“Go to hell, all of you!” Yulia hurled the frying pan into the sink so hard that drops of grease splattered across the entire countertop. “Just so you know: not a single one of your relatives is getting registered in my apartment. Not a chance!”
Sergey froze in the kitchen doorway, his phone still in his hand. Someone was still talking on the other end, but their voice was drowned out by the crash of a plate Yulia knocked off the counter with her elbow.
“Yulya, what are you doing? Mom just—”
“Your mother is trying to turn my apartment into a boarding house!” Yulia spun toward him, her face burning red with fury. “First your cousin needed a place for two months, then your nephew for half a year, and now what? Aunt Zinaida and her grandkids too?”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Tamara Ivanovna appeared in the kitchen wearing her usual terry-cloth robe, her hair twisted into a tight bun. She took in the mess with one slow glance and clicked her tongue.
“Yulenka, dear, why are you getting so upset?” her voice dripped with honey, though her eyes glittered with malice. “They’re family. Our own flesh and blood.”
“They’re your flesh and blood, Tamara Ivanovna. To me they’re freeloaders.”
Sergey hurriedly ended the call and stepped between the two women.
“That’s enough. Both of you. Mom, go to your room. Yulia, calm down.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” Yulia turned on him. “When was the last time you paid a utility bill? Huh? Or do you think money falls from the ceiling?”
Tamara Ivanovna sat down at the table, pulled a packet of sunflower seeds from the pocket of her robe, and began cracking them one by one, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.
“Mom, why are you even getting involved?” Sergey rubbed his forehead. “We already have enough problems.”
“I’m not getting involved, son. I live here. I have every right to speak my mind.”
“No, you don’t!” Yulia grabbed a dish towel and started furiously wiping the counter. “This apartment is mine! I bought it! I pay for it!”
“Oh really?” Tamara Ivanovna drawled. “You bought it? And your husband didn’t help you at all? And who raised your daughter while you were running around your offices?”
There it was. The sore spot.
Yulia froze, the towel still clenched in her hands.
“Mom, stop,” Sergey said quietly.
“Why should I stop? For telling the truth?” Tamara Ivanovna stood up, seed shells scattering onto the floor. “I’ve spent half my life on my feet because of your daughter. Sleepless nights, illnesses, kindergarten, school, activities. And now what? You want to throw me out into the street?”
Yulia slowly turned around. Her face had gone pale, only her lips remained a thin red line.
“No one is throwing you out. But I’m not letting you turn my home into a train station.”
“Your home?” Tamara Ivanovna stepped closer. “Tell me, smart girl, who gave you the down payment for that mortgage? Who?”
Sergey shut his eyes. Now it was really beginning.
“You did,” Yulia said quietly. “And I paid every ruble back.”
“You paid it back?” her mother-in-law laughed. “Two hundred thousand rubles? When exactly was that?”
“Mom, enough!” Sergey barked.
“Enough of what? Telling the truth? Or do you think I forgot?”
Yulia set the frying pan on the stove. Her hands were trembling, but her voice stayed steady.
“All right. Let’s be honest. Tamara Ivanovna, do you want me to register your Aunt Zinaida and her grandkids here?”
“I do.”
“For how long?”
“What difference does that make? They’re in trouble. Their apartment got flooded.”
“I see.” Yulia nodded. “Sergey, what about you? Do you want this?”
Her husband said nothing, staring at the floor.
“Answer me,” Yulia said, taking a step toward him. “It’s your family. It’s your decision.”
“I… I don’t know. Maybe we really should help.”
“Wonderful.” Yulia took the apartment keys off the hook and placed them on the table in front of her mother-in-law. “Here. Register whoever you want. But I’m not living here anymore.”
“Yulya, what are you doing?” Sergey grabbed her by the arm.
“What I should have done a long time ago.” She pulled free. “Katya’s staying at her friend’s dacha until Sunday. I’ll pick her up, and we’ll stay with my mother.”
“Yulia, don’t be ridiculous! Where are you going?”
