Struggles Under One Roof: A Daughter-in-Law’s Battle for Respect
On a significant day, Larisa crossed the doorway of the apartment on Mayakovskogo Street, not as a visitor but as a new member of the family through marriage. The suitcase she carried felt unusually burdensome—not from its contents, but due to the heavy weight of expectations surrounding her. For three years she had fantasized about this moment, envisioning her acceptance into Denis’s family.
“So, you’ve arrived?” greeted Valentina Petrovna coldly in the hallway, eyeing her with skepticism. “I cleared some space in the closet, but don’t leave your things scattered.”
Larisa smiled stiffly, fully aware of her mother-in-law’s frosty demeanor, though hoping that time would gradually soften the tension. After all, they shared love for the same man.
“Thank you, Valentina Petrovna. I’ll do my best to keep things orderly,” Larisa replied.
“We’ll see,” came the curt response before Valentina Petrovna vanished into the kitchen.
Denis placed his hands gently on Larisa’s shoulders. “Try not to mind her; it’s just adjustment. Mom is strong-willed but fair at heart.”
The following weeks were a blur of Larisa juggling her job and trying to gain her mother-in-law’s approval. Rising an hour earlier, she prepared breakfasts, scrubbed the apartment spotless, and even mastered the art of pea soup as dictated by Valentina Petrovna’s recipe.
“Not too bad,” her mother-in-law conceded begrudgingly after tasting the soup. “Just work on salting it properly. Remember, since you live here, the woman runs the house. I’ve done my share; now it’s your responsibility.”
Larisa nodded, recognizing some truth in those words. Valentina Petrovna, a lifelong nurse who raised her son single-handedly, deserved some respite—especially given her frail health, fluctuating blood pressure, and aching legs.
As days passed, Larisa’s duties steadily increased. Laundry, ironing, cleaning, shopping, and cooking all became her realm. Denis put in long hours at work, and his mother forbade him from helping around the house.
“Men earn money, women manage the home,” Valentina Petrovna declared firmly. “Don’t let him get used to doing women’s chores.”
Half a year into their shared life, the subject of money finally surfaced.
“Larisa, we need to discuss finances,” Valentina Petrovna said one evening, seating her daughter-in-law at the kitchen table after dinner. “You don’t live here for free. Bills and groceries keep increasing. I think it’s only fair you contribute most of your income toward common expenses.”
“Most of it?” Larisa was stunned. “But I have my own costs too…”
“What costs?” her mother-in-law snapped. “You have a roof, food on the table—what else do you need? Cosmetics? Save your money. Women should be thrifty, not wasteful.”
Although Larisa said nothing, a cold dread settled over her. Her salary wasn’t hefty enough to surrender most of it, especially after spending the previous year preparing for their new life.
That night, she confided in Denis.
“Denis, your mother expects almost all my salary. It feels unfair.”
He rubbed his weary eyes. “Lara, Mom’s always been careful with money, plans everything meticulously. She means well and only wants to secure our future.”
“I’m an adult—I manage my own expenses.”
“Please don’t make this complicated. Mom knows best. Besides, we’re living under her roof.”
Though Larisa wanted to argue they all shared income fairly and that she contributed greatly, Denis faced away, closing off the conversation.
Weeks later, Valentina Petrovna’s demands escalated. She criticized Larisa’s every move—how she folded towels, the sequence of dishwashing, even the detergent amounts used.
“Money was precious in my day,” she huffed. “When I was your age, every kopeck counted. You live like royalty.”
Larisa silently absorbed the criticism. Coming from a more affluent background, she wasn’t used to such stringent saving. But that wasn’t her fault.
“The harshest moment arrived without warning.”
On payday, Valentina Petrovna demanded, “Hand over the money. It’s time to save for unforeseen troubles.”
Larisa withdrew her paycheck envelope slowly. Having anticipated this moment, she had meticulously calculated her contributions.
“Valentina Petrovna, I’d like to discuss something,” she began.
“There’s nothing to discuss. Give me your money—I manage it better,” her mother-in-law snapped.
“I calculated the value of my household work.” Larisa presented a list:
- Apartment cleaning thrice weekly at cleaning service prices: 12,000 rubles/month.
- Laundry and ironing per dry cleaner rates: 8,000 rubles/month.
- Cooking estimated at 15,000 rubles/month.
Totaling 35,000 rubles monthly, less rent for a similar apartment (10,000 rubles), Larisa concluded, “So, you owe me 25,000 rubles.”
Valentina Petrovna’s expression shifted from shock to anger.
