“Pack your things. My mom and her relatives are coming to live with us until New Year’s, and none of them are happy to have you there.”
The apartment had come to Alena from her parents. A two-room flat on the fourth floor of an old brick building. The windows looked out into a courtyard where poplars grew and benches stood. Her parents had left all the documents in order, and six months later Alena inherited the place.
She registered everything in her name, received the certificate of ownership, and gradually got used to the idea that this was now her home.
She and Sergei got married a year after she received the inheritance. The wedding was modest, without unnecessary guests. Her husband moved in with Alena, sold his one-room apartment on the outskirts, and put the money into a savings account.
They lived quietly — without much joy, but without quarrels either. Sergei worked for a construction company and often stayed late. Alena worked in the accounting department of a small firm, came home earlier, and cooked dinner.
The first months of living together passed peacefully. Sergei didn’t meddle with household matters, didn’t try to change anything. Alena arranged the furniture the way she was used to, left her parents’ photographs on the walls, kept the old glass-front cabinet with the dishes. Her husband did not object.
But over time, the mother-in-law started to appear in their home. Raisa Stepanovna would come once a week, sometimes more often. She brought bags of groceries, walked in without ringing the bell, surveyed the apartment with a scrutinizing gaze. Alena tried to be polite, offered tea, listened to the advice.
“At least one of you should think about my son,” Raisa Stepanovna would say, looking around the living room. “Seriozha is tired in this cold apartment. You should hang some curtains, put up brighter wallpaper.”
Alena kept silent. The apartment was hers — her parents’. She had no intention of changing wallpaper, curtains, or anything else. But she didn’t want to argue with her mother-in-law either. It was easier to nod and say nothing.
“She got her place from her parents, but she can’t make it cozy,” Raisa Stepanovna continued, taking a jar of jam out of the bag. “Seriozha works until night, and here — cold and emptiness.”
Alena clenched her fists under the table. But she answered calmly:
“Sergei hasn’t complained.”
“Seriozha never complains, that’s just the way he is,” the mother-in-law sighed. “But a mother can see when her child is unwell.”
A child. Sergei was thirty-two years old, but for Raisa Stepanovna, her husband was still a child. Alena had learned to let those words go in one ear and out the other — listen, nod, and continue with her tasks.
Sergei didn’t notice how his mother was slowly poisoning the atmosphere in the home. He even enjoyed her visits. Care, food, attention — all that he hadn’t received enough of in childhood. His father had left early; his mother raised him alone, worked two jobs, and often left the boy with neighbors.
Now Raisa Stepanovna was making up for the past. She called her son every evening, asked how he was doing, gave advice. Sometimes Alena overheard fragments of their conversations:
“Mom, everything is fine, don’t worry.”
“Seriozha, you know I only think of you.”
“Yes, Mom, I understand.”
Alena didn’t interfere. Everyone has their own relationship with their parents. The important thing was that those relationships didn’t interfere with family life.
Autumn was taking over. It was getting colder outside, and it rained more often. Alena took warm clothes out of the closets, replaced the summer blankets with winter ones, set candles on the windowsills — little details that made the space cozy.
December was approaching. Alena thought about New Year’s. She wanted to organize a small celebration: invite a few friends, decorate the apartment. Nothing extravagant, just a quiet evening at home with loved ones.
During this time, Sergei became pensive. He came home from work, silent, staring at his phone. Alena asked if everything was okay, but her husband brushed her off.
“Everything’s fine, just tired.”
One evening at dinner, Sergei spoke up:
“Mom and the relatives are thinking of celebrating New Year’s in the city. They don’t have anywhere to stay, but since it’s just the two of us, we can fit everyone.”
Alena raised her head from her plate. Her fork froze mid-air.
“Everyone? How many is that?”
Sergei shrugged without looking up.
“Well, Mom, Aunt Lida, the kids — Andrei and Sveta. Six people, no more.”
“Six people? In a two-room apartment?”
“It’s not for long — from December 31 to January 2. What’s the problem?”
Alena set her fork down on the table.
“Sergei, this is my apartment. I’m not turning it into a hostel.”
Her husband frowned.
“My apartment, my apartment,” Sergei mimicked. “Do I live here or not?”
