— “Open up, Katjuska, we’re family after all!” — Antonina Pavlovna’s honeyed, overly polished voice rang through the stairwell, drowning out the long, insistent doorbell. — “At least let the boy bring his things in… you can’t leave him on the street, we’ll sort everything out in a family way!”
Kata leaned toward the peephole. In the dim stairwell stood her former mother-in-law, and behind her Vagyim was shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, as if he didn’t even know which leg belonged to him. At his feet were two huge, checkered travel bags. A tightness formed in Kata’s throat, but she slowly exhaled. She turned the lock and opened the door only a crack, keeping the chain on.
— “We’re divorced,” she said quietly, but every word landed hard. — “You are no longer ‘family’ here. This apartment has nothing to do with you.”
The mother-in-law’s face changed in an instant. The caring smile fell away like a poorly worn mask.
— “Don’t try to play dumb with me!” she snapped. — “The ex-husband has rights! He was registered here! We’ll challenge this in court, do you hear me?!”
Kata looked at Vagyim. The man didn’t even glance at her. He was brushing off his coat, as if the whole situation were just an inconvenience.
— “Kata, let me in,” he said flatly. — “I’m tired. Got any food?”
That indifference somehow struck harder than any previous humiliation. In Kata’s mind, years flashed by: the lectures, the “you’re doing it wrong” comments, the lawsuit where they even tried to take half her apartment.
— “I’m calling the police,” she said.
— “Go ahead!” the mother-in-law shot back triumphantly, pressing her whole body against the door. — “We’ll see who they believe!”
The metal creaked. Kata looked at them for a moment, then slowly removed the chain.
And with that, she let them in.
The apartment filled with чужд movements. Vagyim was already hanging up his coat like he had come home. The mother-in-law walked into the kitchen in her shoes, as if she was inspecting it rather than breaking in.
— “Put the bags in the hallway,” she ordered. — “I’ll tidy things up. And you, Katerina, get him something from the fridge. We need to learn to live together.”
Kata didn’t respond. She locked herself in the bathroom and dialed.
— “An unlawful entry has occurred. They are refusing to leave the apartment,” she said calmly.
When she came out, she took out a blue folder. And waited.
Half an hour later, Vagyim was already sprawled in the living room.
— “Where’s the remote?” he called out. — “And make some sandwiches, my mother is sorting out the kitchen.”
Kata didn’t answer. She just watched the wall clock.
When the doorbell rang, everything froze.
Two police officers.
Antonina Pavlovna immediately stepped forward.
— “Oh, officers, it’s just a family dispute! Nothing serious!”
The older officer looked at Kata.
— “Who is the owner?”
Kata opened the folder.
— “I am. Here is the title deed. Here is the divorce. Here is the deregistration of residence. They are here without legal grounds.”
The officer nodded.
— “Your documents.”
The air suddenly changed. Their confidence evaporated.
— “Pack your things. You must leave immediately,” the officer said.
The mother-in-law tried to shout something, but no one was listening anymore.
In the stairwell, the whole scene fell apart: one of the bags burst open, clothes slid onto the concrete floor. Vagyim bent down to pick them up, but there was no dignity in it anymore—only haste.
The mother-in-law gave Kata one last look.
— “We’ll come back!” she hissed. — “You’ll regret this!”
Kata didn’t respond. She just closed the door.
The lock clicked—this time like a boundary.
The next day, a new lock was installed. On the third day, a camera. On the fourth day, they came again.
At first they only rattled the handle.
Then they shouted.
Then they started sticking messages to the door.
Kata recorded everything. No anger, no rush—only precision.
When the young officer at the station reviewed the footage, he simply said:
— “File a complaint. This is harassment.”
Kata wrote it down. In clean lines, as if documenting someone else’s life.
That evening, when she came home, the camera’s blue light shone steadily like a quiet, watching eye.
Her phone rang.
“You’ll curse all of this! The officer humiliated Vagyik! You’ll end up alone in life!”
Kata smiled.
And pressed block.
The apartment was silent. Not that tense, waiting silence.
But the kind that no longer lets anyone in.
