The little sunny “bunny” was dancing on the cover of the wedding album I had just picked up from the print shop. “Maxim and Alena” — the embossed silver letters gently brushed the pad of my finger.
One month.
Exactly thirty days later, this album would be filled with smiles, tears, white dresses, and first dances. I already imagined how Max and I, grey-haired and laughing, would leaf through it on long winter evenings.
That thought warmed me like that little sunbeam on the velvet.
The key in my apartment — my apartment! — lock had always stuck. The old faithful “latch,” with which the apartment and I had long since grown used to each other. I tapped it, then pulled the door toward me, helping it — an old trick.
The click was not the one I expected. Dry, short, metallic. A completely new sound. I inserted the key again, turned it. Nothing. Silence. Only my heart pounding in my temples, suddenly accelerating.
“Maybe Max wanted to surprise me,” — a foolish thought flashed through my mind.
— “He changed the lock for security reasons.” But Max was on a business trip, his plane would only land in three hours. I called him, but the phone went to voicemail. I called my mother-in-law.
Irina Petrovna’s voice was honeyed, velvety, as always when she had something planned.
— Hello, Alenochka, my sunshine!
— Irina Petrovna, do you know why there is a new lock on my apartment?
The honey froze for a moment.
— Oh, dear, I was going to tell you! Max and I decided the old one was completely worn out.
Such a security risk! What if something happens? After all, soon my grandson or granddaughter will be running around here — she laughed with a light, tinkling laugh.
— But… the key? I don’t have it.
— Of course I’ll give it to you! Everything stays in the family. You just have to understand that family is responsibility.
It’s not just “take a key and go for a walk.” You are becoming part of our family now. You need to understand that. If you “earn it,” you’ll get the keys.
The last sentence sounded so natural, so homely, as if it wasn’t about the key to my personal space — which I had bought with my own money, my night shifts, and my projects — but about permission to go outside.
— What does it mean, “earn it”? — my voice cracked.
— Oh, Alenochka, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. Every woman goes through this. You need to show that you are a good wife, a keeper of the family hearth. Max has his own expectations.
And I, as a mother, am only helping. I have the key. Come on Sunday for a family dinner, we’ll practice your famous pie that Max loves so much. And then we’ll see.
She hung up.
I stood in the stairwell, pressing my hand against the cold metal door. My door. Inside, behind it, my cat Marsik was lying on the sofa, waiting for food. My dress for the bachelorette party was there.
My new project sketches were on the table. My life was there. And now someone had to “earn” it.
My first reaction was anger. White, screaming anger — the urge to pound on the door, break it down, call the police. But then came a cold terror. And Max? Did he know? Did he agree to this?
When I reached him, his confusion sounded sincere.
— What? My mother changed the lock? Without me? Alena, I’m shocked. She probably went too far, she means well. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out.
— “Sort it out” means you give me my key NOW, Maxim! This is not her apartment!
— Of course, of course. I’ll talk to her. But let’s not make a scene, okay? You know her heart. Her blood pressure might rise.
The conversation lasted half an hour. Max talked about love, about family, about “not rocking the boat” before the wedding. He promised to “fix everything.” But there was no steel in his voice. Only tired obedience.
An hour later she arrived. She brought one key. The rest stayed with her. She came as always: with a smile and a lecture.
— Oh, Alenochka, dust on the TV. A good housewife doesn’t allow that.
— You come home late? Max is worried. A wife should create comfort, not run around.
— This sofa… I’ve picked a wonderful baroque one for you. This one must be thrown out.
She called Marsik a “carrier of dirt” and hinted that “there is no place for animals where there will be a child.” My sketches were put away. “You’ll be busy with children, dear, you’ll forget these drawings.”
Max stayed silent. He only said, “We need to be patient, she’ll leave soon.”
The wedding dress was “too revealing.” The guest list “too artistic.” The restaurant “suspicious.”
The climax was the family dinner.
— We will pay the down payment for a new apartment for you — said my mother-in-law. — That little apartment… will be in Max’s name. And you will take care of it.
— And my apartment? — I asked.
— It will be a family decision.
Max did not look at me.
Something broke inside me.
— I will not sell my apartment.
Silence.
— Maxim, tell her! — his mother said.
— Mom, let it go…
— No. Decide now.
He did not choose me.
— There will be no wedding.
I left.
The next day I could not get into my apartment. A locksmith came. And then my mother-in-law appeared.
— Break-in! This is my son’s apartment!
— No. This is my apartment.
The locksmith opened the door. The woman came in, screaming, then attacked me. I pulled the suitcase from her hands and she fell.
Max came in.
— What did you do to my mother?!
Not to me. To her.
— Leave — I said.
They left.
Later I heard shouting in the stairwell. Then a sound. The ambulance siren.
I did not go out. I just stood at the window.
The wedding album was on the table. I opened it. Empty pages. I closed it. Threw it away.
My cat rubbed against me. I picked him up.
Behind the door was my life.
And for the first time, it was truly mine.
