Just for a couple of hours, Dan, really!” Marina’s voice over the phone sounded both pleading and demanding. “It’s a rush job, you understand. And I really need the money right now…”
Polina froze with her mug of coffee in her hands. The words printed on the porcelain — “My home is my castle” — suddenly felt like a joke. She met her husband’s eyes, but he only gave an apologetic little shrug and turned back to the window.
“Okay, bring them over,” Denis gave in, barely listening to his sister’s breathless explanations. “Yeah, of course. We’re home. We’ll be waiting.”
He put the phone down on the breakfast bar and reached for his mug. Their first Saturday in a month when neither of them had to work was disappearing before their eyes.
“I was going to finish that report today and plant the mint on the balcony,” Polina said, trying to keep her voice neutral. “The kids will be bored.”
“Just for a couple of hours,” Denis repeated his sister’s words, though there was little conviction in his voice. “You know how hard it is for her right now, after the divorce. Sasha moved to Krasnodar, her mother doesn’t help with the kids…”
Polina sighed and opened the notebook where she kept plans for arranging the apartment. They had moved into the new building only six months ago. A small two-room flat in a bedroom community had cost them enormous effort — years of saving for the down payment, help from their parents, a fifteen-year mortgage. Their own space. Their fortress.
“I know,” she said, and closed the notebook. “It’s just… this is already the third time this month.”
“The last, I promise,” Denis kissed her on the cheek and went to the bathroom, leaving his coffee half-finished on the counter.
Polina looked at the ficus in the corner of the kitchen. Denis had given it to her as a housewarming present, saying the plant would be a symbol of them putting down roots in their new home. She took care of the ficus as if their family happiness depended on it.
The doorbell rang twenty minutes later. Polina closed her laptop — she had only wanted to check her work email — and went to open the door.
“Aunt Polina!” Kirill, her husband’s nine-year-old nephew, burst into the apartment like a hurricane. Behind him came Sonya, a quiet seven-year-old girl clutching a stuffed rabbit.
Marina stood in the doorway, dressed far too festively for a working Saturday — a short dress, heels, bright makeup. On her shoulder hung a tiny handbag that clearly held nothing but lipstick and a phone.
“Thank you, my saviors!” she started rattling off, handing Polina two bulky backpacks. “Here’s snacks, a change of clothes, toys. Kiryuha, listen to your aunt and uncle! Sonya, no tantrums!”
Polina wanted to ask exactly when she would be back, but Marina was already running toward the elevator, her heels clicking, calling over her shoulder:
“I’ll call you! Have fun!”
The door closed. Sonya hugged her rabbit tighter and asked shyly:
“Where’s Uncle Denis?”
“In the shower,” Polina replied, feeling the unexpected weight of the backpacks. “He’ll be out in a minute.”
Kirill had already kicked off his shoes and shot into the living room. A second later his voice came from there:
“Aunt Polya, can I watch cartoons? Do you have anything yummy? Can I turn on Uncle Denis’s game console?”
Polina rubbed the bridge of her nose. “A couple of hours,” she reminded herself. “Just a couple of hours.”
By lunchtime it was clear that Marina was running late. Polina called her twice, but no one picked up. To the message “When are you coming back?” there came a short reply: “Running a bit late, everything’s fine.”
During that time, Kirill managed to scatter markers all over the living room, accidentally knock over the pot with Polina’s beloved geranium, and organize a jumping contest off the couch. Sonya played quietly in the corner but would periodically start to whimper that she wanted her mom.
At first Denis threw himself into the role of the fun uncle — he played with the kids, showed them magic tricks, made them sandwiches. But by three in the afternoon his enthusiasm had run dry, and he sat down at his laptop, blocking out the noise with headphones.
“Look what I’ve got!” Kirill pulled a pile of modeling clay out of his backpack and dumped it onto the coffee table. “Let’s make dinosaurs!”
“Kirill, wait,” Polina grabbed the clay before it got pressed into the new tabletop. “Let’s do it in the kitchen instead, there’s a tablecloth there.”
“I don’t want the kitchen, it’s boring there,” the boy pouted.
“And you can’t use the coffee table, it’s new.”
“At Mom’s, I can use any table!” Kirill declared. “And the couch, and the floor, and everywhere!”
Polina felt irritation rising inside her. She exhaled slowly and said:
“We have different rules here. Clay only in the kitchen.”
Kirill glared at her from under his brows for a second, then grabbed the clay and ran to the kitchen, brushing against the ficus with his foot as he went. The pot wobbled but didn’t fall.