“Why do you care?” She was already putting on her coat. “You’ve chosen your family. Go live with them.”
Tamara Ivanovna stared silently at the keys. Then something shifted in her face.
“Yulenka, don’t be so hasty. Maybe… maybe we rushed things.”
“Too late, Tamara Ivanovna.” Yulia zipped up her coat. “You said it yourself—this is your house. So live in it.”
The door slammed shut. Sergey and his mother remained alone in the kitchen, staring at the keys on the table.
“What a fool,” Tamara Ivanovna muttered first. “A hysterical idiot. Good thing she finally showed her true face.”
“Shut up, Mom!” Sergey shouted, snatching the keys off the table. “Are you happy now? You destroyed my family!”
“Me?” Tamara Ivanovna threw up her hands. “Look at yourself. A spineless rag! Your wife gives you an ultimatum, and you stand there mute as a fish!”
“And what was I supposed to say?” Sergey turned on her. “You know she’s right! First Milka lived here for half a year, then your nephew Denis and his girlfriend…”
“They’re relatives! Family!”
“They’re parasites!” For the first time in years, Sergey raised his voice at his mother. “And you know it!”
Tamara Ivanovna went pale and sank down onto a chair.
“Seryozha… my son… you can’t talk to me like that…”
“I can. And I will.” He grabbed his phone and dialed. “Zinaida Petrovna? It’s Sergey. No, it won’t work. I’m sorry.”
“Seryozha, what are you doing?” his mother hissed.
“What I should have done a long time ago.” He ended the call and looked at her. “Enough, Mom. Enough.”
His phone rang almost immediately. The screen read: Zinaida Petrovna.
“Don’t answer,” Tamara Ivanovna whispered.
Sergey declined the call. But it rang again. And again.
“Has she lost her mind?” Sergey muttered, finally picking up. “Hello?”
“Seryozha!” a shrill female voice screamed through the speaker. “Have you completely lost your nerve? What do you mean it won’t work? We already packed our things!”
“Zinaida Petrovna, I just explained—”
“You explained nothing! Where’s Tamara Ivanovna? Put her on!”
Sergey held the phone out to his mother. She took it reluctantly.
“Zina, dear…”
“What is this nonsense?” the woman shouted so loudly Sergey could hear every word. “You called me yourself! You said everything was arranged!”
“Zina, you see, Yulia is against it…”
“I don’t give a damn about your Yulia! My children and I have nowhere to stay! The apartment is flooded, we’ve got no place to live!”
“Zina, but I can’t force—”
“You can! And you must! Or have you forgotten who gave you money back in ninety-three when Seryozha was sick? Huh?”
Tamara Ivanovna shrank into herself. Sergey stiffened.
“What money?” He took the phone from his mother. “Zinaida Petrovna, what are you talking about?”
“Ask your mommy!” she shrieked. “Ask her where she got the money for your treatment! And your university! And your wedding!”
Sergey slowly turned to his mother.
“Mom?”
“We’ll talk later, son…”
“No, now!” He pressed the phone harder to his ear. “Zinaida Petrovna, explain.”
“I gave her fifty thousand dollars! Fifty thousand! Back in 1993! For your treatment in Germany!”
The room seemed to darken around Sergey. He dropped into a chair.
“Mom… is that true?”
Tamara Ivanovna said nothing.
“And that’s not all!” Zinaida kept yelling. “Who paid for your university? Your dorm room? Your first car?”
“Mom, answer me!” Sergey grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Well… yes… it’s true…” she whispered. “But I paid her back! Little by little!”
“When?” Zinaida clearly heard everything. “The last time she sent me money was a year ago—fifty thousand rubles! Peanuts! She owes me millions!”
Sergey placed the phone on the table and switched it to speaker.
“Zinaida Petrovna, exactly how much does my mother owe you?”
“Two million eight hundred thousand rubles at today’s rate. Plus interest for thirty years.”
