— Open up, Katyusha, it’s your own people! — Antonina Pavlovna’s syrupy-sweet voice echoed through the stairwell, rising over the long, demanding ring of the doorbell. — Let the boy at least put his things down. He can’t sleep out on the street. We’ll sort it out like family!
Katya pressed herself to the peephole. In the dim light of the stairwell lamp stood her former mother-in-law, and behind her, shifting from foot to foot, loomed Vadim. Two huge checkered bags were piled at his feet. For a second, Katya’s breath caught, but she forced herself to exhale. She turned the latch and opened the door slightly, leaving the sturdy steel chain in place.
“We are divorced from your son,” she said evenly. “You are no longer the mistress of my apartment. He has nothing to do here.”
The mask of the caring relative instantly slipped from Antonina Pavlovna’s face. She quickly wedged the toe of her heavy autumn boot into the gap, preventing the door from closing.
“Don’t try to fool me!” the woman’s voice broke into an aggressive shout. “By law, a former spouse has the right to live in his own living space! He used to be registered here! We’ll challenge the court ruling. You tricked your way into having this apartment put in your name!”
Katya shifted her gaze to her ex-husband. He wasn’t even looking at her. Vadim was casually brushing dust from his jacket, and then, lifting his shameless eyes, he said:
“Kat, just let me in already. I’m tired from work. Is there anything to eat?”
That incredible, stupid everyday arrogance worked better than any sedative. Katya remembered all the years of reproaches, the advice on how to cook soup properly and scrub frying pans, the humiliating court hearing where Vadim had tried to take half of the apartment she had inherited from her grandmother, only because he had once bought wallpaper for it.
“I’m calling the police now,” Katya warned.
“Go ahead!” her mother-in-law barked triumphantly. “I’ll tell them you’re blocking access to his home! Take the chain off!”
Antonina Pavlovna leaned her weight against the door. The metal chain pulled tight. Katya did not argue. She silently removed the chain and stepped back into the hallway.
They burst inside like occupiers. Vadim dragged in the bags, breathing heavily, took off his windbreaker, and hung it on the hook with a habitual gesture. Antonina Pavlovna marched into the kitchen like the owner, still wearing her shoes.
“Leave the bags in the hallway for now,” she commanded. “I’ll lay out his things in the big room, and you, Katerina, clear him the bottom shelf in the fridge. You’ll have to learn to live together.”
Katya did not say a word. She went into the bathroom, locked the bolt, and dialed the police station. She explained the situation clearly: unlawful entry, aggressive behavior, former relatives refusing to leave someone else’s property.
When she returned to the hallway, she took a blue plastic folder from the dresser drawer and sat down on the ottoman.
She had to wait about half an hour. During that time, Vadim managed to put on his house sweatpants. He peeked into the hallway, lazily scratching his belly, and said irritably:
“Kat, where’s the TV remote? Where did you shove it? And make some sandwiches or something. Mom will figure out the stove for now.”
Katya only gripped the plastic folder tighter, silently counting the minutes until the officers arrived. Hearing heavy footsteps on the landing and the doorbell, she stood up sharply and opened the door. Two police officers in uniform jackets stood on the threshold.
Antonina Pavlovna immediately rushed out to meet them, pressing her hands to her chest and changing her tone to a fawning one.
“Oh, officers, how wonderful that you’ve come! This is just a family matter. Lovers quarrel, you know. This crazy woman is throwing her own husband out onto the street, and he did renovations here. He has every right!”
The senior officer ignored the performance and looked at Katya.
“Who owns the apartment?”
“I do,” Katya said, handing him the open folder. “Here is the certificate of ownership. And here is the court decision dissolving the marriage, with the clause on separate residence. This citizen has been removed from the registration records. He has no rights to the apartment. They forced their way in.”
The officer carefully examined the papers, shining his flashlight over the lines. Then he turned a heavy gaze toward Vadim, who had already pressed himself against the wall.
“Citizen, your documents.”
Vadim handed over his passport with trembling hands. The officer checked the details and snapped the document shut.
“Pack your things and leave. Immediately.”
“What do you mean, leave?!” Antonina Pavlovna protested. “We’re going to appeal!”
“You can appeal in court, ma’am. Right now, take your bags and vacate private property. Otherwise, we’ll file this as failure to comply with a lawful order. Does your son need fifteen days in custody?”
The mother-in-law’s face twisted with rage. She breathed heavily, realizing she had lost. Vadim silently grabbed the bags and dragged them toward the exit, catching them on the doorframes as he went.
On the stairwell landing, something happened that finally knocked the arrogance out of them. The cheap zipper on one of the overstuffed bags split open with a loud crack, and Vadim’s washed-out T-shirts and underwear spilled onto the dirty concrete steps. Antonina Pavlovna frantically rushed to stuff the things back inside under the mocking gaze of the senior lieutenant.
The mother-in-law raised her eyes to her former daughter-in-law.
“We’ll be back!” she hissed with fierce hatred. “You’ll be begging us yet!”
Katya silently closed the door and turned the latch. She waited about an hour, putting her thoughts in order, and then called a twenty-four-hour locksmith service. The technician arrived quickly.
“We’re removing the old mechanism completely and installing a new break-resistant lock cylinder,” Katya instructed.
A new life required new protective measures. The next day, Katya did more than just wash the floors with bleach, trying to erase the foreign smell. She called a specialist who installed a modern video intercom with a motion sensor and continuous recording to a memory card.
Her intuition did not fail her. The threat had not been empty hysteria.
The first time, they came on Tuesday afternoon. Her phone beeped, notifying her of movement outside the door. On the smartphone screen, Katya could clearly see Vadim tugging the handle while Antonina Pavlovna picked at the keyhole with a long key, muttering curses in confusion. When they realized the mechanism was different, they milled around for a while and left. Katya simply pressed the save video button.
The second attempt happened late Friday evening. This time, they pounded on the metal upholstery. Vadim, judging by his uneven movements on camera, was drunk, mumbling something incoherent, while his mother loudly demanded conscience. Katya lowered the volume on her phone and continued watching her movie while the system neatly recorded their actions into a folder titled “Evidence.”
When they showed up for the third time, on Sunday morning, and began sticking insulting notes to the door, Katya realized she had collected enough material.
She downloaded all three videos, carefully removed the damaged sheets of paper, placed them in a file, and went to the district police station to see the local officer.
The young lieutenant attentively watched the video on his work computer. He listened to the knocking, the shouting, and the threats. Then he looked at Katya.
“Write a statement,” the local officer said, sliding a stack of blank paper toward her. “We’ll classify this as systematic harassment and minor hooliganism. I’ll summon them for an official talk today. Believe me, after a warning about criminal liability for harassment, their enthusiasm will disappear immediately.”
Katya wrote in neat, clear handwriting. She laid out the facts in detail, adding no emotion — only dates, times, and actions. When she signed with a broad stroke, she felt as though a heavy burden had finally fallen from her shoulders.
That evening, she returned home. Approaching her door, she looked at the black eye of the camera. The device blinked with a blue indicator, greeting its owner. The lock turned with a soft, confident click.
She entered the hallway, closed the door behind her, and took off her shoes. At that moment, the smartphone in her coat pocket vibrated briefly. A message had arrived from an unknown number:
“Damn you and your square meters! Because of your statement, the local officer disgraced Vadik right at work and fined us. May you spend your whole life alone!”
Katya smiled sincerely, with deep relief. She calmly pressed “Block caller” and tossed the phone onto the small cabinet.
The apartment was filled with perfect, deep, safe silence. And now this territory belonged to her alone.
