— To hell with all of you! — Yulia hurled the frying pan into the sink so hard that splashes of grease flew across the entire countertop. — Let me make one thing clear! I will not register a single one of your relatives in my apartment! Don’t even dream of it!
Sergey froze in the doorway, phone in hand. Someone on the other end was still saying something, but the words drowned in the crash of a plate Yulia had accidentally knocked with her elbow.
“Yul, what are you doing? Mom just—”
“Your mother just wants to turn my apartment into a communal flat!” Yulia spun toward her husband, her face red with anger. “First your cousin for two months, then your nephew for half a year, and now what? Aunt Zinaida with her grandchildren?”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Tamara Ivanovna appeared in the kitchen in her ever-present terrycloth robe, her hair twisted into a tight bun. She glanced over the mess and clicked her tongue.
“Yulenka, dear, why are you getting so upset?” her mother-in-law’s voice was honeyed, but evil sparks danced in her eyes. “They’re family. Your own people.”
“They’re your people, Tamara Ivanovna. To me, they’re strangers and freeloaders!”
Sergey quickly hung up and stepped between the two women.
“Enough! Both of you! Mom, go to your room. Yulia, calm down.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” Yulia turned on Sergey. “When was the last time you paid the utility bills, huh? Or do you think money falls from the ceiling?”
Tamara Ivanovna sat down at the table and pulled a packet of sunflower seeds from the pocket of her robe. She began cracking them slowly, clearly enjoying the unfolding spectacle.
“Mom, why are you interfering?” Sergey rubbed his forehead. “We already have enough problems.”
“I’m not interfering, son. I live here. And I have the right to express my opinion.”
“You have no right at all!” Yulia grabbed a towel and began furiously wiping the countertop. “The apartment is mine! I bought it! I pay for it!”
“Oh yes,” Tamara Ivanovna drawled. “You bought it. And your husband didn’t help you at all? And who raised the child while you were running around offices?”
There it was. The sore spot. Yulia froze, towel in hand.
“Mom, don’t,” Sergey said quietly.
“What do you mean, don’t? Don’t tell the truth?” Tamara Ivanovna stood up, sunflower seed shells scattering onto the floor. “I’ve spent half my life on my feet because of your daughter. Sleepless nights, illnesses, kindergarten, school, activities. And now what? You’ll throw me out onto the street?”
Yulia slowly turned around. Her face had gone white, only her lips remained a thin red line.
“No one is throwing you out. But I will not let you turn my home into a revolving door.”
“Your home?” Tamara Ivanovna stepped closer. “Tell me, clever girl, who gave you the down payment for the mortgage? Who?”
Sergey shut his eyes. Now it had really begun.
“You did,” Yulia said quietly. “And I paid you back. Every last kopeck.”
“Paid me back?” her mother-in-law laughed. “Two hundred thousand rubles? When was that?”
“Mom, enough!” Sergey barked.
“What do you mean, enough? Am I lying? Or do you think I forgot?”
Yulia placed the frying pan on the stove. Her hands were trembling, but her voice was steady.
“Fine. Let’s be honest. Tamara Ivanovna, do you want me to register your Aunt Zinaida and her grandchildren here?”
“I do.”
“For how long?”
“What difference does that make? People are in trouble. Their apartment was flooded.”
“I see.” Yulia nodded. “Sergey, do you want that?”
Her husband stayed silent, staring at the floor.
“Answer me,” Yulia stepped toward him. “This is your family, your decision.”
“I… don’t know. Maybe we really should help.”
“Wonderful.” Yulia took the apartment keys off the hook and placed them on the table in front of her mother-in-law. “Here are the keys. Register whoever you want. Only I won’t live here anymore.”
“Yul, what are you doing?” Sergey grabbed her arm.
“What I should have done long ago.” She pulled free. “Katya is at her friend’s dacha until Sunday. I’ll pick her up from there, and we’ll stay with my mother.”
“Yulia, don’t be stupid! Where will you go?”
“What do you care?” She was already putting on her jacket. “You chose your family. Live with them.”
