Elena stared at the phone and felt everything inside her tighten into a hard knot.
“Len, pick up,” her husband called from the kitchen. “She’s calling for the third time already.”
“I know,” Elena answered, but she didn’t pick up the phone.
She already knew what her sister would say. Always the same: they’d arrived, they were tired, the kids were cranky, and where else could they go? To her sister, of course. To Lena. She had a big apartment, worked from home, had plenty of time.
Plenty of time. Elena gave a bitter little smile.
If only they knew what kind of “time” she had. Deadlines hanging over her like the sword of Damocles, clients calling every hour, and on top of that her husband just out of the hospital—recovering, needing peace and quiet.
The phone fell silent. Elena exhaled.
A minute later came a message: “Len, we’re at the station. We’ll be at your place in an hour. The kids are tired after the trip.”
A statement of fact.
Elena reread the message three times. Each time the anger rose higher, like mercury in a thermometer.
A week ago she had clearly told Larisa: “I can’t have anyone over right now. Dima and I are going through a rough patch, he needs rehabilitation, and I need to focus on work.”
Larisa had stayed silent then. Elena even thought: She finally got it.
Yeah. She “got it.”
“Dim!” she called to her husband. “Come here!”
Dmitry appeared in the doorway with a cup of tea. Thin after the surgery, but not as gray as he’d been a month before.
“What happened?”
“Larisa is coming. With the kids. She’ll be here in an hour.”
Dmitry set the cup on the table and sank heavily into the armchair.
“You didn’t tell her not to?”
“I did. She didn’t hear it.”
“Well then…” he began.
“No,” Elena cut him off sharply. “No, Dim. You just got out of the hospital. You need rest, not two screaming kids under your nose.”
“But what have the kids got to do with it?”
“The kids aren’t to blame. Their mother is, for putting everyone before a done deal.”
The phone rang again. Elena glanced at the screen: “Larisa.”
This time she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Len!” Her sister’s voice was outraged, like that of a general who’d been barred from the parade. “Why aren’t you answering? We’re already on our way to you!”
“Stop,” Elena said slowly. “Stop, Lar.”
“Stop what?”
“I told you already. I can’t have anyone over right now.”
“Oh, come on!” Larisa laughed. “Just a couple of days! The kids missed their Aunt Lena!”
“Larisa,” Elena felt something tearing in her chest, “I’m serious. Not now.”
“What do you mean, ‘not now’?!”
Her sister’s voice jumped up an octave. “We’re already on our way!”
“You’re on your way without asking me!”
“And why should I ask?! You’re my sister! Or am I not allowed to visit my own sister now?!”
Elena closed her eyes. There it was. The usual song about family obligations and sisterly duty.
“You are allowed,” she said quietly. “But by agreement. Not like this—dropping in out of the blue.”
“What agreement?!” Larisa shrieked.
And then Elena understood.
She understood that they’d been having this same conversation for ten years. With the same words. With the same ending—Larisa shows up, the kids race around the apartment, and Elena forgets about her own life for a week or two.
“Lar,” she said, and there was steel in her voice now, “I can’t take you in. Period.”
Silence. Then:
“Have you lost your mind?!” Larisa screamed so loudly into the phone that Dmitry flinched in his chair.
“No,” Elena replied calmly. “On the contrary. For the first time in a long while, I’ve come to my senses.”
“Lena!” her sister’s voice broke into a screech. “We’re at the station with the kids! Do you understand? Where are we supposed to go?!”
“Home,” Elena suggested. “Or to a hotel. Or to those friends you visited last month.”
“What hotel?! I don’t have any money! And my friends are busy!”
Of course they’re busy, Elena thought. They probably just learned how to say no.
“Lar, you’re a grown woman. You’re thirty-two. You can’t just do this—take off and show up at people’s place without warning.”
“What people?!” Larisa howled. “You’re my sister! My own flesh and blood!”
Elena glanced at her husband. Dmitry was sitting there pale, holding his hand to his heart. The surgery had been serious; the doctors had said—no stress, peace and quiet only.
“Larisa,” Elena said firmly, “I’m hanging up. Not because I don’t love you. But because I have my own life.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me!” her sister shouted. “The kids are crying! We’ve got nowhere to go!”
Elena ended the call.
Silence. Dmitry was staring at her, his eyes wide.
“Are you really not going to let them in?”
“I’m not,” Elena nodded, surprised herself by how firm her own voice sounded.
“But the kids…”
“The kids aren’t mine, Dim. They’re Larisa’s. And they’re Larisa’s responsibility.”
The phone rang again. Elena looked at the screen and rejected the call.
Another call. And another.
“Len, maybe you should pick up?” her husband asked. “What if it’s something serious?”
“Serious?” Elena held the display up to him. “Twenty missed calls in five minutes. That’s not serious. That’s a tantrum.”
Messages rained down one after the other:
“Lena, are you out of your mind?”
“How can you leave your niece and nephew out on the street?”
“You’re so selfish! You only think about yourself!”
Elena read and felt something inside her breaking. Not from pain—from relief.
Finally. At last Larisa was saying what she really thought.
“What’s she writing?” Dmitry asked.
“The truth,” Elena smiled.
Dmitry came over and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Len… maybe we really should let them stay? Just for a couple of days.”
Elena looked at her husband. At his gaunt face, his trembling hands. At this man who had spent a month fighting for his life and was now willing to sacrifice his peace for someone else’s comfort.
“Dim,” she said gently, “if I let them stay now, this will never end. Do you understand? Never.”