“Mom…” Sergey stared at Tamara Ivanovna. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I… I thought… maybe she’d forget…”
“Forget?” Zinaida shrieked. “I worked half my life for you people! Broke my back in that factory so your precious son could get an education! And now what? My grandkids are supposed to sleep on the street?”
Just then the front door slammed. Footsteps echoed down the hall.
“Did Yulia come back?” Tamara Ivanovna brightened.
But it was not Yulia.
A tall, thin woman in her fifties stepped into the kitchen with two teenage boys.
“Aunt Toma?” she asked in confusion. “Where’s Zinaida Petrovna? She said everything had already been settled…”
Sergey looked down at his phone. The call had dropped.
“Milka?” he said faintly. “Where did you come from?”
“Where do you think? Zinaida Petrovna gave us the keys. Said Aunt Toma worked it all out.” Milka glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s the owner? Your Yulia?”
“She left,” Sergey answered darkly.
“She left? What, for good?”
The phone rang again. This time the screen showed Valentina Sergeyevna.
“Seryozha! What on earth are you doing there?” came the outraged voice. “Zina called me crying! She says you threw them out!”
“I didn’t throw anyone out…”
“And where are Milka and the children supposed to go? She’s already on her way to you!”
Sergey looked at the bags in the hallway, at the children huddling beside their mother, at his own mother with her face hidden in her hands.
“Valentina Sergeyevna, I’ll call you back,” he said, and hung up.
The phone rang again immediately. Then again. Then again.
“Mom,” Sergey said quietly, “what have you done?”
But Tamara Ivanovna had no chance to answer. Someone rang the doorbell—long, hard, insistently.
“I’m not opening it,” Sergey said.
“Uncle Sergey,” one of the boys tugged at his sleeve. “Can I use the bathroom? We’ve been on the road since morning.”
“Go ahead,” Sergey muttered wearily.
The doorbell kept ringing. Milka nervously twisted the handle of her purse.
“Listen, Sergey… maybe it’s Zinaida Petrovna? She said she’d come by around lunch.”
“What Zinaida Petrovna?” Sergey asked, a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes.
“The owner of the apartment on Sadovaya. She said she worked out an exchange with you.”
“An exchange?” he repeated.
“Well yes. We come here, and Yulia moves in with her. Temporarily, until our renovation is done.”
Sergey slowly turned toward his mother.
“Mom. Tell me. What else have you promised people?”
Tamara Ivanovna burst into tears.
“I thought… I just… I wanted to help…”
The bell finally stopped, but then they heard a key turning in the lock.
“Oh God,” Sergey whispered. “They have keys.”
The front door opened. A heavyset woman in her sixties entered carrying an enormous shoulder bag. Behind her squeezed a man dragging two suitcases.
“Tamara!” the woman cried joyfully. “At last! We were beginning to think you’d given us the wrong address!”
“Zinaida Petrovna…” Tamara Ivanovna stammered.
“And where’s your Yulenka? I want to meet her. I’ve heard what a wonderful homemaker she is!” Zinaida looked around. “Oh dear, what happened here? Broken dishes…”
“Aunt Zina!” Milka rushed over to her. “I thought you weren’t coming!”
“How could I not? Leave family in trouble? Never!” Zinaida hugged Milka. Then she turned to Sergey. “And you must be Seryozha? Your mother has told me so much about you!”
Sergey had no idea what to say. The man behind Zinaida set down the suitcases and extended his hand.
“Boris Kuzmich, her husband. Pleasure to meet you. Sorry for barging in, but you know how these emergencies are.”
“Oh, don’t even say that!” Zinaida waved a hand. “We’re family! Tamara, show us where we’ll be staying.”
“Zina, I…” Tamara Ivanovna began, but her phone rang again.
The screen flashed: Valentina Sergeyevna.
“Don’t answer,” Zinaida said quickly. “She’s been calling all morning, hysterical. Says she has nowhere to put her nephew.”
“What nephew?” Sergey’s voice cracked.
“Igoryok. Your cousin. Just back from the army, no job, no money for rent. We thought maybe he could stay with you for a week or two…”
Sergey felt as if he were losing his mind. He pulled out his phone and found Yulia’s number.
