— And this is my apartment, and I don’t want to see you or a single member of your family here ever again, darling! If you want the good life, then go out and earn it!
“All done, saw them off, Lida,” Kostya announced as he stepped into the hallway, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction, as if he’d just completed some incredibly important, exhausting mission. The air following him was thick and pungent—a mix of travel dust, the unmistakable scent of unwashed bodies, and something indefinably rural that always made city-bred Lida shrink inside. “Worn out, the poor souls, after the journey. But it looks like they had a great rest at our place too.”
Lida silently slipped her bag off her shoulder and set it on the only clean spot left on the shoe rack. She had just gotten back from her second job—a night shift at a small bakery, where the smell of fresh bread and vanilla usually soothed her frazzled nerves. But today, even that lovely aroma couldn’t drown out the stench that greeted her in her once-cozy apartment, which used to smell only of her favorite perfume and coffee. Her three-room place, her fortress, her pride, bought with money she’d saved up from scratch, penny by penny, before Kostya and his endless crowd ever arrived in her life.
She walked into the living room, eyes automatically registering every sign of disaster. Greasy food stains and dried glass rings marked the coffee table she’d chosen with such care. The couch cushions, normally perfectly arranged, were now crushed and tossed in a heap, as if some battle had taken place instead of a simple visit. Crumbs crunched under her feet. In the kitchen it was even worse: a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, some with leftovers of some mysterious porridge that she certainly hadn’t cooked. The counters were sticky, and tracks from someone’s shoes were on the floor—no one had bothered taking them off coming in from outside. Two weeks. For two weeks, yet another batch of Kostya’s in-laws, aunts, and some distant cousins had “vacationed” in her apartment, all fully supported by her—as always. And as always, they’d left without even a simple “thank you.”
“They had a great rest, huh?” Lida turned to her husband, who had already kicked off his shoes and was now heading happily to the fridge. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it vibrated with tension and barely hidden irritation. “And who’s going to rest after their rest, Kostya? Me? After a night shift?”
Kostya, already peering into the fridge for something to eat, turned around in surprise. His usually good-natured, open face was now a mask of confusion.
“What’s with you, Lida? Yeah, the relatives were here, so it’s a little messy—we’ll clean up. Why are you acting like this? Family is family, we have to help out, give them a proper welcome. You know they don’t have things as nice as we do back in the village.”
“Not as nice” echoed in Lida’s mind. Sure, back in the village they didn’t have her spacious three-room apartment in the city center, which she had fought tooth and nail for, working day and night, denying herself everything. They didn’t have her two-job income, which let Kostya take it easy and his family make their regular “city vacation” pilgrimages.
“Kostya, this isn’t ‘a little messy,’” she swept her arm around at the chaos, “this is a pigsty. An actual pigsty, and it happens every time they visit. Every month, Kostya! Every single month—new faces, more uncles, aunts, their kids, and their kids’ kids! I can’t even keep up with this never-ending parade of relatives! Do they think my place is a free hotel with full room service?”
Kostya frowned, the friendliness on his face slipping away, replaced by that stubborn, bullish look Lida knew all too well. It meant he was about to dig in his heels.
“You’re just exaggerating, Lida. What uncles and aunts? They’re my family. Close family. They don’t visit that often—once every month or two. Is that really so much? Some people only see family once a year. We should be hospitable. That’s how we do things.”
Lida took a deep breath, fighting the lump in her throat. She knew this conversation was useless, just like the dozens before. But today, something inside her had snapped. Maybe it was the lack of a simple “thank you.” Or maybe because after a grueling shift all she’d dreamed of was a hot shower and silence, but instead got filth, stink, and the indifferent face of a husband who thought all this was just normal.
“Normal for who, Kostya? For your village? In case you haven’t noticed, we live in a city. In my apartment. And I’m sick and tired of funding all this ‘normal’ with my own money and my own two hands! I’m sick of being the maid for your endless horde!”
Kostya’s face, which had looked merely confused a minute ago, started to turn red. A stubborn crease appeared between his thick blond eyebrows. He put the unopened bottle of kefir on the table so hard it bounced.
