Lyudmila Nikolaevna had always been proud of her practical savvy. In the two-room apartment she shared with Sergey on Pervomayskaya Street, everything was accounted for down to the last kopek: a week’s supply of groceries, household chemicals, even toilet paper was bought strictly according to the list. Sergey often teased her about her meticulousness but secretly admired how she managed to create a cozy home out of the simplest means.
“Lucy, don’t get worked up for nothing,” he would say every time he saw her counting money before going to the store. “We’ll be fine.”
“You say that easily,” she replied, carefully folding the bills into her wallet. “But I have to plan everything. I’m the homemaker.”
Lyudmila worked as an administrator at a small private clinic; her salary depended on the number of patients and possible bonuses. Sergey worked for a security agency—paid less, but always on time every month. Together, they managed to make ends meet and even save a little for vacation.
Everything changed one Tuesday when there was a call from Andrey—Sergey’s younger brother.
“Sergey, help me out,” came a tired voice from the receiver. “The upstairs neighbors flooded us, and now we need repairs. Just for a couple or three weeks, tops. Can we stay with you? Natalya and I can fit somewhere, maybe on the kitchen couch.”
Lyudmila, standing in the hallway listening to the conversation, was not pleased with the news. She knew Andrey and his wife Natalya—seemingly good people, but… four people in forty-two square meters, one fridge, one bathroom. And the main thing—the family budget was calculated for two only.
“Of course, come over,” Sergey said without even looking at his wife. “We’ll manage somehow.”
After he hung up, Lyudmila quietly objected:
“Sergey, did you think about how our expenses will increase? Groceries, utilities…”
“Come on,” her husband waved it off. “They’re family, not strangers.”
“I know they’re family. But I’ll have to cook more, go to the store more often, buy more…”
“So what? Andrey works; he’s not poor. I think he’ll help with groceries.”
Lyudmila stayed silent, though her intuition whispered that things might turn out very differently than expected.
Andrey and Natalya arrived Saturday morning with two large suitcases and many apologies.
“Lyudochka, thank you so much,” Natalya hugged her warmly. “We’ll try not to be a bother. You won’t even notice we’re here.”
“Oh, no,” Lyudmila replied, already mentally figuring out where to put the guests’ things. “We’re family.”
Andrey looked like Sergey but younger by about five years and much more talkative. Natalya was a beautiful blonde around thirty, working at a beauty salon. Both gave the impression of people accustomed to a cozy and comfortable life.
“We had a real flood,” Natalya explained, settling at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. “Luckily, the furniture was almost unharmed.”
“How long will the repairs take?” Lyudmila asked cautiously.
“Unknown,” Andrey shrugged. “At least a month and a half.”
Lyudmila sighed involuntarily. A month is a very long time.
The first days passed relatively peacefully. Natalya really tried not to bother, helping with cleaning. Andrey and Sergey played dominoes in the evenings, reminiscing about childhood. Lyudmila gradually got used to the house feeling more cramped.
But by midweek, she started noticing worrying signs. In the morning, opening the fridge for breakfast, she found the sausage she had bought nearly whole yesterday was gone. The cheese was disappearing suspiciously fast, too.
“Maybe I’m just mistaken,” she thought. “Maybe it just seems that way.”
But by Friday, the bread bought two days ago was completely eaten, and the butter left was barely enough for one spread. Doubts turned into certainty.
“Sergey,” she asked one evening while they were getting ready for bed, “do you think we’re using much more food now?”
“Well, there are four of us now,” he shrugged. “Naturally, more gets eaten.”
“But twice as much?”
“Stop counting everything. It’s awkward.”
Lyudmila wanted to say more but held back. Maybe she was really just being too sensitive.
The second week brought new financial problems. Lyudmila saw that she had spent almost one and a half times more on groceries than usual. The money that should have lasted till the end of the month was melting away quickly.
The most frustrating thing was that neither Andrey nor Natalya once offered to contribute their share. Moreover, on Tuesday, Lyudmila found a note on the fridge:
“Lucy, don’t forget to buy:
– Low-fat cottage cheese
– Fruit yogurts
– Red fish
– Sausage
– Fruits
Thanks! Natasha”
Lyudmila read the list several times, unable to believe her eyes. Red fish! She bought that only occasionally and only for holidays.
“Sergey, look at this,” she handed him the note.
He scanned the lines and frowned.
“They’re such cheeky people.”
“‘A little’ cheeky? They’re making me a shopping list as if I’m their maid!”
“Maybe she just wanted to help so you don’t forget anything.”
“Help? Then why didn’t she write, ‘We’ll bring it ourselves’? Why ‘don’t forget’?”
Sergey hesitated.
