Lyuda woke up to a crash in the kitchen. The digital clock showed half past six in the morning. Igor was snoring beside her, covered with the blanket up to his head. The woman threw on her robe and left the bedroom.
Alisa was busy in the kitchen — her husband’s twenty-five-year-old daughter from his first marriage. The girl stood with her back to the doorway, rummaging through the upper cabinets.
“Alisa? When did you get here?” Lyuda rubbed her temples, trying to wake up fully.
“Oh, hi!” the girl turned around, holding a jar of coffee. “I arrived late last night. Dad let me in. Where do you keep the sugar? I’ve searched through the whole kitchen set.”
Lyuda silently went to the cupboard and took out the sugar bowl. Three years ago, when she married Igor, she could never have imagined that her cozy two-room apartment would turn into a public thoroughfare. The apartment had been left to her by her parents — the only inheritance they had been able to give their daughter. Every corner had been arranged with love, every object had its place.
Igor moved in with her right after the wedding. He had no place of his own — after the divorce, he had left the apartment to his ex-wife. He had promised to respect Lyuda’s space and take care of her things. For the first year, that was how it was. Then Alisa’s visits began.
“Are you staying overnight again?” Lyuda asked, watching her stepdaughter brew coffee in her favorite cezve.
“Probably. I have an early meeting downtown tomorrow, and it’s far from my place.”
Alisa’s home was outside the city — a large cottage she had received from her mother after her mother’s second marriage. Forty minutes by car was not such a great distance, but the stepdaughter preferred to spend the night in the city.
“Listen, can I borrow your blue blouse?” Alisa opened the refrigerator and began studying its contents. “It would go perfectly with my suit.”
“What blouse?” Lyuda frowned.
“You know, the silk one. I saw it in your closet last week.”
Lyuda bit her tongue. The blouse had been a gift from a friend in Italy and had cost quite a bit. But there was no point arguing — Igor always took his daughter’s side.
At first, Alisa’s visits had been rare — once a month, she would drop by for a cup of coffee. Then she started appearing every weekend. Over the last six months, she could show up any day of the week, at any time of day or night. Once, Lyuda came home from work and found an entire group in the living room — Alisa had brought five friends, and they were drinking wine and laughing loudly.
“Alisa, your coffee is about to boil over,” Lyuda noted, pointing at the cezve.
The stepdaughter turned off the stove and poured the coffee into a cup. Not her own cup, but Lyuda’s favorite one — porcelain, with a gold rim, from her grandmother’s set.
“By the way, Maxim and Polina are coming over tonight,” Alisa said casually. “We’ll sit in the kitchen. We won’t bother you.”
Lyuda felt blood rush to her temples. Yesterday, she had specifically asked to leave work early, planning a quiet evening — to read a book, take a bath. And now there would be noise again until midnight.
“Alisa, your father and I have to get up early tomorrow. Maybe you could meet somewhere in a café?”
“Oh, come on!” the girl waved her hand. “We’ll be quiet. Besides, Dad doesn’t mind.”
A sleepy Igor peeked into the bedroom doorway.
“Why are you making noise so early?” he yawned and saw his daughter. “Oh, Aliska’s here! How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I wanted to borrow Lyuda’s blouse for today.”
“Of course, take it,” Igor did not even look at his wife. “Lyuda, you’re not greedy.”
Lyuda said nothing. In three years of marriage, she had learned that any attempt to set boundaries ended in a scandal. Igor accused her of selfishness and said she did not accept his daughter. And Alisa would put on an offended face and complain to her father that her stepmother did not love her.
At first, Lyuda had tried to build a relationship with her. She cooked Alisa’s favorite dishes and bought small gifts. But the girl took everything for granted. She could take an expensive lipstick without asking, wear Lyuda’s gold earrings to a party, and forget to return them.
“I’m going to get ready for work,” Lyuda said, leaving the kitchen.
In the bathroom, she looked at her reflection for a long time. Thirty-eight years old, fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, a tired gaze. When she married Igor, she had thought that at last she would not be alone, that she would have someone to grow old with. Instead, she had lost peace in her own home.
Laughter came from the kitchen — father and daughter were chatting cheerfully about something. Lyuda knew that now Alisa would tell another story about her job at the advertising agency, and Igor would admire what a talented daughter he had.
