Darina looked at Nicu in surprise. He rolled his eyes but said nothing. He walked towards the door and, before opening it, glanced through the peephole.
— My parents, he mumbled. They came “to visit.”
The word “visit” seemed out of context. They had no plans, there had been no phone call, no warning. Darina remained on the couch, her feet tucked under her, thinking about their little Saturday ritual: the fragrant coffee, the soft music, and the plans for the rest of the day. A ritual that had now vanished under the pressure of the persistent doorbell.
When the door opened, a wave of cold air rushed in, along with the loud voices of Nicu’s parents.
— Oh, how beautifully you renovated! — exclaimed Nadia, entering without taking off her coat. — Here, in the living room, we will put a big wardrobe, so we have somewhere to keep our things.
Darina blinked a few times, not understanding. “Our things?” She looked at Nicu, who seemed embarrassed but said nothing. Alexandru Petru went straight to the kitchen and began inspecting the drawers like a construction inspector.
— The drainage system should be changed here, he told Nicu, without looking at Darina. — I’ll show you how it’s done.
As the minutes passed, Darina felt the tension rising in her shoulders. The parents didn’t seem interested in rules or boundaries. They were “at home,” even though it was clear that this place had been built with her sacrifice and money.
The second visit came just two weeks later. The third, likewise. Each time, they entered the apartment as if it were their right. They moved her belongings, criticized her choices, and suggested changes.
One Sunday, Darina said to Nicu:
— I can’t live like this. I love my peace. I don’t want my apartment to become a free walking space for anyone.
Nicu was silent for a few seconds, then replied in a cold voice:
— They are my parents. They have the right to come whenever they want. If you don’t accept them, there’s no point in continuing.
His words were like a knife. At that moment, Darina realized that the balance, respect, and promises they had at the beginning had disappeared. Slowly but surely, the place where she dreamed of living happily had become an invisible battlefield.
She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t cry. She looked him straight in the eye and said simply:
— Then divorce.
Nicu’s expression changed. Perhaps he had expected a long argument, pleas, or reproaches. But Darina’s calmness disarmed him. In that silence, she had regained her strength.
His parents learned the news shortly after. Nadia tried to call her, but Darina didn’t answer. Instead, she called her lawyer and set the divorce papers in motion.
A few months later, on a spring morning, Darina made her coffee again in her bright kitchen. The windows were open, and the scent of blooming linden trees wafted in. She was alone, but she didn’t feel lonely at all.
In Romania, there is an old saying: “Home is where the soul rests.” For Darina, that place was no longer about painful compromises, but about freedom, peace, and the joy of belonging only to herself.
And now, finally, her home belonged entirely to her. Not just on paper, but with peace of mind.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
