve been up since six! Alinochka, I moved your bottles in the bathroom. The shelf was too crowded, so I put them in a box under the sink. My creams are on the top shelf. You’re young, it’s not hard for you to bend down.”
The door closed. Alina lay under the blanket and counted to twenty in her head. It helped. Sometimes.
They had been living with Valentina Petrovna for three years already. A two-room apartment in an old building, their small room faced the garages outside. Alina met Nikita at work, and after six months, he suggested they move in together, only to find out they couldn’t afford to rent. Nikita worked as an electrical installer; Alina was an HR specialist at a factory. Together, they made almost a hundred thousand. Renting a one-bedroom would swallow up a third of it.
“Let’s stay at my mom’s,” Nikita had suggested. “We’ll save for a down payment and buy our own place. Mom doesn’t mind. Two years, three at most.”
Alina agreed. She was twenty-six and thought she could handle anything for two years.
But it turned out to be tough. Valentina Petrovna would walk in without knocking at any hour. She rearranged Alina’s stuff in the closet because it was “more convenient that way.” She washed Alina’s laundry with her own, then hung it out on the balcony for the neighbors to see. She’d complain to her sister from Kotlas on the phone that Alina had bought a new sweater while they were supposed to be saving for a flat. When Alina decided to switch jobs, the whole family—including the Kotlas aunt—spent half the evening in the kitchen debating if she was making the right choice. Alina wasn’t invited to the discussion. She only found out about it later, when Nikita relayed the aunt’s opinion to her.
Alina put up with it for the sake of their own apartment. Almost all her salary went into a separate account. She left herself just five thousand for transport and lunches. Nikita saved less, saying he needed to help his mom with the utilities since they lived there. Alina didn’t argue. All she could think about was having her own place, her own door, her own rules.
After two and a half years, they got married. Six months later, they finally had enough for a down payment: one and a half million rubles. Over a million of it had been saved by Alina, even before the wedding. They bought a three-room apartment in a new building across town. The mortgage was in both their names.
Alina would never forget the first night in their new home. Bare walls, boxes everywhere, a mattress on the floor, a lightbulb with no shade. She stood in the middle of the empty kitchen crying, while Nikita hugged her and laughed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nikita. No one will walk in here without knocking. No one will move my bottles. No one.”
“No one,” he agreed.
That’s when she bought a doormat. Plain gray, with the word “Home” on it. She laid it by the door and stared at it for a long time.
“Nikita, let’s make a deal,” she said that night, lying on the mattress. “Here, we make our own rules. Just ours. We decide together who comes in, who stays. Okay?”
“Okay, Alina. Of course.”
For the first three months, that’s exactly how it was.
Then Valentina Petrovna started coming over more often. At first, she’d call a day ahead. Then it was just an hour’s notice. Eventually, she’d ring from downstairs on the intercom: “I was just nearby, thought I’d stop by.” She’d bring pies and stay until the evening. While she was there, she’d wander through the apartment, open closets, and offer advice about where things should go.
“Nikitka, why do you keep the plates in the top cabinet? That’s so inconvenient. Alinochka, let me rearrange them for you.”
Nikita thought this was all completely normal.
“Well, she’s my mom. She gets lonely. It’s hard for her to be alone.”
Then Gleb started visiting.
Gleb was the son of that same aunt from Kotlas—Nikita’s cousin. He was twenty-seven, and for years had been planning to move to the big city. He came for job interviews, for some courses, for concerts. Every time, he’d crash on their living room couch—sometimes for just one night, sometimes three. He’d always leave a mountain of dirty dishes in the kitchen, and wet towels strewn on the bathroom floor.
“Nikita, he could at least let us know in advance,” Aline said after the third time this happened.
“But he’s family. Why would he need to warn us? Where else is he supposed to stay?”
“At a hotel. At a hostel. Anywhere.”
“Alina, come on, you’re acting like an outsider. He used to always stay at mom’s when he came. But now her place is unavailable—she’s got renovations going on. Where’s he supposed to sleep, at the train station?”
Alina remembered the renovation at Valentina Petrovna’s. Her mother-in-law had started to redo the wallpaper in one room, and it had been dragging on for four months now.
