Alina stood by the kitchen window, watching the autumn leaves slowly settle onto the asphalt of the courtyard. Behind her came familiar sounds: children’s laughter, the shuffle of slippers across the parquet, the refrigerator door slamming. She didn’t turn—she knew she’d see the same scene she’d seen every day for the past three months.
Inga had come again. With the kids, of course. Five-year-old Artyom had already sprawled on the couch with a tablet, and three-year-old Sonya was exploring the contents of the lower kitchen cabinets. Inga herself, as always, had settled at the dining table with a cup of coffee and cookies from Alina’s stash.
“Seryozha, do you have anything else for tea?” the sister-in-law’s voice came from the kitchen. “Otherwise there’s nothing to feed the kids.”
Alina clenched her fists. “Nothing to feed the kids with”—about the very children their mother had brought here at ten in the morning without warning, without asking if it was convenient? And who, by the look of it, were planning to spend the entire day here while Dad was at work earning money and Mom was taking a break from household chores.
“Of course, there are cottage-cheese cups in the fridge,” Sergey replied, lifting his head from his laptop. “Alin, will you show where they are?”
Alina turned. Her husband sat in the living room in his favorite armchair, working remotely. Inga was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling her feed on the phone. The kids… the kids were doing what they always did: turning the apartment into a branch of a day care.
“No need to show,” Alina said evenly. “Inga has known the layout of all the cupboards better than I do for three months now.”
An awkward silence settled in the room. Sergey raised an eyebrow; Inga finally tore herself away from her phone.
“Alinka, are you not in the mood today?” the sister-in-law said with feigned concern. “Maybe you’ve got a headache? I have good pills…”
“My mood is fine,” Alina cut her off. “I just wonder how you still haven’t memorized where everything is. With that many visits.”
Sergey cleared his throat, clearly trying to defuse things. “Girls, don’t argue. Inga, you know Alina works a lot, she gets tired…”
“I’m not arguing!” Inga protested. “I just came to visit my own brother. Or is that not allowed now?”
“‘Guests,’” Alina smirked to herself. Guests usually warn that they’re coming. Guests bring something to the table. Guests don’t let their children draw on the wallpaper and don’t leave dirty dishes in the sink.
“Of course you can,” Sergey interjected. “Inga, you’re always a welcome guest.”
Alina gave her husband a long look. “A welcome guest.” Welcome to whom? To him—maybe. He didn’t pick up the children’s toys, scrub juice stains off the sofa, or buy the groceries that disappeared at cosmic speed.
She turned and went to the bedroom. She needed to calm down, pull herself together. Not make a scene in front of the children.
In the bedroom Alina sat on the edge of the bed and took out her phone. A message from her friend Sveta: “How are things? Did Inga come again?”
Sveta knew the situation. Alina had complained to her more than once, trying to find support and advice. Sveta was categorical: “Tell your husband clearly—either he deals with his sister, or you will.”
But Alina still hadn’t brought herself to take tough measures. Family, after all. The children, after all, weren’t to blame. And besides, Sergey so valued his relationship with his sister… After their parents’ death they had become especially close.
From the living room came something like a crash and a child’s cry. Alina sighed and hurried to see what had happened.
The scene was predictable: on the floor lay a shattered planter with the orchid Alina was so proud of. A rare variegated variety, beautiful white flowers with violet veining. She had specifically bought a luxurious ceramic pot with lace-like holes for the roots. Now the plant lay in a heap of soil and ceramic shards.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to keep calm.
“Artyomka accidentally bumped it when he threw the ball,” Inga mumbled guiltily, picking up her crying son. “Why are you bawling—you didn’t do it on purpose!”
“Not on purpose,” Alina repeated quietly.
Sergey had already gotten up from his chair and brought a broom and dustpan. “It’s not a big deal, Alin. We’ll buy a new orchid. We’ll find an even better one.”
“This one was special,” Alina said, crouching beside the broken pot. “A rare specimen. I’ve been growing it for two years.”
“Mom, I didn’t mean to!” Artyom sobbed. “The ball flew by itself!”