When Lyuda returned from work that evening, she heard music from the stairwell. The apartment was full of people — besides the promised Maxim and Polina, three other strangers had come. Wine bottles and snacks stood on the kitchen table. And it was obvious Alisa had prepared everything — Lyuda recognized her dishes and the food from her refrigerator.
“Oh, Lyudmila’s here!” Alisa came out to meet her, wearing that very blue blouse. Around her neck gleamed a pearl necklace — also from Lyuda’s jewelry box. “Don’t you want to join us?”
“No, thank you. I’m tired.”
Lyuda went into the bedroom. Igor was not home — he had probably stayed late at work. She dialed his number.
“Hello, Lyuda? What happened?”
“Igor, your daughter has brought a crowd again. They’re making noise, the music is blasting.”
“So what? They’re young people. They need somewhere to socialize. Don’t be such a bore.”
“This is my apartment!” Lyuda finally snapped. “I have the right to peace in my own home!”
“Now, let’s not get hysterical. Alisa is my daughter. She has the right to come see her father. If you don’t like it, I can move out with her.”
Lyuda hung up. The threat to move out was a regular one, but both of them knew Igor had nowhere to go. He could not afford to rent an apartment, and he did not want to move into Alisa’s country house — it was too far from work.
The guests left only around midnight. Alisa did not even think of cleaning up after herself — dirty dishes, empty bottles, crumbs on the table. Lyuda silently began putting things in order.
“Why are you clattering around?” Igor appeared in the kitchen. He smelled of alcohol — he had clearly been drinking somewhere after work.
“I’m cleaning up after your daughter and her friends.”
“You’re always unhappy. Another wife would be glad her husband had a good relationship with his daughter.”
“Another wife who had her own apartment might be glad. But I want to live peacefully in my own home.”
Igor came closer, and Lyuda involuntarily recoiled from the smell of fumes.
“You know what? I’m tired of all this. Tomorrow Alisa is moving in with us permanently. Renovations are starting at her house.”
“What? What renovations?”
“Major ones. At least six months. So get the second room ready.”
Lyuda leaned against the table. The second room was her study — her computer stood there, along with bookshelves and a sewing machine. It was the only place in the apartment where she could be alone.
“Igor, that’s impossible. We have a two-room apartment. There’s no space.”
“We’ll find space. We’ll move your junk from the study onto the balcony.”
“That isn’t junk! Those are my things, my books!”
“Your daughter has her own house, so go there with her,” Lyuda suddenly burst out, blocking her husband’s way into the corridor.
Igor froze. In three years of marriage, his wife had never raised her voice, never argued so sharply. The man blinked in confusion and tried to go around Lyuda, but she remained standing in the doorway.
“Are you out of your mind? She is my daughter!”
“And this is my apartment. The one you promised to respect when you moved in here.”
The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell. Alisa had forgotten her keys and was now impatiently pounding on the door. Igor pushed his wife aside and went to open it.
The next two weeks passed in a tense atmosphere. Igor ostentatiously stopped speaking to his wife, and Alisa pretended Lyuda did not exist. The stepdaughter came and went whenever she wanted, left her things everywhere, and occupied the bathroom in the mornings when Lyuda was getting ready for work.
On Friday, Lyuda returned home earlier than usual — she had asked her boss to leave, saying she felt unwell. Even on the stairs, the woman noticed an unfamiliar perfume scent. Sharp, cloying, completely unlike hers.
In the hallway stood a large suitcase. Pink, with stickers and keychains. Lyuda froze, staring at the huge thing that took up half the corridor.
Voices came from the kitchen. Lyuda went in and saw Alisa with some girl. On the table stood mugs of unfinished coffee — not ordinary mugs, but from that very porcelain set inherited from her grandmother.
“Oh, you’re already home,” Alisa did not even turn toward Lyuda. “This is Vika, my friend. Vika, this is Dad’s wife.”
Vika nodded awkwardly and hurried to say goodbye. When the door closed behind the girl, Lyuda pointed at the suitcase.
“What is this supposed to mean?”
“Dad didn’t tell you? I’m moving in. The renovations are starting at the house.”
“What renovations? Your house is new, only five years old!”