“What are you talking about, Lida?” his voice, usually relaxed and calm, now took on a harsh, nearly shrill note. “Your circus? Your relatives? They’re my family! My blood! How can you talk about them like that? They’re simple people, salt of the earth! Not used to all your city stuff, everyone for themselves! In the village, we always helped each other, split our last piece of bread! But you… you just don’t love them, that’s the problem! You don’t want to share your precious…—he caught himself and corrected—our apartment with them!”
Lida gave a bitter smile. “Our apartment.” How easily he had claimed what she had worked for years to achieve, while he was still hunting soccer balls with his village friends, never even dreaming of moving to the city.
“Helping out is one thing, Kostya,” she forced herself to stay calm, but her anger, bottled for months if not years, was bubbling over, “but taking advantage and acting like everyone owes you is another. Your ‘simple’ Aunt Masha, for example, last time she visited, dumped half a bottle of my French perfume in the wardrobe because she thought it ‘keeps the moths away.’ And those perfumes cost as much as her monthly pension—if not more! Did she make it up to me? No! She just patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry, city lady, you won’t go broke!’”
Kostya waved her off, as if swatting a fly.
“Oh come on, it’s just perfume! You always blow things out of proportion. Aunt Masha meant no harm, she’s just simple. And what does she care about your fancy perfume? Maybe it’s good for moths! You should be happy you did something helpful.”
“Helpful?” Lida felt her cheeks flush. “And when your seventeen-year-old cousin, Vitka, thought my new laptop made a good stand for his energy drink and spilled it all over, so I had to replace the motherboard—was that ‘helpful’ too? Or when your… I don’t even know her name—sister-in-law?—came for a ‘quick visit’ and stayed three weeks, demanding every night for ‘something tasty, none of that village potato stuff’—was I supposed to be happy? I was dead tired after work, still running to the store and cooking for Her Majesty! She never even washed a plate after herself!”… Continued just below in the first comment
“Well, I saw our guests off, Lida,” Kostya announced as he entered the hallway, rubbing his hands with a satisfied grin, like he’d just accomplished something truly heroic. The air he brought in was heavy—a mix of road dust, a not-so-fresh body odor, and an unmistakable rural smell that always made Lida, a city girl at heart, shrink inside. “Poor things, the trip really wore them out. But it looks like they had a great time here, too.”
continued in the comments.
Lida silently slipped the bag off her shoulder and placed it on the only clean spot on the shoe rack. She’d just finished her second job—a night shift at a small bakery, where the scent of fresh bread and vanilla usually soothed her frayed nerves. But today, even that lovely aroma couldn’t overpower the smell that greeted her in what used to be her cozy sanctuary, always scented with her favorite perfume and coffee. The three-room apartment was her pride, her fortress, bought with money she had painstakingly saved before Kostya ever came along with his endless parade of relatives.
She slowly moved into the living room, automatically taking in every detail of the mess. The coffee table she’d chosen with such care was now dotted with greasy food stains and dry glass rings. The sofa cushions, usually fluffed and tidy, were crumpled and piled up as if they’d been through a wrestling match. Breadcrumbs crunched unpleasantly underfoot. In the kitchen, things looked even worse: a mountain of dirty dishes filled the sink, some still smeared with a mysterious porridge Lida was sure she hadn’t cooked. The countertops were sticky, and muddy boot prints crossed the floor—no one had bothered to take their shoes off coming in from outside. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of Kostya’s latest batch of relatives, aunts, and distant cousins “resting” in her apartment, all fully taken care of by her, as always. And, as always, they left without even a simple “thank you.”
“A great time, huh?” Lida turned to her husband, who had already taken off his shoes and was now happily making his way to the fridge. Her voice wasn’t raised yet, but it vibrated with exhaustion and barely-concealed irritation. “And who’s supposed to ‘relax’ after their vacation, Kostya? Me? After a night shift, no less?”
Kostya, who was already peering into the fridge for a snack, looked back at her in surprise. His usually good-natured, simple face was full of genuine confusion.
“Lida, what’s wrong? So, we had guests. The place is a bit messy—we’ll clean up. Why are you making such a big deal? They’re our family, we have to help them out, make them feel at home. You know things aren’t as comfortable for them back in the village.”
