Alina set her heavy bag on the floor and reached for the lock. Three months at the dacha had flown by. Now it was time to return to city life — to work and her usual routines.
The key turned easily. Too easily.
“Strange,” she muttered. “I could’ve sworn I locked it twice.”
The door swung open, and Alina froze. Strange coats were hanging in the hallway. Unfamiliar slippers stood on the floor. From the kitchen came the smell of fried potatoes and the voice of a morning news anchor.
“What is going on?” Alina stepped inside and looked around.
Her neat hallway had turned into a storage room. Bags, boxes, and packets of medicine were scattered everywhere. Dresses and sweaters that weren’t hers hung on the rack.
“Alinochka!” — from the kitchen emerged Vera Sergeyevna in a housecoat. “I thought you were going to stay at the dacha for another week!”
Alina blinked several times. No, she wasn’t imagining it. Her former mother-in-law was standing in the middle of her apartment, holding a ladle, smiling as if greeting an honored guest.
“Ver… Vera Sergeyevna?” Alina’s voice trembled. “What are you doing here?”
“Frying potatoes. Are you hungry?” The elderly woman turned toward the stove. “I’m making them with mushrooms — they come out delicious.”
“No, I’m not asking about the potatoes!” Alina took a deep breath. “What are you doing here? In my apartment?”
“Ah, that…” Vera Sergeyevna hesitated. “Well, how should I put it… Pavlik started renovations. Such dust, such noise! With my blood pressure, I can’t possibly stay there. The doctor strictly forbade it.”
Alina walked into the living room. Her favorite armchair stood by the window. On the coffee table lay someone else’s medicines, glasses, and magazines. The sofa was covered with a plaid blanket she’d never seen before.
“Wait a second,” she turned to her mother-in-law. “How long have you been living here?”
“Oh, about a week… maybe two,” Vera Sergeyevna mumbled. “Time flies so fast, I didn’t even notice.”
“Two weeks?” Alina’s voice rose. “You’ve been living in my apartment for two weeks?”
“Alinochka, don’t shout like that. The neighbors will hear.” The old woman closed the kitchen door. “I thought you wouldn’t mind. The apartment was empty, after all.”
“Wouldn’t mind?” Alina felt herself start to shake. “Did it not occur to you to ask for permission?”
“Well, I’m not a stranger!” Vera Sergeyevna threw up her hands. “We were family for fifteen years. Surely this divorce doesn’t change everything…”
“It changes exactly that!” Alina stepped closer. “We’re not family anymore. This is my apartment, my home!”
“Good heavens, how cruel you’ve become,” Vera Sergeyevna said tearfully. “Throwing an old woman out on the street. Where am I supposed to go?”
“To your son! Go to your son!”
“But he’s having renovations! I told you!” She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “That cursed dust… The doctor said any stress could bring on a heart attack.”
Alina sank onto the couch and buried her face in her hands. What a mess! She came home — and home no longer existed. Just a strange old woman with her medicine and potatoes.
“And how did you even get in?” she asked dully.
“I still had the key,” Vera Sergeyevna smiled guiltily. “From when Pavlik lived here. I forgot to give it back after the divorce.”
“I see.” Alina stood up. “All right then. Pack your things and leave.”
“Alinochka!” The old woman grabbed her sleeve. “But where would I go now? It’s already evening. I have so many things. And my heart acts up.”
“Not my problem.”
“All right, all right,” Vera Sergeyevna nodded. “I’ll start packing in the morning. Don’t you worry.”
Alina eyed her closely. There was something insincere about that meek tone.
“Tomorrow?” she repeated.
“Well yes. I have a lot of stuff; it’ll take time. And for now, let’s have dinner — the potatoes are ready.”
The next morning Alina woke up to the sound of clattering pots in the kitchen. Vera Sergeyevna was humming to herself.
“Good morning!” the old woman called cheerfully. “I’m cooking porridge! Oatmeal — it’s healthy!”
Alina threw on her robe and went out. The kitchen was a complete mess. Vera Sergeyevna was bustling about as if she’d lived there all her life.
“Where are my cups?” Alina asked.
“I put them away in the cupboard. I’m using mine — they’re more convenient for me,” the woman said, stirring the porridge. “They have special handles for arthritis.”
“This is my kitchen!” Alina’s voice cracked. “My cups, my cupboard!”
“Alinochka, don’t be like that,” Vera Sergeyevna sighed. “I’m not staying forever. Another week, maybe two.”
“You said yesterday you’d leave tomorrow!”
“Well, I didn’t realize… Pavlik called, said the renovation’s taking longer. The workers are careless.”
Alina sat down and grabbed her phone. She dialed her ex-husband.
“Pasha, hello?”
“Oh, hi,” his sleepy voice answered. “How’s the dacha?”
“I’m home already. Listen — your mother’s living in my apartment.”
“Yeah, she mentioned something,” he yawned. “I’m renovating — she can’t stay here.”
“Pasha, this is my apartment! Mine!”
“So what? She’s not bothering you.”
