Elena stood at the window, watching an overloaded GAZelle van pull into the courtyard. Her heart tightened with anxiety—she knew what that meant. For three days now Andrey had been walking around the apartment with a guilty look, clearly gearing up for a serious conversation.

“Len,” he began cautiously the night before, “remember I told you Ira is having problems with her apartment?”

Elena remembered. Andrey’s sister had been renting a two-room place on the edge of town for four years. She lived there with her husband, Sergei, and their two children—ten-year-old Max and six-year-old Dasha. The apartment was fine, the landlady reasonable, but there was a snag—the landlady’s daughter was getting married, and the newlyweds needed somewhere to live. The tenants had to go…

“They asked to stay with us for a while,” Andrey went on, avoiding his wife’s eyes. “You know, until they find something…”

Elena nodded silently. What could she say? Ira was her husband’s only sister; they had a warm relationship; you don’t abandon family in trouble. And the trouble, she had to admit, was serious—you can’t put a family with two children out on the street.

“How long?” was all she asked.

“Two, three weeks at most,” Andrey replied hurriedly. “They’re looking hard. Sergei even brought in a realtor.”

Now, watching boxes, suitcases, children’s bikes, and a cat carrier being unloaded from the van, Elena understood that “two or three weeks” didn’t look likely.

The children ran into the building first—Max carrying a backpack and a soccer ball, Dasha hauling a huge stuffed toy and excitedly telling her brother something. The adults followed—Ira with the cat in its carrier, Sergei with the suitcases, Andrey with boxes.

“Lena!” Ira exclaimed joyfully as soon as she crossed the threshold. “Thank you so much for agreeing to take us in. We’ll be out as soon as we can…”

Elena hugged her sister-in-law, genuinely feeling for her. Ira had always been a good, slightly helpless woman. She married young, right after college, had children, and since then her world had been bounded by family and home. She worked remotely—something to do with design—but her husband still made most of the decisions.

“Mom, where are we going to sleep?” Dasha asked at once, looking around.

Elena and Andrey’s two-room apartment was cozy but compact. The larger room was their bedroom, the smaller a living room with a sofa and an armchair, the kitchen ten square meters, the bathroom and toilet separate. For two—perfect; for six…

“We’ll take the sofa in the living room,” Ira said quickly. “And the kids… maybe we’ll throw mattresses on the floor in the living room? Or on the floor in the front room?”

“There’s already a sofa in the front room,” Andrey noted. “The kids will fit.”

“And the cat?” Dasha suddenly worried.

“The cat will live in the hallway,” Sergei decided. “There’s room for a litter box there.”

In two hours the cozy apartment had turned into something between a communal flat and a dormitory. The kids’ things took over the living room, the adults’ suitcases lined the corridor, the cat settled in the bathroom—“temporarily, until he gets used to it.” The air held the smell of other people, other food, someone else’s life.

Elena silently watched her personal space vanish before her eyes. What struck her most was how naturally everyone made themselves at home. As if this weren’t her apartment at all but some kind of common territory.

“Lena, where do you keep your toilet paper?” Ira asked, walking into the bathroom with a makeup bag.

“In the cabinet under the sink.”

“And may I take a towel? We haven’t moved all our stuff yet.”

“Of course.”

By evening it was absolutely clear that their usual life was over. The children raced around playing hide-and-seek, the cat meowed for attention, the adults discussed housing-hunt plans.

“Tomorrow we’ll go to the agency on Komsomolskaya—there’s a nice girl working there,” Sergei was saying. “And the day after we’ll drive around the area in the morning, maybe something will suit.”

“Just nothing too expensive,” Ira sighed. “Our budget is limited.”

“We’ll find something,” Andrey said confidently. “Worst case, you can stay with us a little longer.”

Elena turned sharply toward her husband. Longer? She caught his eye—Andrey looked embarrassed and quickly turned away.

“All right, I’ll make dinner,” Elena said, heading to the kitchen.

Automatically, she began pulling food from the fridge, calculating how many people to cook for. Usually she bought for two, three at most with a little margin. Now there were six people in the apartment, including children who ate no less than adults.

“What’s for dinner?” Max peeked into the kitchen.

“I don’t know yet,” Elena answered honestly.

“At home Mom always made cutlets with mashed potatoes,” Dasha chimed in immediately.

“We’re out of cutlets,” Elena said, peeking into the freezer.

For six people she had a chicken, a pack of pasta, some vegetables, and the remains of yesterday’s soup. Would that be enough?

“Lena, don’t worry,” Ira came into the kitchen. “We’re not picky. We eat whatever there is.”

“Yeah, but there may not be enough for everyone.”

“We’ll go to the store tomorrow and stock up.”

Elena nodded silently and started cutting up the chicken. For some reason she had a feeling that tomorrow’s trip to the store would also end up on her shoulders.

Dinner turned out modest indeed. Chicken with pasta for six is not at all the same as for two. The children ate with appetite, the adults pretended it was enough.

“Thank you, it’s very tasty,” Ira said gratefully.

“Yeah, excellent,” Sergei seconded.

After dinner everyone went off to their improvised sleeping spots. Elena cleaned up the kitchen alone—the others were busy putting the kids to bed and settling in for the night.

“How’s it going?” Andrey asked, coming into the kitchen.

“Fine,” his wife answered curtly.

“Don’t worry, they’ll find a place soon.”

“Uh-huh.”

Andrey felt the chill in her voice but decided not to push it. Enough stress for everyone today.