Tamara Ivanovna silently stared at the keys. Suddenly something changed in her face.
“Yulenka, now… don’t get worked up. Maybe we really did rush things…”
“Too late, Tamara Ivanovna.” Yulia zipped up her jacket. “You said it yourself — this is your home. So live in it.”
The door slammed. Sergey and his mother were left alone in the kitchen, staring at the keys.
“What a fool,” Tamara Ivanovna was the first to break the silence. “Damn hysteric. Good thing she showed her true face.”
“Mom, shut up!” Sergey roared, snatching the keys from the table. “Are you satisfied? You destroyed my family!”
“Me?” Tamara Ivanovna threw up her hands. “Look at yourself! A rag! Your wife gives you ultimatums, and you stand there silent as a fish!”
“And what was I supposed to say?” Sergey turned on his mother. “You know she’s right! First Milka lived here for half a year, then your nephew Denis with his girlfriend…”
“They’re relatives! Family!”
“They’re parasites!” For the first time in many years, Sergey raised his voice at his mother. “And you know that perfectly well!”
Tamara Ivanovna went pale and sank onto a chair.
“Serezha… my son… you can’t talk to me like that…”
“I can. And I will.” He grabbed his phone and dialed a number. “Zinaida Petrovna? This is Sergey. No, the registration won’t happen. I’m sorry.”
“Serezha, what are you doing?” his mother hissed.
“What I should have done long ago.” He hung up and looked at his mother. “Enough, Mom. Enough.”
The phone in Sergey’s hand rang. The screen showed: “Zinaida Petrovna.”
“Don’t answer,” Tamara Ivanovna whispered.
Sergey pressed decline. But the phone rang again. And again.
“Has she lost her mind?” Sergey finally answered. “Hello?”
“Serezha!” a hysterical female voice shouted through the phone. “Have you completely lost your nerve? What do you mean, it won’t happen? We’ve already packed our things!”
“Zinaida Petrovna, I already explained—”
“You explained nothing! Where is Tamara Ivanovna? Put her on the phone!”
Sergey handed the phone to his mother. She reluctantly took it.
“Zina, dear…”
“What nonsense is this?” the voice was so loud Sergey heard every word. “You called me yourself! You said everything was settled!”
“Zina, you see, Yulia is against it…”
“I don’t give a damn about your Yulka! My children and I are on the street! The apartment is flooded, there’s nowhere to live!”
“Zina, but I can’t force—”
“You can! And you must! Or have you forgotten who gave you money in ninety-three when Serezha was sick, huh?”
Tamara Ivanovna hunched her shoulders. Sergey stiffened.
“What money?” He took the phone from his mother’s hands. “Zinaida Petrovna, what are you talking about?”
“Ask your mommy!” the aunt screamed. “Ask where she got the money for your treatment! And for your university! And for your wedding!”
Sergey slowly looked at his mother. She turned away toward the window.
“Mom?”
“We’ll talk later, son…”
“No, now!” Sergey pressed the phone to his ear. “Zinaida Petrovna, explain clearly!”
“I gave her fifty thousand dollars! Fifty! In nineteen ninety-three! When the dollar was a thousand rubles! For your treatment in Germany!”
Everything went dark before Sergey’s eyes. He sank onto a chair.
“Mom… is that true?”
Tamara Ivanovna said nothing.
“And that’s not all!” Zinaida kept shouting through the phone. “Who paid for your university? Your dormitory? Who bought your first car?”
“Mom, answer!” Sergey grabbed his mother by the shoulder.
“Well, yes… it’s true…” Tamara Ivanovna whispered. “But I paid everything back! Little by little!”
“When did you pay it back?” Zinaida clearly heard the conversation. “The last time you transferred fifty thousand rubles was a year ago! Pennies! And you owe millions!”
Sergey placed the phone on the table and turned on speakerphone.
“Zinaida Petrovna, how much does Mom owe you? Exactly?”
“Two million eight hundred thousand rubles. At today’s rate. Plus interest for thirty years.”
