Elena gazed anxiously out the window as a heavily packed GAZelle van pulled into the courtyard. Her chest tightened—she instantly understood what was unfolding. For days, her husband Andrey had wandered their apartment, a trace of guilt marking his face, bracing to share uncomfortable news.
“Len,” he had gently started the night before, “remember I mentioned that Ira is facing trouble with her apartment?”
Elena recalled perfectly. Andrey’s sister Ira had rented a modest two-room flat on the outskirts for four years. She, her husband Sergei, and their children—ten-year-old Max and six-year-old Dasha—had made it their home. Although the arrangement was comfortable and the landlady fair, there was a looming problem: the landlady’s daughter was getting married, and the newlyweds demanded the apartment. Consequently, Ira’s family was being forced out.
“They asked if they could stay with us temporarily,” Andrey continued, avoiding Elena’s eyes. “Just until they find another place…”
Without replying, Elena nodded. What could she say? Ira was her husband’s only sibling; their bond was close. Abandoning family in crisis was unthinkable. And indeed, the situation was severe; a family with two kids could not be made homeless.
“How long exactly?” she managed to ask.
“Maybe two or three weeks at most,” Andrey replied quickly. “They’re searching hard. Sergei even consulted a realtor.”
Watching numerous boxes, suitcases, children’s bikes, and a cat carrier being unloaded, Elena quietly realized that “two or three weeks” felt far from realistic.
The kids darted inside first—Max clutching a backpack and a soccer ball, Dasha dragging a huge stuffed toy and excitedly chatting with her brother. The adults followed— Ira cradling a cat carrier, Sergei with bags, Andrey carrying boxes.
“Lena!” Ira exclaimed warmly the instant she crossed the threshold. “Thank you for letting us stay. We promise to leave as quickly as possible…”
Elena embraced her sister-in-law, understanding the gravity of the situation. Ira was always a gentle, somewhat fragile woman—married young after college, devoted to her family, balancing remote work related to design while Sergei shouldered most decisions.
“Mom, where will we sleep?” Dasha asked nervously, glancing around.
Their two-room apartment was cozy yet confined. The bigger room served as their bedroom; the smaller was a living room furnished with a sofa and armchair. The kitchen was a mere ten square meters, and the bathroom and toilet were separate. Perfect for two—but six?
“We’ll use the living room’s sofa,” Ira hastened to suggest. “For the children, maybe mattresses on the living room floor, or perhaps in the front room?”
“The front room already has a sofa,” Andrey contradicted. “The kids will manage.”
“And what about the cat?” Dasha suddenly fretted.
“The cat can stay in the hallway,” Sergei decided pragmatically. “There’s enough space for a litter box.”
Within two hours, their snug home had transformed into something akin to a shared dormitory. The living room overflowed with children’s belongings, suitcases cluttered the hallway, and the cat temporarily inhabited the bathroom “until he adjusts.” The air was tinged with unfamiliar scents—other people, different meals, another life intruding.
Elena silently observed her cherished personal space dissolving. What struck her most was how effortlessly everyone settled in, as though it was a communal zone rather than her private apartment.
“Lena, where’s the toilet paper?” Ira called from the bathroom carrying a makeup pouch.
“Under the sink, in the cabinet.”
“Could I borrow a towel? Our stuff isn’t unpacked yet.”
“Of course,” Elena replied.
By evening, it became undeniably clear that their previous life had ceased. The children ran around playing hide-and-seek, the cat yowled for attention, and adults discussed strategies for apartment hunting.
- “Tomorrow, we’ll visit the agency on Komsomolskaya; there’s a friendly agent there,” Sergei said.
- “The next day, we’ll scout the neighborhood early in case something fits.”
- “Just nothing too costly,” Ira sighed. “Our budget is tight.”
- “We’ll find something,” Andrey reassured. “At worst, you can stay longer.”
Elena sharply turned to her husband. Longer? She caught his glance, which quickly diverted.
