“What is this?”
Alina’s voice was so even—so drained of life—that Pavel flinched when he stepped out of the kitchen. He wiped his hands on a towel, wearing a look that was equal parts guilty and pleading. Alina stood in the entryway without taking off her coat. Her eyes were locked on two swollen suitcases made of cheap faux leather tucked against the wall—and a bright pink backpack tossed carelessly onto the shoe ottoman.
“Alina, please… don’t start,” he asked quietly. “Come in, take your coat off. You’re probably tired.”
She didn’t budge. She only slowly moved her gaze from the luggage to her husband. In her gray eyes there was no anger, no surprise—only a deadly, all-consuming exhaustion. The kind that settles in when the thing you feared most happens again and again, until you don’t even have the strength left to protest.
“Whose things are these, Pasha?” she asked in the same soft voice.
He stalled, searching for words. At that moment, a bright, slightly whining voice drifted in from the living room:
“Pash—what’s your Wi-Fi password? I want to connect my laptop.”
Alina closed her eyes slowly. Katya. Of course it was Katya. Who else could it be? She took a deep breath, unbuttoned her coat, and hung it on the hook. Her movements were careful and mechanical, as if she were rationing the last drops of energy she had left.
“Pavel,” she said, turning to him, “I asked you a question.”
He stepped closer and reached for her hand, but she pulled away almost imperceptibly.
“Alina, just… try to understand. Katya’s in trouble again. Her landlady… well, she told her to move out. Immediately. She literally had nowhere to go.”
“Got it,” Alina nodded. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and drank it in one go. Pavel followed her like a scolded puppy.
“Let me guess,” she said calmly. “Music too loud again? Or she invited her friends over and they burned the couch with a cigarette? Or maybe she decided paying rent is for suckers?”
“Why are you like this…?” he muttered. “It’s complicated. The landlady is just unstable—she picked on everything.”
“Just like the previous four landladies,” Alina finished, expressionless. She looked straight at him. “How long is she staying here?”
Pavel averted his eyes.
“Until she finds something. A couple of weeks… maybe a month…”
Katya peeked into the kitchen. She was about twenty-two, with hair dyed platinum blonde and scraped into a messy bun. She wore short shorts and a stretched-out T-shirt with a rock-band print she probably didn’t even listen to. She gave Alina an appraising look.
“Oh, hi,” she tossed out. “I thought you were basically sleeping at work again.” Then she turned back to her brother. “So what’s the password? I need it now.”
“Katya, wait,” Pavel mumbled.
Alina set the glass down on the table. In the sudden quiet, the sound came out unexpectedly loud.
“And why did you decide your sister would be living with us?” she asked Pavel in an icy tone.
Katya snorted.
“Well, I can’t exactly sleep at the train station. Pash is my brother.”
Alina ignored her. Her focus stayed on her husband. He looked pathetic—tall, usually confident, now hunched and unsure what to do with his hands.
“Alinka, it’s only temporary…” he started again, singing the same old tune.
“No,” she cut him off. “It’s not temporary. This has already happened. Three times. First she lived with us for a month after college because she was ‘finding herself.’ Then for two weeks after she fought with her boyfriend. Then another three weeks when she got fired and couldn’t pay for her room. Enough.”
“You’re so heartless,” Katya pouted. “Family is supposed to help each other.”
“Family is me and Pavel,” Alina said clearly. “And you are his sister. You’re an adult—fully capable. You have two hands and two legs. You can work. Why should we be responsible for your problems?”
“Because he’s my brother!” Katya practically squealed.
Alina looked at Pavel again. He said nothing—and his silence spoke louder than any argument. He had made the choice for both of them again. He had put her in front of a finished fact again, hoping she would do what she always did: swallow it, press her lips together, and endure.
“Here’s how it’s going to be,” Alina said with frightening calm. “Either her things are gone from our apartment today, or you pack yours. Grab your bags and go rent a place—with your sister. You can live happily ever after together: support each other, ‘find yourselves,’ fight with landlords. But not here.”
She turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Pavel and Katya frozen in stunned silence. In the bedroom, she shut the door and leaned against it. Her heart was pounding up in her throat. It was an ultimatum—her last one. And she knew that this time she would not back down.
