The sun was barely breaking through the kitchen window when Olga was already bustling around the house. The morning greeted her with the usual silence, only interrupted by the mumbling of the television from her mother-in-law’s room. Olga straightened the tablecloth, brushed off invisible crumbs from the table, and opened the fridge. Eggs, milk, cottage cheese – breakfast had to be hearty. Valentina Andreevna liked everything to be like in the hospital – on time and without unnecessary noise.
The kettle on the stove was boiling when Olga noticed the wrinkled pillow on her mother-in-law’s couch. She hurried over, fluffed it, and smoothed the lace pillowcase. Ten years in this house, and it still felt like she was a guest. An unwanted one.
“Valentina Andreevna, breakfast is ready,” Olga called softly, stopping by the half-open door.
From the room came the voice of the morning show host, but her mother-in-law did not respond. Olga sighed. She could have stopped trying; all she would hear in response was an annoyed muttering.
Returning to the kitchen, she mechanically sliced the bread, arranged the cheese on a plate. Her hands went through the familiar motions, while her mind was spinning: “Andrey will be late again. He’ll come home and bury himself in his phone. Maybe I should ask him about vacation? No, he won’t talk.”
Outside the window, the voices of the neighbor’s children could be heard. Olga froze with a knife in her hand. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed, trying to push away the unwelcome sadness. They never managed to have children – first, they postponed, then they tried, but now… now there were only these walls, a stranger’s house, and the expectation of who knows what.
“I’ve over-salted it again,” came her mother-in-law’s displeased voice from the room.
Olga jumped and hurried to answer the call. The day was beginning, just like hundreds of others before it.
Unwelcome Guest
Olga was dusting the sideboard when the front door suddenly burst open so sharply that it slammed against the wall. There was no need to look – only Marina could enter the apartment like that, as though it was her own home.
“Ol, take the gifts!” Marina appeared in the hallway with two large boxes. She immediately handed one to the stunned Olga. “Here, this is a gift from our family.”
Something in Marina’s voice was… unpleasant. After ten years, Olga had learned to distinguish all the shades of hostility from this family.
“What are these boxes? Why?” Olga asked, confused, watching Marina efficiently take off her boots without untying them.
“To pack your things,” Marina walked into the room as if she couldn’t wait to start the process of evicting her. “Mom said you’re moving out.”
Olga stood frozen with the box. Her head was buzzing, as if she had entered a vacuum.
“What do you mean… moving out?”
“Exactly what I mean.” Marina plopped down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m moving in with Mom and Misha. She needs help, and good people are renting my place, I’d be crazy to miss that. Andrey knows everything, so you can stop pretending to be surprised.”
From the mother-in-law’s room came the sound of a throat clearing – the same sound Valentina Andreevna usually made when expressing approval of her daughter’s actions.
“Andrey… knows?” Olga felt her lips go numb.
“Of course!” Marina snorted. “My brother is always on the right side. Our side.” She stood up and fixed her hair in the mirror. “Will you be done by the end of the week? Misha wants to set up his room, and your place has the best layout.”
The TV in the mother-in-law’s room got louder – a clear sign that Valentina Andreevna was listening but didn’t want to speak.
“Okay, I’m off. I have to pick Misha up from his class.” Marina was already pulling on her boots. “Oh, leave the keys on the nightstand when you… finish.”
The door slammed shut. Olga stood there with the empty box, clutching it to her chest like a shield. From the other room, participants in some show were laughing loudly. Her mother-in-law turned the volume up even more.
Deafening Silence
Olga couldn’t bring herself to move for a long time. The cardboard box suddenly felt so heavy, as if it already contained all ten years of her marriage. Finally, as though snapping out of a trance, she set it down on the floor and took out her phone.
Andrey. She needed to call Andrey.
Her fingers trembled as she dialed her husband’s number. One ring, then another, then a third… With each ring, her heart beat louder. On the fifth ring, he picked up.
“Yeah,” Andrey’s voice sounded distant, as though he were speaking from far away.
“I need to talk to you,” her own voice sounded foreign to her.
There was a pause at the other end, followed by a heavy sigh.
“Was Marina already here?” The question, which sounded more like a statement, shattered any remaining hope.
“I want to hear it from you, Andrey,” Olga sat down on the edge of the nightstand, her legs suddenly unable to support her. “Did you really decide…”
“Let’s not do this now,” he interrupted her. “We’ll talk tonight. I have a meeting in five minutes.”
Olga bit her lip. Ten years together, and he couldn’t find a minute for her now.
“What time should I wait for you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I don’t know, Olga. Too much stuff piled up,” he sighed again. “Listen, don’t make this into a tragedy. Mom is getting older, Marina is struggling with Misha… It’s logical.”
“And me?” the question escaped her involuntarily.
“What – you?” There was irritation in her husband’s voice. “Your mom is alive, the apartment is empty. Why are you acting like we’re kicking you out?”