“Not bothering me? She’s rearranged everything, she’s running the place!”
“Alina, just put up with it for a bit. Where else can she go?” His tone grew irritated. “She’s an old woman.”
“Not my concern! Let her stay with you!”
“I told you — there’s dust and noise. She can’t.”
“But I can, right?”
“You’re young and healthy. You’ll survive.”
Alina hung up and slammed the phone onto the table.
“What, your son wouldn’t help?” Vera Sergeyevna clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Men are like that… they have their own troubles.”
“Get out.”
“Alinochka, please, be reasonable!” The old woman sat down beside her. “I’m not in anyone’s way. I cook, I clean — I even scrubbed your bathtub…”
— I didn’t ask you to!
— But I bought fresh groceries for the fridge. And I watered the flowers — they were almost dry.
Alina stood up and went to the bedroom. She slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. What kind of nightmare was this? She came home, and some strange woman was running her house.
An hour later, the doorbell rang.
— Must be for you, — called out Vera Sergeyevna.
Alina opened the door. On the doorstep stood two elderly ladies holding a cake.
— Hello, dear! — chirped one of them. — We’re here to see Vera Sergeyevna. Is she home?
— Home? — Alina was confused.
— Well, she lives here now, — the second one smiled. — She told us her niece took her in.
— What niece?
— Ladies, come in! — Vera Sergeyevna squeezed past Alina. — Why are you standing in the doorway? I’ve already put the samovar on.
The old women came inside. Soon there was laughter, tea, chatter. Alina locked herself in the bedroom, listening as they discussed her life through the wall.
— And where’s the niece’s husband? — asked one voice.
— She got divorced. Bad one, a drunkard.
— Oh, I didn’t know!
— Nothing to know, really. Young people split up so easily now. And we old folks — we’ve got nowhere to live.
Alina clenched her fists. A drunkard? Pavlik hadn’t drunk anything stronger than beer in his life! And now she was suddenly his niece!
By evening, the guests were gone. Vera Sergeyevna was washing the dishes and humming.
— Such nice friends I have, — she said to Alina. — They’ll come again tomorrow. Klava’s granddaughter is getting married — we need to discuss it.
— No one else is coming, — Alina said through gritted teeth.
— Why not?
— Because tomorrow you’re leaving.
— Alinochka, I can’t just now… — Vera Sergeyevna raised her wet hands helplessly. — My heart hurts, my blood pressure’s up. The doctor prescribed peace and quiet.
— Not my problem.
— You’ve become so cruel. Heartless.
Alina went to her room and opened her laptop. She started looking for lawyers’ phone numbers.
A week passed — a week of pure nightmare. Vera Sergeyevna had completely settled in. She brought three more boxes of her things, rearranged all the furniture in the living room, and hung her photos on the walls.
— It’s cozier now, don’t you think? — she asked when Alina came home from work.
— Where’s my couch?
— I moved it to the window — better light, good for the eyes. — The mother-in-law nodded proudly. — And I turned the TV around so it’s visible from the kitchen now.
Alina walked silently to her bedroom. On the bed lay a note:
“Dear, I took your vacuum cleaner home to clean it. Mine broke. I’ll return it tomorrow. — Vera.”
— Home? — Alina shouted. — You mean this is your home now?
— Well, I live here now! — came the answer from the kitchen. — Temporarily, of course!
Alina grabbed her phone and dialed Pavlik again.
— Listen carefully, — she said the moment he answered. — You’re taking your mother away tomorrow.
— Alina, don’t start again…
— I went to see a lawyer! — her voice broke into a shout. — This is illegal occupancy! Trespassing!
— Are you out of your mind? — Pavlik snapped. — You want to throw my mother out on the street?
— Yes! That’s exactly what I want!
— Then handle it yourself. I’ve got no time for this.
He hung up. Alina hurled the phone at the wall.
— What’s all that noise? — Vera Sergeyevna poked her head in. — You’re not sick, are you?
— I’m losing my mind! — Alina sat down on the bed. — You’re driving me insane!
— Alinochka, why are you so nervous? — the old woman sat beside her. — I’m a good tenant. I pay the utilities, buy groceries.
— I don’t want tenants! This is my home!
— But it’s such a big apartment. There’s plenty of room. And it’s more fun together.
— I’m not having fun!
The next morning, Alina got up early. She took her apartment documents, passport, and divorce certificate from the cabinet and went to see a lawyer.
— It’s an unpleasant situation, — said a middle-aged man, shaking his head. — But solvable. File a report with the police.
— And then?
— The district officer will come, make a report. If that doesn’t work, go to court.
— How long will that take?
— A month or two, at least.
Alina imagined two more months with Vera Sergeyevna and her friends. Impossible. She wouldn’t survive it.
That evening she came home furious. Music was playing, laughter rang out. In the kitchen sat four elderly women, playing dominoes.
— Alinochka! — Vera Sergeyevna waved cheerfully. — Meet my girls! We decided to have a tournament.
— A what?
— A domino tournament! We’ll get together every evening. You don’t mind, do you?