“Mom…” Sergey looked at Tamara Ivanovna. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I… I thought… maybe she would forget…”
“Forget?” Zinaida screamed. “I worked half my life for you people! Bent my back at the factory so your precious son could get an education! And now what? My grandchildren are supposed to sleep on the street?”
The front door slammed. Footsteps followed.
“Yulia came back?” Tamara Ivanovna said hopefully.
A tall, thin woman of about fifty entered the kitchen with two teenagers.
“Aunt Toma?” she asked in confusion. “Where is Zinaida Petrovna? She said everything had already been arranged…”
Sergey looked at the phone screen. The call had ended.
“Milka?” he whispered. “Where did you come from?”
“What do you mean, where? Zinaida Petrovna gave me the keys. She said Aunt Toma had arranged everything.” Milka looked around the kitchen. “Where’s the mistress of the house? Your Yulia?”
“She left,” Sergey answered grimly.
“What do you mean, left?” Milka set her bags on the floor. “For good?”
The phone rang again. This time it was another aunt — Valentina Sergeevna.
“Serezha! What are you doing over there? Zina called me, she’s sobbing! She says you threw them out!”
“I didn’t throw anyone out…”
“And where are Milka and the children? She already went to your place!”
Sergey looked at the bags in the hallway, at the children pressed anxiously against their mother, at his own mother hiding her face in her hands.
“Valentina Sergeevna, I’ll call you back,” he said and hung up.
But the phone immediately rang again. And again. And again.
“Mom,” Sergey said quietly. “What have you done?”
But Tamara Ivanovna didn’t get a chance to answer. The doorbell rang again. Long and insistently.
“I’m not opening it,” Sergey said.
“Uncle Serezha,” a fourteen-year-old teenager tugged at his sleeve. “Can I use the bathroom? We’ve been on the road since morning.”
“Go, of course,” Sergey waved tiredly.
The doorbell kept ringing. Milka nervously twisted the handle of her bag.
“Listen, Serezha, maybe that’s Zinaida Petrovna? She promised to come by lunchtime.”
“What other Zinaida Petrovna?” Sergey felt a headache starting.
“What do you mean, what other one? The owner of the apartment on Sadovaya Street. She said she had arranged an exchange with you.”
“An exchange?” Sergey repeated.
“Well, yes. We come here, and Yulia goes to her place. Temporarily, until our renovation is finished.”
Sergey slowly turned to his mother.
“Mom. Tell me. What else did you promise?”
Tamara Ivanovna sobbed.
“I thought… I didn’t know Yulka would react like that…”
The doorbell fell silent, but then came the sound of a key turning in the lock.
“Oh God,” Sergey whispered. “They have keys.”
A plump woman of about sixty entered the hallway with a huge bag over her shoulder. Behind her, a man squeezed in with two suitcases.
“Tamarochka!” the woman exclaimed happily. “Finally! We thought you’d given us the wrong address!”
“Zinaida Petrovna…” the mother-in-law mumbled.
“And where is your Yulenka? I want to meet her. I’ve heard she’s such a good housekeeper!” Zinaida looked around the kitchen. “Oh my, what happened here? Broken dishes…”
“Aunt Zina!” Milka rushed toward the woman. “I thought you weren’t coming!”
“How could I not come? Abandon relatives? Never!” Zinaida hugged Milka. “And you, young man,” she turned to Sergey, “must be Serezha? Your mommy has told me so much about you!”
Sergey stood there, not knowing what to say. The man behind Zinaida set down the suitcases and held out his hand.
“Boris Kuzmich, husband. Very pleased to meet you. Forgive the intrusion, but the situation, as you know, is force majeure.”
“What intrusion!” Zinaida waved her hands. “We’re family! Tamarochka, will you show us where we’ll settle in?”
“Zin, I…” Tamara Ivanovna began, but then the phone came alive again.
The screen showed: “Valentina Sergeevna.”
“Don’t answer,” Zinaida said quickly. “She’s been calling since morning, having hysterics. Says there’s nowhere to place her nephew.”
“What nephew now?” Sergey’s voice went hoarse.
