Unexpected Changes Upon Returning to One’s Apartment
— What is going on?! — Misha’s voice rang loudly in the empty stairwell, echoing off the concrete walls. He once again tried to insert the key into the lock, but unsuccessfully — the lock was different. Not the one he had left three weeks earlier before departing on a business trip.
He slowly sank down and examined the metal lock closely. It felt as though the iron might reveal the silent answer to his unasked question: what had happened here?
— Mishy, you’re back… — the all-too-familiar voice of Aunt Lilia, the neighbor from the third floor, snapped him out of his daze. She stood in the doorway wearing the same worn-out robe, hair curlers in place, her eyes filled with concern. — Oh, my dear… What on earth has happened here…
— Aunt Lilia, can you explain why the lock was changed? Where is Olya? — Misha stood up, feeling a ringing in his temples growing stronger.
The neighbor hesitated, nervously fiddling with her robe’s belt. From her eyes, he realized she knew everything but was afraid to speak.
— Your mother came… Lidiya Petrovna. She caused a scene— you could hear it throughout the entire building. Poor Olya… she was crying, packing her things. And then…
— Then what? — Misha’s fists clenched painfully.
— Zakhar came. With bags and friends. He loudly claimed he would live here now. And the next day, the lock was changed.
Dizziness swept over Misha. He leaned against the wall. Zakhar… his younger brother — a thirty-year-old loafer, constantly losing jobs, living under their mother’s wing, a drinker… And now he was here?
— Do you know where Olya is now?
— No, dear… She left somewhere, in tears. Poor girl, she is a good person…
He pulled out his phone. No word from her for the past seven days. He thought she was just upset, but it turned out to be much worse.
Suddenly, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open slowly. On the threshold stood Zakhar: greasy, unshaven, wearing crumpled shorts and a dirty tank top. His face was swollen, eyes red.
— Brother’s back! — he sneered. — Welcome home.
Uncovering the Devastation Within
Misha stepped inside, inhaling sharply, overwhelmed by the bitter stench of decay, stale beer, and tobacco smoke. He could barely believe that this was his apartment — the same one he and Olya had renovated together, selected wallpaper for, installed shelves, and shared romantic evenings in.
— What have you done here, Zakhar? — Misha walked further inside, ignoring his brother.
The sight was horrifying: the parquet floor stained, walls scribbled with marker, cigarette butts, bottles, and dirty plates scattered everywhere. The sofa where he and Olya enjoyed evenings was torn apart, foam padding protruding. The TV flickered with a cracked screen.
— It’s all your doing?! — Misha turned sharply.
— Don’t get worked up, — Zakhar waved his hand, stumbling inside. — Just hanging out with friends. A sort of housewarming party.
— This is my apartment! — Misha shouted with fury. — I bought it! I live here! Where are my things? Where are Olya’s things?
— Mom said to throw everything out. Old junk anyway, — Zakhar shrugged. — What are you upset about? Buy new stuff.
Misha rushed to the window and spotted familiar belongings near the trash bins: Olya’s dress, a photo album, books. Their shared photographs lay dirty on the ground.
- Broken memories thrown away without any respect.
- Their love captured in pictures now lost amidst garbage.
- The destruction not limited to the physical but also emotional.
— You destroyed everything! — Misha whispered. — Everything we built together…
— Don’t get so worked up, — Zakhar took a noisy sip of beer. — Your woman wasn’t all that. Mom said she was just after your money. Worked in some salon trimming nails — not a real profession. Mom insisted you need a worthy wife, with pedigree.
— And you believed her?! — Misha barely controlled himself. — You, who never held a job longer than three months?!
He grabbed his phone and dialed his mother’s number.
— Don’t call her, — Zakhar tried grabbing the phone. — She did what was best.
— Best for whom? — Misha clenched his fist. — For you, the freeloader?
The call was answered.
— Lidiya Petrovna, — Misha’s voice was ice cold. — You will come here immediately. We need to have a serious conversation.
