«On Sunday, Lenka is moving her things into your two-bedroom apartment. We’re putting a sofa for her in the small room where you keep your computer, Olya. And don’t act like some high-society lady—you can just work from the kitchen table.»
I didn’t choke on my tea. I didn’t even drop the half-eaten bagel I was holding. I work remotely as an accountant, handling fifteen different individual entrepreneurs—everything from auto repair shops to kebab stands. I’ve survived tax ID freezes, surprise audits, and clients who dump a whole quarter’s worth of receipts into a shoebox. My nerves are made of steel. I simply slid my mug toward the edge of the oilcloth-covered table and looked at my mother-in-law.
Tamara Vasilievna was a loud, portly woman, firmly convinced that her word was law for the entire family. She was eating my homemade blini with sour cream as if she were the lady of the house. Beside her sat her daughter, my twenty-eight-year-old sister-in-law, Lenka. Lenka was enthusiastically scraping the bottom of the jam bowl with a spoon, trying her best to look miserable.
My husband, Slava—a simple factory worker, not a bad man, but terrified of conflict with his mother—was guiltily picking at the oilcloth with his fork.
«Excuse me, Tamara Vasilievna,» I said in a calm, steady voice. «Who exactly are we putting a sofa for, and where?»
Slava and I have lived in this nine-story building on the outskirts of the city for five years. It’s no palace, but I’ve spent years fixing it up and taking care of it: I hung the wallpaper, snagged laminate flooring on sale, and set up a tiny home office in the second room because I need silence to work with numbers.
«Olechka, you know Lenka is in trouble!» my mother-in-law exclaimed, throwing up her hands. «Her boyfriend, Kolka, kicked her out! Told her to pack her things and leave! Can you imagine what a scoundrel he is? The poor girl is out on the street with her five-year-old son!»
«You have a two-bedroom apartment; there’s enough room,» Lenka chimed in without looking up. «Just keep your cat in the hallway, Olya. My Deniska might be allergic to the fur. And clear out the bottom shelf of the fridge for me.»
«Also, I need peace and quiet in the mornings. I get migraines from stress, so if you start clattering pots and pans at seven in the morning, I’m going to complain. And we’re going to take turns dropping off and picking up Deniska from kindergarten, because I’m going to get tired of commuting from this neighborhood very quickly.»
Inside me, an invisible calculator clicked. They weren’t just planning to move into my apartment. They were planning to move in, kick back, and start ordering me around like a servant.
Slava cleared his throat. «Olyushka, honestly… Lenka is having a rough patch right now. Where else can she go? She’ll just live with us for a couple of months until she finds a job. We’re family. We can squeeze in.»
Family. «Squeeze in.» What a convenient expression when it’s someone else who has to give up their space.
I slowly folded my hands on the table. «Alright. Let’s discuss the logistics,» I said, looking at my mother-in-law. «Tamara Vasilievna, remind me, how many rooms are in your apartment? Three, if I’m not mistaken. A large apartment, upgraded layout. Why wouldn’t Lenka and your grandson just move in with their own mother?»
My mother-in-law flushed with indignation. «Olya, have you lost your mind?! I have high blood pressure! Deniska runs around like a maniac; I need peace and quiet! Besides, you know perfectly well that I rent out two of the rooms! That’s my extra income for retirement!»
«Ah, right, you rent them out,» I nodded knowingly. «To eight migrant construction workers from the site nearby. No contract, no registration, no taxes. You know that Officer Petrov has already visited your neighbors twice because of the noise and the filth? And that the fines for running an illegal business and tax evasion would wipe out your ‘extra income’ for about three years?»
Tamara Vasilievna turned pale. Her mouth hung open in a ridiculous way.
«Are… are you threatening me with the police?»
«I’m stating facts,» I said, turning my gaze to my sister-in-law. «Now, about you, Lenka. And your ‘difficult situation’ with that scoundrel Kolka.»
Lenka tensed up and put down her spoon. «What about Kolka? He kicked me and my son out!»
«Kolya owns a tire shop at the auto market,» I reminded her gently. «And as it happens, he is one of my regular clients. I’ve been doing his accounting for three years. On Wednesday, he called me to reconcile his cash drawer. You know, Lenka, he was very upset.»
Slava looked up from the table and stared at his sister.
«Kolya told me why he kicked you out,» I continued. I didn’t raise my voice, but every word landed like a heavy stone. «He discovered that for two months, you were taking cash out of the shop’s register. Eighty thousand rubles, Lenka. And when he checked your credit history, it turned out you had taken out predatory micro-loans in your own name to play online casinos.»
«He kicked you out because the debt collectors came for him. He was even kind enough not to report you to the police for theft.»
Lenka turned bright red. She slumped on her stool, avoiding her brother’s eyes.
«Lenka… is that true?» Slava asked hoarsely.
«She’s lying!» my sister-in-law squeaked, but she was so unconvincing that even a blind person would have seen through it.
«Moving on,» I said. I wasn’t planning on stopping. «Now let’s talk about our two-bedroom apartment and family support.» I looked at my husband with a long, meaningful stare.
«Slava. We didn’t buy this apartment. I bought this apartment. The down payment came from the sale of my grandmother’s country house, which I inherited personally. And the mortgage that we supposedly pay ‘together’ is being paid off from my business account. Your forty-five-thousand-ruble salary as a shop foreman goes entirely to the Lada loan, gas, beer on the weekends, and utilities. That’s where your contribution to the family budget ends. I pay for the food, the clothes, the vacations, and the repairs.»
My husband’s face flushed a deep, shameful red. He opened his mouth to say something, but I held up a hand, demanding silence.
«So, there will be no Lenkas, nephews, or strangers’ sofas in my home,» I said, turning to my mother-in-law, who was sitting there breathing heavily. «You live in a three-bedroom apartment. Evict your illegal tenants, move your daughter and grandson in with you, sell your country plot, and pay off her micro-loans before the collectors start spray-painting your door. And you will only come to my home on holidays. After calling ahead.»
Tamara Vasilievna jumped up. The stool creaked pitifully.
«Bitch!» she spat, grabbing her purse. «What a calculating bitch you are! Slava, did you hear how she dragged your mother and sister through the mud? Let’s go, Lenka! And you, son—if you’re a man, pack your bags today and leave this snake! Let’s see how she howls here alone with her mortgage!»
They stormed into the hallway. Lenka hurriedly shoved her feet into her sneakers. The front door slammed, shaking some plaster dust off the wall.
I calmly stood up, gathered the dirty mugs, and put them in the sink. I turned on the water.
Slava was still sitting at the table. Naturally, he didn’t go to pack his bags.
«Olya…» he finally managed to choke out, staring at my back. «I really didn’t know about the micro-loans. Or the cash register. Mom said that Kolya found someone else…»
I turned off the water, wiped my hands on a towel, and turned to him.
«Now you know. And here is what I’m going to tell you, Slava: If I hear even once more that I’m supposed to sacrifice my comfort for your relatives, you will go live with your mother. With the illegal tenants, the debt collectors, and Lenka’s tantrums. And I will stay here. In silence. With my cat.»
I paused for a moment, looking into his bewildered eyes. «Now, pick up a sponge and wash the dishes. I need to work. The quarterly report won’t finish itself.»
I walked into my small, hard-won room and closed the door. A moment later, the sound of running water and the timid clinking of dishes came from the kitchen. Slava was doing the dishes. In my plain two-bedroom apartment, it was quiet and peaceful again, and everything was running by my rules once more.