Alisa shrugged and walked into the living room. Lyuda followed her stepdaughter and stopped dead in the doorway. On the armchair lay her favorite cashmere cardigan — a gift from her sister in France. The cardigan was crumpled, and there was a coffee stain on the sleeve.
“Did you take my cardigan?”
“Oh, is that yours? I thought it was Dad’s. I was cold this morning.”
Lyuda went to the armchair and picked up the ruined item. The cashmere was hopelessly damaged — besides the stain, there was a snag on the back, apparently from some piece of jewelry.
“Alisa, this is an expensive thing! How could you?”
“Oh, come on, it’s just some cardigan. Dad will buy you a new one.”
At that moment, Igor returned. The man entered the apartment cheerfully, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and only then noticed his wife.
“Oh, Lyuda, you’re already home. Good. Alisa is moving in with us. I gave her the keys.”
“The keys?” Lyuda felt everything inside her go cold. “You gave her the keys to my apartment?”
“To our apartment. And anyway, what’s with the interrogation? Alisa is my daughter. She should be able to come home at any time.”
“This is not her home!” Lyuda’s voice trembled. “This is my apartment, inherited from my parents! Alisa has her own house!”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Igor waved his hand irritably. “She needs to live here while the renovations are going on. It’s only six months.”
“Six months? Three people in a two-room apartment?”
“So what? Other people live as large families even in one-room apartments. Don’t be selfish, Lyuda. Alisa is family. Let her feel at home.”
Igor went to his daughter’s suitcase, took it by the handle, and dragged it toward Lyuda’s study. The woman rushed to intercept him, stood in the doorway, and blocked his path.
“No. Enough.”
“What do you mean?” Igor frowned.
“I mean take your things and your daughter’s things. And leave. Both of you.”
The man laughed, but the laugh came out nervous.
“Lyuda, stop this hysteria. Move aside.”
“This isn’t hysteria. I have endured it for three years. I endured your daughter coming without asking, taking my things, ruining them, bringing friends here. I endured your indifference to my requests. Enough.”
“You’re kicking me out? Your own husband?”
“A husband who respects neither me nor my home. Yes, I’m kicking you out.”
Alisa came out of the living room, holding her phone.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“Your stepmother has lost her mind. She’s kicking us out.”
“What do you mean, kicking us out?” Alisa stared at Lyuda. “Dad is registered here!”
“No, he isn’t,” Lyuda answered calmly. “When Igor moved in, he refused to register here. He said it was unnecessary hassle.”
Igor turned crimson. Indeed, three years earlier, he had brushed off his wife’s suggestion to complete the paperwork. Back then it had seemed pointless — why bother with extra bureaucracy?
“Lyuda, come to your senses! Where am I supposed to go?”
“To your daughter. She has a wonderful house outside the city. Spacious, three stories. There will be enough room.”
“But there are renovations!” Alisa protested.
“A week ago, I saw your photos on social media. You were throwing a party at your house. There are no renovations there, and none are planned.”
Alisa opened her mouth and closed it again. Indeed, she had invented the renovations so her father would agree to her moving in. The city was more fun: friends nearby, cafés, clubs. The country house was good for parties, but living there permanently was boring.
“Lyuda, let’s talk calmly,” Igor tried to take his wife’s hand, but she pulled away.
“We’ve talked enough. Pack your things. You have one hour.”
“One hour? Are you joking?” the man tried to look outraged, but it came out pitiful.
“I’m not joking. Your things are mostly clothes. Alisa hasn’t even unpacked her suitcase. One hour is more than enough.”
Lyuda held out her hand.
“The keys.”
“What keys?”
“The keys to my apartment. The ones you gave Alisa without my knowledge.”
Igor reached into his pocket and took out a keyring. Lyuda took the keys and checked them — all four were there. Two sets: the one her husband had had, and the one he had given his daughter.
“Lyuda, don’t be like this… We can discuss everything…”
“You should have discussed things earlier. When I asked to set boundaries. When I asked you to talk to Alisa about her behavior. But you chose to ignore my requests.”
“Dad, do something!” Alisa tugged at her father’s sleeve. “She can’t just kick us out like this!”
“She can, and she is,” Lyuda took out her phone. “If you are not gone in an hour, I will call the police. I’ll explain that strangers are refusing to leave my apartment.”
“Strangers? I’m your husband!”
