— I don’t care what you think! This is my house. Mine. And you brought a strange woman and decided that now she is the boss here?!
— Katya, don’t shout, the child will hear… — Artyom looked out into the hallway. — He understands everything.
— Who asked his opinion anyway? — Katya pointed her finger at the room from which the sounds of cartoons were coming. — Who allowed him to be here? Did you at least warn me before they moved in?
Olga stood at the sink with her back to them, slowly wiping a mug. She didn’t argue, but she didn’t leave either, as if her every move had been thought out in advance.
— Katya, I’m just asking normally… — Artyom began.
— No! — she cut him off abruptly. — You’re not asking. You’re silent while everything here is being turned upside down: my things are being thrown out, the closets are being rearranged, my clothes are being replaced with theirs! Is this how you solve problems?
— I told you they would stay with us anyway, — he muttered. — It didn’t happen suddenly.
— You said “for a couple of days,” — Katya clenched her fists. — And now she’s bossing us around like she was at home! Does that seem normal to you?
Olga turned around.
— Maybe we should stop making a scene in the kitchen? We’re adults after all. If we have complaints, we can discuss them calmly.
— Calmly? — Katya laughed bitterly. — You just walked in and started doing whatever you wanted. And now I’m supposed to keep quiet?
— I walked in? — Olga raised her eyebrows. — I think your brother decided everything. Or do you think he can’t do anything himself?
Katya glanced at Artyom — he lowered his eyes again, staring at the floor, as if the truth was hidden there.
— You just took advantage of him because he has a roof over his head, — Katya muttered barely audibly. – That’s all.
– That’s already rude, – Olga answered calmly. – If you want to stay here, you’ll have to learn to communicate without insults.
A painful silence fell.
– Maybe you should leave? – Artyom suddenly said, without raising his head. – You’re still unhappy, aren’t you?
Katya froze.
– What did you say?
– It’s just… you’re angry all the time. And it’s hard for you. Maybe it would be easier for you to live separately…
Katya looked at him, not believing her ears. As if someone had destroyed their entire world with one movement.
– So you’re kicking me out of my apartment, Tyoma?
– I’m not kicking me out… I’m just…
– Mom wouldn’t recognize you, – she said quietly.
– Don’t start about Mom, – he muttered.
– And who, if not me, took care of you? When you were broke for months, who bought you food? Me? Or her?
– I didn’t ask…
– Of course, you never ask for anything. You just keep quiet while others do everything for you. And now you’ve found someone to take my place, and you think I should give in?
– Enough, – Olga intervened. – We don’t have to listen to your hysterics. We’ll talk when you calm down.
Katya suddenly grabbed her favorite mug from the table – an old one with a peeling lilac pattern – and threw it with all her might into the trash can. There was a loud crash.
– We’ll talk when I calm down? – she repeated. – You’re in my house. But okay. We’ll talk.
She went out into the hallway, grabbed her jacket, pulled on her boots, and ran out of the apartment.
It was grey outside, a fine, prickly snow was falling from the sky. Katya stood at the entrance, shaking and breathing quickly, as if she had just run a marathon. There was emptiness in her head.
She looked at the windows of her apartment. No, not hers anymore.
Now she is the mistress.
One evening Katya returned home and the first thing she saw on the hanger was someone else’s jacket. Blue, puffy, with a bright pink lining. Not hers and not Artyom’s. Katya just silently walked past and locked herself in the bathroom.
That’s exactly how it all started.
It used to be different. Katya got up at six in the morning to make it to the clinic opening. She had breakfast in silence so as not to wake Artyom. He worked in the warehouse, the shifts were different, and he got up later. She cooked porridge, sliced bread – always bought on sale, made a shopping list for the evening. Her favorite time was early morning, when the city was still asleep, and the kitchen seemed like the only living place.
Katya did not tolerate chaos. She loved order: everything had to be in its place – towels, plates, blankets, even plastic bowls.
Artyom was always gentle. At school he was bullied, and she protected him. When his mother fell ill, Katya took on all the responsibility: medicines, queues, certificates. After her death, they both seemed to fall into emptiness. Then Katya said:
— We can handle it. The main thing is together.
