Julia shut down her computer and stretched. It had been a tough day—the client presentation dragged on, then a meeting, then contract edits. Her head throbbed and her shoulders were stiff. She wanted to get home, take a shower, and collapse on the couch with a book.
The two-room apartment on Leninsky Prospekt had become her fortress two years ago. Julia had saved for a long time and taken out a mortgage, but when she finally got the keys to her own place, she felt such relief, as if she’d shrugged off a heavy backpack. She set it up gradually—bought furniture, chose textiles, arranged books on the shelves. Every corner was thought out, every thing in its place.
She met Igor in the spring at a company party hosted by a friend. Tall, athletic, with an open smile—he caught her eye right away. They struck up a conversation at the buffet table and exchanged numbers. They started dating. Igor turned out to be attentive—he walked her home after work, brought flowers for no reason, remembered important dates. Six months later he proposed.
Julia didn’t say yes immediately. She thought for a week. Weighed it all. In the end she decided—yes, this man would do. Calm, reliable, without quirks. They set the wedding for next summer. For now the groom kept renting an apartment on the far side of the city, and Julia lived in her own.
A month ago Igor asked:
“Yulya, how about you give me a spare key? It would just be convenient—if something urgent comes up, I can drop by. Or water the plants when you’re on a business trip. Grab the mail from the box.”
Julia thought it over and agreed. It made sense. They’d be married soon, living together. What difference did it make whether she gave him the key now or in a few months?
“Just let me know when you’re planning to come by,” she asked.
“Of course,” the groom smiled.
Since then, Igor had stopped by a couple of times—brought groceries when Julia was stuck at work, and once he really did water the plants. He always warned her in advance. No problems.
That day she left the office around eight in the evening. A November night greeted her with a cold wind and fine rain. Julia pulled up her hood and hurried to the metro. On the way she was thinking about the casserole left in the fridge—just needed heating up. Then a shower, then a book. Perfect plan.
The entranceway had the familiar smell of damp and old radiators. Julia climbed to the fourth floor, fished for her keys in her bag. And froze.
By her door stood three large bags and a rolling suitcase.
She frowned. Neighbors? But why at her door? Maybe they mixed up the floor?
She turned the lock, stepped into the hallway—and heard voices. Women’s voices. Loud. From the bedroom.
“Mom, where are you going to put the iron?”
“Right here on this table. It’s convenient!”
Julia stood motionless with the keys in her hand. Her heart dropped. What was going on?
She hung her coat on the rack and slowly walked down the corridor. The bedroom door was ajar. Inside, two women were bustling about. One older, around fifty, in a dark blue dress with a neat hairstyle. The other younger, about thirty, in jeans and a sweater.
Julia recognized them both. Lyudmila Petrovna—Igor’s mother. Oksana—his sister. They had met a couple of times at family dinners.
The older woman was laying things out on the bed. Oksana was dealing with the suitcase, pulling out clothes.
“Excuse me,” Julia said loudly.
Both turned. Lyudmila Petrovna smiled as if she’d just met an old friend.
“Oh, Yulechka! There you are! We’ve almost finished unpacking.”
“Finished… unpacking?” Julia repeated slowly.
“Well, our things. We’ll settle in here for a bit while we’re having renovations done.”
Julia blinked. Once. Twice. The information wouldn’t fit in her head.
“What renovations?”
“At my place,” Lyudmila Petrovna explained readily. “The pipes burst last night. The neighbors upstairs flooded us. The whole apartment got soaked! We had to call in workers right away. They said—at least a week to dry it out, then repairs. So Oksanochka and I decided to move in with you. Igor gave us the key and said he didn’t mind.”
Julia stood in the doorway trying to digest what she’d heard. Igor had given them the key. Without telling her. He’d simply handed his mother and sister access to someone else’s apartment.
“Does Igor know you’re here?”
“Of course! He’s the one who gave us the key. He said, ‘Make yourselves at home.’”
“And he couldn’t warn me?” Her voice was even, but inside something hot and unpleasant was boiling up.
Lyudmila Petrovna shrugged.
“Julia, we’re practically family! The wedding’s soon! Why make a fuss? Igor said you wouldn’t mind.”
“He was mistaken.”
The smile on Lyudmila Petrovna’s face became strained.
“What do you mean?”
“He was mistaken. I do mind.”
Oksana, who had been silent up to then, chimed in:
“Come on, Julia, don’t be like that! Our place is flooded! We have nowhere to go! Do you want Mom to live in a hotel?”
“You can rent a place by the day. There are plenty online.”
“Are you serious? That’s money!” Oksana protested. “Why spend it when you’ve got two rooms?”
