“Where’s the Soup?” I asked calmly. The Next Day, I Put a Lock on the Refrigerator
The entryway smelled of fried bacon and an unwashed body. A pair of dirty women’s boots lay on the mat, a gray puddle dripping from their soles onto the tile. From the kitchen came the sound of loud chewing mixed with the drone of the television.
Marina took off her shoes and removed her coat. Her legs were aching after her shift. All she wanted was a hot cup of tea and some peace and quiet.
Dasha was sitting in the kitchen.
Her husband’s sister.
Wearing Marina’s bathrobe.
Dasha was eating pasta with ground meat straight from Marina’s expensive nonstick frying pan. She was using a metal fork. The scraping of metal against the coating made Marina’s ears hurt.
“Hi,” Dasha said through a mouthful of food.
Marina stopped in the doorway. An empty pot that had once contained borscht stood on the table. Beside it lay an open package of sliced cheese. A mountain of greasy plates filled the sink.
“Where’s the soup?” Marina asked evenly.
Dasha shrugged.
“We ate it. Kostya came by for lunch. He liked it.”
Marina looked at the five-liter pot.
“Five liters? In one day?”
“Well, I ate some too. And Kostya took a container to work. What’s the big deal? Are you really begrudging your own husband a bowl of soup?”
Dasha put down the fork. Deep white scratches covered the bottom of the frying pan. The pan had cost four thousand rubles.
Something inside Marina locked shut.
Something cold and heavy.
She walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.
It was empty.
There were no yogurts, no chicken fillets and no bologna. There was nothing except a jar of cheap mustard.
“Where are the cutlets?” Marina asked.
“We finished them yesterday. Marina, what’s gotten into you? Am I supposed to sit here starving?”
Marina pulled some receipts out of her bag. She always kept them.
“I’ve spent forty-five thousand rubles on groceries this month.”
Dasha rolled her eyes.
“Oh, here we go. The accountant has arrived.”
“You’ve been living here for eight months. Eight months. You haven’t bought so much as a loaf of bread.”
“I’m looking for a job!” her sister-in-law shouted.
“You’re looking for a sponsor on Tinder. And you’re stuffing your face at my expense.”
Marina picked up the empty frying pan, placed it in the sink and turned on the ice-cold water.
“Hey! I wasn’t finished!” Dasha protested.
“Your food is gone. So is mine. Get out of the kitchen.”
Dasha snorted. She pulled off Marina’s robe, threw it over a chair and went into the living room.
Marina did not wash the dishes. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it in one gulp. Then she took out her phone and sent her husband a message.
“Stop by the store. There’s no food at home.”
His reply came a minute later.
“I’m tired. Order delivery. You have money.”
Marina gave a bitter smile.
She did have money.
Her own money.
That evening, the front door slammed and Kostya appeared.
“Marina! What are we having for dinner?”
Marina was sitting on the sofa with her laptop.
“There’s no food,” she said.
Kostya walked into the room without taking off his shoes.
“What do you mean, there’s no food? The fridge was full yesterday.”
“Your sister devoured everything. With your help.”
Kostya sighed heavily and wiped imaginary dust from his face.
“Marina, not this again. Dasha’s young. She has a fast metabolism.”
“What she has is fast-growing nerve. I pay thirty-eight thousand rubles a month for the mortgage. This is my apartment.”
“We’re a family!” Kostya roared. “I pay the utilities!”
“The utilities are six thousand. Food costs forty-five. Your sister has cost me three hundred and sixty thousand rubles over the past eight months.”
“You measure everything in money!”
Kostya turned around and went into the kitchen. Soon, the sound of pots and pans being thrown around came from inside.
“Marina!” he shouted. “There aren’t even any eggs!”
“I know.”
Kostya returned, furious. Red blotches had appeared across his face.
“Give me a thousand rubles. I’ll go buy shawarma.”
Marina looked at him carefully, as though he were a complete stranger.
“Your bank card is in your pocket.”
“I paid the car loan. You know I have nothing left until payday.”
“Then today is a fasting day for both of you.”
