The lights were on in every window. I saw it from the gate and ran across the yard, leaving my bag behind.
The door wasn’t locked. In the hallway, four pairs of dirty sneakers. Footprints on the light-colored tile I had cleaned yesterday. Stranger’s coats on my coat rack.
The TV was blaring at full volume. On the couch sat two teenagers with greasy bureks. Crumbs and drops of oil on the Italian upholstery. I had paid for that couch for six months.
— Anatoliy!
He came out of the bedroom, yawning. Then his sister, Tamara, with thick, smudged mascara. In my new robe, which I hadn’t worn even once.
— Ah, you’re here. This is Tamarka with her godchildren, staying with us for now.
— What do you mean “staying with us”? Did you even ask me?
Tamara walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge. She pulled out my yogurt, the one I had saved for breakfast. She drank straight from the jar and wiped her face with her hand.
— Listen, Zina, don’t be stingy. The house is huge; they can stay for a week. Or do you mind?
I went out to the porch. My orchids — the ones I had cared for four years — were lying on the ground. The pots were broken, the soil spread across the tiles. Next to them, a soccer ball.
— Who did this?
— The kids were playing. — Tamara shrugged. — Don’t yell; plant another one.
I was trembling. My hand clenched into a fist.
— Get out of here. Now.
Anatoliy grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward him.
— Zinaida, what are you talking about? This is my sister!
— Your sister. Not mine. And the house is mine. Get out.
His face darkened. His fingers dug into my shoulder.
— You know what? Enough with the “my house” nonsense. We’ve been together eight years; I live here, I have a right to it!
— What right? The papers only have my name on them!
— I don’t care about the papers! — he shouted in my face. — I’m telling you, my family stays here. Period.
The next evening I returned. In the yard was a car with a trailer — Tamara’s old “Zhiguli.” In the trailer were boxes, bags, some junk.
I went inside — more shoes in the hallway. Strange voices in the living room.
Anatoliy’s mother was sitting in my armchair. Beside her, two men, Tamara’s brothers.
— Ah, the hostess has arrived. — The mother-in-law sized me up. — Hey, Zinaida, where’s your nightgown? We need to sleep.
— You… what are you doing here?
— Living. Anatoliy said there are lots of rooms. Or is that a problem for you?
— A problem for me! You can’t just come in here!
The mother-in-law stood up. She came toward me.
— Stranger? If my son lives here, so do I. What do you think?! Open up; from now on we live here! Do you think I’ll stay on the street? I rented out my apartment, got the money in advance! So sort it out, and that’s it!
I started backing away.
— No. I didn’t give permission. Anatoliy!
He came out of the kitchen with a bottle of beer.
— Mom, why are you yelling? Zina, this is just temporary, at most a month.
— A month?!
— Or two. Mom got money for the apartment, until she finds another, she lives here. Normal, right?
Tamara poked her head out of the kitchen.
— By the way, we calculated it. If you take a loan, it’ll be just enough. There’s space in the market, for sure. I’ll pay it back, no problem.
— What loan? You all planned this together?
— No, no planning. — Anatoliy drank from the bottle. — You just help, help. Or is family not important to you?
— What family? I’m seeing them for the first time in my life!
The mother-in-law snorted.
— Always the same. Greedy women count the money but forget about people. Alright, Tolik, come on, show the room. Talking to her is useless.
They walked past me. They scattered into the rooms. They turned on every TV.
I stood in the hallway of my own house, and I didn’t understand anything.
I didn’t sleep for three days. At night, six people snored in the house. During the day they devoured the food, dirtied the furniture, screamed, smoked on the porch. Tamara’s son played on the console until three. Mother-in-law cooked something smelly in the mornings, leaving the pots on the stove.
On the third day, returning from the market, I found Anatoliy in my study. He was going through my papers.
— What are you doing?
— I’m looking for the land contract. Zina, listen, seriously. Tamara really needs the money. Let’s go to the notary, handle the loan.
— No.
— Listen, enough! — He suddenly stood up; the chair fell. — We’ve been together eight years, I have a right to it!
— You’re not a legal owner. The papers only have my name.
— I don’t care about the papers! — His face was red; he stepped closer. — I live here, I have the right! And so does my family! You, Zina, are just a greedy bitch!
He hit me with his shoulder and left. He slammed the door so hard that a picture fell off the wall.
I picked up the frame. The glass broke.
At night I got up to go to the bathroom. On the way back, I saw light in the living room. I peeked — Anatoliy and Tamara were on the couch with their laptop.
— …I’m telling you, she’ll sign it. Zinka is a stupid woman, works like a horse, knows nothing about money.
— And if she doesn’t sign?
— Then another way. Everyone’s already registered here, her mother rented the apartment. Even if she sues, they can’t evict us. We live here; everyone works.
Tamara giggled.