Olga remained silent, crumpling the edge of her sweater in her hand.
“Okay, I gotta go,” Andrey was clearly in a hurry to end the conversation. “We’ll discuss the details tonight.”
Short beeps followed.
Details. Ten years of marriage had come down to “details.” Olga sat there, staring at one spot until she heard her mother-in-law’s irritated voice from the other room:
“Olga! Are you bringing the tea? The show’s already started!”
She mechanically got up and headed for the kitchen. Her hands went through the familiar motions – cup, tea bag, boiling water, cookies on the plate.
The hot tea burned her fingers, but Olga didn’t flinch. What was a little pain compared to what was happening inside?
Revelation on the Bench
The air outside seemed fresher than usual. Olga sat on the bench by the entrance, watching the wind play with the fallen leaves. In her purse was a pack of cigarettes, bought on the way here. How many years had it been since she last smoked? Seven? Eight? She had quit when Andrey said he couldn’t stand the smell of tobacco.
Her fingers found the lighter. She pulled it out, fiddled with it in her hands – it was old, with chipped red paint. She didn’t take out a cigarette. She sat there, mindlessly flicking the wheel on the lighter. The little flame flared up, and then immediately went out with the light breeze.
“Olga, is that you? I thought it was you, but then I wasn’t sure,” a familiar voice said nearby.
Galia Petrovna, the neighbor from the fifth floor, set down her bag and sat on the bench. The old lady had lived in their building forever. She knew all the news before it even happened.
“Hello, Galia Petrovna,” Olga tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work.
“Why so down? Something happened?” The old lady peered at her over her glasses.
“Just… life,” Olga replied vaguely.
“Aha,” Galia Petrovna dragged out the sound knowingly. “I heard, I heard. Valentina Andreevna is happy that her daughter and grandson are moving in. She’s cleaning up, preparing the room.”
Olga froze. So, the decision had been made a long time ago. They had planned it, discussed it – everything, except her.
“How long has she… been preparing?” her voice trembled betraying her.
“Yeah, it’s been about two weeks since they repainted the wallpaper in the small room,” Galia Petrovna was digging through her bag enthusiastically. “She says Misha needs space for his lessons. And you, well…”
She vaguely waved her hand in the air as if brushing away a speck of dust.
“Well, me,” Olga repeated faintly.
It was like a puzzle piece falling into place in her mind. That was why her mother-in-law had been almost friendly lately. That was why Andrey had been staying late at work more often. That was why Marina suddenly started calling her mother every day.
“How’s your health?” the old lady asked kindly, not noticing Olga’s state. “Valentina Andreevna said that’s why you don’t have kids, that you’re often sick.”
Olga stood up abruptly.
“Sorry, Galia Petrovna, I have to go.”
She clenched the lighter tightly in her fist. For the first time in a long while, everything was perfectly clear to her about what was happening in her life. And what to do next.
Shards of the Past
The apartment was quiet. Even the constantly running television in the mother-in-law’s room was silent—Valentina Andreevna had gone to a friend’s for “a cup of tea.” Probably telling her how skillfully she was getting rid of the unwanted daughter-in-law.
Olga slowly scanned the bedroom. Her and Andrei’s room. Although no, not anymore—Misha’s room. How many times had she rearranged the furniture here, trying to create comfort? She had changed the curtains, the bedspread… But it turned out, all this time, she was just preparing a nest for someone else.
She took an old suitcase from the closet, the one she had brought here ten years ago. She opened the empty drawers of the dresser. There was little to pack—just a few dresses, underwear, loungewear. Books. A photo album.
An old porcelain cup with a blue rim stood on the shelf—a gift from her mother for the housewarming. “For good luck,” her mother had said then. Olga reached for it, but her hand trembled. The cup slipped off the shelf and shattered on the floor with a sharp crash.
Olga froze, looking at the shards. White porcelain pieces with blue edges scattered across the floor, like her unfulfilled hopes. She dropped to her knees, instinctively trying to gather them.
The sharp edge cut her finger. A drop of blood appeared. Red on white. For some reason, this little pain suddenly sobered her. Olga opened her palm, letting the shards fall back to the floor.
“Enough of gluing together what’s not mine,” she said aloud, surprised by the firmness of her voice.
She stood up, wiped her hand on a napkin. She looked at the clothes thrown on the bed, at the open suitcase. And suddenly, she laughed—a short, bitter laugh. Ten years of life fit into one old suitcase. Ten years of trying to belong in a family where she had never been wanted.
Olga walked decisively to the closet and flung it wide open. She took all her clothes off the hangers and threw them into the suitcase, not caring about the wrinkles. On the table, she found a pen, tore a sheet from a notebook. She stared at the blank page for a few seconds and then wrote just one word: “Goodbye.”