“Maybe they think you know better where to buy what…”
“Sergey, I’m tired,” Lyudmila said quietly. “I get up earlier than everyone, make breakfast for four. Go to work. Then to the store to buy for four, spending my money. Come home, cook again, wash dishes. And they even write me lists.”
“Well, you’re exaggerating a bit. Natasha helps with cleaning.”
“She vacuums once a week—is that help? Sergey, open your eyes! They live with us, eat our food, but don’t pay anything!”
“Don’t say that. He’s my brother.”
“So what? Just because he’s your brother, can he live at others’ expense?”
“They’re not living at our expense! They have force majeure.”
“A month ago it was force majeure, but now they live like at home, and yesterday Andrey brought beer and chips. That’s his ‘contribution,’ and bread and milk are my duties?”
Sergey was silent. Lyudmila felt bitter resentment growing inside.
“Talk to him,” she said firmly. “Let them at least start buying for themselves.”
“I’m embarrassed…”
“And I’m not embarrassed to spend money on strangers?”
“They’re not strangers!”
“To my wallet—they are!”
The conversation with her brother never happened. Sergey would plan to talk, then postpone, then find some excuse. Meanwhile, the notes on the fridge kept appearing regularly.
“Lucy, buy:
– Meat for cutlets
– Homemade sour cream
– Greens
– Full-fat milk
– Village eggs
Kisses, Natasha”
Lyudmila looked at yet another list and felt her patience running out. Meat for cutlets! She herself only bought meat on weekends, and even then, the cheapest option.
On Thursday, coming home from work, she found Natalya in the kitchen searching through the cabinets.
“Lucy, where’s your olive oil?”
“What olive oil?”
“Well, I saw a bottle here yesterday.”
“We have sunflower oil. I buy olive oil rarely, only on special occasions.”
“Okay,” Natalya agreed easily. “Sunflower will do.”
And began taking ingredients for a salad from the fridge—fresh tomatoes, bell peppers, mozzarella… Things Lyudmila planned to use sparingly.
“Natalya,” she dared to say. “Have you and Andrey thought about chipping in for groceries? Our expenses have gone way up.”
Natalya looked surprised at Lyudmila.
“Something wrong? We hardly eat anything.”
“You hardly eat? Natalya, my food costs have doubled!”
“Well, what can you do—we’re more of us now. But it’s cozier and more fun.”
“Fun is good, but money isn’t stretchy.”
“Don’t worry about bread and milk. We’re only here temporarily. We’ll leave soon.”
Lyudmila felt her cheeks flush with indignation.
“Bread and milk?! I buy food for four people on my salary, do you understand?”
“Sorry… We’re just used to having everything at home.”
“That’s at your home—here it’s my home!”
Natalya pouted.
“I thought we were family…”
“In a family, everyone shares expenses, not freeloads!”
At that moment, Sergey entered the kitchen.
“What’s going on? Why are you shouting?”
“Lucy’s upset about food again,” Natalya immediately complained. “She says there’s no money.”
Sergey cast a guilty glance at his wife.
“Lucy, come on…”
“What?” she snapped. “Sergey, they’ve been living here for a month, eating our food, and never bought even bread! And they write me lists of what to buy!”
“Lucy, calm down…”
“I won’t calm down! Listen, dear husband, I won’t buy food for everyone anymore! Let them take care of themselves.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely serious. My salary isn’t a bottomless purse.”
“How can you say that!” Natalya was outraged.
“Very simply: if you want to eat, buy yourselves. I’m not obliged to feed you.”
“Sergey, do you hear what your wife is saying?”
“I hear,” Sergey replied quietly.
After the scandal, tension hung over the apartment. Andrey and Natalya withdrew, Sergey was downcast, and Lyudmila felt both relief and a slight guilt.
The next day she bought groceries for two only: two yogurts instead of four, half a kilo of sausage, one pack of cottage cheese. At the checkout, the sum was much less than usual.
At home, she carefully put the purchases in the fridge, offering nothing to the guests.
At dinner, Andrey and Natalya were silent, glancing at each other from time to time. Lyudmila put two portions of potatoes and cutlets on the table—exactly for herself and Sergey.
“And what about us?” Natalya couldn’t help but ask.
“Cook something from your own groceries,” Lyudmila answered calmly.
“Sergey!” Natalya exclaimed indignantly.
Sergey sighed.
“Natalya, you… cook something yourselves. We miscalculated a bit today too.”
“Well, we thought…” Natalya began, but Andrey interrupted her.
“Okay, let’s go, we’ll figure something out.”
They headed to the fridge. Lyudmila heard them whispering discontentedly, opening and closing cabinets again.
Sergey finished his cutlet and quietly said:
“Maybe you were too harsh?”
“Not too harsh,” Lyudmila replied firmly. “I fed them for a month. Enough.”