Julia walked into the bedroom and looked at the bed. The linens had been changed. The set that had been on it that morning—her favorite with the lavender pattern—was gone. In its place was something beige and unfamiliar.
“Where are my sheets?”
“Oh, we took them off,” Lyudmila Petrovna answered breezily. “We’ve already washed them; they’re drying in the bathroom. It’s uncomfortable to sleep on someone else’s things!”
“That’s my bed.”
“Well, we’re only here temporarily! A week or two and we’ll be out!”
Julia left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. A pot sat on the stove. Inside—something with meat. On the table nearby—bags of groceries. Bread, milk, vegetables. Their supplies crammed into the fridge, pushing aside Julia’s containers.
She opened the refrigerator. Her casserole had been shifted down to the bottom shelf, almost by the freezer. On the top shelf now sat a plastic tub with some kind of salad.
“Lyudmila Petrovna,” Julia called.
She came into the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Yes, dear?”
“We did not agree that you’d be living here.”
“Oh Julia, really now! We’ll soon be one family! You’re not going to throw us out on the street, are you?”
“I’m not throwing you out. I’m asking you to find another solution.”
Lyudmila Petrovna frowned. Her voice hardened.
“Julia, my apartment is flooded. I have nowhere to live. Igor said we could stay here. Do you want to quarrel with your fiancé?”
“I want to understand why he didn’t ask me.”
“Because he knew you wouldn’t say no! You’re a kind girl!” She smiled again, but the smile rang false. “Isn’t that right?”
Julia pulled out her phone and dialed Igor. It rang a while before he picked up.
“Hi, Yulya! How are you?”
“Igor, your mother and sister are in my apartment.”
“Oh, right! I wanted to tell you, but you were in the presentation and I didn’t want to distract you. My mom’s place got flooded, we had to act fast. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
“You figured wrong.”
“Yulya, it’s my mother! And my sister! You really won’t help them?”
“There are different ways to help. But moving them into my apartment without my knowledge is just nerve.”
“Julia, don’t start. Please. They’ll stay a week, two at most. Then they’ll leave. You understand they truly have nowhere to go.”
“I understand. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to invade my space.”
Igor sighed. Voices came through the receiver—apparently he wasn’t alone.
“Yulya, I’m busy right now. Let’s talk calmly this evening, okay?”
“Igor…”
“Yulya, really, I can’t talk now. Till tonight.”
The call cut off. Julia looked at the phone. Her hands were trembling. Inside, anger, bewilderment, and hurt seethed together.
Lyudmila Petrovna stood in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed.
“Well? Did you talk? Did Igor explain everything?”
“He did.”
“Splendid! Then let’s not quarrel. Oksana and I will take your room, and you can sleep in the living room. The couch is comfortable, right?”
Julia turned slowly to her future mother-in-law. She looked at her for a long time without blinking. Lyudmila held the gaze for five seconds, then looked away.
“I will sleep in my room. In my bed. And you will find somewhere else.”
“Julia, we’ve already unpacked!”
“You’ll pack it back up.”
“Are you serious?” There was steel in Lyudmila’s voice.
“Absolutely.”
Oksana came out of the bedroom and stood beside her mother.
“Listen, Julia, you’re being stingy! The apartment is big, there’s room for everyone!”
“The apartment is mine. I didn’t invite you.”
“But Igor did!”
“Igor has no right to do that.”
“How can he not?! He’s your fiancé! You’re getting married soon!”
“Until we’re married, this apartment belongs only to me. And I decide who lives here.”
Lyudmila stepped forward. Her face flushed, her eyes narrowed.
“So you’re throwing us out? In this weather? When our apartment is flooded?”
“I’m not throwing you out. I’m asking you to respect my space and find another option.”
“There is no other option!”
“There is. Hotels, short-term rentals, hostels. For any budget.”
“How dare you!” Oksana flared. “My mother is an older woman! She needs comfort!”
“Then provide that comfort for her yourselves. But not at my expense.”
Lyudmila spun around and headed to the bedroom. The door slammed. Oksana shot Julia a venomous glance and followed her.
Julia stayed in the kitchen. She sat down, placed her hands on the table. Her fingers clenched into fists, then unclenched. Her breathing calmed slowly.
Ten minutes later the bedroom door opened. Lyudmila Petrovna came out dragging the suitcase. Her face was stony, her lips pressed into a thin line. Oksana followed with two bags.
“Well then,” Lyudmila said coldly. “We’ll remember your hospitality, Yulechka. We’ll remember it very well.”
“Goodbye, Lyudmila Petrovna.”
“I’ll tell Igor everything. Everything! We’ll see what he thinks of his fiancée’s behavior!”
“Do tell.”
Lyudmila grabbed the last bag and went into the hallway. Oksana lingered on the threshold.
