Tatiana Alexandrovna could hardly comprehend the gift she had just received. That day, her son-in-law had invited her over for a casual barbecue, just a simple visit. It wasn’t until the smoky aroma wafted from the grill and the meat sizzled on the rack that Oleg casually handed her a set of keys.
At first, she laughed, thinking it was some kind of joke. But he, calm and collected as always, said:
“This is now yours. The house, the plot, the gazebo — it’s all taken care of. I wanted to do something nice.”
Oleg had never been one for grand gestures or showy declarations. Even now, it seemed like he hadn’t bought a house; he had simply taken it from a friend to ensure it didn’t go to waste. He explained that the land had been neglected, and he thought it would be better for her to have it rather than let it sit unused.
Tatiana silently turned the keys in her hands. They felt weightless, almost like a toy. But the emotions they stirred in her were anything but light. Was her heart filled with joy? Or was she immediately weighed down by the responsibility of this unexpected gift?
On the way home, her daughter Larisa beamed with excitement:
“Mom, you’re rich now! There’s a whole lawn, flower beds, roses! And the house — it’s like something out of a movie!”
But then she added:
“Although, I probably won’t be able to make it this year. Pregnancy is tough. We decided it’s better if you go alone. You could really use the rest.”
The next morning, still not fully believing what had happened, Tatiana made her way to the new house. The journey was long — a train, a bus, then a walk. But when she reached the gate, hearing the familiar squeak, she paused. Before her stood a perfect lawn, tidy pathways, and fresh air. She stood there, unable to believe that all of this was now hers.
The house looked straight out of a fairy tale. Two windows with white curtains, a veranda with carvings, wooden swings under a birch tree, gooseberries in the corner, and at the center — a flower bed with young sprouts. The silence around her was peaceful; no noise from traffic, no TV, just the wind rustling through the leaves and the chirping of birds.
She entered the house. Her hand brushed the back of a chair, and she inhaled the scent of wood and herbs. On the kitchen counter were jars of honey and dried fruits, and the refrigerator held a bottle of milk. The bedroom had fresh linens, and the bathroom had lavender-scented soap. It was clear someone had put great care into preparing this place — Oleg, without fanfare or excess words, had simply made it happen.
That night, she didn’t turn on the TV. She sat on the veranda, sipping tea, watching the sunset paint the sky pink. For the first time in a long while, she felt peace — like life had finally settled into the right place.
A few days later, back at home, she shared a few photos on social media: the sunset, the cup of tea, the green veranda. The caption was simple:
“Comfort comes in different forms. Sometimes, it looks like this.”
She didn’t expect it to cause such a stir.
The next day, her distant relative Lyuba called, her voice gleaming through the phone:
“Tanya, I saw your photos! Is that your house? Oh my, it’s gorgeous! Did your son-in-law give it to you? How lucky are you! We have to meet! It’s been so long!”
Tatiana tried to respond politely, but Lyuba was already rushing ahead like a spring storm:
“We’ll come visit this weekend! Shashlik, wine, good vibes — what could be better?”
Saying no was impossible.
By Saturday afternoon, the doorbell rang, signaling their arrival. Lyuba burst in first, smiling, carrying bags, vodka, and a voice loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood:
“Tanya, it’s beautiful here! Just like in a movie! How lucky you are!”
Her husband, Yura, barely acknowledged her, sitting on the bench, silent, drinking, and staring at his phone. Lyuba, on the other hand, talked non-stop — about neighbors, work, how tough it was living with someone “so special.”
Tatiana moved about like she was in a daze. She set the table, poured more shashlik, barely ate. When Yura sprawled out on her bed, shoes on, with dirty boots on the floor, she said nothing. When the evening ended, she was left alone amidst ketchup stains, scattered rags, and empty bottles. The next morning started with a heavy chest. The house no longer felt like a paradise.
She noticed that her syrupy cheese, a jar of jam, and a package of milk had disappeared — the little things she had kept for herself. That’s when it hit her: the guests hadn’t just stayed; they had taken part of her peace with them and left her with exhaustion.
Over the next few days, she stopped answering Lyuba’s calls. But one day, another call came through. Lyuba’s voice was triumphant:
“Tanya, we’re coming to visit! Just me and the kids. No Yura, he’s at his mom’s. We’ll come by this weekend! You don’t mind, right?”
“Are the kids… really young?” Tatiana asked uncertainly.
“No, not at all! They’re eight and ten. They’re perfect, just perfect! You can watch them for a bit, and we’ll hang out by the grill!”
And again, Tatiana couldn’t say “no.” It felt wrong, like she would be breaking some unwritten rule.
Saturday came. The gate flew open, and the kids charged in — one straight to the flower bed, the other pulling flowers, complaining that “they smell bad” and throwing the petals everywhere. Their mother, busy chatting with Lyuba, waved it off:
“Don’t yell, don’t bother Aunt Tanya.”
Tatiana felt a tightness inside. Shame. Helplessness. She wanted to disappear.
Once again, she was alone. Just the kitchen, empty chairs, and silence that no longer felt cozy. After the guests left, the garden looked like a battlefield: trampled lawn, wrecked flower beds, dirty footprints across the hallway. Her favorite cups lay in the trash, broken and discarded.
She sat on the steps, her hands clutching her head. And for the first time, she thought, “Why can’t I say ‘no’? Why can’t I just close the door?”
The next evening, the door knocked. Tatiana jumped. But it was a woman in a scarf — her neighbor, Maria Petrovna. Her face was kind, her gaze understanding. She held a plate of pies.
“Sorry to bother you. My grandson was playing with your kids. I saw everything. Especially Vadik.”
Tatiana waved it off awkwardly.
“It’s just kids, what can you do…”
“It’s not the kids,” the woman said softly, but firmly. “It’s Lyuba. These aren’t guests. This is an occupation.”
Tatiana sighed. The woman had hit the nail on the head.
“What can I do? Refuse them? I’m not rude…”
“You want them to turn everything upside down here? Then keep being kind. But if you want peace, it’s time to set boundaries. I’ve been through this myself. I found a way.”
“How?”
“I pretended I got married. To an ex-military man. He sat on the veranda, drinking tea and silent. But just his gaze was enough — they stopped wanting to come over.”
Tatiana smiled at first. Then, she thought. The idea seemed appealing.
“Would you like me to introduce you? Dmitri Nikolaevich. He’s alone now. A serious man. He’ll help.”
Tatiana hesitated. But the idea of someone who could say “no” in her place seemed more and more tempting.
“Alright,” she finally said. “I’ll give it a try.”
Two days later, they met. Dmitri was tall, serious, with eyes that didn’t know jokes. He listened, nodded.
“I’ll do it. A week or two. I can’t do more — I have work.”
They took a photo. Tatiana, a bit shy, Dmitri, as if guarding a secret base. The social media post was short: “Honeymoon. Phone off. Gifts and guests not accepted.”
Lyuba was the first to respond: “What’s this news?! You’re married? When did this happen?!”
No response came. Tatiana disappeared from the social scene. She didn’t answer calls or post. She even took time off from work.
But the next weekend, the house was once again full of noise. Lyuba, Tanka, Liza, and the kids — all with bags, champagne, and big smiles.
“Tanya! We’re here! Surprise!”
Dmitri stepped out. Calmly, without a word. Behind him, Atos.
“She’s resting. No one’s here.”
“What’s this circus? We’re friends! Let us in!”
“Not today,” he said, calmly closing the gate.
Tatiana watched from the window. Her heart was racing, but for the first time in a long time, she felt: the house was hers again. It wasn’t a game. It was her life. And she finally understood how to protect herself.