— Tolyan, you’re a genius. Let her work, and we’ll get comfortable.
I stepped away from the door. Went back to the bedroom. Laid on the bed.
My hand was shaking. I had a lump in my throat. I wanted to cry, smash the dishes, kick them all out right now.
But I stayed quiet.
I took Anatoliy’s phone from the small bedside table. He hadn’t even set a password. I entered the family chat.
I read. I scrolled up. Everything was there.
How they plotted for three weeks to trick him into the loan. How his mother deliberately rented the apartment to register herself in my house, then claim a share in court.
How they calculated how much I earned. They divided my money. They laughed: “She doesn’t even suspect.”
Mother-in-law wrote: “Let this stupid woman work, we’ll live well.”
Anatoliy: “I can’t stand it at all. But I’d hate to give up the house.”
Tamara: “Hang in there, bro. A little more, and it’ll be ours.”
I put the phone back.
I went to the window. Outside, my land. My greenhouses. The house I built for nine years. Bought with a loan, insane interest. Worked sixteen hours a day. Gave up everything for it.
And now strangers were sitting in it, sharing it.
No.
This will not happen.
I woke up early. Made pancakes. Brewed coffee. Set the table.
When Anatoliy came out, I smiled.
— Hi. Sit down, I want to talk.
He sat down cautiously.
— About what?
— About the loan. I thought we could really help Tamara.
His eyes widened.
— Seriously?
— Seriously. But there’s a catch. I called the bank, consulted. Because of your old overdue payments, they wouldn’t approve the loan. The property must only be in my name. Then they’ll approve it.
— That… makes sense. Okay, handle it.
— Today we’re going to the notary. Only you with me, without Tamara, so she won’t see the transaction. Okay?
He nodded, stuffing his pancake into his mouth.
By noon, we were at the notary. The chosen office was on the outskirts of town. The notary was an old, strict woman who slowly and wearily read the text.
— Anatoliy Viktorovich, do you confirm that you voluntarily waive all claims to the property located at …, including the land and any outbuildings, under any circumstances, including divorce, property division, and other…
Anatoliy yawned, looking at his phone.
— Yes, yes, I understand everything. Where do I sign?
— Here and here, on every copy.
He signed broadly. The notary stamped it. I took the copies and locked them in my bag.
On the way home, Anatoliy kept talking.
— Zin, you were smart to agree. Tamarka will see, she’ll manage better. Maybe we’ll open a business, another point…
I stayed silent. I looked out the window. At the lamp, I took out my phone and texted Stepan:
“Today. Nine PM. With the dog.”
He replied immediately: “I’ll be there.”
In the evening, when Anatoliy went to his friend’s, I called the locksmith. He came quickly and changed all the locks. Front door, gate, porch door. I paid double to get it done fast.
Then I gathered their things. Anatoliy’s — into trash bags. All his clothes, shoes, stupid lighters. Tamara’s and mother-in-law’s things. The brothers’ bags.
I took them outside the fence. Thirty-two bags.
The mother-in-law came out of the living room.
— What are you doing?
— I’m gathering their things. They have to leave.
— What?! Have you gone completely mad?!
— Leave. Now.
The mother-in-law screamed:
— Tamara! Boys! Come here! You’re throwing me out?!
Everyone jumped out from the rooms. Tamara in my slippers, the kids with sandwiches in hand.
— Zina, what are you talking about? — Tamara tried to smile. — We agreed on the loan…
— There’s no loan. Take your things and get out of my house.
— You can’t kick us out! — screamed the mother-in-law. — We’re registered here! Where should we go?!
— That’s your problem.
— Screw you! — The mother-in-law stepped toward me, poked me with her finger. — You’ll regret this. You’ll be alone. You won’t need anyone, Zina. You’ll die in this house without a man!
— Go out.
She spat at me and left.
I closed the door. Leaned against the new lock.
Ten minutes later Anatoliy arrived. I heard him shouting in the street:
— Zina! Open up! What’s happening?!
— Take your things, Anatoliy. Here’s the copy of the document you signed today. You waived all rights. Go.
— I… loved… we were together for eight years!
— Did you read your chat with your family? You wrote: “I can’t stand it. But I’d hate to give up the house.” This isn’t love.
— Zin…
— Go, Anatoliy.
He stood, picked up his bags, and left. Stepan was in the street with the dog.
— If anything, Zina Pavlovna, I’m not far. Call me.
— Thank you, Stepan.
I locked the gate. Went inside the house.
I turned on all the lights. Opened the windows — let it air out. Gathered the remaining dishes, washed them. Wiped the stains off the couch. Set up the wilted orchids — two could be saved.
I walked through the whole house. My house, the one I had dedicated nine years to.
I lay down on the bed. Alone, no one snoring, no one pulling the blanket.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, six o’clock, delivery. Then clients. Evening, watering.
Now I am the master of my life.