One day in October, Alina came home from work earlier than usual. She was let out at 3 p.m. because the factory’s heating had been shut off. She went up to her floor and noticed the apartment door wasn’t locked—it was just pulled shut.
Inside, Valentina Petrovna was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea. On the table in front of her was an open jar of Alina’s honey—the one her friend had brought straight from an apiary.
“Oh, Alinochka!” her mother-in-law said, not the least bit surprised. “I just stopped by, brought you some borscht. Nikitka told me you’d both be home late, so I thought I’d drop it off in the fridge.”
“Valentina Petrovna. How did you get in?”
“Well, I unlocked the door with the key. Nikitka gave me a spare. That was a while ago, maybe a month now.”
Alina slowly set her bag down on the cabinet.
“He gave you a key?”
“Yes, of course. Why not? I’m his mother. What if something happens? A pipe bursts, you get sick, or the plants need watering.”
Alina didn’t have any plants.
That evening, she asked her husband.
“Nikita. Did you give your mom a key to our apartment?”
“Yes, I did. So what?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Alina, what’s there to ask? She’s my mom. What if something happens? My mom has to have a key.”
“But we agreed—it’s our decision together who comes in.”
“So I made the decision. For both of us. Isn’t that obvious?”
“It’s only obvious to you.”
Nikita just waved her off.
“Alina, you’re doing this again. What are you hiding from her? Do you think she’s stealing from you? She brought you borscht. She’s a normal mom.”
Alina stayed silent. Suddenly, she realized that after two years in their new apartment, she was counting to twenty under the blanket again. Just like she used to at Valentina Petrovna’s.
In early November, Nikita was sent on a business trip. He was to install electrical wiring at a new warehouse in Murmansk for two weeks. He left on a Thursday evening.
On Wednesday evening, he went to take a shower, leaving his phone on the kitchen table. Alina was chopping salad. The phone buzzed and lit up. A notification appeared on the screen.
“Mom: Son, so we’re coming with Glebushka on Saturday morning. Should I bring my folding bed or do you have one there?”
Alina put the knife down.
She knew her husband’s phone password—Nikita had told her a while ago. She’d never used it. Until that night.
The conversation with his mother had already been going on for two weeks.
“Mom, listen, Gleb has been stuck in Kotlas too long. Aunt Galya called, asking for help. Maybe he could stay with us for a couple of months? Until he finds a job. And you can stay with him, keep an eye on him, feed him. Rent out your apartment, at least you’ll get some money. I checked, they offer thirty for your two-bedroom.”
“Nikita, what about Alina?”
“It’s fine. There’s plenty of room—three rooms. Gleb can take the couch in the living room, you can stay in our bedroom, we’ll use the fold-out bed in the small room. Alina will get used to it.”
“Alright, if that’s the case. How long for?”
“About three or four months. Until Gleb settles in. I’ll be away on a business trip, so you can all move in and get settled while I’m gone.”
“Okay, son. I’ve already found tenants—nice family, moving in on the first.”
Then came the details. What to pack, which bus to take, where the spare mailbox key was kept.
The water stopped running in the bathroom. Alina put the phone back, screen down, exactly as it had been. She went back to her salad.
Nikita walked out, drying his head with a towel.
“So, dinner time?”
“Dinner time,” Alina replied.
Through dinner, Alina kept looking at her husband, waiting. Maybe he’d say something. Anything. “Alina, Mom wants to stay with Gleb.” At least a hint.
He talked about his business trip. About Murmansk, about the warehouse, about how cold it already was there in November. About needing warm socks.
“Alina will get used to it.”
That night, Alina barely slept. She lay beside her husband, thinking about that little room with the window facing the garages. Three years without anyone knocking. Her jars in a box under the sink. Family meetings in the kitchen about her job. The aunt from Kotlas who commented on her sweaters.
Nikita had seen it all. For three years, he lived in that same room. He saw her cry in the bathroom, saw her quietly count to twenty under the blanket. On their first night in this apartment, he promised her it would be their own rules here.
And now he’d decided to move his mother in for four months. Into their bedroom. He hadn’t even asked. Not even mentioned it. Just decided they’d move in while he was away—and Alina would get used to it.