“Not the same conditions,” Lida mimicked in her mind. Sure, they didn’t have her spacious three-bedroom apartment downtown—a place she fought tooth and nail for, working around the clock and sacrificing everything. They didn’t have her dual incomes, either, which allowed Kostya to feel pretty comfortable without worrying much about money, and let his relatives take their regular “vacation pilgrimages” to the city.
“Kostya, this isn’t ‘a little messy,” she said, gesturing at the chaos all around. “This is a pigsty. A real, honest-to-goodness pigsty. And it’s always like this after your relatives visit. Every month, Kostya! Every single month it’s new faces—new uncles, aunts, their kids, the kids’ kids! I can’t even keep up with all these endless in-laws and distant cousins! Do they actually think I run a free hotel here, with full room and board?”
Kostya frowned, the good-natured look on his face slowly fading and being replaced by a stubborn, bullish expression that Lida knew all too well. It meant he wasn’t planning to give an inch.
“Why are you exaggerating, Lida? What uncles and aunts? This is my family. Close people. They’re coming to us, not some stranger. And it’s not even that often—once a month or every other month. Is that really a lot? Some people would think even once a year is too much. But we should be hospitable. That’s just how it’s done for us.”
Lida took a deep breath, trying to calm the lump rising in her throat. She knew this conversation was pointless, that it would end in nothing, like a dozen others before. But something inside her finally broke today. Maybe it was that missing ‘thank you’ she never got. Or maybe it was coming home from a grueling day at work, just wanting a hot shower and some peace, only to find this—dirt, stink, and her husband’s indifferent face, acting like all of this was perfectly normal.
“Done by whom, Kostya? In your village? Well, if you haven’t noticed, we live in the city now. In my apartment. And I’m sick and tired of paying for this ‘custom’ out of my own pocket and with my own hands! I’m tired of being the maid for your never-ending family!”
Kostya’s face, which a minute ago showed just mild confusion, started turning crimson. A stubborn wrinkle formed between his thick, light eyebrows. He slammed the unopened bottle of kefir onto the table so hard, it bounced.
“What are you saying, Lida?” His voice, usually relaxed and calm, now had a hard, almost shrill edge. “‘Your gypsy camp’? ‘Your family’? These are my relatives! My own blood! How can you talk about them like that? They’re simple people, from the land! They’re not used to your city ways, where everyone just fends for themselves! Back in the village, we always helped each other, even shared the last piece of bread! But you… you just don’t love them, that’s all! You begrudge them a place in your—” he caught himself, corrected, “—in our apartment!”
Lida let out a bitter smirk. “In our apartment.” How easily he laid claim to what she’d spent years working for—while he was still busy kicking a soccer ball around with his friends in the village, never even considering moving to the city.
“Helping out, Kostya, is one thing,” she tried to keep her voice steady, but inside she was bubbling with hurt and anger that had been building up for months, maybe even years. “But mooching and acting like everyone owes you is a whole different story. Take your so-called ‘simple’ Aunt Masha, for example—last time she visited, she poured out half a bottle of my French perfume because she thought it ‘worked great at getting rid of moths in the closet.’ Do you know how much that perfume cost? About as much as her monthly pension, if not more! Did anyone compensate me? No! She didn’t even apologize, she just patted my shoulder and said, ‘You won’t go broke, city girl!'”
Kostya brushed her off, as if swatting at an annoying fly.
“Oh, come on, it’s just perfume! Is that really worth getting upset over? Women always make a mountain out of a molehill. Aunt Masha is a simple person, she didn’t mean any harm. She doesn’t even understand your perfumes—maybe they really do work against moths! You should be happy you did something useful for someone.”
“Something useful?” Lida felt her cheeks flush as her frustration boiled over. “And when your seventeen-year-old cousin Vitka decided my new laptop was just the thing to balance his energy drink on, and spilled it so badly the motherboard needed replacing, was that ‘useful’ too? Or when your sister-in-law… I can’t even remember her name… came to ‘visit for a day,’ but stayed for three weeks and demanded ‘something tasty every night, not like we just eat potatoes in the village,’ was I supposed to be happy about that? I was exhausted after work, but still had to run to the store and slave over the stove to feed ‘her highness!’ And she didn’t even wash her own dish once!
