“What do you mean your daughter is going to live with us now, Slava? Did you mix something up? This is my apartment, and I’m the only one who has the right to let anyone in!” Katya burst out, freezing in the doorway with grocery bags in her hands.
She had just crossed the threshold after an exhausting day at the accounting office—her boss had made her redo the quarterly report three times—and now this “surprise.” Slava met her right in the hallway, not even giving her a chance to take off her coat, and blindsided her with the news that his daughter from his first marriage was moving in.
“Katya, let’s talk this over calmly,” Slava tried to take the bags from her, but Katya jerked her hand away. “Vika has nowhere to go. Her boyfriend refused to live with her—said he wouldn’t support her. And her stepfather… her mother’s husband, I mean, my ex—”
“I know who your ex is,” Katya walked into the kitchen and banged the bags down on the table. “So what happened with Svetlana? Did she suddenly see the light and realize what kind of snake she raised?”
Slava rubbed the bridge of his nose—a gesture that always irritated Katya. He did it when he didn’t want to admit the obvious.
“They’re constantly fighting. Sveta says she’s tired of Vika’s antics and whims. The girl is nineteen, she’s in college, she needs support…”
“‘The girl’?” Katya snorted, taking off her coat and hanging it over the back of a chair. “Your ‘girl’ is almost twenty. She’s an adult who should be responsible for her own life. And if even her own mother couldn’t stand her character, what makes you think I should put up with it?”
Katya opened the fridge and started putting away the groceries, her sharp movements expressing all her indignation.
“Katya, she’s my daughter,” Slava came closer, trying to catch his wife’s gaze. “I can’t leave her on the street. Where is she supposed to go?”
“To a dorm, to a rented room, to a friend’s,” Katya ticked off the options on her fingers. “Why has this suddenly become my problem? We’ve been together for three years, and in all that time your precious Vika has visited us maybe five times. And every time it was sheer hell.”
Katya remembered each of Vika’s visits like a nightmare. The girl acted as if everyone owed her—she took Katya’s things without asking and threw tantrums whenever Slava refused to indulge her whims.
“This time it will be different,” Slava tried again. “I talked to her seriously. She promised to behave, to help around the house…”
“She’s promised before. Remember how she ‘helped’ last time?” Katya slammed the fridge door so hard that the jars of pickles on the shelf rattled. “She broke my very expensive hair dryer and didn’t even apologize. She said it was no big deal and you’d buy me a new one.”
Slava was silent, and his silence spoke louder than any words. He knew Katya was right, but he couldn’t refuse his daughter.
“When is she planning to move in?” Katya asked, already guessing the decision had been made without her.
“Friday. In three days,” Slava answered, looking away.
“In three days? And you’re only telling me now?” Katya felt the boil rise inside her. “Slava, do you even understand what you’re doing? You’ll drag into my home a person who openly disrespects me and expect me to be happy about it?”
“Katya, she’s my daughter,” Slava repeated emphatically, as if that explained everything.
“And I’m your wife! And this is my apartment, by the way!” Katya folded her arms across her chest. “I am not going to tolerate that girl in my home. If you want to help your daughter so much, rent her a place. Or send her back to her mother and let her learn to be an adult.”
“Sveta said she won’t let her set foot in the house again,” Slava looked defeated. “And I don’t have the money for a rental. You know I put everything into the car…”
“The car you bought behind my back, even though we agreed to save for the renovation,” Katya reminded him. “Slava, I will not allow your daughter to live here. That’s my final decision.”
“But I already promised her,” Slava said quietly.
The words rang out like a gunshot. Katya froze, realizing that her husband had presented her with a fait accompli, disregarding her opinion.
“So you promised her without asking me? In my apartment?” Her voice turned icy. “Perfect, Slava. Just perfect.”
