He did not let himself in with a key. Lena kept the intercom silent until she heard his voice through the speaker. He climbed all nine flights on foot and arrived breathless, his hair darkened by rain, a grocery bag hanging from one hand. Milk. Bread. Her favorite strawberry yogurt. As if those small offerings could somehow repair everything.
“Lena…” he began from the doorway.
She raised one hand, stopping him before he could go on.
“First, the locks,” she said evenly. “The locksmith is coming tomorrow at ten. There will be two new sets of keys. One for you, one for me. Your relatives will not have access to this apartment anymore.”
Alex nodded without arguing and walked into the living room. He lowered himself onto the couch and set the bag on the floor beside him. For a while he only stared at the window, where rain slid down the glass in crooked lines.
“Mom called three times,” he said at last, his voice low. “She’s crying. She says you humiliated her in front of the whole building. Sophie texted me that you’re a psychopath. Gail only asked whether we were still alive.”
Lena sat across from him, her fingers laced tightly in her lap.
“I didn’t humiliate anyone,” she replied. “I protected myself. And I protected you, too.”
“Me?” A short, bitter laugh escaped him. “From what?”
“From coming home one day and finding no wife here. And no child we’ve been talking about having. Because I would simply pack a bag and leave. Quietly. Without one more explanation. That’s what people do when they’ve finally run out of strength.”
Alex looked up then. Everything was written plainly on his face: exhaustion, confusion, fear.
“I didn’t realize it had gotten this hard for you,” he admitted. “I really didn’t. I thought you were just… calmer than most people. That you could handle it.”
“I handled it for three years, Alex. Three. Years. Every single day. While you’re at work, I’m here alone with your ‘we’ll only stop by for a minute’ guests. While you keep saying, ‘They’re family,’ I’m washing other people’s dishes and smiling because I don’t want to hurt you.”
His head dropped.
“I was an idiot,” he said simply.
“No. You were used to being forgiven for everything. And your mother is used to believing everything is allowed to her. And I…” Lena drew in a slow breath. “I don’t want to be the person who forgives everything anymore.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but it was not hostile. It felt more like a room being aired out after years with the windows shut.
“What do you want to do?” Alex asked finally.
“Rules,” she said. “Clear ones. For everyone. And you’re going to say them, because they are your family.”
He nodded.
“Tell me.”
Lena opened the drawer and took out a sheet of paper. She had written it earlier that day while waiting for both him and the locksmith.
“First: only the two of us have keys.
“Second: visits must be arranged in advance, at least one day ahead.
“Third: if I’m working, I am not available, even if I’m physically sitting inside this apartment.
“Fourth: anyone who comes over brings food or orders something. I am not an on-call cook anymore.
“Fifth: visits happen no more than twice a month. And if I’m home alone, they last no longer than three hours.”
Alex read the page in silence. Then he lifted his eyes to her.
“That’s strict.”
“Strict is four people bursting in during my workday and demanding lunch,” Lena answered. “This is fair.”
He folded the paper once, then folded it again.
“I’m calling Mom,” he said. “Right now. In front of you.”
Lena had not expected that. She had imagined delay, pleading, bargaining, some request to soften the wording. But Alex took out his phone, put the call on speaker, and dialed his mother.
“Alex, finally!” Tammy’s voice immediately rose into a tearful cry. “Can you even imagine how she treated me? I have loved that girl like my own daughter my entire—”
“Mom,” Alex interrupted, firm and steady. “Listen to me, and don’t cut me off. From today on, these are the rules.”
Then he read the entire list, word for word. No softening. No “maybe.” No loopholes. Just plain, calm statements.
At the other end of the line, there was silence first. Then came sniffling.
“So now I need to make an appointment to visit my own son?”
“Yes, Mom,” Alex said. “The way you make an appointment with a doctor.”