“But…”
“Larisa will know that all she has to do is corner me, yell a little, wave the kids around like an argument—and I’ll back down. Every time.”
Dmitry fell silent. Thinking.
“And if you don’t back down now?”
“Then maybe she’ll learn to ask for permission. Like adults do.”
The calls went on until evening. Elena put her phone on silent and tried to work. It didn’t go very well—her hands shook, her thoughts were tangled.
By seven in the evening, the last message came:
“Fine. We found a place. But I’ll never forgive you. I’ll never forgive you.”
She didn’t sleep that night. She lay there and thought.
About when it had all started. When Larisa was little and Elena was the older sister. “Keep an eye on Larka. Help Larka. Give in to Larka—she’s younger.”
Younger. Thirty-two years old and still “the younger one.”
And Elena—still that girl who had to watch, help, give in.
Enough, she thought in the dark. Enough of being the eternal big sister.
The phone was silent all the next day. Elena even checked to see if it had broken.
It hadn’t. Larisa just wasn’t calling for the first time ever.
And that felt strange.
In the evening, Elena opened her laptop and, for the first time in months, worked properly. Without distractions, without guilt, without thinking about who else she was supposed to be helping.
Just work.
So this is how adults live, she thought before bed. They just live. Without a constant sense of duty to the whole world.
And she fell asleep peacefully. For the first time in many years.
The silence lasted three days.
Three days during which Elena picked up the phone every morning and wondered: should I call or not?
Larisa kept quiet. Deliberately. Offended.
And Elena tormented herself.
“Maybe I should call her after all?” she asked her husband over breakfast on the third day.
“What for?” Dmitry spread butter on his bread slowly, thoughtfully. “Let her call herself. If she wants to.”
“But we’re sisters.”
“Exactly. Sisters. Not mistress and servant.”
Elena nodded, but inside, doubt still gnawed at her. What if Larisa never called again? What if the kids really did end up hating her?
At lunchtime she couldn’t take it anymore.
She dialed her sister’s number. Long rings. Then that familiar voice—cold as a winter morning:
“Hello.”
“Lar, it’s me.”
“I see.”
“How are you? How are the kids?”
“And why do you care?” Larisa’s voice carried infinite hurt.
Elena took a deep breath. Now. Now or never.
“Lar, let’s talk.”
“What’s there to talk about?” her sister sniffed. “About how you threw us out on the street?”
“About how you showed up without warning.”
“So what? I just came to my sister’s, what’s the big deal?”
“You did. Without warning. With the kids. For an indefinite amount of time.”
“Well, where else am I supposed to go?” Larisa suddenly began to cry. “I have no one else!”
There it was—the heart of it.
Elena felt something inside her soften. Larisa was crying for real this time, not for effect.
“Lar,” she said more gently, “what happened? Why do you have ‘no one’?”
“Oh, you know…” her sister sniffled. “My friends are busy with their own lives. Mom’s far away. And now there’s a divorce coming.”
“Divorce?” Elena almost jumped. “You and Andrey are getting divorced?”
“Yeah. He found himself someone younger. Says I’ve become boring. That I only think about the kids.”
“Oh my God. Lar, why didn’t you tell me?”
“What for?” Larisa sighed. “You’ve got your own problems. Dmitry was sick.”
“Dima is getting better. And you’re dealing with this alone?”
“Alone,” her sister confirmed. “That’s why I keep coming to you. Everything at home reminds me of him. And at your place it’s calm. Quiet.”
Elena was silent. The picture was becoming clearer. Larisa hadn’t just been “visiting”—she’d been running away from her problems.
“Lar,” Elena said carefully, “I understand that it’s hard for you. But you can’t run away from your problems to your sister every time something goes wrong.”
Larisa went quiet. Elena could hear her breathing into the phone, heavy, with sobs.
“Len,” she said at last, quietly, “will you help me?”
“Of course I will,” Elena answered at once. “But I’m not obliged to be your backup airfield.”
“Backup airfield?” Larisa repeated.
“Yes. The place you land only when there’s nowhere else to.”
Larisa laughed—through tears, but genuinely:
“Nice way to put it. Backup airfield.”
“Nice, but true.”
“All right,” Larisa said after a pause. “Okay, Len. I get it now.”
“I’m happy to see you. But I do have my own life. So let’s agree you’ll check with me first whether I can have guests or not.”
“Deal,” her sister agreed. “Len, can we come for New Year’s? I’m asking in advance.”
Elena laughed:
“For New Year’s—you definitely can. Dmitry actually wanted to get to know his niece and nephew better.”
“Really?”
“Really. Just let me know three days before. I’ll prepare—buy food, get the toys out.”
“Thanks, Len. And I’m sorry for that whole circus at the train station.”
“I forgive you. As long as it doesn’t happen again.”
“It won’t. I promise.”
They said goodbye.
Larisa arrived the day before the holiday, just as they’d agreed. With the kids, with presents, and with apologies.
“Dim,” she said to Elena’s husband, “I’m sorry. For that time. I didn’t think about the fact that you needed rest.”
Dmitry got embarrassed.
“Oh, it’s okay, Lar. It’s fine.”
“No, not okay. Elena was right—you can’t behave like that.”
The kids raced around the apartment, delighted to see their aunt and uncle.
A year passed. Larisa visited several more times—always strictly by agreement. She found a job, signed the kids up for clubs, even started seeing a man.
Dmitry made a full recovery, Elena got a promotion, and they finally went on vacation. Together. Just the two of them. With no surprise guests and no sudden emergencies