“Katya, try to understand, I couldn’t refuse her,” Slava reached for his wife, but she stepped back, increasing the distance between them. “She cried on the phone, said no one wanted her…”
“And you, as always, fell for her performance,” Katya deliberately switched on the kettle and turned to the window. “How many times have we talked about this? Vika has been manipulating you since she was fifteen. The moment she wants a new phone or expensive boots, she turns into a poor abandoned child.”
Slava sank onto a chair and cradled his head in his hands. It was clear he knew his wife was right, but admitting it would mean betraying his daughter.
“You’re being unfair to her,” he said at last. “Vika just doesn’t know how to act differently. After our divorce, she was stuck between two fires. We’re both to blame for how she is.”
“No, Slava,” Katya spun around sharply. “Spare me the psychological excuses. Your daughter is almost twenty and still hasn’t learned the basics of respecting people. Remember last year when she came for the weekend and announced that our bedroom was hers now?”
“She was just joking…”
“She wasn’t!” Katya cut him off. “She hauled in her things and spread them out on my bed. And when I objected, she threw a tantrum and called me a petty old hag. I was forty-two at the time!”
The kettle boiled, but Katya ignored it, drilling her husband with her gaze.
“And remember how she took my perfume without asking—the anniversary gift from you, by the way—and smashed the bottle? And didn’t even apologize! She just said, ‘Oh, whatever, Dad will buy you a new one.’”
Slava said nothing, his head bowed. Katya knew she was hitting where it hurt, but she couldn’t stop. For three years she had endured Vika’s antics and her husband’s spinelessness—his inability to set his daughter straight.
“She called me a week ago,” Slava said suddenly.
“She called you?” Katya was surprised. “Why not me?”
“Because she knew you’d say no,” he admitted. “She told me Svetlana kicked her out after a fight. Vika threw a party while they were at the dacha. The neighbors called the police because of the noise. When Sveta and Igor came back, the apartment was trashed.”
“And you decided it was a brilliant idea to let someone like that into my home?” Katya sank wearily into the chair opposite him. “Slava, do you hear yourself?”
“I couldn’t abandon her,” he repeated stubbornly. “She’s my daughter.”
“And I’m your wife!” Katya exclaimed. “Your family! We agreed to make important decisions together. Remember? Or does that rule only apply when it’s convenient for you?”
Slava looked up at her, guilt and obstinacy mixed in his eyes.
“I already gave her the keys,” he admitted quietly.
“What?!” Katya sprang to her feet, unable to believe her ears. “You gave her the keys to my apartment? Without my permission?”
“Our apartment,” Slava corrected. “I live here too.”
“But it’s registered to me!” Katya slapped her palm on the table. “And you know perfectly well why. Because your ex took everything from you in the divorce, including the apartment your parents gave you! And now you want to bring in a continuation of Svetlana into my home?”
Slava shot to his feet, a flash of anger crossing his face.
“Don’t you dare compare Vika to Sveta! She’s only a child!”
“She’s nineteen, Slava!” Katya didn’t back down. “She’s not a child—she’s a grown woman who should answer for her actions!”
They stood facing each other, separated by the kitchen table and a chasm of misunderstanding. Katya could see that Slava wouldn’t retreat—the guilt he felt toward the daughter he’d abandoned in childhood outweighed his common sense.
“I’m taking those keys back,” Katya said decisively. “And tomorrow I’m changing the locks. And I’m warning you: if your daughter steps over this threshold, you can pack your things and go with her.”
“You can’t do that,” despair crept into Slava’s voice. “Katya, we can find a compromise…”
“What compromise? I’ve been compromising for three years! Three years of putting up with your daughter’s behavior, her rudeness, and your inaction!” Katya felt tears rise to her throat but held them back. “It’s time to choose, Slava. Either your adult daughter learns to solve her problems herself, or you go solve them with her. But not in my home.”
The doorbell rang just as Katya was putting the dishes away in the cupboard. She froze, a plate in her hands. Slava wasn’t home—he had left early for work without even having breakfast. After last night’s conversation they had barely exchanged a couple of words.