“Igorek. Your cousin. He came back from the army, no job, no money for rent. They thought maybe he could stay with you for a week…”
Sergey felt he was losing his mind. He opened his contacts and found Yulia’s number.
“Serezha, what are you doing?” his mother asked anxiously.
“What I should have done long ago.” He pressed call.
Several rings. Then a familiar voice:
“Hello.”
“Yul, it’s me.”
“What do you need?”
“Yul, forgive me. You were right. Completely right.”
“Serezha, I’m busy. If you want to say something, say it quickly.”
Voices and laughter could be heard in the background. Apparently, Yulia really was at her mother’s place.
“There are about seven people in our home right now. With luggage. Zinaida and her husband, Milka with the children. Mom promised everyone registration, housing, apartment exchanges. Yul, I’m going crazy.”
Silence.
“Yul?”
“I’m listening.”
“Help me. I don’t know what to do.”
“And what does your mommy say?”
“She’s crying. Says she meant well.”
“I see.” Yulia’s voice was cold. “And what do you want?”
“I want you to come back. I want us to sort this out together.”
“Together?” irony appeared in her voice. “What changed? Tamara Ivanovna still thinks the apartment is hers? The relatives still believe everyone owes them something?”
“Yul…”
“Serezha, tell me honestly. Are you ready to put these people in their place? Are you ready to tell your mother to stop manipulating?”
Sergey looked at the kitchen, where Zinaida was already unpacking a bag, taking out pots and jars of preserves. Boris Kuzmich was studying the train schedule, apparently planning tomorrow’s trips. Milka was settling the children on the sofa in the living room.
“I’m ready,” he said quietly.
“Then start. And I’ll think about whether it’s worth coming back.”
“Yul, wait…”
But the line was already silent.
Zinaida approached Sergey with a pot in her hands.
“Son, where does your stove turn on? We need to warm up some borscht. We brought our own homemade food, we didn’t want to burden you.”
Sergey looked at the pot, then at the aunt’s pleased face, then at his mother, who shrugged guiltily.
“Zinaida Petrovna,” he said slowly. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
“What is there to talk about, son?” Zinaida put the pot on the stove and began searching for the switch. “We discussed everything with Tamarochka. Temporarily, until the renovation is done. We won’t get in anyone’s way…”
“Stop.” Sergey stepped between the aunt and the stove. “No one discussed anything. My mother promised what she had no right to give.”
Zinaida straightened, a steel glint appearing in her eyes.
“What do you mean, no right? And where is my money? I’ve been waiting thirty years!”
“What money?” Milka peeked out from the living room. “Aunt Zina, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your dear Aunt Toma owing me almost three million rubles,” Zinaida said clearly. “And instead of money, she offered to let me live with her son. A fair exchange, so to speak.”
Boris Kuzmich put aside the train schedule.
“Zin, maybe not in front of the children?”
“What about in front of the children?” Zinaida snapped at her husband. “Let them know what kind of relatives they have! They borrow money, then make excuses for thirty years!”
Sergey felt anger rising in his throat.
“Zinaida Petrovna, even if that’s true, no one invited you to live here. This is my apartment, my wife’s apartment. And we have the right to decide who gets registered here.”
“Your apartment?” Zinaida laughed. “Tell me, clever boy, what money was used to buy this apartment? Where did your mommy get the down payment?”
“Zina, don’t,” Tamara Ivanovna whispered.
“We must! Let your son know the truth!” Zinaida came right up to Sergey. “The two hundred thousand rubles your mother gave you for the apartment were my money! I lent it to her in two thousand seven!”
The ground seemed to vanish beneath Sergey’s feet.
“Mom… is that true?”
Tamara Ivanovna covered her face with her hands and nodded.
“And that’s not all!” Zinaida continued. “Who bought your first car? Who paid for the wedding? The clinic treatment?”
“Enough!” Sergey roared. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t give you the right—”
“It does!” Zinaida interrupted him. “It absolutely does! I spent half my life on you people! And now what? You’ll throw me out like a dog?”
At that moment, the doorbell rang again. Long and demanding.