She left the note on the dresser, weighing it down with the apartment keys. The shards of the cup remained on the floor—let Valentina Andreevna figure out what to do with them.
The front door clicked shut behind her. Olga walked down the stairs lightly, as if she had just shed a heavy burden.
Returning to Herself
The door to her mother’s apartment opened with the familiar creak. Olga stepped over the threshold and froze, inhaling the stale air of the empty house. No one had lived here for six months—since her mother moved to her sister’s place in the regional center. “Don’t sell the apartment,” she had said then. “Who knows how life will turn out.”
Life had turned out just this way. Her mother had known.
Olga set the suitcase down in the hallway. Dust covered the furniture in a fine layer, and the windowsills were streaked with the dried remnants of soil—the only trace left of her mother’s favorite violets. Sunlight filtered through the loosely drawn curtains, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air.
In the living room, on the dresser, there was a photograph—her mother in the garden, with a basket of apples. She was smiling. Olga took off her scarf, ran her fingers over the frame, brushing off the dust.
“Well, I’m back, Mom,” she said aloud. Her own voice seemed too loud in the empty apartment.
The kitchen greeted her with the stale smell of an uninhabited place. On the table was a cup with a dried tea stain at the bottom. Olga sighed, turned on the tap. The water ran rusty at first, then gradually cleared. She found an old towel in the cupboard, wet it.
Her movements were mechanical, familiar—wiping the table, the windowsill, dusting the shelves. From the outside, it might have looked like she was just cleaning. But with every swipe of the cloth, with every smudge she wiped away, Olga felt like she was erasing the past. Ten years of humiliation, ten years of trying to earn the love of people who had never wanted her.
In the bedroom, her mother’s scent lingered—barely perceptible, the aroma of lily-of-the-valley, her favorite perfume. Olga spread fresh linen, made the bed. She took a photograph from the suitcase—one from their wedding, the only thing she had kept from her married life. She looked at the smiling faces of herself and Andrei.
“Happy,” she smirked. “How foolish we were.”
She placed the photograph in a drawer. She didn’t throw it away—she hid it. Like a part of her life that needed to be accepted and let go.
By evening, she had finished most of the cleaning. She washed herself under barely warm water—the boiler hadn’t heated up yet. She wrapped herself in her mother’s old robe, big and cozy. She sat on the windowsill, looking at the sleeping yard.
For the first time in many years, she felt at home. Truly at home.
The Unwanted Return
A month passed. Olga no longer flinched in the mornings, no longer listened for unfamiliar footsteps or prepared breakfast for three. Her mother’s apartment had come to life—violets appeared on the windowsills again, the curtains were replaced with light, airy ones, and in the evenings, music drifted from the open windows—unhurried, calm, like its owner.
The doorbell rang as Olga was finishing dinner. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the hallway. On the doorstep stood Andrei—gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and an awkward smile on his lips.
“Hi,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other. “Can I come in?”
Olga silently stepped aside, letting him into the apartment. He walked in, glancing around, as if he had never been here before. Although, why “as if”—he really had only been here a couple of times, when they had just started dating.
“It’s cozy,” he nodded, pointing at the new curtains. “You’ve always known how to create an atmosphere.”
Olga leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Why are you here, Andrei?”
He took a box of fruit from his bag and placed it on the side table.
“Here, I brought… peaches, grapes. Remember, you used to love them?”
“Thanks,” she nodded but didn’t touch the box. “And yet?”
Andrei sighed, ran a hand through his hair—a gesture that had once seemed so familiar to her. Now it just looked like a tired man who didn’t know where to begin.
“I miss you, Ol,” he finally managed to say. “At home… everything’s not right. Mom and Marinka are always fighting, Misha’s running around like crazy. No peace.”
Olga involuntarily smiled. Of course. No one silently prepares breakfast, no one irons shirts, and no one tolerates feet on the coffee table.
“So, what do you propose?” she asked calmly.
“Well… maybe… we think it through again?” Andrei took a step toward her. “You come back, we talk to Mom. Marinka can rent an apartment, there are plenty of them, right…”
Olga shook her head. Strange, but she felt no pain, no resentment—only a calm confidence.
“I’ve spent my whole life in someone else’s house, Andrei,” she said softly. “My whole life adjusting, pleasing, becoming convenient. Now I’m home.”
She walked to the door and opened it.
“You can take the peaches. Misha likes them, I remember.”
Andrei looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Maybe that was how it was.
“Ol, you… you’ve changed,” he mumbled.
“No,” she smiled. “I’ve just returned to myself.”
When the door closed behind him, Olga returned to the kitchen. She took a new cup from the cupboard—bright red, with a golden rim. She poured tea. She sat by the window, watching as Andrei walked slowly down the path, hunched over, hands in his pockets.
At that moment, she realized she was truly free. Not from her husband— but from the fear of being unwanted.