In the morning Elena woke to children’s laughter and the patter of feet in the corridor. The clock read half past six. Usually she got up at seven, but today the children had clearly decided to start the day earlier.

“Quiet, quiet,” Ira’s voice could be heard. “Uncle and Aunt are still sleeping.”

But it was too late—Elena was awake and couldn’t fall back asleep.

In the kitchen she found a mountain of dirty dishes—apparently one of the adults had made themselves a late tea, and the kids had eaten something sweet.

“Good morning!” Ira greeted her brightly. “I was going to wash the dishes but I don’t know where you keep everything.”

“I’ll do it,” Elena replied automatically.

Breakfast turned into a logistics test. Andrey drank coffee as he got ready for work, Sergei was in a hurry too, Ira fed the children, and Elena darted among them all, trying to feed and get everyone out the door.

“Len, do we have any cereal?” Ira asked.

“I think so.”

“And yogurt?”

“One left.”

“Dasha, eat cereal,” Ira told her daughter.

“I don’t want cereal, I want yogurt like at home,” the girl pouted.

“Dasha, there’s one yogurt and there are two of you kids,” Elena explained patiently.

“Then let Max not eat.”

“I want it too!” the boy protested.

“Kids, enough,” Ira intervened. “You’ll eat cereal, that’s it.”

By the time the men had left for work and the children settled down, Elena felt like she’d run a marathon. And this was only the morning of the first day.

“Ira, don’t you work?” she asked her sister-in-law.

“I do, but remotely. I’ll sit down at the computer now. And the kids can watch cartoons—they’re quiet when they watch.”

Elena nodded and went to her bedroom—the only place in the apartment where a small island of her former life still remained.

But half an hour later her peace was broken.

“Aunt Lena,” Dasha knocked on the door. “Can I have a drink?”

Elena gave the child some water and went back to the room.

Twenty minutes later:

“Aunt Lena, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Half an hour after that:

“Aunt Lena, Mom said to ask if we can run the washing machine?”

By lunchtime Elena realized it was impossible to work from home under such conditions. The children kept asking for something, the cat meowed, Ira talked to clients on the phone.

“Lena, what are we going to eat?” Ira asked at one o’clock.

“I don’t know. What do you usually eat?”

“Oh, we’ll whip something up. Do you have potatoes?”

“Yes, but not many.”

“And meat?”

“Chicken in the freezer.”

“Perfect, we’ll make chicken with potatoes.”

Elena noticed that Ira said “we’ll make,” but for some reason headed not for the stove, but for the sofa with her laptop.

“Are you going to cook?” Elena clarified.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Ira said absent-mindedly. “It’s just I have to turn in a project by three. Maybe you can start, and I’ll jump in?”

Elena went to the kitchen without a word.

By evening she was at the breaking point. Over the day she had cooked, washed dishes twice, calmed the cat who still couldn’t get used to the new place, and answered an endless stream of children’s questions. She hadn’t managed to work at all.

When the men returned from work, the atmosphere in the house was tense.

“How is it?” Andrey asked his wife.

“Depends,” Elena answered coolly.

At dinner Sergei reported on the apartment hunt:

“We saw two places today, but neither will do. One’s too expensive, the other is in terrible condition. Tomorrow we’ll look at a few more options.”

“Don’t rush,” Andrey said magnanimously. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

Elena shot her husband a sharp look. Plenty of room? In a two-room apartment for six?

“Well, yeah, we’re not here forever,” Ira said uncertainly.

“Of course not forever, but while you’re looking—live in peace.”

After dinner, when the children were in bed and the others settled in the living room to watch TV, Elena asked her husband into the kitchen.

“Andrey, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“The situation. It’s harder than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I didn’t understand what we were getting into. The children are constantly noisy, it’s impossible to work, I’m cooking for a crowd, cleaning up after everyone…”

“Lena, just put up with it a little. She’s my sister.”

“I understand. But why do I have to do everything?”

“Who else? Ira deals with the kids, the men go to work.”

“And what am I, not working?”

“Well, you’re at home…”

“Being at home doesn’t mean being free!”

Andrey fell silent, then sighed:

“Okay, I’ll talk to Ira. She should help more.”

“And Sergei too.”

“And Sergei.”

But the next day nothing changed. Ira was still busy with work and the kids, the men left for their jobs, and Elena stewed in the chaos of someone else’s family life.

By the end of the third day her patience snapped.

“Listen,” Elena said at dinner. “Let’s set up kitchen duty, shall we? As it is, I’m the only one cooking.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ira agreed hastily. “I’ll cook tomorrow.”

“And we’ll take turns washing dishes,” Elena added.

“Naturally,” Sergei nodded.

But in the morning Ira announced she had urgent work and asked Elena to “cover for her.” Sergei left early and would be back late. Andrey was busy too.

“So it’s me again,” Elena concluded.

“Well, sorry, circumstances,” Ira spread her hands.

That evening Elena couldn’t hold back:

“Andrey, this can’t go on.”

“What exactly?”

“I’ve become the service staff for the whole family. I cook, clean, mind the kids. Everyone else just lives here like it’s a hotel.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Really? Then answer me—who cooked breakfast today?”

“Well… you.”

“Lunch?”

“You.”

“Dinner?”

“You too, but—”

“Who washed the dishes?”

“Lena, that’s enough. I get it—it’s hard for you right now.”

“Hard? It’s not hard, it’s unfair! Why should I support an entire family?”

“Support? They won’t be here forever!”

“It’s already been a week. And no progress. What’s more, yesterday Ira said the good options won’t appear for another month.”

“Well, a month, two months—no big deal.”