“I’ll make dinner,” she stated, moving toward the kitchen.
Automatically, she pulled food from the refrigerator, calculating meals for six instead of the usual two or three. With children who had sizeable appetites, it was a new challenge.
“What’s for dinner?” Max peeked inside the kitchen.
“Not sure yet,” Elena answered frankly.
“Mom always made cutlets with mashed potatoes at home,” Dasha chimed.
“We’re out of cutlets,” Elena checked the freezer.
For six, she could offer one chicken, pasta, some vegetables, and leftover soup—all of which seemed modest.
“Don’t worry,” Ira comforted entering the kitchen. “We’re easy—whatever’s available.”
“Still, it might not be enough for all.”
“We’ll shop tomorrow to stock up.”
Elena nodded quietly and began slicing the chicken. Somehow, it seemed the grocery run would become her responsibility as well.
The modest meal of chicken and pasta was vastly different when feeding six instead of two. The children ate enthusiastically, while the adults masked their hunger.
“Thank you, it tastes great,” Ira expressed gratefully.
“Absolutely delicious,” Sergei agreed.
Afterward, everyone headed to their makeshift sleeping arrangements. Elena alone tidied the kitchen as others cared for the children and settled in.
“How’s it going?” Andrey asked quietly in the kitchen.
“Fine,” came the terse reply.
“Don’t fret, they’ll find a place soon.”
Her cold tone went unnoticed by Andrey, who chose not to press further.
The next morning, Elena awoke to the sound of children’s laughter and footsteps in the hallway. The clock read 6:30—much earlier than her usual seven. Apparently, the children had decided to start their day prematurely.
“Quiet, quiet,” Ira hushed. “Uncle and Aunt are still asleep.”
However, Elena was already awake and unable to return to sleep.
In the kitchen, a pile of dirty dishes awaited—someone had made late tea, and the children snacked on sweets.
“Good morning!” Ira greeted brightly. “I wanted to wash these but I don’t know where anything goes.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Elena answered automatically.
Breakfast became a logistical challenge. Andrey hurriedly drank coffee while preparing for work. Sergei was likewise in a rush. Ira fed the children, and Elena darted between tasks, trying to keep everyone fed and out the door.
- “Len, do we have cereal?” Ira asked.
- “I believe so.”
- “And yogurt?”
- “Just one left.”
- “Dasha, eat cereal.”
- “I want yogurt like at home,” Dasha pouted.
- “There’s one yogurt, and two kids.”
- “Then let Max skip.”
- “I want yogurt too!” Max protested.
- “Enough, kids,” Ira settled the dispute. “You’ll eat cereal.”
After the men left and the children calmed, Elena felt exhausted as if she’d run a marathon—and it was only the first morning.
“Ira, do you not work?” Elena asked.
“I work remotely. I’ll start now, and the kids will watch cartoons—they stay quiet then.”
Elena nodded and retreated to their bedroom—the sole remaining sanctuary amid the chaos.
But after thirty minutes, her peace was disrupted:
“Aunt Lena,” Dasha knocked, “can I have a drink?”
Elena gave her water and returned to the room.
Twenty minutes later:
“Aunt Lena, I need to use the bathroom.”
Half an hour afterward:
“Mom said to ask if we can run the washing machine?”
By noon, Elena realized working from home was impossible. The children constantly demanded attention, the cat cried out, and Ira spoke with clients.
“Lena, what shall we eat?” Ira asked at one.
“I don’t know. What do you usually eat?”
“Oh, we’ll figure something out. Do you have potatoes?”
“Yes, but limited.”
“Meat?”
“Chicken in the freezer.”
“Perfect—chicken with potatoes.”
Though Ira said “we’ll cook,” she didn’t approach the stove; instead, she settled on the sofa with her laptop.
“Are you going to cook?” Elena asked.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Ira answered absentmindedly. “I have a project due at three. Maybe you could start, and I’ll join in later?”