“Who is it now?” Sergey groaned.
“Probably Igor,” Milka said. “Valentina Sergeevna promised to bring him today.”
“What Igor?”
“Your nephew. He came back from the army, no job…”
Sergey clutched his head.
“Mom! Did you invite the entire family here?”
“I didn’t invite them… I just… wanted to help…”
The bell kept ringing. Boris Kuzmich got up.
“Should I open it?”
“Don’t you dare!” Sergey shouted and went to the door himself.
Outside stood a young man in jeans and a jacket, and a middle-aged woman with shopping bags.
“Serezha!” the woman said happily. “It’s Valya, remember me? And this is Igorek, your cousin!”
“Hi, brother,” the young man held out his hand. “I heard you’ll shelter us for a while.”
“I’m not letting anyone else in!” Sergey exploded. “Valentina Sergeevna, who told you that you could come here?”
“Who? Tamara Ivanovna called! She said there was space, that Yulia agreed…”
“Yulia left home!” Sergey shouted. “She left! Because of relatives like you!”
Valentina blinked in confusion.
“What do you mean, left? For good?”
“For good! And she was right!”
“Serezha, why are you yelling?” Zinaida peeked out of the kitchen. “Valya! Igorek! Come in, dear ones!”
“Do not come in!” Sergey blocked the doorway. “Nobody is going anywhere!”
“Uncle Serezha,” Igor tried to squeeze past him. “Don’t be greedy. We have nowhere else to go.”
“And why is that my problem?” Sergey didn’t let the young man pass. “Go to your mother, live there!”
“Mom has a one-room apartment, there’s no space,” Valentina cut in. “Serezha, why are you acting like a stranger? We’re family!”
“Family?” Sergey felt himself losing control. “Where were you when I had problems? When there wasn’t enough money for treatment? When my wife was taken to the hospital?”
“Serezha, we didn’t know…”
“You knew! Everyone knew! But no one hurried to help! And now what? Now I owe all of you?”
Something clattered in the kitchen. Then Zinaida’s indignant voice rang out:
“Boris! What are you doing? That’s crystal!”
“I didn’t touch anything!” the man answered. “It fell by itself!”
Sergey shut his eyes. Two people with bags stood in the hallway, dishes were breaking in the kitchen, children had turned the television up full blast in the living room, and his mother was crying on a stool.
He took out his phone and called Yulia again.
“Hello?” Her voice was cautious.
“Yul, they’ve surrounded me. There are already about ten of them. Help.”
“Who are they?”
“Relatives. Everyone my mother knows. They’re saying Mom owes them millions, and now they want to live here.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“I told them I wouldn’t let them in. But they’re not listening. One is already breaking plates, others are arranging children…”
A pause.
“Yul?”
“Serezha, are you ready to call the police?”
“The police?” he repeated loudly.
Every conversation in the apartment instantly fell silent.
“Yes, the police. If they don’t want to leave voluntarily.”
Sergey looked at the faces in the doorway. Valentina went pale, Igor frowned, and Zinaida looked out of the kitchen with alarm.
“I’m ready,” Sergey said firmly into the phone.
“Then call. I’m coming now.”
Sergey put away his phone and dialed 102.
“Serezha, what are you doing?” Valentina whispered in fear.
“What I should have done an hour ago.” He waited for an answer. “Hello? Police? Yes, I need a patrol. Illegal entry into a residence.”
“Serezha, stop!” Zinaida ran out of the kitchen. “We’re relatives!”
“Relatives don’t force their way into other people’s apartments with suitcases,” Sergey answered coldly, continuing to speak into the phone. “Yes, they refuse to leave the residence. They’re threatening us. Damaging property.”
“We didn’t threaten anyone!” Igor protested.
“And who said, ‘Don’t be greedy’? Who broke the plates?”
“Son, stop,” Tamara Ivanovna got up from the stool. “These are family matters. Why involve the police…”
“Family matters?” Sergey turned on his mother. “Mom, look around! You turned my home into a train station! Because of you, my wife left! Because of you, I’ve lived for thirty years under debts I never created!”
