“She’s Just My Sister,” My Husband Said. I Put Them and Their Belongings Outside the Door That Very Same Day
The key turned in the lock without resistance.
The door was unlocked.
Anya pushed it open. The hallway was filled with the thick, heavy smell of fried pollock and stale, unventilated air. Dirty shoes were scattered across the pale porcelain tiles: battered men’s boots and red suede boots that did not belong to Anya.
A stranger’s jacket hung on the coat rack. It was enormous and shiny, like a garbage bag.
Anya set down her suitcase. Its wheels squeaked against the tiles.
Voices came from the kitchen. Dishes clinked. The radio was playing.
Anya took two steps down the hallway. Her heart did not skip a beat. She simply felt very cold.
She looked into the kitchen.
Sveta, her husband’s sister, was sitting at Anya’s table.
Sveta was wearing Anya’s silk robe—the burgundy one that had cost fifteen thousand rubles. A yellow grocery bag from Pyaterochka rested on her lap. Beside her sat a balding man in a stretched-out T-shirt. He was eating fish directly from the frying pan.
Anya’s favorite cat-print mug stood in front of Sveta. A teabag from some cheap brand floated inside it.
“Who are you?” Anya asked evenly.
The man choked on his pollock.
Sveta slowly looked up. The robe had fallen open across her chest.
“Oh,” Sveta said. “Why are you back today? Oleg said you wouldn’t be home until tomorrow evening.”
“I asked what you’re doing here,” Anya said, stepping forward. “And take that off immediately.”
Sveta theatrically adjusted the collar of Anya’s robe.
“Don’t start, Anka. We live here now. I’ve got circumstances.”
The sound of running water came from the bathroom. The door opened slightly, and a cloud of steam rolled into the hallway, followed by Zinaida Petrovna.
Anya’s mother-in-law was wiping her face with Anya’s white terrycloth towel—the one that hung on a special hook and was used only for her face.
“Sveta, there’s no soap left in there,” Zinaida Petrovna called out.
Then she saw Anya and froze.
“Anna? What are you doing here?”
“I came by taxi,” Anya said sharply. “Zinaida Petrovna, explain yourselves.”
Her mother-in-law quickly regained her composure and tossed the wet towel onto the ottoman.
“What’s there to explain? The kids had nowhere to live. Sveta lost her room because of her debts. She owed three hundred thousand rubles to microloan companies. Oleg said they could stay with you for a while.”
“In my apartment?”
“Whose apartment is it?” the balding man snorted, wiping his hands on his trousers. “You’re family.”
“This is Kolya,” Sveta said carelessly, waving toward him. “My fiancé. And we’re expecting a baby, by the way.”
Anya stared at them.
Four years of marriage to Oleg. Four years of listening to him talk about how she needed to respect his relatives.
But Anya had bought the apartment herself, before they were married, with her own money.
Without another word, Anya turned and walked into the bedroom.
The door was partly open. The room smelled of unwashed bodies.
Anya’s bed had been stripped. Someone else’s floral sheets covered her orthopedic mattress. Her dressing table was gone from the corner. In its place stood a drying rack covered with wet men’s socks.
Three large black garbage bags were piled beside the wardrobe.
Anya walked over to them and kicked one with her foot. Something inside clinked.
Zinaida Petrovna squeezed into the room.
“Don’t kick the bags,” her mother-in-law said sternly. “Your things are in there. There’s only one wardrobe. Sveta needs somewhere to hang her dresses. She’s pregnant. She mustn’t get upset.”
“You stuffed my belongings into garbage bags?”
“They’re clean!” Zinaida Petrovna waved dismissively. “We bought new ones. Fifteen rubles each. Anka, be reasonable. You can’t expect a pregnant woman to sleep in the hallway.”
Anya took out her phone and called her husband.
It rang for a long time.
“Yes, Anyuta?” Oleg answered cheerfully.
Too cheerfully.
“Are you already on the train?”
“I’m home, Oleg.”
Silence hung on the other end.
“Anya… I can explain everything.”
“You have five minutes.”
“Anya, listen. Mom was crying. Sveta was about to end up on the street. Kolya’s a decent guy; work just hasn’t been going well for him lately. They’ll stay for a couple of months.”
“In my apartment?” Anya repeated. “In my bed?”
“We’re family!” Oleg’s voice faltered. “We have a two-bedroom apartment. You’re always away on business trips. We were going to arrange the living room for you. We’d buy you a sofa.”
“A sofa? Buy one for yourself. And for your new wife.”
Anya ended the call.
When she turned around, Sveta was standing in the doorway. The robe hung open, revealing a stale-looking undershirt beneath it. Her pregnancy was not yet visible.
Kolya loomed behind her, holding Anya’s mug of tea.
“Listen, lady of the house,” Kolya said in a deep voice. “Tone it down. Sveta’s pregnant. She needs peace and quiet.”
Anya nodded.
Her face revealed nothing.
“She’ll get peace and quiet. You have ten minutes to pack.”
Zinaida Petrovna threw up her hands.
“Have you lost your mind? It’s November! Where are they supposed to go?”
“That’s not my concern.”
“I’m calling my brother right now!” Sveta shrieked. “He’ll throw you out himself! This is his home too! He did the renovations!”
“He put up the wallpaper?” Anya smirked. “The apartment is mine. I paid for the renovation. You have eight minutes left.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Kolya said, stepping into the bedroom.
He moved toward Anya. He was large and smelled of fish and sweat.
“You can’t legally evict us. Winter’s coming.”
