“I’ll be late again today. I still have to help Mom with a few things.”
Leonid said this while standing in the hallway, zipping up his jacket. Raisa glanced out from the kitchen, wanting to ask if he would be home for dinner, but by then her husband had already grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him.
A minute later, she opened the fridge and suddenly noticed something she hadn’t paid attention to before.
On the top shelf, a neat stack of food containers was lined up.
There were five of them.
Raisa usually packed them in the evening, and in the morning Leonid would take one with him to work. For the past week she had absentmindedly kept cooking for two, putting some of the food into containers and setting them in the fridge.
But her husband had stopped taking them.
She pulled out the first one.
Untouched.
The second was untouched too.
Raisa shut the fridge and pressed her palm against the door.
When did this start happening?
Just a month ago, Leonid would get home around seven. Sometimes later, if work ran long. They’d have dinner together, watch the news, talk about weekend plans.
Then Zinaida Arkadyevna decided to remodel her bathroom.
A crew handled the renovations, but Leonid started spending several evenings in a row at his mother’s place after work.
First, he had to receive the tile delivery.
Then check the faucet.
Then buy a new light fixture.
Then it turned out the workers hadn’t mounted the shelf correctly.
Raisa took it all in stride.
Zinaida Arkadyevna was sixty-seven, living alone. If her son wanted to help his mother, Raisa didn’t find anything unusual about it.
But the renovations ended a while ago.
Yet the visits didn’t.
Now Leonid was stopping by his mother’s almost every day.
Sometimes to help pick out a new rug for the hallway.
Sometimes to deliver her old washing machine to a friend.
Sometimes to stop by the hardware store.
Sometimes to pick up an order.
Sometimes just “to make sure everything’s fine.”
Gradually, their conversations changed too.
“Mom’s fridge is in a more convenient spot,” Leonid would mention.
Or:
“There’s more free parking near Mom’s place.”
One morning, looking for his charger, he said:
“I think I left it at home.”
At first, Raisa didn’t get it.
“Where?”
“At Mom’s.”
He fell silent for a moment.
Then quickly added:
“Well, there.”
Raisa didn’t say anything that time.
But she remembered the phrase.
Zinaida Arkadyevna was hardly a helpless elderly woman.
She’d travel across the whole city for sales, met with her girlfriends twice a week, carried her groceries home by herself, and could call her son from a shopping mall in the morning just to ask which electric grill to choose.
If she truly needed help, Raisa never minded.
But now, Leonid was mostly coming home just to sleep.
Some nights he’d come in past ten, take a shower, and go straight to bed.
On weekends she was hearing more and more:
“I’m going to Mom’s.”
One day Raisa asked:
“Will you even be home today?”
“Of course.”
He came back after eleven.
The same thing happened again the next day.
Raisa had no plans to cross-examine him about every evening.
She simply stopped packing containers for Leonid.
She threw out the five old ones, washed the dishes, and started planning food just for herself.
A few days later, her husband finally noticed.
In the morning, he opened the fridge.
“Is there nothing for me?”
“You haven’t taken any for a week.”
“I have lunch at Mom’s.”
“So, everything is as it should be.”
Leonid looked at her, as if he wanted to explain something, but changed his mind.
That evening, he came home earlier than usual.
Raisa was reading on the couch when her husband sat down in the armchair across from her.
“Mom suggested I stay with her for a while.”
Raisa put her book aside.
“Why?”
“It’s more convenient.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone.”
He started listing the reasons.
It’s quicker for him to get from work to his mother’s place. He wouldn’t have to spend time commuting back and forth each night. Zinaida Arkadyevna still had some things to take care of after her renovation.
Then Leonid added,
“And you’ll get a bit of a break, too.”
Raisa looked at him more closely.
“A break from what?”
“From daily routines. From me.”
“Have I complained?”
“No. Sometimes it’s useful to live apart for a bit, that’s all.”
His words sounded almost rehearsed.
“Was this your idea?”
“It’s a joint decision.”
I see.
“And for how long?”
“We’ll see.”
Raisa didn’t try to stop him.
“Alright.”
Leonid clearly expected more resistance.
“Just alright?”
“You’re an adult. If you want to live with your mother, go ahead.”
Two days later, he took his first bag out.
He packed a few shirts, jeans, shoes, and some documents.
Raisa watched as her husband packed his things and didn’t intervene.
“I’ll take the laptop,” Leonid said.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ll still come by from time to time.”