Kostya punched the doorframe.
“Are you mocking me? My sister is hungry! I’m hungry! Are you my wife or what?”
“I’m your sponsor, Kostya. But my unprecedented act of generosity is over.”
He swore viciously and slammed the front door.
An hour later, he came back with two shawarmas and a can of cola. Dasha greeted her brother happily in the hallway. Neither of them offered Marina anything.
She did not care.
The next day was Saturday.
In the morning, someone inserted a key into the lock.
The door opened with a slight creak.
Marina was lying in bed. She heard footsteps—heavy, shuffling footsteps.
Galina Petrovna.
Her mother-in-law.
“Kostya! Dashenka! I brought pancakes!” a loud voice called from the hallway.
Marina put on her bathrobe and came out of the bedroom.
Galina Petrovna was removing her boots as though she owned the place. She held a plastic container in her hands.
“Oh, still sleeping, Marina? It’s eleven o’clock.”
“It’s my day off.”
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips.
“A wife should be making breakfast for her husband, not lying aro
und in bed. Where is my son?”
A disheveled Dasha came out of the living room.
“Mom, she left us hungry yesterday. She threw a tantrum over some soup.”
Galina Petrovna gasped and looked at Marina.
“Have you completely lost your mind? Starving a child?”
“The child is twenty-four years old,” Marina replied. “And she eats like a construction worker.”
“How dare you!” her mother-in-law exclaimed, advancing toward her.
Marina did not step back.
“Put the key on the table.”
Galina Petrovna froze.
“What?”
“My apartment key. Put it on the cabinet.”
Her mother-in-law exchanged a glance with her daughter.
“I’m not putting anything down. This is my son’s apartment.”
“The apartment was purchased before the marriage, with my money. Your son is only temporarily registered here. Put the key on the table.”
Galina Petrovna threw the keys onto the wooden surface. The metallic clang rang through the hallway.
“My God, she begrudged her own family a piece of bread! Poor Kostya. He married a greedy old hag.”
Her mother-in-law went into the kitchen. Dasha hurried after her. Marina could hear them whispering.
An hour later, Galina Petrovna left.
Marina went into the bathroom to wash her face. Her jars stood on the shelf.
One was missing.
Her night cream, which had cost seven thousand rubles, was gone.
Marina walked out into the hallway.
“Dasha. Where is my cream?”
Dasha did not look up from her phone.
“I don’t know. Mom took something to put on her hands. They were dry.”
“Her hands? She used my anti-aging retinol cream on her hands?”
“Oh, what difference does it make? Why are you whining over one little jar? You can buy another one. You earn plenty.”
Marina said nothing.
She went back into the bedroom, got dressed and picked up her bag.
She needed to go to the hardware store.
The store was a fifteen-minute walk away. The weather was miserable. The November wind slipped beneath her jacket as Marina walked quickly.
At the hypermarket, she took a cart and went to the hardware aisle.
She chose two thick steel hasps, a set of metal screws, a tube of powerful epoxy adhesive and a lock.
The lock was heavy—a combination padlock that could not be opened without an angle grinder.
Afterward, she stopped at an appliance store and bought a small refrigerator, about the size of a bedside cabinet. She paid for urgent delivery.
Marina returned home at three in the afternoon.
The apartment was empty. Dasha had gone out, and Kostya was in the garage with his friends.
Marina got to work.
She took out her cordless drill.
Her own cordless drill.
She positioned the steel hasps against the doors of the large white Bosch refrigerator in the kitchen.
Driving screws into the refrigerator was difficult. The metal casing resisted, but her anger gave her strength.
Half an hour later, two heavy steel loops were firmly attached to the refrigerator doors. Marina threaded the padlock through them and clicked it shut.
She tugged at it.
Solid.
Then she moved all the cereals, pasta and canned food from the kitchen cupboards into her bedroom. She installed a regular keyed mortise lock on the bedroom door.
That part was easier.
At five o’clock, the delivery workers brought the mini-fridge. Marina placed it beside her bed and plugged it in.