Mother’s Arrival and Family Confrontation
Half an hour later, she appeared at the apartment — Lidiya Petrovna, a stately woman with a cold stare. She carried a bag of pies.
— Misha, — she began, entering uninvited. — You’re back! Finally. We tidied things up for you. Zakhar moved in, so you won’t be bored. And you got rid of that girl of yours. She was a fool, sorry. You’re a fine man, you need someone decent, not some cheap salon worker…
Misha listened silently as his mother repeatedly undermined his life.
— You kicked her out, Mom. — He looked her in the eyes. — You sent away the woman I love. You threw out our things. You let a drunkard into my home and destroyed it.
— I protected you! — Lidiya Petrovna protested. — If you married her, she’d have taken everything. Apartment, money, freedom!
— But you took it. You and your son. — Misha spoke slowly but each word was a blow.
Suddenly, she realized this was no longer her son afraid to disobey her. This was a man with blazing determination in his eyes.
— Leave. Both of you. Now. — Misha’s voice was calm but firm.
— Where will we go? — Zakhar grinned. — This is our home too. Mom said so…
— NO. — Misha raised his hand. — This is MY home. In MY name. I pay for it. You are not residents. Tomorrow I will change the locks. And now — out.
— Don’t you dare speak to us like that! — his mother screamed. — I gave birth to you!
— And that gave you the right to wreck my life? — Misha opened the door wide. — Leave. And do not ever come back.
Zakhar muttered something but silenced when he saw in Misha’s eyes unprecedented anger and strength. They left.
“He stood alone in the silence of his ruined home, feeling an empty void despite the city’s noise outside.”
Misha sat down on the floor, resting his head on his knees. The open window carried the city’s sounds, but inside him was silence and emptiness.
Slowly, he rose and started clearing the scattered garbage. He cleaned, wiped, and washed without knowing exactly why — only that it was necessary. He needed to cleanse his space from filth to reclaim what once was.
Among the debris, he found an old cracked photo frame containing a picture of him and Olya at the summer cottage, bathed in sunshine, laughter, and love.
He dialed her number once more.
— Olya, please… answer me…
The Journey to Reconciliation and Recovery
Two days passed.
During that time, Misha replaced the locks, hired cleaning services, and hauled out dozens of bags filled with trash. His heart ached, especially when he looked at the empty bedroom once scented by her perfume and warm blanket.
In the evening, he returned to the same trash bins. Rummaging through a neighboring container, he found his jacket, her scarf, and a lost bracelet — relics of their love. He carefully gathered and brought them home.
On the third day, he received a message.
“Hi. I’ve gone to my sister’s. I didn’t know if you’d come back. If you want to talk – write me.”
He read the words, disbelief washing over him. He quickly replied:
“I’m back. I know everything. I only want one thing — to have you back. I kicked everyone out. Changed the locks. Come if you still believe in us.”
She read but did not reply immediately.
A week passed.
Then, one evening, the doorbell rang. Misha hurried to the door, holding his breath.
There she was — Olya.
— I came… to see if anyone I loved remained here.
He said nothing, simply embraced her.
His mother continued calling, sending messages, threatening him.
But Misha no longer listened.
He started a new life. From scratch. With her.
For the first time in years, he felt free.
In the kitchen, where chaos once reigned, the aroma of coffee returned. Olya sat by the window, hugging her mug silently. Misha warmed soup on the stove — even if it was from a packet, a home-cooked meal felt like a sacred ritual. He feared disrupting the silence, afraid one wrong word might push her away forever.
— It’s cleaner here now, — Olya finally spoke without lifting her eyes. — But inside, my mind is still messy.
Misha sat beside her.
— I understand. I’m sorry I left you. I had no idea Mom was capable of such things.
— I thought you knew. — Her voice carried tiredness, not reproach. — You knew but stayed silent. She always hated me.
- Olya revealed harsh words her mother had used against her.
- She felt discarded, unwanted, and lost.
- A painful admission of emotional wounds carried quietly.
— I suspected but never imagined she would go so far. Olya, I swear I would never have allowed this if I’d been here.