“As we agree.”
He didn’t react to these last words.
A week later, the office chair disappeared from the study.
When Raisa returned in the evening, she saw an empty spot near the desk.
“Where’s the chair?” she asked when Leonid showed up around ten.
“I took it to mom’s. It’s uncomfortable to work there on a kitchen chair.”
“So you’re already working from there?”
“Sometimes.”
After two weeks, “temporarily” stopped meaning what it used to.
Leonid came by on Sunday and took his winter boots and a few sweaters.
“I’m not coming back for now.”
Raisa was standing near the wardrobe.
“Is this your decision?”
“It’s just easier this way for now.”
“Alright.”
Her husband looked at her again, suspicion visible.
Maybe it annoyed him that his wife wasn’t trying to talk him out of it.
But Raisa really had no intention of doing so.
She’d had the apartment long before Leonid came into her life.
Her grandmother left it to Raisa, when she hadn’t even met her future husband yet.
The place was old, rundown, but in a great neighborhood.
After getting the inheritance, Raisa spent almost two years gradually fixing up the apartment with her own savings. She completely redid the bathroom, rewired the place, replaced the doors, kitchen furniture, and appliances.
By the time Raisa met Leonid, the apartment looked exactly how she wanted.
They dated for eight months.
Then Leonid moved in.
At first, he brought one sports bag.
A week later, another.
Then books, a computer, and a box of tools.
Raisa didn’t make a big deal of any of it.
They lived together for almost a year, tested if shared life suited them, and only then did they get married.
Leonid knew very well where the apartment came from.
He had never taken part in buying or registering it.
He bought groceries, covered some of the household expenses, and occasionally purchased things for the home.
A typical family life.
But Raisa remained the owner.
Until this strange move to his mother’s, the topic never really bothered anyone.
The problem came up later.
Leonid moved out.
But he kept acting like nothing had changed.
The first time Raisa noticed this was on a Wednesday.
She got back from work early, opened the door, and heard water running.
Her husband was in the bathroom.
“When did you get here?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
“Why should I?”
He came out, towel-drying his hair.
“I needed a shirt. Figured I’d shower while I was here.”
There was a plate with leftovers in the kitchen.
Leonid opened the fridge, found the casserole Raisa had made, and cut himself a piece.
Twenty minutes later, he left to go to his mother’s.
The next day, Raisa came home and saw a mug, a plate, and an empty cheese wrapper on the table.
Leonid had stopped by during the day.
He didn’t text.
He didn’t call.
Another time, he took the electric screwdriver and the hairdryer.
He brought the hairdryer back three days later.
But not the screwdriver.
Then a set of bed linen disappeared.
“Did you take it?” Raisa asked him on the phone that evening.
“Yeah. My mom’s are all old and uncomfortable.”
“Leonid, those are my things.”
“Good grief, Raya, I didn’t sell them.”
Raisa ended the call.
Now, everything that was happening was starting to really annoy her.
Her husband had chosen another place to live.
He’d moved his clothes over there.
He worked there.
He ate there.
He spent his evenings there.
But he still considered the key to Raisa’s apartment his absolute right.
And clearly Zinaida Arkadyevna liked the arrangement.
One day, her mother-in-law called Raisa herself.
“Lenya’s having lunch with me right now. I made him stuffed cabbage rolls.”
Raisa stayed silent.
“He’s lost so much weight lately.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“A man still needs to eat well.”
Raisa immediately understood where the conversation was heading.
“Well, he’s eating at your place now.”
Zinaida Arkadyevna hesitated for a moment.
“For now, yes.”
“Great.”
After that talk, Raisa completely stopped buying groceries for two.
Leonid noticed a few days later, when he showed up again unannounced.
He opened the fridge.
“There’s nothing decent in here.”
“There’s enough for me.”
“And for me?”
“You live with your mom.”
“So what?”
“Nothing.”
Raisa kept working on her laptop.
Leonid slammed the fridge door, made himself a sandwich, and left.
But even that wasn’t the most unpleasant part.
Raisa started to realize she no longer felt free at home.
She could walk in and find Leonid in the room.
She could leave her things out, only to realize in the evening that her husband had been there.
One day, he showed up during her lunch break with a friend.
Raisa was working from home and heard men’s voices in the hallway.
She went out.
“What’s going on?”
Leonid clearly hadn’t expected to see her.
“We’ll only be five minutes. I just need to grab the power drill.”