He nodded. But “together” somehow meant that she worked, cooked, paid. And he was “searching for himself,” “trying different options,” “thinking about courses,” “working part-time.” This had been going on for three years already.
Katya was not one to complain. She simply tried to live.
Olga appeared casually, as if her arrival in their lives was something ordinary. Artyom met her at a friend’s. At first, they met at Olga’s. Katya did not object. But soon Olga began to “drop in.” Either the washing machine broke, or the child got sick, or work delayed her – and the way to them seemed too far. Katya thought: okay, temporarily.
A month later, Katya returned home and found Olga rearranging jars on the shelves.
“I just can’t stand the sight of salt next to flour,” she explained calmly. “I feel so uncomfortable.”
Katya replied:
“This is my kitchen.”
Olga just shrugged:
“I just tidied everything up.”
The next day, the bowl from which Katya fed the homeless cat disappeared. Then the container with the cabbage rolls she was preparing for work disappeared from the freezer. No one explained why. Artyom said:
“They probably threw it out by accident. There’s not much space there.”
Katya didn’t know how to quarrel. She withdrew and became quieter. She started washing the floors twice a day, doing laundry more often, rearranging things – as if order could make sense.
Artyom and Olga started their own life. He became different around her – louder, more confident. He slammed doors, talked on the phone in the hallway. He got irritated if Katya made comments.
“You’re an adult now,” he said. “Why are you picking on little things?”
His wardrobe changed: new things appeared. Spicy ketchup lit up the fridge, then cereal with chocolate, then baby yogurt.
One morning Katya walked into the bathroom and saw: there were now four toothbrushes on the mirror. One was hers, the second was Artyom’s, the other two were strangers.
It was a sign. No one asked. No one discussed. They just started living as if Katya was superfluous.
At a meeting at the clinic, the head doctor Svetlana Viktorovna noticed:
— Katya, are you okay? You’ve been out of your mind lately.
Katya nodded.
— Everything’s fine.
But she had dreams. As if she were a guest in someone else’s house. Walking through her kitchen, and there were strangers, strangers’ sounds. And she was silent. And no one even asked how she felt.
One evening, she decided to talk to her brother.
— Tyoma, this is not normal. This is my house. I’m not against guests, but they should be guests, not hosts.
He exhaled.
— Katya, understand. I feel good with her. I’m an adult with her, or something. She has a child. They need a home, too. You’re kind. You can handle it.
— It’s not about kindness, she said. — It’s about respect. She doesn’t respect me. And you allow it.
He turned away. As always.
“Katya, this is too much,” Artyom said, not looking up from his phone.
Katya was standing by the closet in the hallway. In her hands was a bag with her things, taken out of the bottom drawer. The things were folded anyhow, with her robe lying on top of them. And now Olga’s things were neatly laid out in the drawer.
“These are my things, Tyoma. Mine. How much longer can this go on?”
“You don’t wear this robe. I don’t see a problem,” he answered tiredly. “Olya just tidied up. Why are you so angry?”
Katya threw the bag on the floor.
“You didn’t even ask. You don’t ask anything. You just present me with the fact: now this is how it is. Who am I here? A lodger?
Olga came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Nobody is throwing you out, if that’s what you mean,” she said calmly. – But you apparently don’t understand that life moves forward. There are more than two of you here now.
– I understand, – Katya turned sharply to her. – I understood when you threw out my cups.
– They were cracked, – Olga shrugged. – It’s dangerous to drink from them. I just thought it was time to update the kitchen.
Katya laughed. The laugh was bitter, cutting.
– Update the kitchen? Maybe you’ll make a list of what else to throw out?
Olga looked at Artyom.
– Are you going to talk to her or pretend nothing is happening again?
Artyom looked up, sighed and said quietly:
– Katya, maybe you should stay somewhere for now? We’re all on edge right now. And you’re just making it worse.
Katya froze. A few seconds of silence.
– Tyoma, do you even understand what you’re saying? “Stay somewhere”? I have my own apartment. You lived in it because you’re my brother. And now you’re throwing me out?
– No drama, please, – he sighed. – These are all small things. You always blow everything out of proportion. It’s somehow inhumane.
– Humane? – Katya took a step toward him. – Humane is to ask. Humane is to respect. And you’ve simply taken over everything. I feel like a stranger in my room. You even hang out your laundry in my place.