On Thursday evening, Nikita left. As he said goodbye, he kissed her on the cheek and promised to call.
On Friday morning, Alina called him herself. He was already on the train.
“Nikita. I need to talk to you. About your mom and Gleb.”
She heard a rustling sound on the line.
“Alina, the signal is bad here. I’m on the train. Let’s talk later when I get there. Everything will be fine, don’t worry.”
He hung up. Alina looked at the phone. He knew what she wanted to talk about. And he just didn’t want to.
At lunchtime, she got permission to leave work and called a locksmith service. The technician arrived at four—a short, gray-haired man in a blue jumpsuit. He inspected the door and pulled a new lock cylinder out of his toolbox.
“How many keys do you need? There are five in the set.”
“Five,” Alina replied. “Leave them all here.”
Twenty minutes later, the old keys no longer worked. The locksmith handed her a small bag with five shiny new keys. Alina put one in her purse, another in a dresser drawer for Nikita, and stored the remaining three in a box with documents on the top shelf.
That night, she slept peacefully. For the first time in a week.
On Saturday morning, just before nine, she was awakened by a commotion on the landing. Loud noises, voices, and the wheels of a suitcase squeaking on the tiles.
Alina threw on her robe and walked to the door. She looked through the peephole.
Standing on the landing was Valentina Petrovna in a winter coat and fur hat. Next to her was Gleb, wearing a puffy jacket with a huge backpack. At their feet were two suitcases, three checkered bags, and a folded cot.
Valentina Petrovna put her key into the lock and turned it. The key wouldn’t budge. She took it out, examined it, and tried again.
“Gleb, you try. Something’s stuck.”
Gleb gave it a go. The key would only go halfway in and no further.
“Aunt Valya, this isn’t the right key.”
“What do you mean not the right one? It is! Nikitka himself gave it to me!”
Valentina Petrovna started pounding on the door with her fist.
“Daughter-in-law, open up at once! My son said you have plenty of space, so we came!” the mother-in-law protested indignantly.
Alina stood on the other side of the door, still looking through the peephole. Her heart was racing, but her voice remained calm.
“Hello, Valentina Petrovna.”
“Why are you just standing there? Open up! We’ve been on the road since seven this morning. Glebushka is hungry.”
“I won’t open the door.”
“What do you mean you won’t?!” her mother-in-law slapped the door with her palm. “This is my son’s apartment!”
“This is our apartment, Valentina Petrovna. Shared. And Nikita had no right to decide behind my back who will live here. He didn’t ask me. He didn’t even tell me. I found out by accident. I do not agree to this.”
“Are you out of your mind? What, are we supposed to live on the stairs?”
“You have your own apartment.”
“I rented it out! Tenants move in on the first!”
“It’s not the first yet. You have a week.”
Valentina Petrovna fell silent. Apparently, she hadn’t expected that answer. Gleb shifted his weight awkwardly and stared at the floor.
“Aunt Valya, maybe we should just go?” he whispered.
“Quiet!” his mother snapped, pulling out her phone. “I’m calling Nikitka right now. He’ll show her.”
She was on the phone for about ten minutes. Through the door, Alina could hear: “Nikita, she won’t let us in! She changed the lock! We’re standing at the door like dogs!” Then her voice quieted as she moved toward the elevator.
Five minutes later, Alina’s phone rang.
“Alina, what are you doing?!” her husband’s voice cracked with frustration. “You’re keeping my mother on the landing? Open the door right now!”
“Nikita, you wanted to tell me something about your mom and Gleb. On Friday, on the train. Remember? You said ‘we’ll talk later.'”
He fell silent.
“We’ll talk when you get here,” Alina said. “Your new key is in the dresser.”
She hung up.
Valentina Petrovna continued complaining on the landing for another half hour. She called someone else, brought over the neighbor from the apartment across the hall, and vented to her. The neighbor, a young woman holding a child, listened, shook her head, and shut the door. Continued in the comments.
An hour later, they left. Alina gazed out the window as Gleb loaded the suitcases and the folding bed into the taxi’s trunk.
Nikita arrived on Wednesday—three days earlier than planned, after getting time off from work. Of course, his old key didn’t fit. He rang the doorbell.