At six in the evening, when the sun was already beginning to set, Polina’s phone finally rang.
“Polinochka, darling,” Marina’s voice sounded guilty, but with a deliberately sugary tone. “Listen, here’s the thing… Can I leave the kids until the evening? Well, until nine at the latest!”
“Marina, you said a couple of hours,” Polina stepped into the bedroom so the children wouldn’t hear. “We had plans for the evening.”
“What plans, to watch a series?” Marina laughed. “Trust me, when you have kids, you’ll understand that sometimes moms need a break.”
Polina bit her tongue, holding back a sharp retort. “They’re not my kids,” she wanted to say. “And it’s not my break.” Instead she said:
“I’ll tell Denis. Call back in five minutes.”
She found her husband on the balcony. Denis was smoking, even though he’d quit six months ago.
“Your sister wants to leave the kids until nine,” Polina said, leaning against the doorframe.
Denis exhaled smoke and gave her an apologetic look.
“Sorry. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, seriously.”
“You promised that last time.”
“I know. But things really are hard for her now.”
Polina looked at his profile. The same aquiline nose as Marina. The same dimples as Kirill. The family resemblance that had once seemed endearing.
“When we moved into this apartment, we said it would be our space,” she said quietly. “Remember?”
“I remember,” he stubbed his cigarette out in a flowerpot — another small jab. “But family is important. You understand that, don’t you?”
In his eyes was a plea not to make a scene. Polina nodded and went back inside. She called Marina herself.
“Marina, they can stay until nine, but this is the last time, okay? I have an important online meeting tomorrow, I need to prepare.”
“Of course, of course!” Marina brightened. “You’re an angel! I’ll pick them up at exactly nine, I promise!”
Marina arrived a little after ten-thirty. By then, Sonya was already asleep, curled up on the couch, and Kirill was playing on a phone, refusing to go to bed.
“Sorry, traffic!” Marina exclaimed as she walked in, though the roads were empty on a Sunday evening. She smelled of alcohol and someone else’s perfume.
Denis silently helped gather the children’s things. They had to wake Sonya, and she fussed and cried. Kirill demanded to finish his level in the game.
When the door finally closed behind them, Polina started cleaning up the traces of the kids’ stay — candy wrappers between the couch cushions, cookie crumbs on the rug, scattered toys.
“Leave it till tomorrow,” Denis said. “It’s late.”
“I can’t,” she replied, picking up an open bag of chips from the floor. “This is my home. I want to see it clean.”
Denis wanted to say something but stayed silent. Fifteen minutes later he was already asleep, and Polina lay awake in the dark for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Something told her this was only the beginning.
The next week, the story repeated itself. Wednesday, eight in the morning. Polina had barely managed to turn on her laptop and make coffee when her phone rang.
“Denis said you’re working from home today,” Marina’s voice sounded cheerful and pushy. “I need to go to the doctor, and there’s no one to leave the kids with.”
Polina pinched the bridge of her nose. She had three interviews and a meeting with management lined up for the day.
“Marina, I can’t. I have important meetings; I need quiet.”
“What kind of quiet with a laptop?” Marina snorted. “The kids will play in the room, you won’t even notice them.”
Half an hour later, Kirill and Sonya were already rummaging through the cookie box in the kitchen. Marina had rushed off, solemnly promising to be back by two.
“Aunt Polya, can I play on the console?” Kirill was already pulling cables from the TV stand.
“No, don’t touch that,” Polina flinched as the boy almost knocked over a lamp. “I have an interview in ten minutes. Watch cartoons quietly, okay?”
The interview with the candidate for the manager position began in disaster. As soon as Polina turned on her camera and introduced herself as the company’s HR specialist, there was a crash in the next room and Sonya started crying.
“I’m sorry,” she gave an awkward smile into the camera. “Just a second.”
Chasing Sonya, Kirill had knocked a photo frame with their wedding picture off the shelf. The glass cracked, shards scattered across the floor. Sonya was wailing, her dress stained with juice she’d spilled in fright. Polina quickly swept up the glass and sat the children in front of the TV, turning a cartoon up louder.
“Please, be quiet,” she begged. “Auntie’s working.”
When she returned to the computer, she saw that the candidate was still waiting in Zoom. The man was looking at her with poorly concealed irritation.
“Sorry again. Shall we continue?”
“Looks like you’ve got quite a circus there,” he said coldly.
