“My apartment isn’t a communal space: luggage at the door, and the silent husband follows”
— Did you buy flowers again? — Andrew’s voice carried from the entrance, filled with exhaustion and irritation. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes before voicing his complaint.
Svetlana flinched, nearly dropping the vase she held, which she miraculously managed to steady. The delicate tulips, fresh and adorned with droplets of water, trembled slightly as if they shared her embarrassment.
— I did, — she replied, striving to maintain her composure. — I want it to be beautiful. This is our home after all.
— Home, — he echoed mockingly, tossing his bag onto the couch. — Is this even a home? It’s a cramped rented studio, and look, the outlets are sparking; the walls hear every word. There’s no point in renovating. It’s just a temporary shelter. And you keep trying to turn it into a castle.
He walked into another room, switched on the television, and cranked the volume to an unnecessarily high level. Clutching the vase to her chest, Svetlana felt a familiar bitterness rise within her: her efforts, her small victories against the monotony of daily life remained unacknowledged.
— Everything is temporary for you, — she said softly, but Andrew either didn’t hear or pretended not to.
A strange sensation washed over Svetlana; it felt like her life in these walls belonged to many others rather than herself. Her mother-in-law, Valentina Sergeevna, frequently showed up with endless bags of food and reproaches. Andrew’s sister, Irina, brought her children who created chaos, scattering toys all over the floor. Brother Oleg often dropped by for “tea” and stayed until midnight, leaving behind dirty cups and inappropriate jokes.
The apartment was becoming a thoroughfare. With every visit, the same accusations awaited her.
— Svetochka, what kind of a housekeeper are you? — her mother-in-law chided, still in her coat, inspecting corners as if she were entering a rundown shack. — You can’t even provide your husband with a proper home. It’s all about rented provisions.
— Mom, enough already, — Andrew murmured, but his tone was languid, lacking any attempt to defend his wife.
— What does “enough” even mean? — Irina chimed in, adjusting her child’s jacket. — A woman should create coziness, work for a living, and motivate her husband. And here… what is there to motivate? No matter how you decorate it, it will still feel foreign.
Svetlana remained silent, feeling her cheeks burn with shame. Oddly enough, the blame fell squarely on her shoulders — as if it was her responsibility to purchase an apartment, gather the funds, and build a fortress for them all. In these conversations, Andrew became a mere bystander, as if he wasn’t involved in this predicament at all.
Svetlana was raised in a family where walls carried more significance than words. Their small apartment in a panel high-rise bore witness to countless stories, with every blemish on the wallpaper having its tale. Her mother treasured tablecloths and embroidered pillows, while her father maintained books as if they were precious artifacts. To her, home signified an extension of a person, a fragment of their soul.
But with Andrew, the narrative differed. He and his mother bounced from one strange corner to another, accustomed to living “out of suitcases.” He couldn’t comprehend Svetlana’s yearning for a place of her own, for roots. For him, life was a series of stops, while for her it was a pursuit of permanence.
On those rare evenings when they were alone together, Svetlana still found it hard to unwind. Andrew was used to noise — he usually turned on the television, scrolled through news on his phone, and a barrier arose between them.
— Look how I rearranged the shelves, — she tried once to engage him. — The books look nice now, and there is more space.
— Good, — he muttered, eyes glued to the screen. — But why bother? We aren’t staying long anyway.
Her heart sank. The term “not long” became a refrain in their lives.
Then came the event that changed everything.
Svetlana’s grandfather passed away. The elderly man she had visited in the hospital left her a spacious three-room apartment in the city center. When the notary handed her the paperwork, her hands trembled.
Joy mingled with sorrow. Her life now divided into “before” and “after.”
— Congratulations, dear! — Andrew enveloped her in a tight hug right outside the gray notary building. — Now we will have a real home!
The term “ours” rolled off his tongue as if the apartment instantly belonged to him, too.
On their journey home, Andrew mapped out plans.
— We’ll have a kids’ room, a living room, a separate bedroom. Can you imagine? Mom can come to stay overnight. Irka and the kids will also visit.
Svetlana listened, her heart tightening. For some inexplicable reason, she wasn’t included in his dreams. Her grandfather’s apartment suddenly transformed into a common area meant for hosting Andrew’s relatives.
— Andrew, this is my apartment, — she noted quietly. — The inheritance is registered under my name.
— Well, yes, officially, — he nodded easily, as if discussing trivial matters. — But we are family. I’m your husband, so it’s mine too.
This felt logical, right? Yet, there was something foreign, almost predatory in his words, as if he was already dividing up the rooms between his mother, sister, and brother.
Moving in became a celebration Svetlana had anticipated her entire life. She chose furniture, sewed curtains, and purchased beautiful dishes. Every little detail in the new apartment became her triumph.
However, amidst her happiness lingered a troubling undercurrent.
— Finally, our family is lucky! — Valentina Sergeevna exclaimed as she stepped into the spacious hallway. — Andrew, now I have a place to live peacefully. The utilities are a nightmare, and the neighbors have gone mad. But here, it’s paradise!
