Galya noticed the light in the windows of their house even from the turn onto the dirt road. Volodja slowed down, and they both froze, hardly believing their eyes.
From their house, the deep bass of some pop song was thumping, and shadows of dancing people flickered in the windows.
— Maybe we took the wrong turn? — Volodja asked, though they both knew it was impossible to make a mistake here.
They had built this house fifteen years ago, when their daughter Lena turned ten.
Galya got out of the car without waiting for her husband. The snow crunched under her boots, each step producing a sharp, cold sound.
She opened the gate and walked along the cleared path to the porch. The door was unlocked.
In the hallway, there were foreign shoes and worn, fluffy women’s boots. The air smelled of roasted meat, cigarette smoke, and something sour, reminiscent of cheap wine.
Galya entered the living room and stopped at the threshold, almost afraid to step further.
Her mother-in-law, a rather stout woman of about sixty-five, was dancing in the middle of the room with a glass of red wine in her hand. A few drops had already spilled onto the brand-new carpet, which Galya and Volodja had bought in October.
Her father-in-law stood by the open window, blowing smoke into the night, while four other strangers sat by the fireplace with plates on their laps.
The music was so loud that no one noticed Galya’s arrival. She went over to the speaker and pulled the plug from the socket.
Silence fell on the room like a weight. Everyone turned toward Galya.
— Who dared? — shouted Tamara Ivanovna, then saw Galya. — And what are you doing here?
This house, which Galya and Volodja had started renovating two years ago, right after their daughter’s wedding, was attended to with every small detail in mind.
Lena had married Anton in June, and the bride’s parents had paid a large portion of the young couple’s first apartment installment: three million rubles, which they had saved over several years.
The groom’s parents had given a set of pots as a gift — the same ones they had once received for their own wedding anniversary.
Galya and Volodja decided to invest the remaining savings in their summer house. Their dream was to live there year-round, escaping Moscow on weekends and holidays.
Volodja installed a boiler, insulated the walls with mineral wool, and replaced the old wooden frames with plastic double-glazed windows. Galya handled the interior: choosing wallpapers, looking for furniture, coordinating with workers.
By December, the house had finally become what they had envisioned: warm, cozy, and welcoming.
They planned to celebrate New Year’s Eve alone. Lena and Anton were expected on January 1st to continue the holiday together.
Galya had prepared jellied meat and Olivier salad in advance, and Volodja had bought good champagne and red fish.
Their relationship with Anton’s parents had been distant since the wedding. Tamara Ivanovna and Viktor Semyonovich depended on their son and spent every summer at someone else’s place because they had no summer house of their own.
Galya and Volodja tried to keep their distance; they knew that with some relatives, it was better to meet less often.
— This is our house, — Galya said, scanning the room.
Empty bottles stood on the table, and in the corner someone had placed wet skis right on the parquet floor.
Tamara Ivanovna took a sip from her glass and shrugged.
— Lena gave us the keys. We thought you wouldn’t come.
— Why did you think that?
— Holidays, the city, the rush… We thought the house would be empty.
Volodja stepped in and stopped beside his wife. He silently watched Anton’s father, who was pouring himself cognac from their bottle.
One of the unknown guests, a man of about forty in a worn sweater, stood up from the sofa:
— Listen, we’ve already settled in. Maybe you’ll come tomorrow? We’ll be gone by then.
— You are strangers in this house, — Galya tried to speak calmly, though her voice trembled. — What kind of impudence is this?
— Oh, come on, — Tamara Ivanovna waved her hand, spilling wine on the tablecloth. — We’re not strangers. Antosha said you wouldn’t mind.
Galya took out her phone and called her son-in-law, Anton.
He answered after the third ring, Lena’s laughter and the sound of a television could be heard in the background.
— Galya, Happy New Year!
— Anton, your parents are at our summer house. How did they get the keys?
There was silence. Then Anton spoke — in a different tone:
— Mom came last week. She said dad needed fresh air, that he was sick. She asked Lena for the keys for a few days, promised to return them before New Year’s.
— A few days? They threw a party here.