— I do mind! — Alina marched up to the table. — Everyone out! Right now!
— Oh, how temperamental, — whispered one of the guests.
— Work stress, — explained Vera Sergeyevna. — Young people are all so nervous nowadays.
— Out! — Alina screamed. — Out of my apartment, all of you!
The guests hurriedly gathered the dominoes, muttered something about bad manners, and left. Vera Sergeyevna saw them to the door, apologizing and promising tea and cake tomorrow.
— Why did you offend them? — she asked when she returned to the kitchen. — They’re lovely women, very refined.
— Because this is my home! — Alina slammed her fist on the table. — Mine!
— Ours now, — corrected her mother-in-law calmly. — I’m registered here.
— Registered? What do you mean?
— I went to the housing office. Brought them a certificate for temporary registration. — Vera Sergeyevna pulled a paper from her purse. — Here, look.
Alina grabbed the document. It was real — a stamp, a signature, everything in order.
— How could you? — Alina’s voice trembled.
— What’s the big deal? I brought the papers, told them my niece let me stay.
— I’m not your niece! And I didn’t give you permission!
— Well, the ladies at the housing office don’t know that, — Vera Sergeyevna smiled. — They’re kind women, they feel sorry for the elderly.
Alina sat down on a chair. Her hands were shaking. This was something else entirely. Registration — that was serious business.
— I’m filing a report with the police tomorrow, — she said quietly.
— Go ahead, — the mother-in-law nodded indifferently. — But I’m old and sick. Who’s going to believe I broke in by force?
The next morning, Alina got up at five. She dressed, grabbed her documents, and went to the police station. The local officer listened silently and shook his head.
— Complicated situation, — he said. — But illegal occupancy is still illegal occupancy. Let’s go take a look.
They arrived around half past seven. Vera Sergeyevna opened the door in her bathrobe, still half-asleep.
— Oh dear, what’s happened? — she looked fearfully at the officer.
— Good morning. Senior Lieutenant Petrov. May I come in?
— Of course, of course, — the old woman fussed. — I just don’t understand what’s going on…
— When did you move into this apartment? — the officer took out his notebook.
— Well… about a month ago. Maybe a bit more. — Vera sat down on the couch. — My heart’s bad, my blood pressure too…
— Do you have a rental agreement? Permission from the owner?
— What agreement? — the old woman looked flustered. — She’s my relative, my Alinochka. She let me stay herself.
— That’s a lie! — Alina stepped forward. — I never gave permission!
— How could you say that? — Vera threw up her hands. — Then where did I get the keys from?
— You stole them! You never gave them back after the divorce!
The officer kept writing, nodding. Then he closed his notebook.
— Ma’am, — he said to Vera Sergeyevna, — you have twenty-four hours to vacate the apartment.
— Vacate? — the old woman clutched her chest. — But where will I go?
— That’s not our concern. You have a son, you have your own apartment.
— But there’s renovation! Dust! I can’t stay there!
— Then rent a place, — the officer stood up. — I’ll come back tomorrow to check. If you’re still here, I’ll file a report.
He left. Vera sat on the couch and burst into tears.
— Alinochka, how could you? — she sobbed. — I’m not a stranger. We lived together for so many years.
— Not together, — Alina said coldly. — I lived with your son. Never with you.
— But I’m old! Sick!
— Not my problem.
Alina left for work. All day she wondered — would the apartment be empty when she got home, or would Vera stay and try to stall?
But when she opened the door that evening — the apartment was empty. The furniture was back in its place. The foreign things were gone. On the kitchen table lay a note:
“Only took my own things. Keys in the cabinet. Never thought you could be so cruel. — Vera.”
Alina crumpled the note and threw it into the trash. She walked through the rooms, checking everything. The bathroom still smelled faintly of someone else’s soap. The kitchen showed traces of rearranging. But the apartment was hers. Entirely hers.
She sat down in her favorite armchair and picked up her phone. Pavel had called five times and sent messages: “Mom’s crying,” “You’ve lost your mind,” “Aren’t you ashamed?”
Alina deleted them all without reading and blocked his number.
Then she went out to the hardware store. Bought paint, brushes, rollers. Tomorrow was Saturday — she’d start renovating.
For two weeks, she painted the walls, replaced the wallpaper, bought new curtains. She worked in the evenings and on weekends, like someone possessed. She wanted to erase every trace of that unwelcome presence.
When the renovation was done, the apartment looked completely different. Nothing reminded her of the nightmare that had happened.
That evening, Alina sat on her new sofa with a cup of tea. Rain pattered against the window. The apartment was quiet, cozy, peaceful. No one was cooking in her kitchen, rearranging furniture, or bringing over guests.
She picked up her phone and texted her friend: “Masha, come visit. I’ll show you the new interior.”
The reply came instantly: “On my way! Should I bring a drink?”
“Bring one. We’ll celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
Alina thought for a moment and typed: “Freedom.”
She set her cup on the table and smiled — truly smiled, for the first time in a long while. The home was hers. The life was hers. And from now on, she alone would decide what to do with them.