“You know what, Julia? You’ll end up alone. Igor won’t forgive how you treated his family.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ll regret this!”
“We’ll see.”
Oksana slammed the door so hard the windowpanes rattled. Julia sat still, listening to the distant thud of the building’s front door below.
Silence. Finally, silence.
Julia went to the bedroom. The bed was still made up with someone else’s linens. She took off the duvet cover, the sheet, the pillowcases—everything into the laundry basket. She pulled her own set from the wardrobe and made the bed carefully. Smoothed the creases, fluffed the pillows.
Then she checked the fridge. The foreign salad went straight into the trash. She put her containers back where they belonged. The casserole returned to the top shelf. Everything as it had been.
A pot of meat sat on the stove. Julia thought for a second, then poured it down the sink. She turned on the water and rinsed away the remnants. She washed the pot and put it out on the balcony—let Lyudmila Petrovna pick it up someday.
The phone rang around nine. Igor.
“Yulya, Mom told me everything! What happened?!”
“What you heard from Lyudmila Petrovna.”
“You really threw my mother out?! In this weather?!”
“I didn’t throw anyone out. I asked them to leave my apartment, which they entered without my permission.”
“Julia, my mom’s place is flooded! She has nowhere to go!”
“Igor, there are hotels, rentals, hostels. Your mother is an adult woman; she’ll figure it out.”
“You are unbelievably selfish! Do you know that?”
“Possibly. But this is my apartment. I did not consent to anyone living there.”
“I’m your fiancé! I have the right to give keys to my family!”
“No, Igor. You don’t. I gave the keys to you, not to your mother and sister.”
He fell silent. His breathing was heavy, irritation restrained.
“Yulya, let’s talk calmly. I’ll come over now, we’ll discuss everything.”
“Don’t come.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to think.”
“Think about what?!”
“About a lot of things, Igor. Goodbye.”
She hung up and set the phone on the table. She stood and walked to the window. Outside, a drizzle fell; the streetlights lit the wet asphalt. Cars drove by, leaving trails of spray.
Inside she felt surprisingly calm. No panic, no torment. Just a clear understanding—this couldn’t go on.
The night passed without sleep. Julia lay in bed, stared at the ceiling, and replayed the past months in her head. She remembered their meeting, the first dates, the proposal. She remembered how Igor met with his mother every week, how Lyudmila Petrovna called constantly, asked about plans, gave advice.
It had seemed then that the groom was simply a caring son. Now it looked different. The mother controlled, and Igor obeyed. And he expected the same from his fiancée.
In the morning Julia got up, showered, and had coffee. She took out her phone and dialed a locksmith she knew.
“Good morning, Viktor Semyonovich. I need to change the lock. Today, if possible.”
“Hello, Julia. Of course. I’ll be there in an hour and a half.”
“Thank you. I’ll be waiting.”
She hung up and looked at the front door. By tomorrow Igor would no longer be able to enter without her permission. No one would.
Viktor Semyonovich arrived on time. He worked silently, focused. Forty minutes later the new lock was in. Shiny, reliable, with three keys.
“All set. Try it.”
Julia inserted the key and turned it. The lock clicked softly, smoothly.
“Perfect. Thank you very much.”
“If you need anything else, call.”
The locksmith left. Julia closed the door and leaned her back against it. She exhaled—long, slow.
Her phone exploded all day. Igor called about ten times. Lyudmila Petrovna—about five. Oksana sent several angry messages. Julia didn’t respond.
By evening a text arrived from the groom: “Julia, let’s meet. Let’s talk calmly. I understand you’re upset. But we can work this out.”
She looked at the message. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then she typed: “We’ll meet. Tomorrow at 7 p.m. At the café on Tverskaya.”
“Okay. I’ll come. I love you.”
Julia didn’t reply.
The next day work went on as usual. Julia delivered a project, held negotiations with a new client, signed a contract. Her coworkers noticed nothing—she was composed and confident. No one guessed that the decision had been made long ago.
At half past six Julia left the office and headed to the café. The November evening was cold but dry. The sky was overcast, streetlights already glowing.
Igor sat by the window, two cappuccinos on the table. When he saw her he stood up, tried to hug her—but Julia sidestepped and sat across from him.
“Hi,” the groom began cautiously.
“Hello.”
“Yulya, I want to apologize. I understand I acted wrong. I should have asked your permission before giving my mom the key.”
“You should have.”
“It all happened so fast. Mom called and said the apartment was flooded. It was a panic. I was rattled. I wanted to help. And I thought you wouldn’t mind. The wedding’s soon; we’ll be one family.”
Julia listened in silence. She looked at the familiar face, the familiar features. And didn’t recognize him.