“Who is it?” Katya asked as she approached the door, fully aware of who was on the other side.
“It’s me, Vika!” her stepdaughter’s breezy voice sounded as if there had never been any bad blood between them. “Open up, this is heavy!”
Katya breathed out slowly, trying to keep calm. She wasn’t going to open the door, but her gut told her the girl would come in anyway—with the keys Slava had given her.
The lock clicked, and there stood Vika—a slim blonde with bright makeup and a self-assured smile. Behind her loomed a taxi driver with two huge suitcases.
“Hi, Katyukh!” she tossed out, strolling in like she owned the place. “Where should I put these?”
“Nowhere,” Katya folded her arms across her chest, blocking the way. “Vika, your father and I don’t have an agreement about your moving in. I did not consent.”
“But Dad said…” Vika began with feigned surprise.
“I don’t care what your father said,” Katya cut her off. “This apartment belongs to me, and I decide who lives here.”
The taxi driver shifted from foot to foot, unsure what was going on. Vika turned to him with an exaggeratedly sweet smile:
“Just leave the bags here in the hallway. Thanks!”
Relieved, the man set the suitcases by the wall and hurried off after getting paid. Vika slammed the door and turned to Katya, her charm evaporating in an instant:
“Listen, let’s drop the games. Dad said I can live here. He’s my father, and he’s the one who decides.”
“In my apartment, I decide,” Katya replied firmly. “And I’m saying—you’re not going to live here.”
Vika narrowed her eyes, giving her father’s wife an appraising look.
“You know, Ekaterina”—she used the full name on purpose, knowing how it irked Katya—“Dad will always be on my side. I’m his daughter, and you… who are you? Wife number three? Think you’re special?”
“I’m his wife,” Katya said evenly, though she was boiling inside. “And I’m not going to fight with you. Just take your things and go.”
“Where to?” Vika spread her arms theatrically. “I don’t have another home!”
“That’s not my problem,” Katya tried to keep her composure. “You’re an adult, Vika. Get a job, rent a room. That’s what adults do.”
“How kind of you,” Vika smirked. “Kicking your husband’s daughter out onto the street. What, afraid of competition? Think he’ll choose you over me?”
Katya gave a short laugh—the remark was so absurd.
“This isn’t about choices, Vika. It’s about mutual respect. You’ve never respected me or my marriage to your father. I’m not going to live with someone who can’t observe basic decency.”
Vika suddenly dropped the mask of hostility and looked almost pleadingly at Katya.
“Look, I really have nowhere to go. Mom won’t let me in, and Dima and I broke up… I promise I’ll behave.”
Katya almost believed her—the sudden impulse seemed so sincere. But then she remembered all the girl’s previous “promises,” each one broken.
“No, Vika. I don’t believe your promises.”
Vika’s face changed in an instant, twisting into a spiteful grimace.
“Oh, that’s how it is? Fine. Then I’ll wait for Dad. We’ll see what he says.”
She marched into the living room and flopped onto the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. Katya only shook her head—the gesture was so familiar, so typically Vika. Brazen in everything.
The hours until Slava returned turned into a silent standoff. Vika sat in the living room, talking loudly on the phone and critiquing the apartment’s interior:
“No, can you imagine, they still haven’t done the renovation! It’s all like the last century. And those wallpapers… a nightmare!”
Katya shut herself in the kitchen, trying to work on her laptop, but the incessant monologue made it impossible to concentrate. When the key turned in the lock, both women tensed.
Slava walked in and froze, seeing the suitcases in the hallway and the two women staring at him with hostile looks.
“Dad!” Vika leaped off the couch and ran to him. “Your wife is throwing me out! She says I can’t stay!”
Slava looked helplessly from daughter to wife, at a loss for words. His shoulders sagged as if he could physically feel the weight of the situation he had created.
“Katya, you promised to think about it,” he began uncertainly.
