“Natasa, we’re already on the highway. We’ll be there by evening. Clear out the second room — there are seven of us,” the call had no “hello” and no pause.
Only that voice, steady and unyielding, like a voicemail message. “Valya. Wait. Are you asking, or informing?” “Informing. We’re already on our way.”
Natasa moved the phone away from her ear and stared at the window for a few seconds.
Beyond the glass, the sea shimmered — turquoise, hot, July-bright. She and Andrey had rented this apartment back in March: two rooms, a veranda, a view of the bay, for the money they had saved over six months.
They had come here as a celebration — their first proper vacation in three years. Andrey was sitting on the veranda and had heard the conversation. When Natasa hung up, he set his glass down on the table.
“I didn’t invite them.” “I know.” “What are we going to do?” Natasa fell silent. Then she slowly smiled — not the kind of smile used to make peace, but the kind used when a decision is made. “Let them come.”
Andrey looked at her with slight concern. He knew that smile. They had rented the apartment from a man named Roman, an old friend of Natasa’s from university days.
Roman lived in Krasnodar, but every summer he rented out the seaside apartment — properly, with a contract, at market price. Natasa called him twenty minutes after Valya’s phone call.
“Roma, I have a strange request.” “I’m listening.” “You were planning to come for documents in three days anyway, right?” “In principle, yes. What happened?” “Nothing serious. I just need you to be here as the owner.
Well, you are the owner. So act like it.” Roman was silent for a moment. “Got it. Let’s play along.” Valentina arrived at half past seven in the evening.
She entered first — with four large bags, which she placed in the hallway before anyone could say anything.
Then came three children between the ages of seven and twelve, her husband Kostya, his mother Zinaida Pavlovna, and a cousin in his twenties, Vitya, who said his only sentence of the evening: “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”
“Well, here we are!” Valentina spread her arms and looked around with satisfaction, as if she were the owner of the place. “Oh my God, it’s beautiful here. And you can even see the sea! Kids, look — the sea!”
The children ran out onto the veranda. Zinaida Pavlovna went into the kitchen and started inspecting the cupboards. Kostya put a large cooler bag by the wall. Vitya found a socket and disappeared into his phone.
“Valya,” Natasa said when the noise calmed slightly, “there’s something you need to know. This apartment is rented. We are not the owners. The owner rents it for ten thousand rubles a day.” Pause.
Long. “What?” Valentina turned to her. “Ten thousand. For the whole apartment. That’s the July price. You can check anywhere.” “But you live here.”
“We pay for it. And we weren’t the ones who invited you.” Valentina opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at Kostya, who was staring at the water like he had never seen water before. Then back at Natasa.
“Fine,” she said, and her voice gained that layer Natasa had recognized for twelve years: outside — peace, inside — expectation that it would somehow resolve itself. “Three days, and we’ll leave.
Kids, the sea… you understand.” “I understand,” Natasa said. The three days went exactly as she had expected. Zinaida Pavlovna rearranged the kitchen on the very first morning.
The children walked through the apartment with wet feet, left stains on the sofa, and dropped towels over the balcony railing. Vitya took the best couch, played music, and helped with nothing.
Valentina opened the fridge as if it were hers. Andrey went to the beach after every breakfast. Natasa worked remotely, laptop on her knees, headphones on, at the edge of the veranda.
On the fourth morning, Natasa placed a printed sheet on the table. “What is this?” “A bill. Three nights. Seven people. Thirty thousand rubles.” Valentina read it slowly, as if the numbers might change on their own.
“You’re serious.” “Completely.” “Natasa… we are relatives. Family. Do you understand what that means?” “I do. That’s why I mentioned the price on the first evening.” “You didn’t mention it — you stated it as a fact!”
“You also called me as a fact. In that sense, we acted the same.” Valentina stood up. “We will not pay a single ruble. This is absurd. We’re leaving today, and you’ll regret how you treated family.”
Natasa nodded and dialed a number.
Roman arrived within forty minutes. “Good day,” he said, looking them over. “I am the owner. I have a rental agreement only with these two people.
You are not in the contract. I did not give permission for your stay. The apartment must be vacated within one hour.” “What is this supposed to mean…” Valentina began.
“This is unauthorized occupation without payment or contract,” Roman said without interest. Kostya looked at him, then at Valya, then stood up and started packing.
It took a long time. In the end, Valentina paused in the doorway. “Did Andrey know about this?” “From day one,” Andrey said.
The door closed quietly. In the evening, the three of them sat on the veranda. “The bill still hasn’t been paid,” Roman noted.
“I didn’t do it for the money,” Natasa said. “Then why?” “So they would leave on their own. Without a scene.”
Eight days later, Andrey handed her his phone. Valentina had written a long message, listing old grievances and questions about what family really means, but she had accidentally sent it to the family group chat.
Their mother, Vera Nikolayevna, replied: “Valya, you didn’t ask Natasa, you just announced you were coming. That’s not how family works. It’s uncomfortable to read this.”
No one else wrote anything. Natasa stepped to the window.
Outside was an ordinary courtyard — a poplar tree, a bench, someone’s car by the curb. Everything in its place, no sea anywhere.
She felt no triumph. No regret either. Only something steady and firm — the sense that the line in this story had not been blurred. And she had not crossed it.
They say you should yield in a family. That is true. But no one says up to what point.
And what to do when yielding is turned into obligation again and again. Natasa knew the answer.
It cost thirty thousand rubles. And she hadn’t paid a single ruble for it.