“A husband who put the interests of his adult daughter above those of his wife. A husband who allowed her to act in my home as if it were hers. Time is up. Pack.”
Lyuda went into the kitchen and sat at the table. Her hands trembled slightly, but her soul felt surprisingly calm. Right. Finally, it was right.
From the rooms came the sounds of movement — Igor was packing his things, muttering something under his breath. Alisa loudly complained, calling someone and telling them about the injustice.
Forty minutes later, Igor appeared in the doorway with two bags.
“Lyuda, this is a mistake. You’ll regret it.”
“Maybe. But it will be my mistake in my apartment.”
“I’ll file for divorce!”
“Excellent. Tomorrow I’ll go to a lawyer. There’s no property to divide — the apartment is premarital, mine. There are no children. The divorce will be quick.”
Alisa rolled out her pink suitcase, throwing Lyuda a hateful look.
“Dad is suffering because of you!”
“Your father is an adult man. He could have taught his daughter to respect other people’s boundaries. But he preferred to take the path of least resistance.”
Igor stood there a little longer, apparently hoping his wife would change her mind. But Lyuda remained silent, looking out the window.
“Dad, let’s go already!” Alisa stamped her foot impatiently. “The taxi is waiting.”
The man turned and left. Lyuda waited until the entrance door slammed, then went to the window. Down below, Igor and Alisa were loading their things into the car. The daughter was saying something emotionally, waving her arms. The father nodded gloomily.
The car drove away. Lyuda walked around the apartment. Silence. Blessed silence. No one else’s things, no one else’s smells, no strangers.
The woman took off the ruined cardigan and threw it into the trash. Then she gathered the cups from her grandmother’s set, carefully washed them, and put them back in the sideboard.
That evening, her friend called.
“Lyuda, how are you? We haven’t spoken in ages.”
“You know, Olya, finally everything is good. I kicked Igor out.”
“Seriously? What happened?”
“His daughter was planning to move in with us for six months. Supposedly because of renovations at her house.”
“In that three-story mansion?” her friend snorted. “She celebrated her birthday there a month ago. I saw the photos.”
“Exactly. She decided it was more convenient to live in the city. And Igor, of course, couldn’t refuse his beloved daughter.”
“You did the right thing kicking him out. Remember how you used to live? Peacefully, calmly. And this last year, you complained about that Alisa every time.”
“Yes, you’re right. You know, now I’m sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea from my favorite cup, and no one is bursting in, making noise, or taking my things. Paradise.”
“Maybe we should celebrate your freedom? Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s go to our favorite little restaurant.”
“With pleasure,” Lyuda smiled.
That night, the woman slept peacefully. For the first time in a long while. No one snored beside her, no one burst in during the night, no one turned on music.
In the morning, Lyuda made herself breakfast and drank her coffee slowly. She walked around the apartment, putting things back in their places. Order reigned in the study again — books on the shelves, documents in folders, the sewing machine in its place.
A week later, Igor tried to come back. He arrived with flowers, saying he had acted rashly, that he was ready for dialogue. Lyuda did not open the door.
“Igor, I’ll send the divorce documents through a lawyer. We have nothing more to talk about.”
“Lyuda, open the door! Alisa won’t come anymore!”
“It isn’t only about Alisa. It’s about the fact that you didn’t respect me or my home. Leave.”
The man stood there a little longer, then went away.
The divorce was finalized two months later. Igor did not resist — there really was nothing to divide. Lyuda kept his surname — she had already grown used to it, and all her work documents were registered under it.
About six months later, the woman met Igor’s former colleague in a store.
“Lyudmila Sergeyevna! How are you?”
“Wonderful, thank you.”
“I heard you and Igor Petrovich separated?”
“Yes, we divorced.”
“He lives with his daughter now. Complains that it’s hard. The commute to work is far, and Alisa, they say, is showing her character. She got used to Dad doing everything for her, and now she has to take care of him too.”
Lyuda only smiled. As you sow, so shall you reap.
At home, silence and peace awaited her. Her apartment. Her rules. Her life. And no more uninvited guests, no more things taken without permission, no more strangers at the kitchen table.
Lyuda brewed herself tea in her favorite cup, took a book, and settled into the armchair. Outside the window, summer rain was falling, drumming against the glass. And inside the apartment, it was quiet, cozy, and peaceful.
Exactly as a home should be.