“I did not,” Katya snapped. “I told you perfectly clearly: your daughter will not live here. And I certainly did not consent to her showing up unannounced while you weren’t home.”
“Dad, she just hates me!” Vika played the victim expertly, pressing herself to his shoulder. “I offered peace, said I’d help around the house, but she won’t even listen!”
Katya laughed sharply.
“Peace? Help? Vika, the first thing you did was put your feet on my coffee table and then spend two hours telling your friend how shabby our interior is!”
“That’s not true!” Vika cried, but her eyes darted aside, giving her away.
Slava moved his daughter aside and went into the living room, sinking into an armchair, exhausted.
“This won’t do,” he said. “We need a compromise.”
“What kind of compromise?” Katya stood facing him. “Slava, open your eyes. Your daughter has no intention of considering anyone. She came here like it’s a hotel—took up space and expects service.”
“That’s unfair!” Vika stamped her foot. “Dad, tell her! I’m an adult—I have a right to be treated normally!”
“Exactly,” Katya picked up. “You’re an adult. And you should solve your own problems, not dump them on your father and certainly not on me.”
Slava sat with his head down, as if trying to hide from the conflict. His silence only fanned the flames.
“She’s turning you against me,” Vika attacked. “From the start she wanted to tear you away from your family, from me! And you give in—letting her boss you around!”
“Enough!” Slava suddenly raised his head, desperation in his eyes. “Enough with the manipulation, Vika. Katya is right—you’re being disrespectful. This apartment belongs to her, and I shouldn’t have promised you could live here without asking her.”
Vika froze, stunned. For the first time her father had dared to contradict her and take his wife’s side.
“Oh, really?” her voice went cold. “You’re choosing this woman over your own daughter? Betraying your own blood?”
“I’m not betraying anyone,” Slava stood and walked up to his daughter. “But you need to understand—the world doesn’t revolve around you. You can’t always get what you want just because you want it.”
“Hypocrite!” Vika recoiled. “You tried to buy me off with gifts my whole life and thought that was enough! And now you’re lecturing me? Some father you are!”
Her words hit Slava like a slap. He turned pale, but stood his ground.
“I was a bad father,” he admitted. “I didn’t teach you the most important thing—respect for other people. And it’s my fault that now you think the whole world owes you.”
Katya watched in silence, understanding how much this confession cost Slava—this showdown with the daughter he had always been afraid to lose.
“I hate you both!” Vika grabbed her purse and bolted for the door. “Have a nice life! You’ll be sorry, Daddy, when that witch throws you out like a used tissue!”
She stormed out, slamming the door. Her suitcases remained in the hallway—mute witnesses to the family drama.
Slava sank onto the couch and covered his face with his hands.
“I ruined everything,” he whispered. “With her and with you.”
Katya came over and sat beside him without touching—an invisible wall of misunderstanding still stood between them.
“You made the right choice,” she said quietly. “Maybe for the first time in all your dealings with her. Vika needs to grow up, and that won’t happen if you indulge her every whim.”
“She won’t come back,” despair colored Slava’s voice. “Now she’ll truly hate me.”
“She won’t,” Katya put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s angry because she’s faced refusal for the first time. But when she calms down, maybe she’ll start to understand that the world doesn’t owe her.”
Slava looked at his wife, tears in his eyes.
“Forgive me, Katya. I shouldn’t have put you in this position. I shouldn’t have decided for you.”
Katya stayed silent, not yet ready to fully forgive her husband for betraying her trust—for presenting her with a fait accompli, disregarding her feelings and wishes. But seeing his remorse, his genuine pain, she understood—their marriage had a chance to grow stronger by going through this trial.
“Let her things stay here for now,” Katya said, getting up. “When she cools down, she can come and pick them up. Or… we’ll think together how to help her. Help for real, not by indulging her whims.”
Slava nodded gratefully, realizing that was the most he could hope for at the moment. A long and difficult conversation awaited them, but the ice had been broken—they had started to hear each other again…