“You do. But I make the decisions about who stays here.”
“That’s my mother,” Sergei’s voice grew harsh.
“Your mother visits often,” Alena replied calmly. “But I do not agree to six people living here over the holidays.”
Sergei leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“Fine. We’ll talk later.”
The conversation ended. Alena cleared the dishes, Sergei went into the room and turned on the TV. The rest of the evening passed in silence.
The next day, Alena returned from work later than usual. The meeting dragged on, then she stayed at the warehouse sorting invoices. She came home at dusk. She opened the door, took off her jacket, and immediately sensed something was wrong.
Sergei stood in the hallway. His face was tense, fists clenched. Alena froze at the threshold.
“What happened?”
Her husband stepped forward.
“That’s it, pack your things! Mom and the relatives are coming to live here until New Year’s, and none of them want you around.”
Alena slowly closed the door behind her.
“What did you say?”
“What you heard. Mom called. They’re already packed, leaving the day after tomorrow. They need space, and you’ll just get in the way.”
“I’ll get in the way? In my own apartment?”
“In mine!” Sergei exploded. “I live here, I have rights!”
Alena dropped her bag on the floor.
“You live here because I allow it. The apartment is registered to me. Before our marriage. It’s my inheritance.”
“I don’t give a damn about your inheritance!” Sergei slammed his fist into the wall. “My mother wants to come — so she will!”
“No one will come here without my consent.”
Her husband stepped toward Alena, stopping just a step away.
“Do you really think you can order me around?”
Alena lifted her chin.
“I’m not ordering. I’m stating facts. This apartment is mine. I make the decisions.”
Sergei turned sharply, walked into the room, and slammed the door. Alena stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door. Inside, everything went cold. Not from fear — from realizing the situation had gone further than she thought.
The evening passed in silence. Sergei stayed in the room, Alena remained in the kitchen. She made tea, sat by the window, and looked at the courtyard. The streetlights illuminated the empty benches, and the wind drove fallen leaves across the pavement.
The phone rang closer to midnight. Raisa Stepanovna. Alena stared at the screen for a long time, then answered.
“Alena?” The mother-in-law’s voice was dry. “Seriozha told me you’re against our visit.”
“Raisa Stepanovna, I’m not against your visit. I’m against six people living in a two-room apartment.”
“Would we really crowd you? Seriozha in the room, my sister and I on the sofa, the kids on the floor. Nothing terrible.”
“It would be inconvenient for me.”
“Inconvenient,” the mother-in-law repeated with emphasis. “Seriozha works himself to exhaustion, provides for you, and you can’t even welcome his mother?”
“Sergei works for himself,” Alena objected. “And provides for himself. I work too.”
“You work in that tiny office of yours and make pennies. And Seriozha does his best to make sure you live comfortably.”
Alena closed her eyes. It was useless to argue.
“Raisa Stepanovna, the apartment belongs to me. It’s registered to me. The decision is mine.”
“Decision,” the mother-in-law mocked. “It’s just your greed. Your parents left you the apartment, and you can’t even take in your husband’s family.”
“I want a quiet New Year. Without a crowd.”
“A crowd! His own family is a crowd to you?”
Alena ended the call. The conversation led nowhere. Raisa Stepanovna ignored logic — she only saw her own wishes.
In the morning, Sergei left for work without saying goodbye. Alena stayed home. Her day off fell in the middle of the week, and she decided to tidy up the apartment. She dusted, mopped the floors, sorted the closets. The work kept her from thinking too much.
By lunchtime, her friend called. Katya — the one Alena had been close with since school.
“Hey, how are you? We haven’t seen each other in so long.”
“I’m fine,” Alena lied. “Everything’s okay.”
“You’re lying. I can hear it in your voice. What happened?”
Alena sighed and told her. About the mother-in-law, the New Year’s plans, the fight with her husband. Katya listened quietly, only occasionally making short comments.
“So what now?” Katya asked when Alena finished.
“I don’t know. Sergei isn’t speaking to me.”
“And you’re not going to give in?”
“No,” Alena replied firmly. “This is my apartment. If I give in now, it’ll be worse later.”
“Exactly,” Katya supported her. “Don’t give up. This is your home, your boundaries.”