The next days turned into a slow, sticky cold war. Pavel drifted through the apartment like a shadow, trying to catch Alina’s eye, trying to talk. She answered in short, practical phrases: “Buy bread.” “We have to pay the electricity bill.” “I’ll be late.” She stopped cooking dinners for two. She came home from work, made herself a light salad, ate in silence, and retreated to the bedroom with a book. She built an invisible wall between them, and he had no idea how to break through it.
Katya, on the other hand, behaved as if nothing had happened. Alina’s ultimatum didn’t seem to faze her at all. She settled in with alarming speed. The living room became her territory: her clothes sprawled across the couch, a mug of half-finished tea and her laptop sat on the coffee table, and from the screen came nonstop noise—TV shows, loud music, chatter.
Alina tried not to go into the living room. Their two-bedroom apartment, which had once felt like a cozy nest, turned into a minefield. Any corner could hide an unpleasant surprise: Katya’s wet towel tossed in the bathroom, crumbs on the kitchen counter, an overflowing trash can because Katya “forgot” to take it out.
They were small things, but drop by poisonous drop they formed an ocean of irritation. Alina felt like a stranger in her own home. She came back from exhausting days in logistics—numbers, tables, responsibility—dreaming of just one thing: quiet. But at home she stepped into a whole new level of stress.
One evening she went into the bathroom and saw chaos on her shelf of expensive skincare. Her face cream was open, with a greasy fingerprint smeared into it. The serum she’d special-ordered was nearly empty. Without a word, Alina gathered what was left into a makeup pouch and locked it away in a dresser drawer in the bedroom.
That night Pavel tried again to make peace.
“Alina, how long are you going to sulk?” he asked when they bumped into each other in the hallway. “I’ll talk to Katya. She’ll move out, I promise. She just needs time.”
“Time?” Alina gave a bitter smile. “Pasha, we’ve been married five years. And for five years your sister has permanently ‘needed time.’ Time to find a job. Time to figure out what she wants from life. Time to get over a breakup. And who is going to give us time—to just live quietly, as our own family?”
“It’s not the same,” he said stiffly. “She’s my only sister. Our parents are gone—you know that. I promised Dad I’d look out for her.”
That was always his trump card. Their parents had died in a car accident when Pavel was twenty-five and Katya was seventeen. Since then he had carried the burden—father, protector, sponsor—for a sister who was childish and refused to grow up. Alina used to understand. She pitied him, saw how heavy it was. But over time her sympathy evaporated into a dull, constant resentment. Katya shamelessly exploited his guilt.
“You promised to look out for her, Pasha—not to lay your life and your wife’s life at her feet,” Alina answered sharply. “Looking out means helping her find a job, giving advice, supporting her when something truly goes wrong. It does not mean moving her into our home every time she creates another ‘complicated situation.’”
“You just don’t like her.”
“And I don’t have to like her!” Alina snapped. “I married you, not your sister. I want to come home and feel like it’s my place. I want to rest—not walk around thinking what hasn’t been cleaned, what hasn’t been washed, and who ate my yogurt. They’re small things, do you understand? But they kill everything.”
She stopped, breathing hard. Pavel stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
“I didn’t realize it was that serious…”
“Did you realize anything at all?” she asked tiredly. “Did you think about me when you dragged her in here? Did you imagine what it would be like for me? Or did you just assume I would tolerate it—like always?”
He didn’t answer. And in that silence, Alina understood it was already over. It didn’t matter whether Katya moved out or not. Something fundamental in their relationship had cracked beyond repair: his refusal to face reality, his habit of hiding his head in the sand, his endless, “Alina, just try to understand.” It had destroyed the trust their marriage was built on.
The tension finally exploded on Saturday. Alina decided to do a deep clean. From early morning she scrubbed, polished, sorted closets—pouring all her bottled-up frustration into physical work. Pavel went to help a friend with renovations: a convenient excuse to escape the apartment. Katya slept until noon.
When Alina, tired but satisfied with the shine of the place, sat down for tea, her sister-in-law drifted out of the bedroom. She glanced around the spotless kitchen and announced:
“Oh, you cleaned? Nice. It was filthy—couldn’t even breathe in here. Listen, make me a coffee, will you? My head is splitting.”
Alina turned to her slowly.
“The coffee machine is there,” she nodded toward the corner. “Pods are in the drawer. You can handle it.”