Then she ordered groceries from an expensive supermarket: trout, rib-eye steaks, farm-made cottage cheese, luxury cheeses and fruit.
Fifteen thousand rubles’ worth.
She carefully arranged all the food inside her new personal refrigerator in the bedroom.
The large kitchen refrigerator stood empty, unplugged and secured with a padlock.
Marina took a shower, applied a facial mask and made herself some coffee.
Then she sat at the kitchen table with her cup.
And waited.
Dasha came home first.
She carried a bag of chips and a cheap energy drink.
“Ugh, it’s freezing outside,” she said as she entered. She threw her jacket onto the bench and went into the kitchen.
Marina silently drank her coffee.
Dasha reached for the refrigerator and pulled the handle.
The door did not open.
She pulled harder. The padlock clanged against the metal.
Dasha stared at the steel loops.
“What is that?”
“A lock,” Marina replied calmly.
“Why?”
“So you can’t stuff your face.”
Dasha went pale.
“Are you insane? Open it right now. I want ketchup for my chips.”
“There’s no ketchup in there. There’s nothing in there. The refrigerator is unplugged. My food is in my room, and my room is locked.”
Dasha clenched her fists.
“Kostya isn’t going to like this!”
“Kostya can go cry in the bathroom.”
Dasha grabbed her phone and began frantically dialing her brother.
“Kostya! That psychopath put a barn lock on the refrigerator!” she screamed into the phone. “Yes! She screwed it directly into the doors!”
Marina finished her coffee, washed her cup and went into her bedroom. She locked the door with two turns of the key.
An hour later, Konstantin rushed home.
Marina heard the front door slam. She heard him stomp down the hallway. Then she heard him roar in the kitchen.
A moment later, someone began pounding on her bedroom door.
“Marina! Open this door immediately!”
Marina put down her book, turned the key and opened the door.
Kostya stood there, red with rage.
“What the hell are you doing? Why did you ruin the refrigerator?”
“I upgraded it.”
“Take off the lock! I’m starving! We spent all day working in the garage!”
Marina leaned against the doorframe.
“I’m not removing the lock. Starting today, we have separate budgets. I pay the mortgage. You pay for your sister and both of your stomachs.”
“I’m your husband! You’re obligated to cook dinner for me!”
“Where is that written?”
“At the registry office!”
Marina smirked.
“The registry office issues marriage certificates. It doesn’t issue adoption papers for an overgrown idiot and his sister.”
Kostya tried to push Marina aside and enter the room.
“Let me in! You have food in there! I can smell it!”
Marina shoved him hard in the chest with both hands. Kostya stumbled backward into the hallway.
“Touch me or my door again, and I’ll call the police. I’ll tell them you tried to attack me.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Test me.”
She closed the door and turned the key.
Shouting, swearing and banging came from the other side. Kostya called his mother. Judging by the conversation, Galina Petrovna was advising him to break down the door.
But he did not dare.
He kicked the wall and went into the kitchen. A little later, Marina heard the front door slam.
Kostya had gone to the store.
Monday passed.
Then Tuesday came.
The new rules were brutally effective.
Marina cooked for herself in a multicooker in her bedroom or ordered prepared meals. She washed her dirty dishes immediately and stored them in her room.
The kitchen fell into neglect.
Dasha and Kostya bought a bag of frozen dumplings and some cheap sausages, but they had nothing to cook them in. Marina had taken all her pots into the bedroom.
On Wednesday evening, Marina went into the kitchen to get some water.
Kostya was frying sausages with Dasha’s hair straightener.
The smell was nauseating.
“You’re going to ruin it,” Marina remarked.
Kostya glared at her. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes.
“This is your fault! You drove us to this!”
Dasha sat at the table, chewing dry instant noodles.
“Marina, please,” she whined. “At least let me heat the kettle. I want some hot tea.”
“The kettle is mine. I paid six thousand rubles for it. You can heat water in a cup with an immersion heater, provided you own one.”
“Bitch,” Kostya hissed.
Marina turned to her husband.