The conversation with her friend calmed her a little. Alena hung up and returned to cleaning. By evening, the apartment sparkled. Alena made dinner, set the table, and waited for her husband.
Sergei came home late. He walked past the kitchen without looking at the table and shut himself in the room. Alena stood for a moment in the hallway, then went back to the kitchen and ate dinner alone.
The next day was a repeat. Silence, ignoring each other, closed doors. Alena didn’t try to start a conversation. If Sergei wanted to exert pressure with silence — let him try. But Alena wasn’t going to give in.
On the evening of the third day, Raisa Stepanovna called. This time, her voice sounded softer, almost affectionate.
“Alenochka, let’s talk calmly. Without emotions.”
“I’m calm,” Alena responded.
“You understand, we really have nowhere to go. My sister sold her apartment, she’s already moved out. The kids were renting a room, but the landlord evicted them. We just wanted to spend the holiday together.”
“I understand your situation, Raisa Stepanovna. But six people in a two-room apartment — it’s too much.”
“What if not all of us? My sister and the kids will stay at a hotel, and I’ll come alone. Is that okay?”
Alena hesitated. One mother-in-law — that was manageable. At least not a crowd.
“For how many days?”
“Well, three or four. From the 31st to the 3rd.”
“Alright,” Alena agreed. “But only you.”
“Thank you, dear!” The joy in her voice blossomed instantly. “I knew you were kind.”
Alena put down the phone and leaned against the wall. Something inside told her this agreement was a mistake. But it was too late to back down.
Sergei came home closer to midnight. He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, took a bottle of water. Alena sat at the table with a book.
“Your mother called,” she said without looking up.
“I know,” Sergei muttered. “Thanks for agreeing.”
“I agreed to host only your mother. For three days.”
“Yeah,” he nodded and disappeared into the room.
That was the end of the conversation. But the next day, when Alena returned from work, Sergei was waiting in the hallway. His face was tense, his arms crossed.
“Mom said everyone’s coming,” he blurted. “Not just her.”
Alena slowly took off her coat.
“I agreed only to your mother.”
“So what? Should we leave my aunt and the kids on the street?”
“Your family can stay at a hotel. I suggested that option.”
Sergei stepped forward, blocking her path.
“That’s it, pack your things! Mom and the relatives are coming to live here until New Year’s, and none of them want you here!”
Alena didn’t scream. Didn’t argue. Just looked at her husband calmly — the way you look at a stranger.
“If they’re so eager to live here, fine,” Alena said evenly. “But you’ll leave with them.”
Sergei blinked.
“What?”
Alena walked past him into the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and took out a suitcase. She began to fold Sergei’s things neatly. Shirts, trousers, socks — everything placed methodically, without hesitation.
“What are you doing?” he stood in the doorway.
“Packing your things.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No.”
Alena zipped up the suitcase, carried it into the hallway, and set it by the door. Sergei stared at the luggage, then let out an unsure, nervous laugh.
“You’re serious? Over a couple of days?”
“Over the fact that you make decisions for me. In my apartment.”
“My apartment!” Sergei’s voice cracked. “I live here!”
Alena took his jacket from the wardrobe and held it out.
“You’ll spend the holidays together. You’re all one team now.”
Sergei refused to take the jacket. He stepped back, straightening up.
“You have no right to kick me out!”
“I do. The apartment is mine. Registered in my name.”
“We’re husband and wife!”
“We were,” Alena corrected him.
Her husband froze. Then he started talking louder, faster — about family traditions, respect for elders, how his mother had worked all her life and deserved a rest. Words spilled out one after another, but Alena listened in silence. There was no irritation in her eyes, no doubt. Only calm certainty.
“You can go to them right now,” Alena cut in. “But leave the key.”
She held out her hand, palm up. Sergei looked at the hand, then at her face — searching for a sign of a joke, a bluff — but found nothing.
“You’ll regret this,” he hissed through his teeth.
“Maybe. The key.”
Sergei ripped the keyring off the wall hook and threw it on the floor. The keys clattered across the tiles, scattering. He grabbed his suitcase, yanked the door open, and rushed onto the landing. The slam of the door echoed through the stairwell.