— Mom, are you planning to move in here? — Andrew asked more in surprise than protest.
— What’s strange about that? The apartment is large. I can settle in a small room; I won’t be a bother.
Svetlana felt the ground shift beneath her. The word “bother” implied that the owner here was her mother-in-law, not her.
— And I wouldn’t mind staying over occasionally, — added Irina. — It would be convenient for the kids.
— I want to register here too, — declared Oleg, slapping Andrew on the shoulder. — After all, we are family.
Andrew silently accepted it. He didn’t protest.
Svetlana awaited any remark from him to defend their space. But her husband gazed at his relatives with an expression that seemed to say, “What’s the issue here?”
At first, it appeared innocent. “Mom, I’ll leave tea here; I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Valentina Sergeevna would say, placing a bag in the cupboard. “Svetlana, can I borrow your iron? My outlet is overheating,” Irina would ask as she folded a pile of laundry. Oleg brought in a computer tower: “We’re renovating at work; I’ll stay for a few weeks.”
A few weeks stretched into months. The bags of tea remained untouched, laundry stayed in cupboards, and the computer was firmly plugged in. Gradually, each room filled with foreign belongings.
Svetlana caught herself realizing that she no longer sensed the fragrance of her apartment. Previously, it smelled of fresh curtains and coffee. Now, it reeked of her mother-in-law’s pharmacy, children’s socks, and her brother-in-law’s cologne.
— Andrew, this is unacceptable, — she declared one evening as her husband sat in the living room, game controller in hand. — Our home is overcrowded. I can’t even have solitude in my bedroom.
He didn’t look away from the screen:
— So what? It’s family. The more, the merrier.
— Merrier? — her voice trembled. — I want to come home, not to a bus station.
— Look, you’ve become a bit neurotic, — he shrugged. — Maybe you should see a doctor?
Those words cut deeper than any others. It seemed her desire for personal space was considered a flaw.
One morning, Svetlana stepped into the kitchen to find Valentina Sergeevna already taking charge: frying potatoes and arranging pots.
— Mom, why are you here so early? — Svetlana asked hesitantly.
— I’ll be staying overnight more often from now on. It’s impossible to sleep in the commune, and you two need help. I’m an experienced housekeeper; without me, you’ll perish.
The term “housekeeper” hung in the air like a slap. Svetlana couldn’t muster a response immediately.
Irina, too, felt no shame. She came over with her children unannounced, tossing her shoes straight into the hallway.
— Aunt Svetlana, turn on the cartoon! — the kids yelled, grabbing the remote.
— Andrew and I wanted to watch the news, — she attempted to protest.
— Oh come on, what news? — Irina waved dismissively. — Let the little ones enjoy. It’s not a big deal, is it?
Oleg proved to be the boldest. He connected to her Wi-Fi, staying up all night playing games, laughing loudly. Whenever Svetlana asked him to keep it down, he seemed sincerely bewildered:
— Are you crazy? The internet is shared. Don’t be stingy.
“Stingy” became the favorite term of Andrew’s entire family. They used it to justify everything from invading the kitchen to requests for spare keys “just in case.”
Svetlana felt her apartment slipping away from her grasp.
She began seeking support elsewhere. A kind colleague at work, Tamara Lvovna, listened to her grievances and advised her one day:
— Sweetheart, you need to draw a line. If you don’t stop them now, they will consume you whole.
— But how? — Svetlana whispered. — They are my husband’s relatives.
— Family is sacred, but your mental health is even more sacred. Buy a sturdy lock, consult a lawyer, prepare yourself. They are testing you, understand? Seeing how far they can push.
Svetlana returned home after this conversation with the feeling that her life was under siege. And she truly required a defense plan.
Meanwhile, Andrew’s relatives escalated their actions. That evening, they gathered in the kitchen with papers in hand.
— Svetlana, we need to register ourselves here, — Valentina Sergeevna declared, spreading documents across the table. — It will be more convenient. I’ll be linked to the clinic nearby. Oleg for work too. Irina and the kids will also benefit.
— Register? — Svetlana barely managed to hold onto her cup. — But this is my apartment.
— Do you not understand? — Oleg feigned surprise. — Andrew is your husband. Therefore, the apartment is his too. We are his family.
— Legally, that’s not how it works, — she stated quietly, feeling everything within her bubble. — The inheritance is mine; it’s registered under my name.
— Formalities! — Valentina Sergeevna waved dismissively. — What matters is human decency. Family should stick together.
Andrew sat nearby silently, and his silence felt heavier than all words combined.
That night, Svetlana tossed and turned. She listened to Irina soothing her child from the adjacent room, the creaking chair beneath Oleg, and the whistling kettle started by Andrew’s mother. One thought echoed in her mind: her home had ceased to be her own.
The following day, she took an unexpected step — she called her grandfather’s old acquaintance, Viktor Arkadyevich. He was a retired lawyer living nearby and had once earned her grandfather’s trust with important documents.