“I wanted what was best…”
“No!” Sergey roared. “You wanted everyone to like you! At someone else’s expense! At my expense!”
Quick footsteps sounded in the hallway. The door opened, and Yulia entered. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes were burning, and she held keys and some documents in her hands.
“Right,” she said, looking over the gathered crowd. “Who’s in charge here?”
“Yulenka!” Zinaida brightened. “Finally, we’ll meet! I’m Zinaida Petrovna, we’re temporarily—”
“There is no temporarily!” Yulia interrupted. “Who are you, and on what grounds are you in my apartment?”
“We’re relatives! Tamara Ivanovna invited us!”
“Tamara Ivanovna is not the owner here.” Yulia unfolded the documents. “Here is the Rosreestr certificate. The owner of the apartment is me. Only me. And I demand that you leave my home immediately.”
“Girl, you don’t understand,” Valentina began. “We’re in a difficult situation…”
“I am not interested in your situation,” Yulia cut her off. “The only thing I’m interested in is when you’ll leave.”
“And the debts?” Zinaida persisted. “Your mother-in-law owes me three million!”
“Your claims are against Tamara Ivanovna. Take it to court. And get out of my apartment.”
“Yul,” Sergey said quietly. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s too early to thank me,” she looked at him intently. “First we’ll deal with this circus.”
The doorbell rang. Sergey opened it. Two police officers stood at the threshold.
“Did you call for a patrol?”
“Yes, I did,” Sergey pointed at the people gathered in the hallway. “These people entered the apartment without permission and refuse to leave.”
The senior lieutenant took out a notebook.
“Do you have documents for the apartment?”
Yulia handed him the Rosreestr certificate and her passport.
“And you,” the officer addressed Zinaida, “do you have documents confirming your right to be here?”
“We’re relatives!” the woman wailed.
“Kinship does not give the right to move in without permission,” the lieutenant answered dryly. “Gather your things.”
“How can this be?” Valentina threw up her hands. “We had an agreement!”
“With whom?” Yulia asked.
“With Tamara Ivanovna!”
“Tamara Ivanovna has no right to dispose of someone else’s property.” Yulia turned to her mother-in-law. “And you knew that perfectly well.”
Tamara Ivanovna lowered her head.
“All right,” the officer looked at his watch. “I’m giving you ten minutes to collect your things. After that, we’ll draw up a report for unlawful self-help.”
Chaos began. Zinaida started lamenting that it was unfair, Valentina tried to explain something to the children, and Boris Kuzmich silently packed the suitcases.
“Yul,” Sergey approached his wife. “Forgive me. For everything.”
“Serezha, we’ll talk later. First we evict the invaders.”
Half an hour later, the apartment was empty. The relatives were loading themselves into taxis, complaining about heartlessness and ingratitude. Tamara Ivanovna locked herself in her room.
Yulia and Sergey remained alone in the kitchen among the shards of broken plates.
“Now we talk,” Yulia said, sitting at the table. “What happens next?”
“Next…” Sergey swept up the shards. “Next I need to have a serious conversation with my mother. Set final boundaries.”
“And the debts?”
“We’ll sort them out. If money is really owed, we’ll pay it back. But through court, officially. And not at the expense of our family.”
Yulia nodded.
“And me?”
“You?” Sergey looked up. “I promise you that no one will ever be in this home without your consent again. No one. Never.”
“Does that include your mother?”
Sergey was silent for a moment, then said quietly:
“Mom can live here as long as she helps with Katya and doesn’t interfere in our affairs. If she starts dictating terms or bringing relatives here, she moves out.”
“And will you tell her that?”
“I will. Right now.”
He headed toward his mother’s room, but Yulia stopped him.
“Serezha.”
“Yes?”
“Next time, don’t wait until I pack my things. Make the decision immediately.”
“Agreed.”
They embraced in the middle of the ruined kitchen. Darkness had already fallen outside the window, and ahead lay a long conversation with Tamara Ivanovna, cleaning, and the beginning of a new life — without uninvited guests and imposed obligations.
“Discover something new…”