Without protest, Elena moved to the kitchen.
By evening, her limit was reached. Throughout the day, she’d cooked, washed dishes twice, soothed a disoriented cat, and answered endless children’s queries, but failed to work at all.
When the men returned, the mood was tense.
“How are things?” Andrey inquired.
“Varies,” Elena responded coldly.
During dinner, Sergei reported on apartment searches:
“We viewed two places today—one too expensive, the other in terrible shape. Tomorrow we’ll see more.”
“Don’t rush,” Andrey said generously. “We have space.”
Elena gave him a pointed glance. Space? In their small two-room apartment for six?
“We’re not here forever,” Ira said hesitantly.
“Certainly not forever, just until new arrangements are made,” Andrey added.
After dinner, once the children were asleep and others settled in the living room, Elena pulled Andrey aside.
“Andrey, we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“This situation—it’s harder than I imagined.”
“How so?”
“The kids are noisy constantly, I can’t focus on work, I’m cooking for a crowd, cleaning up after everyone…”
“Just bear with it a little; she’s my sister.”
“I get that. But why am I doing everything?”
“Who else? Ira handles the kids; the men work.”
“Am I not working?”
“Well, you’re home…”
“Being home doesn’t equal freedom!”
Andrey fell silent, then sighed.
“Alright, I’ll speak with Ira. She needs to help more.”
“And Sergei too.”
But the following day, nothing improved. Ira remained occupied with work and children, the men went to their jobs, and Elena found herself overwhelmed by others’ family life.
By the third day, her patience snapped.
“Let’s establish kitchen shifts,” Elena proposed at dinner. “I’m the only one cooking.”
“Yes, of course, I’ll cook tomorrow,” Ira agreed hastily.
“We’ll alternate dishwashing,” Elena added.
“Naturally,” Sergei nodded.
However, the next morning, Ira claimed urgent work and asked Elena to cover. Sergei left early and returned late. Andrey was busy as well.
“So it’s me again,” Elena reflected.
“Sorry, circumstances,” Ira shrugged.
That evening, unable to hold back, Elena confronted Andrey:
“This can’t continue.”
“What exactly?”
“I’ve become the household help—cooking, cleaning, minding kids. Everyone else treats it like a hotel.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Really? Who cooked breakfast today?”
“You.”
“Lunch?”
“Also you.”
“Dinner?”
“You again, but—”
“Who washed dishes?”
“Enough. I know it’s tough for you.”
“Not tough, unfair. Why support the entire family?”
“They won’t stay forever.”
“It’s been a week, no progress, and Ira said good apartments won’t appear for a month.”
“A month or two isn’t a big deal.”
“Not for you—you leave in the morning and return to dinner. But I…”
“You’re home, so it’s easier.”
“Stop! I work remotely, and I can’t because I’m constantly feeding, cleaning, entertaining.”
Andrey realized he had crossed a line.
“Okay, I’ll talk with Ira about sharing duties.”
“And Sergei.”
The following discussion was vague, no concrete steps taken.
Later that evening, a breaking point arrived. Elena was preparing dinner when Andrey approached:
“By the way, Ira’s kids start school tomorrow, placed temporarily nearby. So breakfast needs to be earlier.”
“Okay.”
“Lunches packed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ira says children’s clothes are running low—maybe you can do laundry?”
“Maybe she could learn?”
“She’s unfamiliar with our washer.”
“She will learn.”
Andrey added, “There are more of us now, so you’ll have to cook more.”
Elena faced him.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ll eat here more, so you’ll cook for them too,” he said curtly, instantly regretting it.
Elena set down the knife, slowly turned toward him, her expression unlike any Andrey had seen.
“Say that again,” she said softly.
“Say what?”
“What you just said—about me cooking.”
Andrey realized he had misspoken but couldn’t retract.
