My Sister Announced That Her 12-Day Visit Was Her Gift to Me—and Planned a Banquet at My Expense
“Nina, sit down. We’re giving you our visit as a present!”
It was half past ten at night. I had just finished washing the dishes and sat down with tea when my sister Larisa called.
“What do you mean, a present?”
“It’s your fifty-fifth birthday! You didn’t think we’d leave you alone in Moscow, did you? We already bought the tickets.”
Then she listed the guests: herself, her husband Arkady, their twenty-eight-year-old daughter Alyona, and their nine-year-old grandson Miron.
“How long?”
“Twelve days. We’re not traveling all that way for two.”
I stared at my tiny two-room apartment.
“And Nina, find a restaurant for your birthday. At least twenty people.”
“Twenty? I don’t even have twenty relatives in Moscow.”
“We’ll bring ours! Aunt Valya might come. Slavik too. He can sleep on your sofa instead of wasting money on a hotel.”
That familiar feeling came over me—the feeling of people piling responsibilities onto you without asking.
“I already had birthday plans.”
Larisa laughed.
“Family is coming! Family is sacred. We’re your own people. Why stand on ceremony?”
That phrase—“we’re your own people”—had always meant one thing in our family:
I would pay.
Larisa wasn’t poor. She lived in a large house in Voronezh. Arkady owned three car washes and a beauty salon. They had cars, money, and comfort.
Yet whenever they visited me, they behaved as though my apartment, food, belongings, and time belonged to them.
During their previous visit, Arkady had nearly destroyed my washing machine. Larisa had taken my winter boots home because she decided I “didn’t wear them anyway.” They stayed four days and didn’t buy even a loaf of bread.
Then our mother called.
“What did you say to Larisa? She was crying.”
“They’re coming for twelve days. Four people. And now they want Slavik too.”
“So what? You live alone in two rooms.”
“I work from home.”
“Oh, work. You correct little letters. Nina, family is all you have. Who will bring you a glass of water when you’re old?”
There it was.
The famous glass of water our family had used for emotional blackmail for decades.
That evening, I called my daughter Katya.
“Mom, just say no.”
“They already bought tickets.”
“Let them return them.”
“If I refuse, the whole family will talk about it for years.”
Katya paused.
“Then say yes. But make it your yes, not theirs.”
Something clicked inside me.
I wouldn’t argue.
I wouldn’t refuse.
I would simply give them such unforgettable hospitality that they would leave voluntarily.
And never return.
I took a notebook and wrote:
“HOSTING GUESTS.”
First came the cover story.
There really was construction work happening in my building, including repairs to the water pipes. I photographed the official notice and put it on my refrigerator.
Then I added a few fictional details.
I called Larisa.
“Bad news. The water is being shut off. And the management company is inspecting apartments because of unauthorized renovations.”
“So?”
“If they notice four unregistered people staying here, it could create problems.”
“We’re family!”
“To them, family means registered residents.”
“So we shouldn’t come?”
“No, of course you should come! We’ll just have to be careful. No noise, minimal lights, no elevator because of the camera, and water only according to schedule.”
“Nina, are you serious?”
“Of course. We’re family. Why stand on ceremony?”
Next, I removed everything comfortable.
My good mattress went to my neighbor Tamara Petrovna.
So did my best towels, coffee, olive oil, cheese, and the meat I had saved for my birthday.
I unplugged the Wi-Fi router and hid it.
Then I announced that internet service had been disconnected because of the repairs.
For sleeping arrangements, I borrowed an ancient folding bed from a neighbor. It had a metal bar across the middle and folded dangerously under heavy people.
I also found an inflatable mattress with a slow leak.
For food, I bought millet, barley, zucchini, brown bread, margarine, and chicory.
On the refrigerator, I taped a sign:
“ECONOMY MODE. METERS. THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING.”
They arrived Saturday morning with four suitcases and one box of apples.
“Quiet,” I whispered at the door. “You didn’t use the elevator?”
“We walked,” Arkady said angrily.
“Good. Come in.”
Miron’s eyes grew wide.
“Why do we have to whisper?”
“Because this is a special security situation. Have you ever stayed in a spy apartment?”
From that moment on, Miron loved everything.
Alyona immediately asked for Wi-Fi.
“There isn’t any.”
“What do you mean?”
“They disconnected it.”
She wandered around holding her phone above her head, searching for a signal.
“It doesn’t work anywhere!”
“It works near the garbage containers.”
Then Larisa discovered the toilet.
“Nina, the tank doesn’t work!”
“Correct. Here’s a bucket. Flush manually.”
“And the shower?”
“Twelve minutes per person. Hot water is limited.”
Breakfast was millet porridge and chicory.
Arkady stared at his bowl.
“Where’s the meat?”
“Too expensive. Economy mode.”
By evening, they began making demands.
Larisa wanted a better mattress.
Alyona wanted proper towels and laundry service.
Arkady wanted spare keys.
“There aren’t any,” I said.
Then Larisa produced a list of Moscow attractions.
“You’ll take Miron tomorrow. I booked a manicure.”
“I work.”