By three in the afternoon, Marina still hadn’t showed up. Polina called her twice — no answer. The meeting with management had to be rescheduled — Kirill had turned music up to full volume on his phone right in the middle of the call.
The doorbell rang. On the threshold stood their neighbor, Antonina Pavlovna — a frail pensioner with a sharp, watchful gaze.
“Polina, is everything all right in there?” she asked, peering into the apartment. “The noise is like a kindergarten.”
“I’m sorry, Antonina Pavlovna. My husband’s nephews,” Polina smiled guiltily. “His sister asked me to watch them.”
The neighbor pursed her lips.
“In our day, people didn’t do that,” she said reproachfully. “You can’t just dump your kids on relatives. Parents should take responsibility.”
Polina nodded, feeling a strange sense of gratitude for those words.
“And where’s their mother?” the neighbor wouldn’t let it go.
“At the doctor’s, she was supposed to pick them up ages ago,” Polina glanced at the clock. “It’s already four.”
“Doctor, sure,” Antonina Pavlovna snorted. “I saw your sister-in-law an hour ago at the mall. Sitting in a café with some bleached blonde, laughing loud enough for the whole floor to hear.”
Polina froze.
“Are you sure?”
“My eyes still work just fine,” the old woman snapped. “The dress barely covered her backside, and that hairstyle… like a rooster’s comb.”
There was no doubt — it was Marina. Polina thanked the neighbor and closed the door. Inside, everything was boiling.
She opened Instagram. Marina’s friend Irka had just posted a new story. “Girls’ night out in the middle of the week! Relaxing while the kids are at auntie’s ” The photo showed Marina with a glass in hand, flushed and laughing. Geotag: “Evropeisky Mall.”
Polina flung her phone onto the couch. This wasn’t just taking advantage of their kindness anymore — it was brazen deceit.
Marina finally arrived around six, smelling of alcohol and trying to cover it with chewing gum.
“Sorry, honey!” she hugged Polina, oblivious to how tense she was. “The line at the clinic was endless, then tests, then results… I barely made it out!”
Polina stepped back and looked her straight in the eyes.
“Stop lying. I saw the photos from the mall.”
Marina faltered, but quickly regained her composure.
“Oh, that. I just popped in to grab a bite for five minutes after the doctor,” she waved it off. “What’s the big deal?”
“Marina,” Polina’s voice trembled, “because of you I botched an interview today, rescheduled a meeting, and will probably get written up.”
“Oh, come on, everyone understands that kids…” Marina began.
“They’re not my kids,” Polina cut her off.
Just then Denis came into the room, freshly back from work. Behind him, Kirill hovered with a tablet in his hands.
“What’s going on?” Denis asked, looking from his wife to his sister.
“Your sister wasn’t at the doctor’s. She was having fun with a friend at the mall,” Polina said, folding her arms across her chest. “And I had my entire workday ruined because of her.”
Marina rolled her eyes.
“Oh my God, what a fuss over nothing! So I met a friend. I don’t have any personal life at all with these kids!”
“Then solve your problems yourself,” Polina snapped. “And don’t dump them on other people!”
Denis’s phone rang, cutting through the rising argument. He grimaced when he saw the screen.
“Mom,” he said and stepped aside.
Polina knew that tone. Her mother-in-law always somehow sensed the perfect moment to call and make everything more complicated.
A couple of minutes later, Denis came back with a guilty expression, still holding the phone between his ear and shoulder and nodding along to his mother’s lecturing.
“Mom wants to come over for dinner. She heard the kids in the background.”
Irina Mikhailovna’s voice was so loud through the speaker that everyone in the room could hear it:
“Deniska, why didn’t you tell me little Marina and the kids were at your place? I would’ve baked a pie!”
“We’re leaving anyway, Mom,” Marina said quickly, grabbing her handbag. “But you should come by, of course!”
When Marina took the kids and the door closed behind them, Polina exploded:
“She’s deliberately dumping them here! She just needs a free babysitter! It’s not fair, Denis!”
Denis looked tired.
“Let’s not do this now, okay? Mom’s on her way; I don’t want her walking in on a scene.”
“I don’t care!” Polina felt her control slipping. “This is our home, not a free daycare center!”
The doorbell cut her off. On the threshold stood Irina Mikhailovna with a cake and a heavy bag.
“Well, here I am!” she announced, kissing her son on the cheek. “Where are my darling grandbabies?”
“They just left,” Denis said. “Marina picked them up.”
“What a pity!” Irina lamented, walking into the apartment. “And I bought them toys. Oh well, I’ll leave them here, they’ll play next time.”