“I mean, since there are more people…”
“I’ll be cooking,” Elena echoed.
Quietly, she removed her apron, hung it up, and left the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Andrey asked nervously.
“To the bedroom.”
“And dinner?”
“You said I’d cook. So I will—on my terms and timing.”
She locked herself in the bedroom, hands trembling from frustration and fatigue. Within two weeks, she’d transformed from wife to maid—yet her husband seemed blind to it.
Slowly, she retrieved a large suitcase, began packing Andrey’s clothes, each item folded meticulously as always.
After a while, Elena carried the packed suitcase to the living room where the family watched TV.
“Excuse me,” she announced, placing the suitcase center-stage. “I have a suggestion.”
All eyes turned.
“I packed Andrey’s things for now. It’d be better if you moved to Mom’s dacha—a large house with space enough for everyone.”
“Lena, what are you doing?” Ira asked stunned.
“Thinking about your comfort. The dacha offers the children room to play and adults won’t feel cramped.”
“But we’re settled here,” Sergei began.
“You are. I’m not. I can’t keep the role you’ve forced on me.”
“What role?” Sergei asked.
“Cook, cleaner, nanny, laundress—all combined.”
Silence.
“Lena, if you think we’re exploiting you…” Ira started.
“I know. For two weeks, I’ve fed you, cleaned, cared for kids, and done laundry alone. Today, I was commanded to continue.”
All eyes shifted to Andrey.
“Lena, I didn’t mean it as an order…” he tried.
“Exactly an order. ‘You’ll cook for my sister’s family.’ No debate.”
“Not my intention…”
“Explain then.”
Andrey said nothing.
“Exactly,” Elena said. “So I suggest you move to Mom’s.”
“Think through living arrangements calmly. When you devise a fair plan sharing rights and duties, come back and discuss with me.”
“Lena,” Andrey said weakly, “that’s extreme.”
“What’s extreme? Refusing to be a maid in my own home?”
“We don’t see you as a maid!”
“Then who cooked last?”
Silence.
“Who washed dishes last night?”
Silence.
“Who did the children’s laundry?”
“We can…”
“You can—but you don’t. I can, so I do for everyone.”
Elena grabbed the car keys.
“I’ll drive you to Mom’s. Pack.”
“Don’t be so drastic,” Ira pleaded. “Let’s talk.”
“About what? How I serve six? We talked. This is the result.”
“We’ll sort chores out,” Sergei hurried in.
“Great. At the dacha, there’s space and time.”
“Mom, what’s happening?” Max asked.
“Nothing scary. Just visiting Grandma.”
“For good?”
“Not yet. Just a while.”
One hour later, the family was on the road to the dacha. Elena drove silently; others spoke little.
Andrey’s mother greeted them warmly, a lively seventy-year-old.
“What brings all of you here?” she asked.
“Visiting,” Andrey answered awkwardly. “For a bit.”
“To discuss household arrangements,” Elena added.
She scanned her in-laws with a knowing look.
“Come in; there’s room.”
Elena helped unload before preparing to leave.
“Lena,” Andrey caught her, “this is nonsense. Let’s go home and talk calmly.”
“Nothing left to discuss. You wanted me cooking and cleaning for all? Fine—on my terms. Meanwhile, consider my proposal.”
“Which one?”
“Fair distribution of chores: cooking, cleaning, laundry, childcare—rotated among adults.”
“But…”
“No ‘buts.’ Either everyone helps or lives separately.”
“If we agree?”
“Come back with a signed schedule.”
The next day, Elena slept peacefully, waking naturally at eight. She enjoyed quiet coffee, uninterrupted work, and peaceful surroundings.
That evening, Andrey called.
“Lena, we reflected…”
“And?”
“You’re right. We overloaded you.”
“Go on.”
“Mom scolded us for greed.
“We created a schedule. Want me to share it?”
“Better when you come.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Bring the schedule. Signed by all.”
The following day, the family returned.