Alina looked at the boy. No, of course he hadn’t meant to. But why was it allowed to play ball in the apartment at all? Where was the mother at that moment? And where was the uncle who let his niece and nephew do anything they wanted?
“It’s okay, Artyomka,” she said gently. “It happens.”
Inga exhaled in relief. “Well thank God you’re reasonable. I was already afraid there’d be a scene.”
“Reasonable,” Alina repeated inwardly as she gathered the shards. Yes, very reasonable. So reasonable that I let my home turn into a thoroughfare.
“Seryozha, talk to Inga,” she said quietly to her husband when they were alone in the kitchen. “Let her give us notice before she visits. And keep a better eye on the kids.”
“Alin, don’t exaggerate,” Sergey waved her off. “Kids are kids. And Inga’s on maternity leave; it’s hard for her alone with two little ones.”
“It’s hard for me too,” Alina shot back. “Only I also have a job.”
“No one’s making you clean up after them. Inga will tidy up herself if you ask.”
Alina wanted to object but kept silent. How many times had she already asked? How many times had she explained that dirty dishes in the sink irritated her, that scattered toys got in the way, that vanishing groceries were stressful? Inga nodded, apologized, promised—and nothing changed.
“Fine,” Alina said. “Talk to her. And buy a new orchid.”
“Of course, sunshine,” Sergey smiled, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll sort it all out.”
But time passed, and nothing was sorted out. Inga still showed up every day, and now she had keys—Sergey had made a duplicate “just in case.” Her husband never did buy an orchid, brushing it off: “I forgot; we’ll go to the garden center on the weekend.”
And on Monday came the last straw.
Her colleague Marina had brought back from a business trip to Belgium a box of handmade chocolates—the very ones with marzipan filling that Alina adored. They weren’t sold here; it was a rare delicacy, a gift for a true connoisseur.
Alina carried the box home carefully, like a particularly valuable cargo. She planned to try them on the weekend with a cup of good tea, when she could quietly savor the taste.
But when she came home the next day, she found only the empty, torn box in the trash.
“Where are the chocolates?” she asked her husband.
Sergey spread his hands apologetically. “Inga came with the kids. They saw the box, and, well… You know how hard it is to explain to children that they can’t have something.”
“It’s hard to explain to children that they can’t take what isn’t theirs?” Alina asked slowly.
“But it’s not ‘not theirs,’ we’re family after all. Inga says she’ll buy you new ones.”
“Where will she buy handmade Belgian chocolates?”
“Well… she’ll buy other ones. Good ones.”
Alina looked at her husband and realized: he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand that it wasn’t about the chocolates. It was about her boundaries being trampled, her home turned into an outpost of someone else’s family, and her opinion carrying no weight.
She said nothing. She just nodded and went to the bedroom.
The next day Alina took a day off and went to a hardware store. She bought a good lock and found a locksmith who agreed to come that same day.
“The lock is good,” the workman said approvingly, examining the purchase. “Reliable. Want me to change the doorbell too? Yours looks kind of old.”
“No need,” Alina replied. “Just the lock.”
The job took half an hour. The locksmith left, handing Alina the new keys—a set for her and a set for Sergey.
In the evening, when her husband came home from work, he fumbled with the keys at the door for a long time, then started ringing.
Alina didn’t open right away. She let him stand there and think.
“Alin, what the hell?” Sergey protested as he came into the hallway. “Is the lock broken? The key won’t turn!”
“I changed the lock; your sister has no business here,” Alina said calmly, closing the door. “I’m done putting up with an impudent sister-in-law and her little clan.”
Sergey stopped dead. “What?!”
“I changed the lock,” Alina repeated, walking into the kitchen. “Want some tea?”
“What tea?! You changed the lock?! Without me?!”
“I didn’t feel like consulting you,” Alina took out the kettle and filled it with water. “You didn’t consult me when you gave your sister a key.”
“That’s completely different!”
“Is it? What’s the difference?”
Sergey stood there, at a loss for words. Alina set the kettle on the stove and turned to her husband. “Seryozha, I’ve been asking you for three months to talk to Inga. To explain that we also have our own life. That you can’t come every day without warning. That the kids need to be watched. You promised, but you did nothing.”