The friend awkwardly said hello.
Raisa didn’t say anything in front of a stranger.
But that evening, she messaged her husband:
“Let me know before you come over. Especially if you bring someone.”
He replied ten minutes later:
“Don’t exaggerate. This is my home too.”
Raisa remembered that phrase.
Until Saturday.
That day, Leonid came by around six.
Zinaida Arkadyevna seemed to have decided to make even more space for her son, since he was packing up the last of his clothes.
Raisa was sitting in the kitchen sorting through documents.
Her husband walked past several times carrying things.
Then he stopped by the door.
“Mom says there’s really no need for me to hurry back yet.”
Raisa looked up.
“Alright.”
— She feels calmer when I’m around.
— That’s wonderful.
Leonid frowned.
— Can you talk to me normally?
— I am talking to you normally.
— You’ve had that look on your face all evening.
Raisa closed the folder.
— What look?
— Like I’ve done something terrible.
— You decided to live with your mother. I’m not stopping you.
— It’s only temporary.
— How long?
— Here we go again.
— I just asked a question.
Leonid set his bag on the floor.
— I don’t have to pick a date to come back right now.
— You don’t have to.
He clearly didn’t expect her to agree.
Raisa went on:
— Then let me ask you something else. Are you planning to keep this marriage going, or are you fine with things the way they are now?
— What kind of question is that?
— Just a simple one.
— We’re not getting a divorce.
— Alright.
— It’s just more convenient for me at my mother’s right now.
— That’s understandable too.
Leonid picked up his bag.
— And honestly, sometimes taking a little break from family life can be good.
Raisa looked at him.
— Was that your mom’s idea?
— Doesn’t matter.
— I see.
Her husband headed for the hallway, but stopped at the door to add:
— I’ll stop by again this week. Some of my documents are still here.
— Let me know ahead of time.
Leonid turned around.
— Why?
— So I know.
— Raya, stop it.
— What?
— Acting like I’m a stranger here.
— You don’t live here anymore.
— But this apartment is still our home.
There it was.
Raisa stood up slowly.
— How is that, exactly?
— The usual way. We’re married.
— You live with your mother.
— At the moment.
— You moved your belongings there.
— Some of them.
— Your laptop, documents, chair, clothes.
— So what?
— And you said you have no plans to come back.
Leonid let out an annoyed sigh.
— Not for now. Why do I have to keep repeating myself?
— You don’t.
Raisa walked over to the hallway drawer and took out the spare set of keys.
Leonid had once left them just in case he lost his main set.
She placed the keys on the table between them.
— If you’ve decided to live with your mom, I won’t interfere. But the apartment is mine. Leave your keys here too.
Leonid looked at her.
Then he laughed.
— Are you serious?
— Yes.
— Trying to scare me?
— No.
— Raisa, we’re husband and wife.
— For now, yes.
— Then what’s with the ‘give me your keys’ thing?
— It’s nothing out of the ordinary.
He took off his jacket, as if he realized the conversation would take longer.
— You realize it’s not normal to kick your spouse out just because you’re in a bad mood?
— Nobody kicked you out.
— That’s exactly what you’re doing now.
Raisa shook her head.
— You chose to move out.
— Temporarily.
— You took your things with you.
Leonid opened his mouth, but she calmly continued:
— You said yourself that you’re not planning to come back yet. I’ve accepted all this. But I’m not going to let you keep my apartment as a backup option with round-the-clock access.
— I just come here for my stuff.
— Then let’s agree on a time, and you can pick them up.
— What if I need something urgently?
— Then you’ll have to plan ahead.
He looked at Raisa, now with no trace of a smile.
— You’re just being difficult on principle right now.
— No, I’m not.
— Yes, you are. Because I haven’t done anything wrong.
— Then you have nothing to worry about. You’re living wherever is comfortable for you.
Leonid reached into his pocket.
Raisa thought he was going to pull out the keys.
He didn’t.
— I’m not giving anything back.
— Fine.
— Fine what?
— I heard you.
He put his jacket back on.
— When you’re done with this performance, give me a call.
— I can’t promise that.
Leonid picked up his bag and left.
Raisa closed the door.
She stood silently in the hallway for a few seconds.
Then she glanced at the spare set of keys lying on the dresser.
The main key was with her husband.
She had no intention of arguing again.
The next morning, Raisa stopped by the hardware store.
The old lock cylinder had been in the door for ages—she’d been meaning to replace it since summer.