— I… I didn’t know. Mom said it would just be the two of them. They’d just sit, get some air, and that’s it.
Galya looked at Viktor Semyonovich, who was laughing at someone’s joke and pouring cognac.
— Your sick father is dancing and drinking. Looks like he’s fully recovered.
— Galya, I’m very sorry. Lena and I…
— Don’t. Stay home, I’ll handle it.
Galya turned to the guests:
— You have fifteen minutes to pack up and leave the house.
Tamara Ivanovna stood with her hands on her hips.
— Don’t tell us what to do! Lena gave us the keys.
— Then show me the property deed!
— Oh, a piece of paper? Antosha approved everything!
— Anton has no right to do this. This is not his house.
The man in the worn sweater stood up again:
— Ma’am, don’t make a scene. It’s New Year. Sit down.
Volodja stepped forward:
— I’m calling the police.
— Go ahead! — Tamara Ivanovna shouted, grabbing her glass again. — There are eight of us, and only two of you. We’ll even hit the sauna before then!
The police arrived forty minutes later. Two young sergeants carefully checked Galya’s house documents and then listened to both sides.
— You claim the daughter of the owner gave you the keys? — one asked Tamara Ivanovna.
— Yes! Lena, our daughter-in-law!
— Alright, vacate the premises.
— What is this?! — Tamara Ivanovna shouted, her face red with anger. — We’re relatives! We’ve only been here two days!
Viktor Semyonovich finally put down the glass and stepped closer.
— Galya, don’t fuss. Our apartment is small, can’t even get air, and here there’s so much space…
The next hour turned into a nightmare. The guests packed slowly, grumbling and complaining.
Tamara Ivanovna loudly complained to the police about the greed of today’s youth and the heartlessness of relatives. Viktor Semyonovich tried to sneak away with an opened bottle of cognac, which Volodja had to take from his hands.
— Curse you! — shouted Tamara Ivanovna from the porch. — May you have no happiness in this house!
Galya closed the door and turned the lock.
They sat silently in the hallway for ten minutes, looking at the pile of mess in the living room.
— Shall we start cleaning? — Volodja asked.
— What else can we do?
They worked quietly, shoulder to shoulder. Volodja carried out garbage bags, and Galya wiped the wine stains from the carpet and tablecloth.
In the kitchen, the dishes piled up in the sink and on the table. Someone had broken one of the mugs Lena had given her parents for their wedding anniversary. The shards lay behind the fridge.
By midnight, they had only finished the living room. The kitchen and bathroom were left for the next day.
— The chimes will ring in five minutes, — Volodja said, checking the clock.
Galya sat on the couch, closing her eyes. She felt exhaustion — not only physical, but a deep, heavy fatigue that had accumulated over the entire crazy evening.
— I’ll pour the champagne now — Volodja brought the bottle and two glasses.
They welcomed the New Year with apprehension but together, on the half-cleaned living room couch. They clinked glasses, drank, and Galya laid her head on her husband’s shoulder.
Lena and Anton arrived for lunch on January 1st, as planned, but both looked exhausted and guilty.
— Mom, Dad, I’m sorry — Lena hugged Galya at the door. — I didn’t think they would… I trusted that Viktor Semyonovich was sick.
— I told them yesterday, — Anton said, standing slightly behind his wife, hands in his pockets. — My mom shouted for half an hour, but I didn’t care.
They had crossed the line.
Galya looked at her son-in-law. How he tried to please everyone and simply couldn’t.
— Come in, — she said. — There’s still some jellied meat left.
The four of them sat at the table, and Galya suddenly realized this was exactly how she wanted to spend the holiday.
Lena sliced bread, Anton helped Volodja open a jar of pickles. Outside, fine snow fell, covering the traces of yesterday’s guests on the garden path.
— Will you come for Christmas? — Galya asked.
Lena smiled:
— If you invite us.
— Consider yourself invited.
Galya poured tea for everyone and took her seat. It was getting dark early outside, but inside, warm light, the smell of food, and quiet conversation filled the house.
Everything had not gone as planned, but sometimes life itself decides what we truly need.