“How dare you ask money from me!” she screamed, lunging at Larisa but tripping on a carpet edge, striking her forehead on the table’s corner.
“You ungrateful wretch!” she yelled while sitting on the floor, clutching her injured forehead. “I welcomed you into my home, feed and shelter you, and you demand money like a mercenary! My son could have married anyone, but he chose such a greedy witch!”
Larisa remained still. Something inside her finally clicked, fitting pieces of the puzzle together.
Denis rushed in at the shouting.
“What happened? Mom, are you hurt?”
“Ask your wife! She’s demanding money for living in my home!” Valentina Petrovna sobbed.
Confused, Denis questioned Larisa.
“I just shared the honest calculations of my household labor.”
“But we’re family. Money shouldn’t be demanded,” he argued.
“That’s true,” Larisa acknowledged. “But your mother has taken nearly all my salary for months, while I do all the housework. Essentially, I’m paying to work for free.”
Denis hesitated, “Maybe you’re too strict? Mom meant no harm…”
Her husband’s words delivered a painful truth: she would never be fully accepted. Instead, she was a tenant under the guise of family, expected to serve and be thankful.
“Now I understand,” Larisa said quietly.
Within an hour, she packed her belongings amid Valentina Petrovna’s continuing accusations. Denis wandered bewildered, unsure how to respond.
“Where are you going? Let’s talk this through.”
“There’s nothing left to discuss,” Larisa replied, securing her suitcase. “Your mother’s right—I’ve been presumptuous, foolish enough to believe love and respect were earned here.”
“Don’t exaggerate…”
“No exaggeration. I realize now my happiness shouldn’t rely on others’ approval.”
Stepping outside on a chilly February evening, Larisa glanced back once. Denis stood in the doorway, guilt etched on his face, while Valentina Petrovna’s discontent echoed from the kitchen.
Walking along the snowy sidewalk, an unseen burden lifted with each step. For the first time in months, she breathed deeply, though uncertain what awaited her—her next home, future relationships, or even the possibility of salvaging her marriage.
One fact was clear: never again would she permit anyone to belittle her efforts or demand gratitude just for allowing her to simply be herself.
Back at her parents’ house, sipping tea in the kitchen, Larisa shared everything.
“Do you know what scared me the most?” she confided. “I almost believed they were right—that I should feel lucky to be tolerated, that household chores were my duty, and that my money wasn’t truly mine.”
Her mother hugged her silently.
“It’s a blessing you stopped in time. Many women live their entire lives like that, thinking it’s normal.”
“Did I go too far with those calculations?”
“You just held a mirror. They hated their reflection.”
Days later, Denis called repeatedly. At first, he begged for her return, promising confrontations with his mother. Then he accused her of breaking the family apart, before pleading for another chance.
“Mom is willing to compromise. She admits her mistakes.”
“And do you understand?” Larisa questioned.
“Of course. We’ll fix things.”
“Denis, the issue isn’t only your mother. You never defended me, never chose my side—even when I was right.”
“But she’s my mother…”
“And I was your wife. Was.”
The divorce proceeded quietly without disputes or conflict.
Larisa rented a modest one-bedroom apartment in another neighborhood. For the first time in years, she lived alone, relishing the freedom to eat, sleep, and spend according to her wishes.
Changing jobs to avoid proximity to Denis’s home, she found a better workplace with a friendlier team, higher wages, and brighter prospects.
Half a year later, Larisa crossed paths with Denis in a mall. He appeared worn out.
“Hi,” he greeted awkwardly. “How are you?”
“Good,” she answered honestly. “And you?”
“Fine… Mom often talks about you, says she misses you.”
Larisa doubted his sincerity and remained silent.
“Maybe we could meet and talk?” Denis ventured. “I’ve reconsidered many things.”
“No thanks,” she declined softly. “Our visions of family differ. It’s not about time or change.”
“I can change…”
“You’re not bad, Denis. We just weren’t right for each other. I wish you well.”
She turned away without looking back.
That evening, in her cozy apartment, Larisa reflected on the past year. She no longer sought anyone’s validation to be herself or sought love through self-denial. She recognized her work’s value as equal to others’. Someday, perhaps, she would find a partner who values her strength and views her as an equal, not a servant. For now, she savored the freedom to be herself—without compromise, justification, or bartering her dignity for affection.
Snow fell outside, yet inside, warmth and comfort enveloped her. Larisa smiled gently at her reflection in the dark window. Alone but never lonely—she was free.
Key Insight: This story reveals how essential it is to recognize one’s self-worth and resist relationships that demand submission or unjust sacrifices. True family and respect arise from equality and mutual support, not control and exploitation.