Alina opened the door and handed him a new key.
“It’s yours.”
He silently took the key, dropped his bag in the hallway, and walked straight to the kitchen.
“Do you understand what you’ve done?” he started from the doorway. “You humiliated my mother! Threw her out like a dog! In front of the neighbors! She’s been calling me for three days, crying. She had to turn down her tenants and return their money! Gleb went back to Kotlas! Don’t you get it? My mother will never come here again!”
Alina sat across from him and placed her phone on the table, screen facing him. Open on it were screenshots of messages she’d taken that night while he was in the shower.
“Read.”
Nikita looked at the screen, his face turning red.
“You went through my phone?”
“Read it, Nikita. Right here—’Alinka will get used to it.'”
He pushed the phone away.
Alina placed a second phone next to it—her own. She opened her bank app and showed him the transaction history from her savings account up to the date of their wedding.
“Now look here. This is my account. I opened it when we moved in with your mom. Every month—forty thousand, thirty-eight, forty-two. By the wedding, I had saved one million one hundred thousand. That’s almost all of our down payment, Nikita. You put in four hundred.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“A lot. I lived for three years in that small room at your mom’s. No privacy. Kept my own jars under the sink. Your aunt from Kotlas would talk about my sweaters. I put up with all of it because I knew what it was for—for this apartment, where I could finally feel at home. You knew that. You saw me cry in that room. You promised me, our first night here, that this would be our space with our rules.”
Nikita stayed silent.
“And then you just decided. Your mom in our bedroom. Gleb in the living room. Us on a folding bed in the small room. For four months. And you didn’t even ask me. You just decided they’d move in while you were gone, and I would get used to it. Like I don’t even exist.”
“Alina, it’s only temporary. Gleb needed…”
“Nikita. This isn’t about your mom. Or Gleb. It’s about you.”
Alina paused. She’d spent a long time figuring out how to say this, and now the words just came to her.
“You think my boundaries mean nothing if they inconvenience your family. You gave your mom a key without me. You let Gleb stay without me. You let your mom and Gleb live here for four months without me. And when I said ‘no,’ you say I humiliated your mother. I didn’t humiliate her, Nikita. You did, by creating this situation. You promised her things you had no right to promise.”
Nikita stood up, paced around the kitchen, and stopped at the window.
“You’ve never liked her.”
“I tolerated her for three years. That’s more than anyone should be asked to do.”
“So what do you want?”
Alina didn’t answer that night. She went to the bedroom and closed the door. Nikita slept on the couch in the living room.
In the morning, she came to the kitchen. Nikita was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Nikita. I want us to separate. And sell the apartment.”
He looked up.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am. I can’t keep living here, always wondering who you’ll move in next. I already did that for three years. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“Alina…”
— Nikita, I’ve made up my mind.
Two weeks later, Nikita packed his things and moved in with his mother. In the end, Valentina Petrovna never did let any tenants in, and her two-room apartment stood there with the wallpaper halfway finished. Now Nikita lived in that same small room with the window overlooking the garages.
The apartment sold in three months. The sale was approved by the bank and the remaining part of the mortgage was paid off. Alina went to a lawyer, who explained that her bank statement proved the origin of her pre-marriage funds used for the down payment, and that should be considered in the division. Nikita didn’t argue. He just said over the phone, “Take your one million one hundred. I don’t want what’s not mine.” They split the rest after settling the mortgage equally.
With that money, Alina bought a small one-room apartment on the ninth floor, in a building not far from the factory. Thirty-four square meters, a seven-meter kitchen, the window facing a little park. She registered it only in her name. She took out a small mortgage for the remaining amount, set for five years.
On moving day, she called the same handyman in the blue coveralls. He changed the lock cylinder again and handed her a little bag with keys.
— There are three here.
— Okay, said Alina.
She put one on her keychain. The other two she placed in the kitchen drawer, under the towels.
In the evening, after the movers left and the boxes stood in the corners, Alina took out a gray doormat with ‘Home’ written on it from one of the boxes. She put it by the door, on the inside. Then she closed the door, turned the key twice in the lock, and stood in the hallway for a moment.
Every key to that door was now in her hands. No one else could come in but her.