“Seryozha, what are you doing?” his mother asked anxiously.
“What I should have done a long time ago.” He hit call.
A few rings. Then Yulia’s voice:
“Hello.”
“Yulya, it’s me.”
“What do you want?”
“Yulya, I’m sorry. You were right. Completely right.”
“Sergey, I’m busy. If you have something to say, say it fast.”
He could hear laughter and voices in the background. She really was at her mother’s.
“There are seven people in our apartment right now. With bags. Zinaida and her husband, Milka and her kids. Mom promised them registration, housing, apartment swaps. Yulia, I’m losing my mind.”
Silence.
“Yulia?”
“I’m listening.”
“Help me. I don’t know what to do.”
“And what does your mommy say?”
“She’s crying. Says she meant well.”
“I see.” Yulia’s voice was cold. “And what do you want?”
“I want you to come back. I want us to deal with this together.”
“Together?” There was a trace of irony now. “And what exactly changed? Tamara Ivanovna still thinks the apartment is hers, doesn’t she? Your relatives still think they’re entitled to everything, don’t they?”
“Yulia…”
“Sergey, answer me honestly. Are you ready to put these people in their place? Are you ready to tell your mother she’s done manipulating everyone?”
Sergey looked around the kitchen. Zinaida was already unpacking a bag, taking out pots and jars of canned food. Boris Kuzmich was studying the train schedule as if planning tomorrow’s trips. Milka was settling her children on the couch in the living room.
“I am,” he said quietly.
“Then start. And I’ll decide whether it’s worth coming back.”
“Yulia, wait—”
But the line had already gone dead.
Zinaida approached him holding a saucepan.
“Seryozha, dear, where do you turn on the stove here? We brought homemade borscht. Didn’t want to be a burden.”
Sergey stared at the pan, then at her satisfied face, then at his mother who only shrugged guiltily.
“Zinaida Petrovna,” he said slowly, “sit down. We need to talk.”
“What is there to talk about, dear?” she asked, setting the pot on the stove and looking for a switch. “Tamara and I arranged everything. It’s only temporary, until the renovation’s done. We won’t inconvenience anyone…”
“Stop.” Sergey stepped between her and the stove. “No one arranged anything. My mother promised things she has no right to promise.”
Zinaida straightened up, steel flashing in her eyes.
“What do you mean, no right? What about my money? I’ve been waiting thirty years!”
“What money?” Milka called from the living room.
“The money your precious Aunt Toma owes me—almost three million rubles,” Zinaida said clearly. “And instead of paying it back, she offered to let us stay with her son. A fair trade, I’d say.”
Boris Kuzmich lowered the train schedule.
“Zina, maybe not in front of the children.”
“Why not in front of the children?” she turned on him. “Let them hear what kind of relatives they have! Borrow money and spend thirty years dodging repayment!”
Sergey felt anger rise in his throat.
“Zinaida Petrovna, even if that’s true, no one invited you to live here. This is my apartment—my wife’s apartment. We decide who lives here and who gets registered.”
“Your apartment?” Zinaida laughed. “Tell me, genius, what money bought this apartment? Where do you think your mother got the down payment from?”
“Zina, don’t,” Tamara Ivanovna whispered.
“Yes, I will!” Zinaida stepped closer to Sergey. “Those two hundred thousand rubles your mother gave for the apartment? That was my money too. The money I lent her in 2007.”
The ground seemed to fall away beneath Sergey.
“Mom… is that true?”
Tamara Ivanovna covered her face and nodded.
“And that’s not all!” Zinaida continued. “Who bought your first car? Who paid for your wedding? For your treatment at the clinic?”
“Enough!” Sergey roared. “Even if all that is true, it still doesn’t give you the right—”
“It does!” she snapped. “Of course it does! I spent half my life on your family! And now you want to throw me away like a dog?”
At that exact moment, the doorbell rang again. Long. Demanding.
“Who now?” Sergey groaned.