“You’re moving out tomorrow. Both of you.”
The words fell heavily, like stones.
Kostya stopped frying the sausage.
“Where are we supposed to go?”
“To your mother’s. To the middle of nowhere. I don’t care.”
“I’m registered here!” he shouted.
“You are temporarily registered here. Today, I submitted an application to the public services office to cancel your registration. The grounds are the termination of our family relationship. Tomorrow, I’m filing for divorce.”
Dasha dropped her noodles. Pieces scattered across the table.
“What do you mean, divorce? What about me?”
Marina gave a short laugh.
Not because it was funny.
Because she could not believe such stupidity.
“I never adopted you. So pick up your belongings and get out.”
“We’re not going anywhere!” Kostya threw the hair straightener onto the table. “This is my home too! I did renovations here!”
“You put up new wallpaper in the hallway. You can tear it off and take it with you.”
She turned around and went back to her bedroom.
Thursday evening.
Marina came home from work earlier than usual. The apartment was quiet.
She entered the living room.
Two travel bags and three black garbage bags stood on the floor.
Dasha sat on the sofa wearing a puffer jacket and a hat. Her eyes were red from crying.
Kostya was smoking on the balcony.
Marina switched on the light.
“Well done. You managed to pack before I got home.”
Kostya came back inside and exhaled smoke directly into the room.
“We’re leaving. But you’re paying us back. For the utilities and the renovations.”
“Of course,” Marina nodded. “I’ll transfer it to your account immediately after you transfer me half of the mortgage payments from our three years of marriage. That comes to one and a half million rubles. Shall we calculate it?”
Kostya clenched his teeth. The muscles in his jaw twitched.
“Choke on your apartment, you bitch.”
He picked up one of the bags. Dasha stood and lifted her backpack.
Marina walked toward the living-room doorway and blocked their path.
She looked at Dasha.
At her brand-new puffer jacket.
At her genuine leather boots.
At the designer tote bag hanging from her shoulder.
Marina’s eyes stopped on the sleeve of Dasha’s jacket.
“Take off the jacket.”
Dasha froze.
“What?”
“I said take off the jacket. And open your backpack.”
Kostya dropped the bag.
“Are you completely insane? It’s two degrees below freezing outside!”
Marina looked only at Dasha.
“That jacket was bought in September with my bonus. It was a gift to help you ‘look for work.’ You didn’t find a job, so the gift is revoked.”
“Marina, please!” Dasha pressed herself against the wall. “I’ll freeze! I don’t have any other winter clothes! Mom threw everything away when she moved.”
“That has nothing to do with me. Take it off.”
Dasha looked at her brother, seeking protection.
But Kostya remained silent.
He simply stared at the floor.
“Kostya, say something to her!” Dasha sobbed.
Marina took one step forward.
“Either the jacket stays here, or I call the police right now and report a theft. You stole my cream worth seven thousand rubles. I have the receipt. We can go to the police station and prove whether Galina Petrovna used it on her hands or not.”
Tears rolled down her sister-in-law’s cheeks. With trembling fingers, she unzipped the jacket.
It fell to the floor.
Underneath it, she wore only a thin sweater.
Marina kicked the jacket toward the sofa.
“The exit is that way.”
They stepped into the hallway. Kostya carried the bags. Dasha walked in nothing but her sweater, wrapping her arms around herself.
Marina stood in the doorway and watched them wait for the elevator.
The elevator doors opened. Kostya entered first.
Dasha turned around. Her lips were trembling.
“You’re a monster,” she hissed.
Without saying a word, Marina pressed the button to close the elevator doors.
Then the heavy lock clicked shut.
She returned to the kitchen.
The apartment was filled with perfect, ringing silence.
There was no smell of another person’s sweat.
No smell of fried onions.
No unwanted presence.
Marina took a small key from her pocket and opened the padlock on the large white refrigerator.
It was spotless inside.
She smiled.
What would you have done in Marina’s place? Would you have left your husband’s sister freezing in the hallway in nothing but a sweater, or would you have shown her some compassion?