Katya lifted her eyebrows in disbelief.
“Seriously? Is it that hard? I’m a guest.”
“Guests don’t live this long,” Alina said flatly. “Guests don’t use other people’s things without asking, don’t throw clothes everywhere, and at least sometimes wash their own dishes. You’re not a guest, Katya. You’re a problem.”
“How dare you!” Katya shrieked. “I’ll tell my brother everything! He’ll show you how to talk to me!”
“Please do,” Alina said calmly. “And while you’re at it, tell him about my face cream you smeared through in a week. And how your friends smoked on our balcony after I asked you not to. And about the money you took from Pavel’s wallet while he was in the shower. You thought I didn’t notice?”
Katya went pale. Her arrogance evaporated instantly.
“I… I didn’t take anything,” she stammered. “He gave it to me!”
“He gave you two thousand yesterday morning,” Alina said, stepping closer. Her voice was quiet, but it rang with steel. “And five thousand disappeared. Doesn’t add up, does it?”
She leaned in.
“Listen carefully, girl. My patience is over. You have until tomorrow evening to pack your things and disappear from my life. If you don’t, I’ll throw your suitcases out onto the landing myself. And you can complain to your brother all you want. I don’t care anymore.”
Katya stared at her, frightened. She was used to Alina’s silent dislike, but she’d never met such open, cold fury. She understood this wasn’t an empty threat.
That evening, when Pavel came home, he walked into a scene. Katya was sobbing into his shoulder, babbling about how “that witch” Alina humiliated her, insulted her, and threatened to throw her out onto the street.
“She called me a thief, Pash! Said I stole your money!” Katya wailed.
Pavel’s face darkened. He went into the bedroom where Alina sat reading, pretending nothing was happening.
“Alina, is it true?” he demanded. “Did you call her a thief?”
“I called things what they are,” she replied without looking up from her book. “She took money without asking. That’s stealing.”
“She would’ve paid it back!” Pavel exploded. “Why did you have to make a circus out of it? Humiliate her?”
“And bringing her into our home behind my back—was that not humiliating for me?” Alina asked, finally lifting her eyes. “Enduring her mess for weeks—was that not humiliating? Pasha, I warned you. Your time is up. Tomorrow she cannot be here.”
“You can’t do that! She’s—”
“—your sister, yes, I remember,” Alina cut in. “So act like a man. Take responsibility. Rent her a place. Give her money for the start. Help her move. That’s what ‘looking out’ means. Not hiding her behind my back.”
He stared at her with panic. He was trapped: on one side, a sobbing sister twisting his sense of duty; on the other, a wife as cold and immovable as an iceberg. And he had to choose.
The next day Alina came home from work and saw packed suitcases in the entryway. Her heart stopped for a second—whose were they? Hers, or Katya’s?
Pavel stepped out of the living room. His face looked exhausted, gray.
“I found her a room,” he said dully. “Not far from here. I’ll call a taxi in a minute.”
Alina nodded silently. She felt no joy, no triumph—only emptiness. She had won the battle, but the war wasn’t over. And the worst part was still ahead.
Katya left, slamming the door and throwing Alina a look full of hatred. The apartment fell into an unfamiliar, ringing silence. But it brought no relief. If anything, it emphasized the chasm that had opened between husband and wife.
They barely spoke. Pavel withdrew, grew irritable. Any little thing could set him off. He clearly blamed Alina for what happened, saw her as cruel and selfish. And she, in turn, couldn’t forgive him for his weakness—for not protecting their family.
One night she woke to the sound of him talking on the phone in the kitchen. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but his voice was tense, and fragments floated into the bedroom.
“Mom, I understand… Yes, I rented her a room… No, she has no money… I’m paying… Alina? Mom, don’t talk about Alina… she’s just tired…”
Alina closed her eyes. Tamara Viktorovna. Of course. The mother who lived in another city yet hovered over their lives, constantly reminding her son of his “duty.” She was surely winding him up now, telling him what a horrible wife he’d married—one who threw his “own blood” out onto the street.
The next day Pavel came home darker than a storm. Without a word he went into the kitchen, poured himself vodka—something he never did on a weekday—and knocked it back.
“Did something happen?” Alina asked carefully.