“Probably Igor,” Milka said. “Valentina Sergeyevna said she’d bring him today.”
“What Igor?”
“Your cousin. Just back from the army. No work…”
Sergey grabbed his head.
“Mom! Did you invite the entire family here?”
“I didn’t invite them… I just… wanted to help…”
The bell kept ringing. Boris Kuzmich got to his feet.
“I’ll open it then.”
“Don’t you dare!” Sergey shouted, and marched to the door himself.
A young man in jeans and a jacket stood there with a middle-aged woman carrying shopping bags.
“Seryozha!” the woman exclaimed happily. “It’s Valya, remember me? And this is Igoryok, your little cousin!”
“Hey, brother,” the young man said, holding out a hand. “Heard you’re putting us up for a while.”
“I’m not letting anyone else in!” Sergey exploded. “Valentina Sergeyevna, who told you it was okay to come here?”
“Who do you mean who? Tamara Ivanovna called! Said there was room, said Yulia agreed…”
“Yulia left!” Sergey shouted. “She walked out! Because of relatives like you!”
Valentina blinked in confusion.
“She left? For good?”
“Yes! And she was right to!”
“Seryozha, why are you yelling?” Zinaida appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Valya! Igoryok! Come in, dear ones!”
“They are not coming in!” Sergey blocked the doorway. “No one is coming in!”
“Uncle Sergey,” Igor tried to squeeze past him. “Come on, don’t be stingy. We’ve got nowhere to go.”
“And why should that be my problem?” Sergey refused to move. “Go live with your mother!”
“She lives in a one-room flat, there’s no space,” Valentina cut in. “Sergey, why are you acting like strangers? We’re family!”
“Family?” Sergey felt himself slipping. “Where were you when I had problems? When I didn’t have money for treatment? When my wife was taken to the hospital?”
“Sergey, we didn’t know…”
“You knew! All of you knew! But no one rushed to help! And now suddenly I owe everybody?”
Something crashed in the kitchen. Then Zinaida’s outraged voice rang out:
“Boris! What are you doing? That was crystal!”
“I didn’t touch anything!” came his answer. “It fell by itself!”
Sergey squeezed his eyes shut. Two people stood in the entryway with luggage, dishes were breaking in the kitchen, the children had turned the TV on at full volume in the living room, and his mother was sitting on a stool crying.
He took out his phone and called Yulia again.
“Hello?” Her voice was guarded now.
“Yulia, they’ve surrounded me. There are almost ten of them now. Help.”
“Who?”
“The relatives. All of them. They say my mother owes them millions, and now they want to live here.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“I told them no. That they’re not staying. But they won’t listen. One of them is already smashing plates, the others are settling the kids in…”
Pause.
“Yulia?”
“Sergey, are you ready to call the police?”
“The police?” he repeated aloud.
Every conversation in the apartment stopped instantly.
“Yes. The police. If they refuse to leave voluntarily.”
Sergey looked at the faces in the doorway. Valentina went pale. Igor frowned. Zinaida peeked out from the kitchen, suddenly uneasy.
“I am,” Sergey said firmly into the phone.
“Then call them. I’m on my way.”
He lowered the phone and dialed 102.
“Seryozha, what are you doing?” Valentina whispered in fear.
“What I should have done an hour ago.” He waited for the operator to answer. “Hello? Police? Yes, I need a unit. Illegal entry into a private residence.”
“Seryozha, stop!” Zinaida rushed out of the kitchen. “We’re family!”
“Family doesn’t force its way into someone else’s apartment with suitcases,” he said coldly, still speaking into the phone. “Yes, they refuse to leave. They’re threatening us. Damaging property.”
“We never threatened anyone!” Igor protested.
“And who said, ‘Don’t be stingy’? Who broke the dishes?”
“Son, stop this,” Tamara Ivanovna stood up from the stool. “These are family matters. Why bring in the police…”
“Family matters?” Sergey turned on her. “Look around, Mom! You turned my home into a train station! My wife left because of you! Because of you I spent thirty years living under debts that weren’t even mine!”
