— Are you serious? — a lump rose in my throat.
Tamara Vladimirovna nodded, her gaze sharp as a hawk’s.
— I’m serious. This is for your own good. I’ll make sure the money goes where it’s supposed to.
Maxim looked away, silent, unwilling to pick a side.
I took a deep breath and met my mother-in-law’s eyes without blinking.
— No. Absolutely not.
Her expression twisted into disbelief.
— You will do as I say, Lena. This isn’t a request.
— This is my money. I earned it. I manage it. You don’t get to control me or my finances.
Tamara Vladimirovna scoffed.
— You think you’re independent? You’re living under my roof — or rather, under my son’s roof.
I stood up, the air suddenly charged.
— No. I’m not living under anyone’s roof. Maxim and I share this apartment. But I refuse to be anyone’s puppet — especially not yours.
Maxim finally spoke, voice low but firm.
— Mom, maybe you should leave.
Tamara Vladimirovna glared at him, clearly surprised at his sudden spine.
— You’ll regret this, Lena. You don’t know what you’re getting into.
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Maxim turned to me.
— You didn’t have to make it worse.
I looked at him, tired but resolute.
— I made it right. No one controls me, Max. Not even your mother.
For the first time in months, I saw a flicker of respect in his eyes.
The war had begun, but so had my stand for freedom — for dignity — in a home that was supposed to be mine as much as anyone’s.