“Lena, forgive us,” Ira said. “We behaved poorly.”
“We didn’t realize how bad,” Sergei added.
Andrey handed Elena the schedule.
Elena examined the document detailing chores by day and hour: all adults took turns cooking breakfasts, lunches, dinners; dishes washed after meals by the cook; cleaning rotated; everyone washed their own and their children’s clothes; parents, not Lena, watched the children.
“Seems reasonable,” Elena observed, “but it’s only words now.”
“We’ll follow it,” Ira assured.
“Absolutely,” Sergei agreed.
“We’ll see,” Elena responded.
Indeed, the routine improved immediately. Everyone fulfilled tasks conscientiously. Ira rose early to prepare breakfasts. Sergei washed dishes after dinner. Andrey vacuumed weekends. Children stopped bothering Elena constantly.
Of course, occasional lapses occurred: Ira sometimes forgot her cooking days due to workload, Sergei overlooked dirty dishes, Andrey occasionally tried to shift cleaning to Elena, citing exhaustion.
But Elena stood firm, calmly reminding them to honor their commitments.
“Ira, today’s breakfast is yours.”
“Oh, I forgot. My project’s urgent—can you…”
“No. Half an hour before kids rise to make porridge.”
“Sergei, last night’s dishes are still there.”
“Sorry, got home late.”
“Understood. But promises count.”
“Andrey, Saturday is cleaning day. Vacuum and mop.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“We all are, but cleaning is necessary.”
Gradually, everyone adapted—even the children joined, learning to tidy toys and assist parents.
A month later, Ira and Sergei found a new place.
“You know,” Ira confided, “I’m glad it happened this way.”
“Why?”
“At home, chores were messy. Sergei worked, I did the kids, no one cleaned. Now, with the schedule, we share everything, and the kids help.”
“That’s great,” Elena said.
“Thank you for not letting us take advantage.”
“You’re welcome.”
On moving day, gathered in the kitchen, they reflected.
“Lena,” Andrey apologized. “That night I was rude about you cooking.”
“Let’s forget it.”
“No, I acted like a despot. I don’t want to be that way.”
“Good.”
“Maybe we should make a household schedule for ourselves too?”
Elena smiled.
“Not a bad idea.”
When the apartment returned to quiet, Andrey asked:
“Do you regret being so firm?”
“No,” Elena said. “If I’d stayed silent, life wouldn’t have changed. You’d get used to ordering, they’d get used to exploiting, and I’d become a maid.”
“Probably right.”
“Absolutely. A family isn’t an army where orders and blind obedience reign.”
“Agreed.”
“And one last thing—if you ever try commanding me again, remember that night, the suitcase, and the dacha.”
Andrey nodded.
“I’ll remember.”
Six months later, at a birthday party, Ira proudly shared:
“Our kids clean their rooms themselves. Sergei learned to cook borscht, and I mastered the vacuum cleaner.”
“That’s wonderful,” Elena smiled.
“All thanks to you. If you hadn’t shaken us up, we’d still be in chaos.”
“Shaken up is mild,” Sergei joked. “You basically kicked us out.”
“I suggested thinking,” Elena corrected.
“Right—thinking at the dacha, suitcase in hand,” Andrey laughed.
“At least we thought. Now our home is orderly.”
“Your family is fair now,” Elena emphasized. “That’s the foundation of any order.”
From then on, no orders were given in the household. Decisions were collaborative; chores shared equally. The phrase “you will cook” never returned as a command.
Everyone remembered the night Elena packed the suitcase, proving a family cannot function with servants—only equal partners sharing joys and duties.
Andrey sincerely regretted his harsh words and learned an invaluable lesson: a family succeeds not through orders, but through agreement.
In summary, Elena’s story highlights the challenges and eventual triumph in managing unexpected household expansion. It underlines the essential need for fairness, shared responsibilities, and communication within family life to maintain harmony and respect.