Kostya’s face grew even more tense. He clenched his fists, Lida’s very real and specific complaints clearly wounding his pride and the rosy image of his ‘simple country family’ that he held so dear.
“You’re blowing things out of proportion and nitpicking at minor stuff!” he barked. “So, the kid broke your laptop—big deal! Kids do that kind of thing. And Glafira… well, that’s just how she is; she likes being taken care of. That’s what hospitality is, Lida! Do you want me to tell my own family, ‘Sorry, my wife doesn’t want to feed you or let you touch anything in the house?’ You want them to laugh at me? Say I’m whipped by a city snob?”
Lida stepped closer to him. Her eyes, usually gentle and a little tired, now burned with a cold fire.
“Well, Kostya, I haven’t found it funny for a long time! It’s not funny when I come home and find the groceries I bought with my last bit of money are gone, eaten without even asking! It’s not funny when, after every one of their ‘vacations’ at our place, I have to do a massive clean-up and haul out piles of trash! It’s not funny realizing that I’m working two jobs, not so we can afford something nice for ourselves, but just to support your never-satisfied relatives! Have you brought a single penny into the house in the last six months to help cover their expenses? No! All you do is bend over backwards for them and drone on about how ‘you have to help family!’ But who’s going to help me, Kostya? Who’ll help us?”
He looked at her, and all the warmth he once had was gone from his eyes. Now there was only anger and stubbornness.
“Why do you keep saying ‘your apartment, your money’?” he nearly shouted. “We’re a family! That means everything is shared! If you have the ability to help my relatives, who don’t have it as easy as you, then you’re simply obligated to do it! That’s the decent thing to do! They’re not strangers—they’re my family! And they’re going to come visit, because this is my home too! And if you don’t like it, that’s your problem! Maybe you just need to be a bit kinder and more generous, and stop counting every penny and every piece of food!”
‘Maybe you just need to be a bit kinder and more generous.’ Those words, thrown at her so carelessly, as if she was the one to blame for being taken advantage of, completely pushed Lida over the edge. She realized he didn’t just not understand her—he didn’t want to understand. He truly believed she was obligated. Obligated to share, to put up with things, to serve others. And that sense of ‘obligation’ was already making her sick.
“Kinder? More generous?” Lida laughed—a laugh so dry and bitter it sounded more like a cough. The sound escaped so harshly that Kostya even took a step back, startled by this sudden change. The tired, pleading woman was gone. In her place stood a new Lida—cold, furious, with eyes shining dangerously. “How much kinder should I be, Kostya? How much more generous? Am I not kind enough, when every month my apartment turns into a thoroughfare and a free canteen for your entire clan? Am I not generous enough, when I pay for their parties, their broken things, their endless appetites out of my own pocket, while you sit back and nod, calling yourself a good son and nephew?”
Kostya opened his mouth to answer, ready to repeat his tired lines about ‘family’ and ‘simple country ways,’ but Lida wouldn’t let him get a word in. Her voice, now strong and sharp, rang with all the suppressed fury she’d been holding back for so long.
“Do you even have any idea, Kostya, what it takes to earn the money for a three-room apartment in this city? Have you ever worked to the point you can’t feel your hands or feet, where every penny counts? I have! For years! I gave up vacations, new clothes, simple female joys, just to have a place of my own! Mine! Do you get it? Not ours, not yours, not your family’s—mine! I bought it long before you turned up with your country charm and empty pockets!”
She paused to catch her breath, and in that moment, Kostya, finally recovering from the shock, tried to take back control of the conversation.
“Why are you always waving that apartment in my face?” he snapped, his face twisted with anger. “So you bought it, so what? We’re married—it’s our home now! Family means sharing everything! But you act like… like a selfish miser! So stingy! You can’t even spare a slice of bread for my relatives!”
“A piece of bread?” Lida laughed again, even more bitterly. “If it were only about a piece of bread, Kostya! They’re not just coming here to eat! They’re coming to live off everything I have, to use my things, my appliances, my comforts! They act like they’re the ones doing me a favor by blessing me with their presence! Remember your cousin Aunt Zina, when she came ‘for a check-up’ that somehow lasted a month? She slept in my bed, in my bedroom, because ‘it’s drafty in the living room,’ while I was cramped up on the old couch! And she still complained that my mattress was ‘too soft’ and the pillows were ‘wrong!'”