She nodded, still not meeting his gaze.
— Do you know what she said when she kicked me out? — she whispered. — That I’m a burden, cheap, useless. That people like me only cling to money. I stood in the hallway with my suitcase, feeling my world shatter. I had nowhere to go. I never felt so unwanted.
— God… — Misha clenched his fists, suppressing anger. — I hate her for this. And Zakhar too — for letting her win. For assuming they had the right to control my life.
Olya looked at him.
— So, what now? Do you think we can fix everything? Just clear the mess and live like before?
— No, — Misha shook his head. — Not like before. Better. If you want.
Rebuilding Together: Steps Toward Healing
Gradually, Olya began visiting more often. She did not rush moving back, and Misha didn’t pressure her. He understood how difficult it was to regain trust and accepted that. Together, they hung fresh wallpaper, discarded remaining junk, and bought small pieces of new furniture. Each act symbolized progress—not only restoring the apartment’s comfort but also their relationship.
One evening, while rearranging books, Olya found an old box of letters. Among them were postcards, notes, and amusing scraps scrawled with reminders like “don’t forget milk” and “I dreamed about you.”
She read aloud a letter:
“If I could stop time, I’d choose that evening in the kitchen. Tea, candles, and you smiling. Forever like that.”
Olya looked at him with tears sparkling in her eyes.
— Do you really love me?
Misha approached and embraced her.
— Always.
Within a month, they lived together again. Misha officially filed for Zakhar’s eviction through legal channels. Since the apartment was under his name and paid by him through a mortgage, the lawyer assured them his mother and brother had no rights.
At the first court hearing, Lidiya Petrovna stormed in, playing the victim card:
— It’s that Olya’s fault! She took him away from me! I am his mother; I sacrificed my life for him!
The judge calmly urged her to remain calm and focus on the case details.
Misha calmly explained the situation: the apartment was bought on his name with his money, the brother trespassed, replaced locks without permission, and damaged property.
Showing photos of the ruined apartment and call recordings where Lidiya Petrovna threatened Olya, an awkward silence fell over the courtroom.
A week later, the ruling was announced:
- Zakhar was ordered to vacate the property.
- He must pay compensation for damages.
- He is responsible for part of the court fees.
Outside the courthouse, Lidiya Petrovna caused a scene:
— Ungrateful! You took your own mother to court because of some manicurist!
— Because of the woman I love, — Misha replied calmly. — And for my self-respect. Mom, we are no longer family.
— You’ve gone mad! — she yelled. — You’ll curse me! Without me, you’re doomed!
He looked at her as a stranger.
— Without you, I have only just begun to live.
At home, Olya awaited with dinner. Upon entering, Misha felt that finally, after years, this place truly felt like home.
— How did it go? — she asked.
— We won, — he smiled. — Tomorrow we’ll buy a new sofa. Remember the gray one you liked?
— I remember. — She smiled, moving closer. — But don’t forget, furniture is secondary. The main thing is that we’re together again.
He pulled her close.
— No one will ever come between us. Never again.
A New Beginning Filled with Hope
Six months passed.
Olya opened a small beauty salon of her own. Misha assisted with the paperwork, and now she welcomed more clients in a cozy space on the building’s first floor. Her warmth, empathy, and attentive listening won many hearts.
Misha earned a promotion at work. Colleagues respected him for his responsibility and how he managed personal tragedy without losing hope.
One snowy winter evening, he approached her and said:
— Let’s truly start anew.
She looked surprised.
— What do you mean?
He showed her a small velvet box. Inside, a ring.
— Marry me.
Olya didn’t cry. She just nodded and hugged him tightly.
The wedding did not include his mother or Zakhar. But friends, colleagues, new acquaintances, and some of Olya’s former clients were there.
Most importantly, there were the two of them. Inspired, strong, having endured destruction and betrayal.
Key Insight: Sometimes, creating a strong and loving home requires first removing those who live there dishonestly. Only then can true love and peace flourish.
This was their home. Real. And their love—authentic.