“I was going to…”
“‘Going to.’ Were you also ‘going to’ buy a new orchid? And ‘going to’ protect my chocolates from other people’s children?”
“Alin, they’re just kids! You can’t explain to them…”
“You can,” Alina said firmly. “And you must. But your sister thinks she can do anything here. And you enable her.”
“I’m not enabling! It’s just… she’s alone with the kids, it’s hard for her…”
“And is it easy for me? Is it easy for me to come home every day and find someone else’s family here? Is it easy for me to buy groceries for four adults and two children? Is it easy for me to clean up after children who don’t even say ‘thank you’?”
Sergey lowered his head. “I didn’t think it was that hard for you…”
“And I thought you’d figure it out yourself. But no.”
The kettle boiled. Alina brewed the tea, took out some cookies. Ordinary actions, done by rote.
“And now what?” Sergey asked quietly. “Inga won’t understand. She’ll be offended.”
“Let her be offended,” Alina shrugged. “I’m not obliged to endure disrespect for the sake of someone else’s feelings.”
“But she’s family…”
“Family is when you respect each other’s boundaries. When you take each other’s interests into account. And when one person decides the other shouldn’t mind—that’s not family. That’s parasitism.”
Sergey sat down at the table and picked up his teacup. “All right, I’ll talk to her.”
“No,” Alina shook her head. “Now the conversation will be different. You’ll explain that from now on she can come only by invitation. At a time that works for us. And she is responsible for watching her children herself.”
“And if she doesn’t agree?”
“Then she shouldn’t come at all.”
“Alin, you know you can’t do that. We’re close…”
“Close people respect each other,” Alina repeated. “And your sister doesn’t respect me. Which means, it turns out, you don’t either.”
Sergey wanted to object, but he looked at his wife’s face and kept silent. There was such firmness in her eyes, such calm resolve, that it was clear she wasn’t going to back down.
“Okay,” he sighed. “I’ll explain everything to Inga.”
The conversation with his sister was hard. Inga didn’t understand, protested, cried. She accused Alina of callousness and her brother of betrayal. She said that after their parents died she had counted on his support, that she felt abandoned.
“Inga, I’m not abandoning you,” Sergey explained patiently. “But Alina and I also have the right to a private life. Come visit, but let’s agree in advance. And please watch the children.”
“So now I have to see my own brother by appointment?” Inga sobbed.
“Not by appointment—by agreement. That’s normal.”
Inga took offense and didn’t appear for two weeks. Then she called and dryly asked if she could come on Saturday for a couple of hours. She came and behaved conspicuously properly: the kids sat quietly, the dishes were washed, she even brought a cake for tea.
Gradually, relations improved. Inga found a remote job—it turned out that sitting at home was truly boring for her, and the constant visits to her brother had been a way to kill time. Now she had work, new interests.
And Alina finally got what she wanted: a home where she could rest after work, where her things stayed intact, and where groceries didn’t mysteriously disappear.
“You know,” Sergey said one day, hugging his wife in the kitchen. “You were right about the lock.”
“I knew,” Alina smiled. “Sometimes you just have to act decisively.”
“And why did I drag my feet so long?”
“Because you were afraid of hurting your sister’s feelings. That’s understandable.”
“Weren’t you afraid?”
Alina thought for a moment. “I was. But I was more afraid of losing myself. When you constantly bend to other people’s needs, at some point you stop understanding where your boundaries are.”
“And how did you realize it was time to act?”
“When I realized no one was going to change anything. Then it became clear: either I solve the problem myself, or I’ll keep putting up with it forever.”
Sergey hugged his wife tighter. “Sorry I didn’t hear you right away.”
“But you’ve heard me now. That’s what matters.”
Outside it was already completely dark. The apartment was quiet and cozy. Alina stood in her husband’s arms and thought about how important it is to be able to defend your boundaries. Sometimes that requires tough measures. But without it, it’s impossible to preserve yourself and your space.
And the new orchid—a rare variety with violet veining—had already taken root on the windowsill and sent up its first flower spike.