Kostya winced, as if he had a toothache. He clearly didn’t like these specific, unpleasant facts.
“Well, she’s an elderly woman, what do you expect from her? She needs to be comfortable. You’re young, you could manage. It’s just temporary.”
“Temporary?” Lida raised her eyebrows. “Kostya, this ‘temporary’ has been going on for two years—ever since we got married! Two years of a constant stream of your relatives! For two years, I’ve felt like I’m living in a train station! I’m exhausted, do you understand? EX-HAUS-TED! From this never-ending parade of strangers in my home, from the mess, the noise, the constant need to adjust, to give in, to serve! I want to come home and relax, not collapse from exhaustion while cleaning up after yet another round of your ‘dear guests!'”
A short, tense silence followed. Kostya glared at her from under his brows, clearly mulling over his response. He could see that Lida was at her breaking point, that his usual attempts to persuade her or accuse her of being cold-hearted wouldn’t work this time. But he wasn’t about to back down either. That just wasn’t in his nature. Admitting she was right would mean admitting his own failures—his dependence on her, her apartment, her money.
“So what are you suggesting then?” he finally said through clenched teeth. “Ban my family from visiting? Tell them my wife doesn’t want to see them? Is that what you want? Are you trying to get me to abandon my family because of your whims?”
Lida’s expression became hard, almost as if carved from stone. She looked him straight in the eye, and there wasn’t a hint of her former softness or doubt in her gaze.
“No, Kostya,” she said—her voice surprisingly calm, yet so cold and determined that it chilled him to the bone. “I’m not asking you to abandon your family. I’m asking you and your family to start living within your means.”
“So that means they can’t come here anymore, just because you…”
“This is my apartment, and I don’t want to see you or any of your relatives here anymore, my dear! If you want to live the easy life, then earn it like I do!”
“Oh, really? Aren’t we clever now? Huh?”
“Earn your own apartments, your own ‘vacations,’ your own ‘treats!’ Stop living off me! Stop treating my money and my belongings as if they belong to everyone!”
Kostya was stunned. He stared at Lida as if he was seeing her for the first time, as though she had suddenly started speaking another language. “My apartment… I don’t want to see you… earn your money like I do…” These words—so harsh, so final—just wouldn’t fit into his mind. He was used to Lida grumbling, complaining, but in the end, she always gave in, always relented. But now, her voice, her posture, her whole expression radiated such unshakable determination that he realized: this wasn’t just another fight. This was something different. Something much more serious.
“Are you… are you out of your mind?” he finally managed to say, his voice trembling with disbelief and rising fear. “Are you kicking me out? Of our home?”
“Of my home, Kostya,” Lida corrected him, and every word she spoke landed like a hammer blow. “And yes, if you’re not ready to change things, if you’re not willing to start contributing equally to our budget and end this constant pilgrimage for good, then yes, I’m telling you to pack your things. And go. To them. To the village, to the fresh air, to simple living. I’m sure they’ll welcome you with open arms. After all, you’re such a good, caring relative. But feeding you and supporting you, I’m afraid, will be their responsibility now. And as you say, they’re ‘simple people,’ they have ‘different conditions’ out there. Let’s see how long their hospitality lasts when you start living off them like you did off me.”
As Lida spoke, Kostya’s face slowly lengthened. Color surged in his cheeks, then drained away, leaving pale spots behind. He looked at her, and in his eyes swirled a mix of emotions—confusion, disbelief, wounded pride, and, breaking through like a weed through concrete, a primitive fear. The fear of losing the warm, easy, comfortable life he had grown so used to—a life, as it turned out, that existed only due to her patience and her money.
“Are you… are you serious?” His voice went hoarse and thin. He took a step toward her, instinctively trying to close the distance, as though that could give him back some control—over the situation, over her. “Lida, come on! What are you saying? Pack my bags? A village? But this is… this is our home! You can’t just throw me out in the street! I’m your husband!”
Lida stood frozen, like she was carved out of cold granite. Not a single muscle moved on her face. Her calm, so unshakable and absolute, scared Kostya far more than if she’d shouted or had a meltdown.