Alena picked up the keys and set them on the dresser. She went into the kitchen, brewed tea, and sat by the window, looking out into the courtyard. The streetlights illuminated the empty walkways, the wind swayed the bare tree branches.
Her phone rang an hour later. Raisa Stepanovna. Alena didn’t answer. Then Sergei called. Alena declined the call. Messages followed one after another:
“You’ve lost your mind?”
“Mom is in shock!”
“Open the door right now!”
“I’m coming tomorrow and we’ll talk like normal people!”
Alena muted her phone and put it in the desk drawer.
In the morning, she called a locksmith company. A technician arrived two hours later — a young guy with a toolbox. He worked quickly, without unnecessary questions. Forty minutes later, a new lock was installed in the door. Shiny, reliable. The technician handed Alena two keys, received payment, and left.
Alena locked the new lock, went into the room, and took a box of Christmas decorations from the closet. Her parents had decorated the tree together every year, and Alena had kept all the ornaments: glass balls, garlands, little deer figurines.
By evening, a small Christmas tree stood in the apartment. A real one, smelling of pine. Alena hung the ornaments and turned on the garland. Colorful lights flickered in the room’s dim half-light.
The next day, the neighbor called. Tatyana Ivanovna, a woman in her sixties who lived a floor below.
“Alenochka, is everything alright?”
“Yes, thank you. Why?”
“It’s just that I saw your husband yesterday evening with some woman by the entrance. They were talking about something. Then they tried to get in, but the intercom didn’t open.”
“That was my mother-in-law,” Alena responded calmly. “Don’t worry, everything is under control.”
“Well, if anything — call me,” the older woman paused. “I’m nearby.”
“Thank you, Tatyana Ivanovna.”
Alena hung up and returned to cleaning. The apartment was gradually regaining its former state. The one filled with her parents’ presence. Without other people’s belongings, without imposed rules. Just familiar things, coziness, and silence.
On December 31st, Alena woke up late. Snow was falling outside — large flakes slowly drifting down. The city was preparing for the holiday: garlands on buildings, decorated trees in windows, bustling shops.
Alena made herself breakfast and sat at the table with a cup of coffee. Her phone had been silent for two days. No calls, no messages. Sergei must have realized that coming back wasn’t an option.
That evening, Alena set the table. Nothing fancy — a salad, roasted chicken, fruit. She turned on the TV and watched holiday programs. When the clock struck midnight, she stepped to the window with a glass of wine.
Lights shimmered outside. Somewhere, fireworks exploded — laughter and music echoed through the night. Alena raised her glass and gently clinked it against her reflection in the glass.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered to herself.
The apartment was quiet. No shrieking voices, no strangers, no ultimatums. Only peace — real peace, long forgotten. Alena settled into a chair, wrapped herself in a blanket, and closed her eyes.
For the first time in a long while, the home truly felt like hers.
January brought frost and snowstorms. Alena returned to work and slipped back into her usual rhythm. Colleagues asked how her holidays went — she answered briefly: good, peaceful.
Sergei called only in mid-January. His voice sounded tired.
“Alena, let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“Well… about us. Maybe we could meet?”
“What for?”
He paused.
“I realize I was wrong. Mom… she went too far. Let’s start over?”
Alena looked out the window. Snow lay in thick layers, branches bent under the weight.
“Sergei, there is no ‘starting over.’ You made your choice. Live with it.”
“Alen…”
“I’ll file for divorce next week. We have no shared property, nothing to divide. Through the registry office it will go quickly.”
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Sergei tried to say something more, but Alena hung up. The conversation was over.
A month later, the divorce was finalized. Sergei arrived at the registry office gloomy, signed the papers in silence, and left without saying goodbye. Alena received the divorce certificate, placed it into a folder, and returned home.
The apartment greeted her with quiet. Familiar, comforting quiet. Alena took off her coat, went into the kitchen, brewed tea, and took out some cookies. She sat by the window and looked into the courtyard. Where yellow leaves had lain in autumn, now snow lay bright and white. Children were sledding, laughing, falling into snowdrifts.
Life went on. Calm, steady, without ultimatums and pressure. Alena took a sip of tea and smiled. For the first time in a long while.