She laid two big boxes of building blocks and a doll in a fluffy dress on the couch.
“So what, they don’t have anywhere to play?” Polina asked, staring at these foreign things taking over her space.
“In the living room, of course!” Irina replied matter-of-factly. “Denis, sweetheart, help me in the kitchen.”
She led her son off, leaving Polina standing there looking at the toys occupying her couch. A symbol of how other people’s children were occupying her life.
Irina bustled in the kitchen as if it were her own apartment. Polina silently watched her mother-in-law rearrange jars in the cupboards and critically inspect the contents of the fridge.
“It’s a bit cramped in here,” Irina noted as she sliced the cake she’d brought. “Now my three-room place in the center would be much better for children to play in.”
“Then maybe you should take them to your place?” Polina couldn’t hold back. “If it’s so convenient there.”
Her mother-in-law froze with the knife in her hand and raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“What do you mean ‘take them’?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You know my blood pressure is all over the place, and these migraines are unbearable… The doctor strictly forbade me to get nervous. How am I supposed to handle kids in my condition?” She shook her head with a martyr’s expression. “They have a mother. Sometimes relatives just need to help each other.”
“Sometimes,” Polina stressed, “not all the time.”
Denis coughed, clearly feeling uncomfortable between the two women.
“Mom, let’s just have some tea,” he suggested, changing the subject.
Over tea, Irina questioned her son in detail about his job, gracefully pretending Polina wasn’t there. Then, inevitably, the conversation turned to Marina.
“It’s so hard for her, poor thing,” Irina sighed. “After the divorce, alone with two kids! And that scoundrel Sasha doesn’t send a single kopeck.”
“She has a job,” Polina pointed out. “And child support, as far as I know.”
Irina pursed her lips.
“A job! They pay pennies. And children grow, they need everything. I even sold my one piece of jewelry to buy Denis a bicycle,” she said, giving her son a tender look.
Polina stood up and began gathering cups.
“And what does our apartment have to do with it?” she asked bluntly. “Why do the children have to be here specifically?”
“Polina!” Denis snapped.
“No, I want to know,” she insisted. “Marina has her own apartment. You have a three-room place. Why are they constantly with us?”
Irina pressed her lips together, her whole posture radiating wounded dignity.
“In our family, we’ve always helped each other,” she said in an icy tone. “And no one fussed over who owned what.”
“This is our home,” Polina said firmly. “I have the right to know who will be here and when.”
“My daughter’s kids aren’t strangers to you!” Irina raised her voice.
“But they’re not mine either!” Polina felt her hands tremble. “I don’t mind helping. But not like this — when we’re lied to, used, and my feelings don’t matter to anyone!”
A heavy silence settled over the kitchen. Denis stared into his cup, avoiding both of their eyes.
“Denis is fine with it,” Irina finally said. “He loves his niece and nephew.”
“Did anyone ask me?” Polina turned to her husband. “Are you really okay with this? With your sister lying to us? Using us as free childcare?”
Denis winced but said nothing.
Irina rose from the table.
“I should be going. It’s late. I’ll leave the toys here,” she kissed her son on the cheek. “Call me tomorrow.”
When the door closed behind his mother, Polina leaned her hands on the kitchen table, feeling completely drained.
“Why did you stay silent?” she asked quietly.
“What was I supposed to say?” Denis spread his hands. “Start a fight in front of my mother?”
“At least don’t pretend you’re okay with everything.”
Denis’s phone chimed with a message. Marina. “Hey, can I leave the kids with you tomorrow for a couple of days? I urgently need to go on a business trip to Nizhny.”
He showed the message to Polina. She read it and gave a bitter little laugh.
“A business trip? Seriously?”
“Maybe it really is for work,” Denis said uncertainly.
Polina shook her head and walked out of the kitchen. In the living room, two big boxes of building blocks and the doll were sprawled on the couch as if they owned it. She picked up the toys and moved them into a corner, reclaiming at least a bit of her space.
In the morning, after Denis had already left for work, the doorbell rang. Polina opened it, already knowing who would be standing there.
Marina, in a business-like suit and with a small suitcase, was holding Kirill and Sonya by the hands. The children had backpacks and small overnight bags.
“Hi, sweetie!” Marina started chattering. “Can you believe it, an urgent business trip! Just for two days, until tomorrow. Denis knows everything, I texted him.”
“I know,” Polina nodded, not stepping aside. “But the kids can’t stay here.”