“Igor, you gave out a key to my apartment without asking me. Your mother and sister came over, unpacked their things, changed the linens on my bed, took over the fridge. Lyudmila Petrovna told me I should sleep in the living room because they would take the bedroom. Do you think that’s normal?”
He looked away.
“Mom, of course, went too far. But you know how she is. She’s used to being in charge. It’s just her nature.”
“Nature doesn’t excuse rudeness.”
“Yulya, she didn’t mean any harm! She just wanted to make herself comfortable!”
“In my apartment. Without my permission.”
“Fine, fine! Mom was wrong, I was wrong. I admit it. But let’s not blow this out of proportion. We’ll get married in six months, and this won’t happen again.”
“It won’t?”
“Of course. I’ll consult you on everything. I promise.”
Julia lifted the cappuccino, took a sip. The coffee was hot and burned her lips. She set the cup down.
“Igor, there won’t be a wedding.”
He froze. He was silent for several seconds, processing.
“What?”
“I’m calling off the wedding.”
“Julia, are you serious? Over one silly argument?”
“Because I finally realized we’re not right for each other.”
“Not right?! We’ve been dating for half a year! Everything was great!”
“Everything was great until I saw how you treat my boundaries. You gave out the key to my apartment without asking. You defend a mother who brazenly invaded my space. You don’t see a problem with what happened. To you it’s a trifle. To me—it’s not.”
Igor ran a hand over his face. He was nervous, grasping for words.
“Julia, let’s talk this through calmly! Don’t make a snap decision!”
“I’ve thought it through. The decision is made.”
“But the ring! The invitations! The restaurant’s already booked!”
“Cancel it. Or reschedule for another bride.”
“Julia!”
She took a small box out of her bag. Opened it, took out the engagement ring, and placed it on the table in front of him.
“Take it.”
Igor looked at the ring, then at her. His face went pale.
“You really are serious.”
“Absolutely.”
“And what about… what about me?”
“You’ll find someone else. Someone who won’t object to visits from Lyudmila Petrovna.”
“Julia, you’re making a mistake! We can fix this!”
“No, Igor. I made a mistake—when I agreed to marry you. Better to see it now than a year after the wedding.”
She stood, pulled on her jacket.
“I’m sorry. I wish you happiness.”
“Julia, wait!”
But she was already walking to the door. She didn’t look back. She pushed open the café door and stepped outside. The cold air struck her face, but breathing felt easy. Incredibly easy.
At home she kicked off her boots and hung up her jacket. She went to the kitchen and brewed tea. She sat by the window, wrapped in a blanket. Outside, the city lived its life—cars rolled by, people hurried about. Somewhere lights glowed, music played.
Her phone lay on the table. The screen kept lighting up—calls, messages. Julia didn’t look. She just sat, sipped hot tea, and gazed out the window.
Igor called for several more days. He sent long messages, begged to meet, to talk it out. Lyudmila Petrovna left voice notes—accusing her of ingratitude, selfishness, coldness. Oksana sent angry texts in the messengers.
Julia said nothing. She didn’t answer, didn’t justify, didn’t explain. She simply blocked all the contacts and went on with her life.
A week later a colleague at work asked:
“Yulya, how’s the wedding? It’s soon, right?”
“I canceled it,” she replied calmly.
“What?! Why?!”
“I realized I was wrong about the person.”
The colleague wanted to ask more, but Julia steered the conversation back to work. She didn’t want to discuss her private life.
At home it became quiet. Truly quiet. No one came over unannounced anymore. No one unpacked strange things, changed her bed linens, or took over the fridge. Julia came back from work knowing that order awaited behind the door. Her space. Her rules.
In the evenings she read, watched movies, cooked dinner. Sometimes she invited friends over—they’d chat, trade news, laugh at silly things. Life went on at its own pace, calm and measured.
A month later her mother called.
“Yulechka, how are you? Igor isn’t calling anymore?”
“No, Mom. It’s over.”
“And how are you? Are you sad?”
Julia thought for a moment. Sad? No. Offended? Not that either. Relief? Yes, probably.
“No, Mom. Not sad. On the contrary, I feel good.”
“That’s right then. Means he wasn’t yours. Yours will come along.”
“Maybe. And maybe not. And that’s fine too.”
Her mother laughed.
“That’s my clever girl. Just don’t lose yourself.”
After the call Julia sat by the window with a cup of green tea. November had turned to December; the first snow was falling outside. Big flakes drifted slowly to the ground, covering the city with a white blanket.
She watched the snow and thought—how good it was that she understood in time. In time she saw who was who. In time she stopped.
The apartment was still her fortress. Cozy, quiet, bright. No one ordered her around there, no one laid down rules, no one violated boundaries. There was only order. Julia’s order.
And that was enough.