“You work from home.”
“Working from home still means working.”
“And the museum tickets?” she asked.
“You can buy them online.”
Larisa stared at me.
“You expect us to pay for ourselves?”
This from a woman wearing a ring worth more than my apartment renovation.
I brought out my notebook.
“Since we’re living together, we should split expenses.”
I explained the price of food, water, electricity, kettle use, even the hair dryer.
The room became silent.
“Are you joking?” Alyona asked.
“No. And please use only three sheets of toilet paper at a time.”
“NINA!” Larisa shouted, then remembered we were supposed to be quiet.
“We’re family!”
“Exactly. Family understands.”
And then something beautiful happened.
They started policing each other.
Alyona complained that Larisa spent nineteen minutes in the shower instead of twelve.
Larisa complained that Arkady left lights on.
Arkady began charging his phone in the car to save electricity.
Because the elevator was forbidden, he had to climb eight floors every time.
On the third night, the folding bed collapsed with Arkady inside it.
I woke to a crash.
“I’M FOLDED INSIDE THIS THING!” he shouted.
“You probably lay in the middle. You have to sleep diagonally.”
“DIAGONALLY?! I’M SIX-FOOT-THREE!”
The inflatable mattress slowly died too. Alyona woke up on the floor beside the suitcases.
Miron woke beside her and happily announced:
“It’s like camping!”
Then my luck improved.
Tamara Petrovna’s apartment genuinely began renovations.
At exactly nine every morning, her grandson used a hammer drill.
Larisa looked ready to cry.
Then came my masterpiece.
Tamara Petrovna had worked in housing services for decades, so she knew exactly how to sound terrifying.
On the sixth day, she put on a formal suit, grabbed a folder labeled “INSPECTION 4-B,” and rang my doorbell.
“Kulikova! Open the door! Inspection commission!”
Panic exploded.
Arkady hid on the balcony.
Alyona climbed into a wardrobe.
Larisa lay behind the sofa.
Miron stood in the hallway glowing with excitement.
I opened the door slightly.
Tamara Petrovna loudly announced that complaints had been filed about unauthorized alterations and that another inspection would follow.
“Who is currently inside the apartment?”
“Nobody. I’m alone.”
“What about the suitcases?”
“Mine.”
“We’ll return with an engineer. We’ll also question the neighbors.”
Then she left.
Larisa emerged from behind the sofa.
“Nina… is this really serious?”
“I warned you. But you kept saying, ‘We’re family.’”
That evening, Alyona finally broke.
“I want a normal shower! I want internet! I came here for medical tests!”
“There’s a private clinic nearby.”
“How much?”
“A consultation is four thousand.”
“The full examination will cost almost thirty!”
I simply shrugged.
The next day, Arkady said:
“Nina, I think we’ll leave early.”
“But my birthday is Saturday! What about the restaurant? Aunt Valya? Slavik?”
“Slavik is staying in a hotel,” Larisa said quickly. “And Aunt Valya can’t come.”
“What a shame.”
They packed.
Before leaving, Larisa said:
“We’re never staying with you again.”
“Why? Come anytime. You’re family.”
She looked at me.
Finally, she understood.
Miron hugged me.
“Aunt Nina, can we come to the spy apartment again?”
“Absolutely.”
When the door closed, I waited until their footsteps disappeared.
Then I took out my router.
Plugged it in.
Seven seconds later, the green light came on.
I stood there admiring it.
Then Tamara Petrovna and I carried my good mattress back upstairs, laughing so hard we dropped it twice.
I retrieved my coffee, cheese, oil, and meat.
We fried the meat and opened wine.
“To Inspection 4-B,” Tamara Petrovna said.
“You were magnificent.”
“I know.”
My mother called on my birthday.
“Nina! What did you do to your sister? They say you starved them and charged them for toilet paper!”
“Mom, I love you. I’ll take you to doctors, send you medicine, and visit you. But my apartment is not a hotel. My money is not family property. And my birthday is not a banquet for twenty relatives.”
She hung up.
Two days later, she called again.
This time only about her blood pressure.
Soon, everyone in the family heard that I had supposedly become poor.
Aunt Valya called.
“Larisa says you have no internet, no hot water, and you only eat millet. Do you need help?”
I sat in my kitchen drinking coffee, eating cheese, with the router glowing beside me.
“No, thank you.”
“So… can people still visit?”
“Of course. Just remember, they’re working on the pipes.”
“Oh. Maybe another time.”
Nobody visited for an entire year.
The family now calls me “our poor little pauper.”
Every time I hear it, I feel relieved.
Let them think I’m poor and mean.
At least my apartment is quiet.
Months later, I received a message from Larisa’s phone.
It was Miron:
“Aunt Nina, I liked staying with you most. We carried water and whispered like spies, and I was the only one allowed to use the elevator because I wasn’t in the database. Mom says you’re poor, but I think you’re the most interesting. Can I come alone when I grow up?”
I cried.
Then I replied:
“Come, Miron. Alone—absolutely. By then I’ll have hot water, internet, and enough meat for two.”
His answer came one minute later:
“Will the folding bed still be there?”