“Katya got fired,” he threw out without looking at her. “The manager said she’s always late and rude to customers. Now she can’t pay for her room again. Happy?”
Alina felt the cold spread inside her.
“What does that have to do with me? Was I the one who hired her? The one who made her late?” she asked.
“But you kicked her out!” Pavel erupted. “If she’d lived here, none of this would’ve happened! She’d have been supervised!”
“By whom?” Alina stood up. “By me? I should’ve woken her up, walked her to work holding her hand, and made sure she didn’t snap at customers? Pasha, she’s twenty-two, not five. How long are you going to be her nanny—until retirement?”
“You don’t understand anything!” he shouted. “You don’t have siblings! You don’t know what blood means!”
“And I know exactly what family means,” Alina said, voice shaking but firm. “Family is when a husband and wife look in the same direction. When they’re a team. And what are we? Roommates who hate each other? I can’t do this anymore, Pasha.”
He stared at her with fury and despair.
“So what do you want?” he demanded. “You want me to abandon my sister?”
“I want you to grow up. And help her grow up,” Alina said. “Stop paying for her rooms, feeding her, indulging her tantrums. Let her work. Any job. Cleaner, dishwasher, street sweeper—anything. Let her learn how money is earned. Maybe then she’ll start valuing it.”
“You’re cruel,” he whispered.
“No,” Alina shook her head. “I’m realistic. You live in illusions. You think you’re helping her, but you’re ruining her life—and destroying ours.”
That night, for the first time, they slept in separate rooms. Alina went to the living room—to the very couch Katya had ruled not long ago. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, understanding there was no road back. This wasn’t just a fight. It was a collision of two worldviews—two completely different ideas of duty, family, life. And there was no compromise to be found.
By morning, she had decided. Quietly—no tears, no hysterics. She simply realized she didn’t want to spend her life in this senseless battle. She wanted peace. She wanted a home. And this place had stopped being hers.
She acted methodically. She called a real-estate agent. During her lunch break she went to see a small but cozy studio on the other end of the city. That evening, while Pavel was still at work, she began packing. Not everything—only what she needed most: clothes, books, documents, the makeup pouch she’d been locking away.
Pavel caught her in the middle of it. He froze in the bedroom doorway, staring at the half-empty closet shelves and the box of her things on the floor.
“You… what are you doing?” he asked, stunned.
“Packing,” Alina said calmly, not stopping. “I found an apartment. I’m moving tomorrow.”
He rushed to her and grabbed her hands. Fear filled his eyes.
“Alina, wait! Don’t! Is this because of Katya? I’ll fix it. I swear I’ll fix everything! I’ll send her to our mother in another city—just don’t leave!”
She gently pulled her hands free.
“It’s not about Katya anymore, Pasha. It’s about you,” Alina said softly. “I realized I will never come first for you. There will always be someone or something more important—your sister, your sense of duty, your mother’s opinion. You didn’t choose her over me. You simply can’t choose me. You’ll keep trying to sit on two chairs, and in the end everyone will get hurt. Especially me.”
“But I love you!” he almost shouted.
“I know,” Alina smiled sadly. “In your way. But sometimes love isn’t enough. I’m tired. I just want to live quietly. Without drama, without ultimatums, without feeling like I’m always in someone’s way.”
Even as she spoke, she was surprised by how calm she sounded. Inside there was emptiness—a scorched desert. Outside, pure ice. She had made her choice: painful, terrifying, but the only right one for her.
The next day she left. Pavel begged, promised, tried to stop her—but she didn’t bend. When the door closed behind her, he stood in the entryway for a long time, staring at the place where Katya’s suitcases had stood the day before.
That evening Katya called him.
“Pash, hi. Listen, there’s something… The guy renting the room says I have to pay by tomorrow, and I don’t have a cent. Can you spot me? And also—maybe I can come back to your place for a bit? Just for a week, until I find another job. It’s so depressing here alone…”
Pavel listened to her bright, carefree voice and stared at the empty spot beside him on the couch. The apartment felt enormous and hollow. The silence Alina had dreamed about now crushed him like lead.
He got what he wanted. He didn’t abandon his sister. He did his duty.
Only the price of that duty was unbearable.
He had lost the woman he loved. He was alone—well, not truly alone. With his sister. A sister who would never grow up.
Never.