– Enough, – Olga said quietly. – You and I will not be friends. That’s clear. From now on, the choice is yours. If you want to live in conflict, live. But don’t be surprised if one day they stop noticing you at all.
Katya remembered — like a flash — the hospital room, her mother’s hand in hers. How she whispered then: “I will be next to Tyoma. Always. I won’t let him fall.” She was twenty-five. Artyom was twenty-one.
He grew up. And became a stranger.
That night Katya couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. She lay there, looking at the ceiling. She heard the lights turning on and off in the next room, the child coughing, Artyom saying in a low voice: “Come on, she’s not forever…”
And suddenly the decision came. Calm. Clear.
She decided to leave. Not because of Olga. Not because of Artyom. For herself.
The decision came suddenly: in the morning she wrote to Nikita, an old classmate with whom she had not spoken for a long time, but who had recently returned from the army and was looking for a place to live. Katya sent a message:
— Do you want me to rent you a room in a three-room apartment. But with conditions.
— What conditions? — he asked.
— Establish strict order there. So that everything is on schedule, even the refrigerator.
A minute later he replied:
— That suits me.
That same evening Katya packed her things. Three bags: clothes, books, a first aid kit, a kettle, bed linen. That’s it. Artyom was not home. Olga stood in the doorway silently, with a mocking expression on her face. Not a word, not a question.
Katya stopped at the threshold.
— That’s it, Tyoma, — she wrote in the messenger. — I rented out my room. Live. I choose myself.
The answer came half an hour later:
— Katya, are you serious?
She didn’t answer.
A small studio on the outskirts of the city. Minimalistic furnishings: a single closet, a stove, a gray floor. No unnecessary details, no carpets, no fuss. The window overlooked a forest park. Katya put her bags down, went to the window, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Silence.
A week later, the apartment at 12 Shevchenko Street was in perfect order.
Nikita turned out to be a man of his word. He brought a sign with a duty schedule, organized separate shelves in the refrigerator and removed all unnecessary things from the windowsills.
On the third day, Artyom wrote to Katya:
— This guy threw my things in the trash. Are you crazy, bringing him to us?
Katya ignored the message. A few hours later, her brother sent another one:
— He said in your words: “You just lived, Artyom. Now live by the rules.”
Katya switched her phone to silent mode.
Everything was simple in her studio: one chair, one table, a shelf with books, and a white mug bought at Fix. It stood on the windowsill.
One day, walking past a store, Katya noticed a sign “Furniture Rental.” She went in and rented a large soft chair. It was delivered the next day. It seemed almost absurd in the small room, but she put it by the window. In the evening, she sat down and fell asleep right in it.
For the first time in a long time, she was able to truly rest.
Olga wrote to her only once.
— Do you even have a conscience? This is your brother.
Katya deleted the message without reading it to the end.
One Saturday, going into the Magnit near her house, she met her former neighbor, Galina Ivanovna.
– Katya? What are you doing here? You live on Shevchenko, right?
– Moved, – Katya answered. – Decided to start living on her own.
– From my brother? – Galina Ivanovna squinted. – They say he’s with some woman now… With a temper.
Katya nodded.
– Let him live with whoever he wants. The main thing is not with me.
In the old apartment, Artyom tried to resist the new tenant. Nikita did not swear. He simply said calmly:
– The rules are the same for everyone. Either you follow them or you don’t.
Artyom began to complain to Olga. Olga was angry. Her son was capricious. The house was again plunged into conflicts – only now without Katya. A couple of weeks later, Olga suggested moving back to her mother. Artyom agreed.
When they left, Nikita wrote to Katya:
— The apartment is free. If you want, you can come back.
Katya thanked him. But she didn’t come.
In April, she bought a new set of bed linen. Gray-green. No patterns. On the first day, when she made the bed, she opened the window. A light breeze slightly swayed the tulle. It was so quiet that you could hear the hum of the transformer somewhere in the distance.
Katya cooked buckwheat. Without salt. Not because she was saving, but because she liked it that way.
Sitting by the window, she watched the evening light. A message from Artyom appeared on her phone:
“Are you sleeping normally after everything?”
She looked at the screen. She thought. And answered:
— Yes. I am sleeping.
After that, she turned off the sound.