Marina blinked, her smile freezing on her face.
“What do you mean? I warned you.”
“I’m working today. And tomorrow too.”
“But you’re at home!” Marina stared at her in confusion. “What difference does it make?”
“A big one,” Polina replied firmly. “I have a critical project. And the kids get in the way.”
Marina stared at her in shock, then looked down at the children.
“But I have nowhere else to leave them! My train’s in two hours!”
“What about your mom?” Polina asked. “She has that big three-room place in the center.”
“She has high blood pressure and migraines; you know that!” Marina threw up her hands. “The doctor told her not to get nervous at all! She can’t handle kids!”
Polina looked at the children, who were anxiously glancing from their mother to their aunt.
“Marina, that’s not my problem. If you decided to go on a business trip, you should’ve arranged childcare in advance. Hire a nanny. Take them to your mother’s. Or cancel the trip.”
“So you just can’t help your own relatives?!” Marina’s voice jumped an octave. “What kind of selfishness is this! Denis would never…”
“Call him,” Polina suggested. “Let him ask for time off. After all, they’re his niece and nephew.”
Marina turned red with anger.
“You’re just jealous that I have kids and you don’t! That’s why you hate them!”
Kirill tugged on her sleeve.
“Mom, I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Wait!” she snapped. “The adults are talking.”
Polina sighed and stepped away from the door.
“Let him come in and use the bathroom, and then you’ll figure out another solution.”
Kirill slipped past into the apartment and ran to the bathroom. Sonya moved to follow him, but Polina stopped her.
“Sonya will wait out here with you,” she said.
Marina stared at her defiantly.
“And what if I just leave them and go? Then what? You’ll throw them out on the street?”
“Then I’ll call child services,” Polina answered calmly. “And I’ll report that a mother abandoned her children at distant relatives’ without warning.”
They looked at each other, and something in Polina’s eyes made Marina back down.
“Fine,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll call Mom.”
Kirill came out of the bathroom, and Marina seized his hand.
“Let’s go,” she snapped. “Aunt Polya doesn’t want to help us. She doesn’t care what happens to us.”
“What about the business trip?” the boy asked, bewildered.
“It’s canceled,” Marina said sharply.
When the door closed behind them, Polina let out a long breath and sank onto the little stool in the hallway. Inside, there was nothing — no triumph, no relief. Only a hardness born of months of humiliation and exhaustion.
That evening the storm finally broke. Denis burst into the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
“What the hell, Polina?!” he shouted from the hallway. “Marinka’s been calling me all day in hysterics! Mom too!”
Polina calmly raised her eyes from her laptop. She had just finished a successful interview with a candidate in the peace and quiet of her own apartment.
“I told your sister the truth,” she replied evenly. “I’m not her kids’ nanny. And this isn’t a daycare.”
“This is my family!” Denis’s face flushed. “My niece and nephew!”
“Exactly,” Polina nodded. “Yours. Not mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Polina closed the laptop and stood up.
“It means that if you want to help your sister, then go ahead. But not at my expense.”
“What do you mean ‘at your expense’?” Denis threw up his hands. “We live together! This is our home!”
“Exactly,” she said firmly. “Ours, Denis. Not your sister’s, not your mother’s, not your niece and nephew’s. Ours.”
They stood in the middle of the living room, looking at each other like strangers. Polina felt a strange calm, as if the protective wall she’d been building for years had finally become visible to everyone else.
“So what are you suggesting?” Denis asked quietly.
“If you want to babysit your niece and nephew, then go over to your sister’s and babysit. Or to your mother’s. But don’t bring them here, into my life, into my space.”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum?” There was disbelief in his voice.
“No,” she shook her head. “I’m just telling you that I will no longer be your family’s bargaining chip. I’m not obliged to put up with lies, manipulation, and disrespect.”
Denis sank onto the couch, covering his face with his hands.
“They’re my family,” he repeated dully.
“And me?” Polina asked. “What am I?”
He looked up at her, and in his eyes she saw the confusion of someone who was seeing the situation from the other side for the first time.
“I love you,” he said at last.
“Then protect me,” Polina sat down beside him but didn’t touch him. “Protect our home. Our space. Our life.”
Denis was silent for a long time, then nodded.
“I’ll talk to them. Really talk.”
Polina knew this was only the beginning. There would be more calls, more tears, more accusations. Irina Mikhailovna would brand her a heartless egoist. Marina would stage new scenes.
But for the first time in a long while, she felt she could breathe in her own home. And that freedom was worth any storm.
