For many months, I lived in my apartment as if it were not a home, but a passageway. Formally, it was our house, mine and my husband’s, but in reality – it felt like a free hotel for his entire family, friends, neighbors, acquaintances, and even people I was seeing for the very first time. My husband kept repeating the same thing: “They’re our people, just be patient.” But this “bit of patience” stretched over weeks, then months, and one day I realized I couldn’t live like this any longer.
For many months I endured strangers in my apartment; my husband always repeated: “They’re my relatives.” But one day I understood that this chaos had to end.
That night, I came home after a grueling shift at three in the morning. My head throbbed as if someone were hammering at my temples, my legs ached, and all I dreamed of was one thing: to close the door, lie down in my own bed, and sleep peacefully for a few hours. But the moment I entered the apartment, I immediately knew that peace was impossible that night.
In the kitchen, a nighttime gathering was in full swing. Around the table sat my husband’s relatives, bottles scattered among the plates, greasy stains on the tablecloth, crumbs everywhere, empty cigarette packs, and dirty cutlery.
My mother-in-law ruled in her leopard coat with such confidence, as if it weren’t my kitchen but her personal domain. Someone laughed too loudly, someone was already slurring words, someone rifled through the fridge without asking if they could take anything.
I opened the fridge silently, hoping to at least find something to eat after work. But all that was left was a lonely carrot, half a jar of old sour cream, and a dried bread crust. Everything else had been eaten – even though I earned the salary, bought the groceries, and essentially ran the household alone.
I stood in the middle of my kitchen, looking at the chaos, feeling not only anger rise inside me but also a cold, heavy exhaustion. It wasn’t the first time. They constantly found reasons to meet at our place.
Sometimes a relative had a newborn that had to be celebrated. Sometimes a birthday. Sometimes “we haven’t seen each other in a while.” Sometimes a friend of my husband’s suddenly had no place to stay and moved in with us. Sometimes these people didn’t leave in a day or two, but stayed for weeks, sometimes months.
THEY ATE MY FOOD AND COMPLAINED THAT THE SOUP WAS TOO SALTY OR THE MEATBALLS TOO DRY. THEY SPRAWLED IN FRONT OF MY TELEVISION AND GRUMBLED THAT THE SCREEN WAS TOO SMALL. THEY SLEPT ON MY SOFA AND THEN COMPLAINED THAT IT WAS HARD AND SHOULD HAVE BEEN REPLACED LONG AGO.
That night, exhausted but trying to remain quiet, I asked everyone to end the gathering and go home, but I wasn’t even allowed to finish. My mother-in-law waved me off as if explaining something to a foolish child: “Our relative had a baby, so we celebrate. What’s so bad about that?”
Of course, my husband immediately sided with her. He said again that it was his family, that I couldn’t be so heartless, that the people would only stay briefly and that I needed to show understanding.
And in that moment, I realized one thing. Words wouldn’t change anything here. I had to make my husband understand it for himself.
For many months I endured strangers in my apartment; my husband kept repeating, “They’re my relatives.” But one day I understood that this chaos had to end.
After that night, I remained silent for about two more weeks, pretending nothing had happened. But in reality, I planned every step in meticulous detail.
And then I acted.
One evening, I calmly told my husband that it was high time to renovate the apartment. The wallpaper was faded, the floor worn, the kitchen looked tired. For the duration of the renovation, I added as nonchalantly as possible, we would need to live somewhere else. For example, with his relatives or friends. After all, they were all “our people,” had stayed with us so often, so now they could help us out.
AT FIRST, MY HUSBAND DIDN’T UNDERSTAND WHERE I WAS HEADING. HE JUST LOOKED TENSE AND ASKED WHERE EXACTLY WE WOULD STAY. I SHRUGGED AND SAID HE HAD PLENTY OF OPTIONS. WE COULD STAY WITH HIS SISTER. HIS BROTHER. A FRIEND WHO HAD SAT ON OUR SOFA FOR MONTHS, TELLING STORIES.
I deliberately made everything seem very serious. I called a company, asked about prices, inquired about dates, looked at materials, even discussed when the workers could start – all in front of my husband.
He grew visibly nervous, following me through the apartment, asking repeatedly if the renovation really had to happen now.
On the weekend, he finally called his sister. Told her that we were starting renovations and would need to stay somewhere else for a few weeks. I sat quietly beside him and listened.
At first, long silence, then the familiar excuses began. Their apartment was too small. He was tired after work. They themselves were cramped. Maybe we should take a hotel or ask someone else.
For many months I endured strangers in my apartment; my husband repeated again and again: “They’re my relatives.” But one day I realized that this chaos had to end.
Then he called his brother. He immediately found a reason to refuse. Then a friend. Then another. One had his mother-in-law visiting. Another had sick children. A third mentioned renovations. A fourth felt uncomfortable because his wife objected. And so, one by one, everyone who had felt at home in our apartment for months declined.
I said nothing. No smile, no hint of past situations, no triumphant look. I simply sat quietly and waited until he realized what I had long understood.
BY EVENING, HE SAT SILENTLY IN THE KITCHEN, STARING AT ONE POINT FOR A LONG TIME. THEN HE SPOKE A SENTENCE I WILL PROBABLY REMEMBER MY ENTIRE LIFE: “SO THEY’RE ONLY OUR PEOPLE WHEN WE TAKE CARE OF THEM. AND WHEN WE NEED HELP, SUDDENLY NO ONE HAS TIME, IT’S TOO CROWDED, OR THERE ARE PROBLEMS.”
Finally, he understood. Not after my pleas, not after arguments, not after sleepless nights and an empty fridge. But only when he himself was in my place.
We never actually started the renovation. Better said, we postponed it for later, because the essential point had already been achieved.