“I only wanted what was best…”
“No!” Sergey shouted. “You wanted everyone to love you! At my expense!”
Fast footsteps sounded in the entryway. The front door opened and Yulia walked in. Her hair was loose and messy, her eyes blazing, keys and several papers clutched in her hand.
“All right,” she said, surveying the crowd. “Who’s in charge here?”
“Yulenka!” Zinaida beamed. “At last, we meet! I’m Zinaida Petrovna, we’re only here temporarily—”
“There is no temporary,” Yulia cut her off. “Who exactly are you, and on what grounds are you in my apartment?”
“We’re relatives! Tamara Ivanovna invited us!”
“Tamara Ivanovna is not the owner here.” Yulia unfolded the documents. “Here is the property registry statement. I am the sole legal owner of this apartment. And I am demanding that you leave my home immediately.”
“Girl, you don’t understand,” Valentina began. “We’re in a difficult situation…”
“I am not interested in your situation,” Yulia said sharply. “I’m interested in one thing only: how fast you’re going to get out.”
“And what about the debt?” Zinaida pressed on. “Your mother-in-law owes me three million!”
“Then take your claim to court against Tamara Ivanovna,” Yulia replied. “But get out of my apartment.”
“Yulia,” Sergey said softly. “Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She gave him a pointed look. “First we clean up this circus.”
The doorbell rang. Sergey opened it. Two police officers stood outside.
“You called for a patrol?”
“Yes,” Sergey said, pointing at the people gathered in the hallway. “These people entered the apartment without permission and refuse to leave.”
The older officer took out a notebook.
“Do you have documents proving ownership?”
Yulia handed over the registry statement and her passport.
“And you,” the officer turned to Zinaida, “do you have any documents giving you the right to be here?”
“We’re relatives!” she wailed.
“Being related does not give you the right to move into someone’s home without consent,” the lieutenant said dryly. “Pack your things.”
“How can this be?” Valentina cried. “We had an agreement!”
“With whom?” Yulia asked.
“With Tamara Ivanovna!”
“Tamara Ivanovna has no right to dispose of someone else’s property.” Yulia turned to her mother-in-law. “And you knew that perfectly well.”
Tamara Ivanovna lowered her head.
“All right,” the officer glanced at his watch. “You have ten minutes to gather your things. After that we start paperwork for unlawful self-help.”
Chaos erupted. Zinaida lamented the injustice, Valentina tried to calm the children, and Boris Kuzmich silently packed the suitcases.
“Yulia,” Sergey stepped closer to his wife. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“Later,” she said. “First we evict the invaders.”
Half an hour later, the apartment was finally empty. The relatives were getting into taxis, grumbling about cruelty and ingratitude. Tamara Ivanovna had locked herself in her room.
Yulia and Sergey stood alone in the kitchen amid the broken dishes.
“Now we talk,” Yulia said, sitting down at the table. “What happens next?”
“Next…” Sergey said, gathering up the shards. “Next I have a serious conversation with my mother. Real boundaries. Final ones.”
“And the debts?”
“We’ll deal with them. If she really owes them money, it will be handled officially, through the courts. But not at the expense of our family.”
Yulia nodded.
“And what about me?”
“You?” Sergey looked up. “I promise you this: from now on, no one enters this home without your consent. No one. Ever.”
“Including your mother?”
Sergey was silent for a moment.
“Mom can stay here as long as she helps with Katya and stays out of our marriage. If she starts making demands or bringing relatives again, she leaves.”
“And you’ll tell her that?”
“I will. Right now.”
He headed toward his mother’s room, but Yulia stopped him.
“Sergey.”
“Yes?”
“Next time, don’t wait until I’m packing my bags. Choose a side immediately.”
He gave a small nod.
“Agreed.”
They embraced in the middle of the wrecked kitchen. Outside, night had already fallen. Ahead of them lay a long conversation with Tamara Ivanovna, a mountain of cleaning, and the beginning of a different life—one with no uninvited guests and no more obligations forced on them.