Now she finally had a good reason not to put it off.
She chose the right size, went home, and swapped out the old cylinder herself.
It took her less than half an hour.
She tested the new keys several times.
The lock turned smoothly.
Raisa put one key in her bag.
She tucked the second one away in a drawer.
Then she texted Leonid:
“I changed the lock cylinder. You can pick up the rest of your things at the agreed time. Let me know in advance.”
He replied almost immediately.
“Have you completely lost your mind?”
Raisa read his message and put the phone aside.
A minute later, the phone rang.
She picked up.
“What did you do?”
“Everything’s written there.”
“You changed the lock?”
“The cylinder.”
“Without me?”
“It’s my door.”
Leonid fell silent.
“This is just crazy.”
“You’re comfortable living at your mom’s—so stay there.”
“But what if I need my things?”
“We’ll make arrangements.”
“Are you doing all this just to force a divorce?”
Raisa glanced at the clock.
“I have to go.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
She ended the call.
At work, Leonid sent her a few more messages.
Raisa only replied to the one where he asked about his winter jacket.
“The jacket’s here. You can pick it up on Tuesday after seven.”
On Tuesday, he came over.
Raisa answered the door herself.
Leonid walked in, looking grim.
He glanced around the entryway, as if expecting to find some drastic changes.
But nothing had changed.
The only thing was, the key in his pocket no longer opened the door.
“It’s a pretty strange feeling,” he said.
“What kind?”
“Ringing the doorbell to an apartment you lived in for years.”
“Now you live somewhere else.”
Leonid looked at her but didn’t argue.
He gathered up his remaining documents, the jacket, a few books, and a box of small things.
Raisa didn’t hover or watch over him.
She kept busy with her own tasks.
Forty minutes later, her husband left.
The next few days were surprisingly peaceful.
For the first time in a month, Raisa came home each night knowing for sure that no one had entered.
Everything in the kitchen stayed just as she’d left it that morning.
No strange towel appeared in the bathroom.
Nothing went missing from the closets.
Leonid barely used his phone.
He just sent a few short messages.
Raisa answered just as briefly.
Then, a week later, he called on Thursday evening.
“Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come over?”
“To get more things?”
A pause.
“To talk.”
“Come by at eight.”
He showed up right at eight o’clock.
This time, he had no bag with him.
Raisa opened the door and immediately saw that Leonid looked tired.
“Want some coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
They sat down in the kitchen.
He was silent for a long time.
Raisa didn’t rush him.
“I’m thinking about coming back,” he finally said.
“Why?”
“Because we’re still married.”
“You knew that last week too.”
Leonid frowned.
“Can you lose the sarcasm?”
“Okay. Then tell me, why?”
He looked away.
“It’s hard constantly living with my mom.”
Raisa almost smiled, but held back.
“What’s changed?”
As it turned out, a lot.
When Leonid would visit Zinaida Arkadyevna in the evenings, everything felt wonderful.
His mother would make dinner.
She asked him about his job.
She’d suggest they watch a movie together.
She’d ask her son to hang a shelf or drive her to the store.
And then Leonid would head back home.
But living with her full time turned out to be a whole different story.
Zinaida Arkadyevna got up at 6:30, even on weekends.
The TV went on right away.
She hated it if a cup was left in the sink.
If her son worked from home, she’d walk in several times with questions.
Every evening, she had some new task.
He had to pick up a heavy purchase.
Drive her friend somewhere.
Move boxes on the balcony.
Go buy medicine.
Figure out why the vacuum was making weird noises.
Sort out some old things.
Leonid talked about all this without a hint of humor.
“Yesterday she woke me up at 7 a.m. so I could help take off the attic door,” he said.
Raisa took a sip of coffee.
“Why?”
“She decided to go through her old bags.”
“Did she get through them?”
He shot her an annoyed look.
“Very funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
But honestly, she kind of wanted to.
“And the day before, her friends came over. They sat in the kitchen until ten.”
“It’s her house.”
“I know.”
That line landed perfectly.
Raisa set her cup down.
“Exactly.”
Leonid got it.
“Don’t start this again.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
He ran his hand along his chin.
“I’ve just realized I don’t want to live there permanently.”
“Okay.”
“Can I come back?”
Raisa looked at him.
He’d never asked that before.
Before, Leonid would simply inform her.
That he’d be late.
That he’d stay with his mom for a while.
That he didn’t plan on coming back.