“But they’re in a tough situation…”
“Sergey, a tough situation isn’t a reason to live at others’ expense. They have money for beer, cigarettes, cosmetics. So they could find money for food too.”
Sergey wanted to object, but Natalya’s irritated voice came from the kitchen:
“Andrey, there’s nothing at all! Only old bread!”
“Quiet,” Andrey whispered.
Lyudmila heard everything and understood: she was right.
The following days passed tensely. Andrey and Natalya clearly didn’t expect such a turn. They tried several times to hint to Sergey that his wife “had become too stingy,” but he increasingly sided with Lyudmila—especially after he himself missed dinner.
On Friday evening, Sergey came home tired and hungry. Lyudmila was late—helping a colleague until nine. He opened the fridge hoping to find something to eat but found only a jar of pickles and empty containers.
“Andrey,” he called. “Is there no food at all?”
“We ate what we had,” Andrey replied. “We thought Lyudka would bring some as usual.”
“But she said she wouldn’t anymore.”
“Well, we thought she said that in anger. She’ll change her mind.”
Sergey checked all the cupboards and found only old pasta and a spare can of stew.
“Andrey, buy groceries tomorrow,” he said, going to the room. “I come home and there’s nothing to eat.”
“Sergey, what are you saying? We’re guests.”
“You’ve been living with us for a month.”
“So what? You’re the older brother—you have to help.”
“I’m helping! With the apartment and utilities. But feeding you is too much.”
Andrey was offended:
“A brother refused his brother a piece of bread!”
“It’s not about bread! It’s that you’re always living at our expense!”
“We didn’t mean to…”
“Then who wrote the lists on the fridge? Asked for red fish?”
Andrey faltered.
“That was Natasha. She thought it’d be easier…”
“Easier is when everyone pays their own way!”
On Saturday, Andrey reluctantly went to the store. He returned with two bags and conspicuously stuck a piece of tape with “A+N” written on each item.
“Now no one can say we’re eating others’ food,” he declared to Sergey.
Lyudmila looked at the labels and felt bitter. Food in her own home used not to need marking. And now it had come to this—every piece had to be labeled.
But there was no other way.
The labeling of food created a strange tension in the house. Now every trip to the fridge turned into a label check. “A+N”—theirs, “S+L”—ours.
Sergey made a couple of mistakes, taking “not his” butter or bread and got disapproving looks from Natalya. Lyudmila tried not to pay attention but understood this couldn’t go on.
The breaking point came with the sour cream. Lyudmila bought a small container for pancakes, labeled it, and put it in the fridge. In the morning, it was empty.
“Natalya, did you take my sour cream?” she asked calmly.
“Yes, just a little, for salad. Thought you wouldn’t notice.”
“Not notice? It had my label on it!”
“Sour cream, what’s the big deal?”
“I bought it specially for pancakes. Now there won’t be any.”
“Well, go buy some more.”
“You go buy it! You ate it!”
“God, what nonsense! All this fuss over some sour cream.”
Lyudmila looked at her and realized: these people would never understand. For them, “other people’s” is just an abstraction. They don’t see the difference between “take” and “steal,” between “ask” and “take without asking.”
“Sergey,” she called her husband. “Talk to your brother. Let them move out.”
“Lucy, come on…”
“I can’t anymore! Let them find another place!”
Sergey looked at his wife, then at Natalya, who was sulking.
“Natalya,” he finally said. “Maybe she’s right. We can’t live like this.”
“How not? We’re relatives!”
“Relatives, yes. But you’re too much.”
A week later, Andrey and Natalya moved out. They rented a temporary apartment until the repairs were finished. The goodbye was cold, almost without words.
“That’s how ties break,” Andrey said at parting. “Over some food.”
“Not over food,” Sergey replied. “Over disrespect.”
After they left, the apartment became spacious and quiet again. Lyudmila removed all the labels and threw away the lists. She bought food for two—and felt unexpected relief.
“Sorry I didn’t support you right away,” Sergey said one evening.
“I understand. He’s your brother.”
“Yes, brother. But you’re my wife. And you were right.”
Lyudmila nodded. She was not angry with Andrey and Natalya. They were not bad people, just different. For them, “family” meant being able to rely on others. For her, it meant mutual care and respect.
That difference was decisive.
A month later, Andrey called to say the repairs were finished. He spoke dryly and formally.
“Maybe we’ll drop by sometime,” he said at the end.
“Come by,” Sergey replied. “Just give us a heads-up.”
After that, they met rarely. At family gatherings, the relations were polite but cool. Natalya only greeted Lyudmila formally.
But Lyudmila did not regret what had happened. She had understood an important thing: sometimes you have to know how to say “no,” even to relatives. Especially to relatives. Because true closeness begins not with endless sacrifice, but with respect for boundaries.
And their small two-room apartment on Pervomayskaya once again became truly cozy.