Anya did not move.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, looking Kolya directly in the eyes. “If you don’t take your bags and leave right now, I’m calling the police. I’ll tell them strangers broke into my apartment, stole my robe and threatened me with physical violence.”
“You bitch!” Zinaida Petrovna spat. “We came to you like decent people, and this is how you treat us!”
“Six minutes.”
Sveta began to sob theatrically. She clutched her stomach and slid down the doorframe.
“Kolenka… I feel sick… My stomach hurts…”
Kolya looked confused. He glanced at Zinaida Petrovna.
The older woman rushed to her daughter.
“Water! Bring water! You’re going to kill the baby, you snake!” she shouted at Anya.
Anya stepped over the wailing Sveta and walked into the hallway.
Zinaida Petrovna’s cloth bag lay on the ottoman. Sveta’s shiny, garbage-bag-like jacket was beside it. Oleg’s keys were on the cabinet; he had clearly given them to his mother.
Sveta’s iPhone and Kolya’s cheap Android phone were lying next to them.
Anya acted quickly.
She opened the front door, grabbed Sveta’s jacket and threw it onto the landing.
The red boots followed. Then the men’s shoes. Then her mother-in-law’s bag.
“What are you doing?!” Kolya rushed into the hallway.
Anya grabbed the phones from the cabinet.
“Go find your junk out there.”
She threw both phones onto the stairs. They clattered against the concrete steps.
Kolya gasped and ran out the door.
“Hey! You’ll break the screens!”
Anya spun toward Sveta, who had conveniently stopped crying and was now peeking out of the kitchen in surprise.
“Get out,” Anya barked.
She grabbed Sveta by the collar of her own robe and yanked her forward.
Sveta squealed.
Anya shoved her hard in the back. Sveta stumbled into the hallway barefoot, still wearing the open robe that did not belong to her.
Zinaida Petrovna ran after her daughter, screaming.
“They’re killing her! They’re attacking a pregnant woman!”
The mother-in-law ended up on the landing.
Anya stood in the doorway while the three uninvited guests shuffled around on the cold concrete.
“My keys. Now,” Anya said, holding out her hand.
“I won’t give them to you!” Zinaida Petrovna snapped, clutching her bag to her chest. “Oleg will come home and teach you a lesson!”
Anya shrugged.
“Suit yourself.”
She stepped back and slammed the metal door shut.
Then she turned the interior bolt—the one that could not be opened from outside with a key.
A loud banging erupted from the hallway. They began kicking the door.
“Open up, you filthy bitch!” Kolya roared. “We need our clothes! Her boots are still inside!”
“She’s pregnant!” her mother-in-law screeched. “We’re standing on cold concrete! Open the door, you fascist!”
Anya did not answer.
She went into the bedroom, took a pair of clean jeans from the chair and changed out of her travel trousers. Then she pulled the garbage bags containing her clothes out of the wardrobe and emptied everything onto the floor.
She examined the bare shelves.
The pounding on the door continued.
Anya went into the kitchen. She poured the tea from her mug down the sink and threw the mug into the trash.
She picked up the frying pan filled with fried fish using an oven mitt and tossed it out the window.
It was only the third floor. Nothing serious.
The cats would eat it.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
Oleg was calling.
Anya answered.
“Anya, what the hell are you doing?!” her husband shouted. “Mom called me from someone else’s phone! They’re half-dressed in the stairwell! Sveta’s freezing! Have you completely lost your mind?”
“They’re in my building,” Anya corrected calmly. “You can come warm them up. With your own body heat.”
“I’m on my way! Open the door immediately! Anya, I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead. I’ll file a report about my stolen robe while they’re here.”
Oleg hung up.
Anya went into the bathroom and turned on the cold water. She rinsed someone else’s hair out of the sink. Then she took the white towel her mother-in-law had used and threw it into the trash beside the mug.
Oleg arrived an hour later.
He rang the doorbell for a long time. He pulled at the handle and pounded on the door with his fists.
Anya sat in the kitchen drinking coffee in silence.
Sveta, Kolya and her mother-in-law were no longer shouting outside. Apparently, they had finally become too cold and gone down to the first floor to sit beside the radiator.
“Anya! Open the door!” Oleg shouted from the hallway. “I came alone! We need to talk!”
Anya walked to the door and stood close to it.
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“Anya, come on, open up! My things are in there! I have work tomorrow!”
“Your things will be delivered to you tomorrow by courier. At your expense.”
“Anya! We’ve been together for four years! You’re destroying our family over some belongings?”
Anya rested her forehead against the cold metal door.
“You destroyed our family when you let strangers into my home and allowed them to sleep in my bed.”
“They’re not strangers! She’s my sister! And that’s my mother!”
“They are strangers to me.”
She stepped away from the door and turned on the hallway light.
The locksmith’s phone number lay on the cabinet.
She had already called him ten minutes earlier.
He promised to arrive within an hour. Replacing the lock cylinder and completely reprogramming the lock would cost five thousand rubles.
A small price for peace of mind.
It became quiet outside the door. Then she heard Oleg’s heavy footsteps descending the stairs.
Anya returned to the bedroom and tore off the floral sheets. She stuffed them into a black garbage bag, along with the men’s socks from the drying rack.
She would take everything to the trash that evening.
She was alone in her apartment.
It was quiet.
The smell of fish slowly drifted out through the open window.
Tomorrow, she would have plenty to do: file for divorce, change the locks and arrange for Oleg’s belongings to be removed.
Would you have allowed your pregnant sister-in-law to pack her things inside where it was warm?