That the apartment was still his home, regardless.
But now, for the first time, he asked.
“No.”
Leonid clearly expected a different answer.
“Why?”
“Because a week ago you wanted to live there.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“I can see that.”
“So what now?”
“Nothing. Stay with your mother a bit longer. Think about what you actually want.”
“I’ve already thought about it.”
“In a week?”
“How much time does it take?”
“It’s not about the deadline for me.”
Raisa stood and carried her cup to the sink.
“You didn’t leave after a fight. You didn’t slam the door one night. You slowly created a new life for yourself and announced you weren’t coming back.”
Leonid sat there in silence.
“And now that it turns out living there isn’t convenient, you want to come back here.”
“That’s not the only reason.”
“Maybe not.”
She turned to face him.
“But I can’t just pretend that nothing happened.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“For now, let’s keep living apart.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Convenient.”
Raisa smirked.
“That’s exactly what you told me when you moved out.”
Leonid frowned, but didn’t have anything to say.
He left around ten o’clock.
The next day, Nina Stepanovna called Raisa.
She hadn’t called for almost two weeks until then.
“Lyonya says you’re not letting him come home.”
Raisa instantly knew her son had told the story in the way that suited him.
“Leonid is home. At your place.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“I’m being completely serious.”
“A man argues with his wife, spends some time at his mother’s place. What’s so strange about that?”
“He didn’t argue with me.”
“Then all the more reason.”
Zinaida Arkadyevna fell silent for a moment.
“He wants to come back.”
“I know.”
“So let him.”
“Not yet.”
“Raisa, are you really going to break up the family over a principle?”
Raisa looked out the window.
“Zinaida Arkadyevna, you’re the one who suggested he shouldn’t rush back.”
The mother-in-law didn’t see it coming.
“I suggested we live apart for a while.”
“That’s exactly what he’s doing.”
“But seriously, how long can this go on?”
Raissa finally cracked a smile.
Not long ago, Nina Stepanovna actually thought this living arrangement was good for their marriage.
But now, with her son constantly occupying one of her rooms, using her bathroom, fridge, and computer, and expecting dinner every night, the benefits weren’t quite so obvious anymore.
“You and Leonid should really talk about this.”
“Why me?”
“He’s living with you.”
The conversation ended pretty quickly after that.
Leonid stayed with his mother.
At first, he called Raissa nearly every day.
Then it happened less and less.
One day, he suggested they meet at a café.
Raissa agreed.
She didn’t want to make any decisions about their marriage just out of irritation.
Their conversations were calmer now.
Leonid didn’t ask for the keys anymore.
He stopped talking about “our home” altogether.
He admitted he’d gotten too caught up in his mother’s attention.
“At first I really liked it,” he said. “You come home, someone’s waiting for you. There’s always food. Everything’s familiar.”
“You turned back into a kid coming home from school.”
“I guess so.”
“But you’re not fifteen anymore.”
“I get that now.”
Raissa decided not to add that he only realized this after the comforts started coming with responsibilities.
Leonid understood this all by himself anyway.
A few weeks later, he rented a small apartment not far from work.
Zinaida Arkadyevna wasn’t happy about it.
She believed that if her son couldn’t go back to his wife, he should stay with his mother.
For the first time, Leonid told her no.
He and Raissa kept in touch.
Sometimes they met up.
They talked about what had happened between them and why it was so easy for him to just move out without even discussing it with his wife.
One evening, Leonid came by to pick up the last box of old CDs and tools.
Now, he always let her know in advance.
Raissa opened the door for him.
He packed his things, zipped up his jacket, and stopped in the hallway.
“You know, back then I really thought I should have the key just because we’re married.”
Raissa leaned against the wardrobe.
“I noticed.”
“But when you changed the lock, what really drove me crazy wasn’t the lock itself.”
“What was it, then?”
Leonid smirked.
“I came in, put the key in—and it wouldn’t turn.”
“Quite the revelation.”
“It really was.”
He picked up the box.
“That was the first time it hit me that I’d really moved out. I wasn’t just ‘staying with Mom’—I’d actually left.”
Raissa opened the door.
“Sometimes a lock explains things faster than people can.”
Leonid laughed.
“Absolutely.”
He stepped out into the hallway.
“Should I call you tomorrow?”
“Give me a call.”
The door closed.
Raissa turned the key in the new lock and headed for the kitchen.
There was just one cup on the table.
It was simpler that way.