“Husband?” she tilted her head slightly, as if hearing the word for the first time. “And what does a husband do, Kostya? A husband takes care of his family. A husband works to provide for that family. He respects his wife and her hard work. And what have you done these past two years? You turned my life into a catering service for your endless relatives. You lived off me, not even bothering to lift a finger to change anything. You thought I owed you, that I was obligated. Well, Kostya, I don’t owe you anything anymore. And this is not ‘our home.’ This is my apartment. And I am the one in charge here.”
He was gasping with outrage. Lida’s words, so direct and merciless, hit him right where it hurt most. He tried again to lean on her “feminine nature,” to talk about the mythical “family happiness,” but he realized these arguments no longer worked. She saw right through him.
“Oh, is that it, huh?!” he shouted, trying to drown out his fear with anger. “So, all this time, you were just using me, is that it? Waiting for the perfect moment to toss me aside? You thought I was only good for giving you the status of a married woman? And now that you’re bored, you decided to get rid of me? Well, thanks for the happiness! You think you’re the only smart one around, huh? You think I can’t survive without you?”
Lida watched him in silence, her eyes showing neither anger nor pity. There was only a cold, detached statement of fact.
“Whether you manage or not, Kostya, that’s no longer my concern,” she said evenly. “You’re a grown man. You have hands, feet, a head on your shoulders, though you don’t always use it as you should. You were always so proud of your ‘country smarts’ and your ‘strong roots.’ So now show me what you can do without my apartment and my money. Go back to your people. They’ll teach you how to ‘share the last crust of bread.’ Maybe they’ll finally make you work for a living.”
That was a low blow. Mentioning work, the need to provide for himself—this had always been Kostya’s sore spot. He was used to everything just working out on its own, expecting Lida to handle and pay for everything.
“You… you…” he stammered, searching for words, but nothing came to mind except the usual empty insults. He felt the ground slipping from beneath his feet. The woman he’d always considered his quiet, gentle harbor had suddenly turned into a furious storm, demanding the impossible from him—independence. “You’ll regret this, Lida! You’ll regret it when you’re all alone in your empty apartment! No one will ever put up with a viper like you! You’ll be howling with loneliness!”
Lida allowed herself a barely noticeable smirk.
“Maybe I will, Kostya. But it’ll be my loneliness, in my clean apartment, with no one’s socks or the reek of your countless relatives’ booze. I won’t have to clean up after anyone or listen to endless complaints. And you know, that prospect doesn’t scare me at all—if anything, it’s a relief. Now, if you’d be so kind,” she nodded toward the hallway, where his one decent jacket hung on the rack and his sports bag—the same one he’d shown up with—sat on the floor, “gather your things. I don’t want you to stay here any longer than necessary.”
Kostya realized this was the end. Final and irreversible. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt in her eyes, no chance for compromise. She erased him from her life as decisively as you cross out a failed line in a document. He kept yelling, hurling accusations, trying to threaten her, but it no longer mattered. Lida just stood there, waiting for him to finish. His anger slowly turned into bitter, powerless resentment. He yanked his jacket from the rack and shoved a few scattered belongings into his bag.
“Go ahead, sit here alone like a hermit!” he shouted from the door, not bothering to look at her. “We’ll see who laughs last! I’ll find a woman who appreciates me and doesn’t nag about every little thing or count every morsel!”
He wanted to slam the door, but Lida gave him a look that made him only yank the handle angrily before leaving, stomping loudly down the stairs. Lida was alone now. In her own apartment. Silence, so unusual after two weeks of noise and chaos, descended on her. She walked slowly through the rooms, surveying the aftermath of Kostya’s family’s recent ‘visit.’ Heaps of dirt, sticky tables, rumpled cushions. But now it was her mess. And she knew she would clean it up, and the apartment would be peaceful and spotless again. The way she wanted. The way it always should have been. She felt exhausted, empty, but somewhere deep inside, beneath the fatigue and the pain of a broken relationship, a new, almost forgotten feeling was awakening—a sense of regained freedom. And that feeling was stronger than anything. The fight was final. The bridges were burned. And, somehow, it felt incredibly easy because of that…