— Svetochka, I understand everything, — he said as he listened to her rapid-fire recounting. — But remember: your weakness is their strength. The law is on your side. Would you like me to drop by and speak in their presence?
She hesitated but ultimately agreed.
A week later, the situation had escalated to absurdity.
On a sunny October morning, there was a knock at the door. Standing on the threshold was Andrew’s entire family, all with suitcases.
— We’ve come! — Valentina Sergeevna cheerfully announced. — We decided to move in with you permanently.
— Andrew, I’ll put my things in the big room, — Irina directed. — The kids need more space.
— And where do I put my computer desk? — Oleg complained.
They burst in so quickly that Svetlana nearly stepped back. Suitcases, bags, strollers, and children’s jackets filled the hallway in mere minutes.
Andrew stood by silently, appearing to accept that this was the way it should be.
Svetlana felt dizzy. She sensed that in another moment, her home would become a communal apartment.
And then something inside her snapped.
— Stop! — she shouted so loudly that even the children fell silent. — Stop this immediately!
A heavy silence descended. Everyone stared at her as if she had lost her mind.
It was at that moment that an unexpected guest appeared. The door creaked open, and Viktor Arkadyevich stepped through, a folder of documents tucked under his arm.
— Am I in time? — he spoke softly, but his tone drew everyone’s attention. — I meant to converse with the owner of the apartment.
The relatives exchanged glances. For the first time in a long while, Svetlana felt she had an ally.
— Am I in time? — Viktor Arkadyevich repeated as he crossed the threshold. His voice remained calm yet resolute.
Andrew’s relatives exchanged glances. Oleg even snickered:
— And who are you?
— A lawyer, — Viktor Arkadyevich introduced himself, raising the folder. — I was once a good friend of your father-in-law. Now I have every reason to be present at this discussion.
Svetlana stood by, feeling an inner strength stirring that she had never possessed before.
— Well, that’s excellent, — she stated, looking directly at her mother-in-law. — We have a witness that this is my apartment, and none of you have the right to reside here.
— Oh really! — Valentina Sergeevna responded furiously. — You let strangers into the house but kick out family?
— Strangers? — Svetlana retorted. — I let my husband into this home, not his relatives.
A fierce argument ensued. Oleg waved his arms, insisting that “Andrew’s family has a right.” Irina sought refuge behind the children: “What am I supposed to do? We are relatives!” Valentina Sergeevna screamed that “greed is worse than theft.”
Andrew stayed silent, in a corner, deliberately avoiding his wife’s gaze.
— Andrew, — Svetlana said, her voice quavering. — Decide. Right now. Are you with me, or with them?
He lifted his gaze, but determination was absent, replaced by exhaustion and confusion.
— Svetlana, why does it have to be so drastic? We could come to an agreement…
— An agreement? — she interrupted. — They want to register here! They have already brought in their belongings! They act as if this is their home. To negotiate is to relinquish everything.
— Are you issuing an ultimatum? — Andrew still hoped for a middle ground between two sides.
— Yes. Either they leave now, or you go with them.
Viktor Arkadyevich cleared his throat quietly:
— Andrew, let me remind you: legally, the apartment belongs to Svetlana. Your relatives have no rights to live here, let alone register. If they persist, it will lead to legal action.
A palpable silence enveloped the room. Even the children stopped making noise, staring at the adults.
— Then this is how it will be, — Andrew slowly spoke. — I cannot throw my mother out into the street. Or my sister with her children. If you are against them, then you are against me.
— I am against turning my home into a boarding house, — Svetlana countered.
She approached the suitcases, grabbed one, and dragged it toward the door. In that movement lay more determination than all her prior words combined. Bags, boxes, packages — everything flew into the corridor.
— Svetlana, stop! — Irina screamed.
— Have you lost your mind? — Oleg screeched.
— Greedy! — Valentina Sergeevna shouted.
But Svetlana no longer listened. She tossed their belongings beyond the threshold, feeling a peculiar sense of liberation within her.
— Enough! — she stated, wiping her sweaty brow. — This is my home. I will not allow you to seize it.
— Then we are leaving, — Andrew mumbled, his voice hollow. — With them.
Not once did he glance at her. He took his coat, suitcase, and stepped out after his mother.
The door slammed shut. Silence followed.
Svetlana was alone. Her legs trembled, her hands bore scrapes from the heavy bags, but her heart beat with a calmness she hadn’t felt in ages. She walked through the rooms — now, they were again hers. Only hers.
In the living room, the scent of dust and papers left by Viktor Arkadyevich lingered. He sat at the table, adjusting his glasses.
— You are stronger than you think, dear, — he said. — Now, your real life begins.
Svetlana smiled through her tears. She understood: the road ahead wouldn’t be smooth. Maybe a divorce, perhaps prolonged litigation. But for the first time in many months, she felt like the mistress of her destiny.
And that evening, she brewed tea, opened a book, and for the first time, she perceived — how silence sang in her own home.