Marina stood silently by the window as the oppressive July heat weighed down on the city. In the courtyard below, children darted between trees, seeking refuge in the shadows.
“Marinka, where’s my checkered shirt?” a voice called from the bedroom.
“It’s hanging in the closet,” she replied without turning around. “On the top shelf.”
Alexey appeared at the entrance to the living room, fastening the shirt he had found. Tall and sturdy, his hands bore the marks of a locksmith’s labor. She once believed those hands would always be a source of security.
“Listen,” he began, adjusting his collar, “my mother is coming today. Make sure the place is tidy; last time she complained all evening about the dust.”
Slowly turning to face her husband, Marina felt a familiar irritation tighten in her chest.
“Your mother always finds something to complain about,” she whispered. “Last time, the soup was too watery; the time before, the cutlets were too salty.”
He shrugged indifferently, resembling someone commenting on the weather. “Well, then fix it. She’s experienced and just giving advice; you shouldn’t take it personally.”
Fists clenched tightly, Marina thought bitterly. This apartment was solely hers. She had owned the two-room flat before they met, furnished it to her liking, and invested all her savings in renovations. Yet, every visit, Valentina Petrovna rearranged the furniture and lectured on proper household order.
“Lesha, we live in my apartment,” Marina reminded him firmly. “Maybe that should be taken into account?”
Frozen, Alexey’s hand had already reached the door handle.
“What exactly are you implying?” His tone darkened. “That I am a stranger here?”
“I’m saying your mother acts like she owns the place,” Marina stepped closer. “And you encourage her.”
“Mother cares about us!” Alexey turned fully toward her. “She gave up her own apartment for her younger son, remember?”
Marina smiled bitterly. The tale of “mother’s care for the young family” had long grown tiresome.
“She gave the one-bedroom apartment to Igor two years ago,” she replied slowly. “So what? Does that mean she should rule in my home?”
“Our home!” Alexey shouted. “We’re married!”
Words left her lips before she could stop them. “With your thirty-thousand salary, we’d be renting a tiny space on the outskirts.”
His face darkened. Looming over her, his presence filled the small room.
“So now you’re reproaching me?” His voice quivered with rage. “Is my income too little?”
“I’m not blaming you,” Marina lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m just reminding you of reality. Your mother rents a place because she gave her apartment to Igor, yet lectures us on how to live.”
“Igor needed support,” Alexey turned to the window. “They’re a young family planning children.”
“Children,” Marina echoed. “Always about children.”
He whirled around sharply; a familiar fire sparked in his eyes.
“Isn’t it time?” Alexey stepped closer again. “We’ve been married five years, and you keep postponing. A real woman should give birth!”
“And how are we supposed to afford it, Lesha?” she spread her hands. “Your salary? Do you realize how expensive baby food, clothes, and medicine are?”
“We’ll manage somehow,” he waved the concern off. “Others do.”
“Others!” Marina shook her head in disbelief. “And I would sit on maternity leave with no money while you slave away at the factory for pennies?”
Outside, birds chirped softly among the leaves. Alexey remained silent, gazing distantly. Marina noticed tension set in his jaw.
“You know what,” he finally said, turning to her. “Let’s stop arguing. Mother has problems.”
“What problems?” Marina stepped away from the window.
“She can’t afford to keep renting,” Alexey rubbed the back of his neck. “Her pension isn’t enough, and the landlord doubled the rent.”
Marina nodded. Valentina Petrovna had complained about the rising cost of rented housing for months. It was only logical she would move in with her younger son, back into the one-bedroom apartment she had given him.
“That’s clear,” Marina said. “Igor will have to make room for his family.”
Alexey straightened abruptly, his gaze hardening.
“Mother will live here,” he declared. “Temporarily, until she finds something else.”
Marina froze; her husband’s words sounded distant.
“Here?” she asked, incredulous. “In our apartment?”
“Yes, here!” Alexey raised his voice. “There’s enough space.”
“Lesha, where exactly do you want to put her?” she spread her arms. “To sleep in the living room?”
“What’s wrong with that?” he crossed his arms. “Mother sacrificed everything for us, and you’re being stingy!”
Backing against the wall, Marina felt revolt swirl within her.
“Why not with Igor?” she whispered. “He has a flat from your mother.”
“They have a child!” Alexey shouted. “They need the space! Aren’t we family?”
“We are family, but this apartment belongs to me,” Marina reminded him quietly.
His face darkened further as he stepped closer.
“You’re selfish!” he spat. “You only think of yourself! A good wife would support her husband in tough times!”
Pressed against the wall, Marina felt overwhelmed by his imposing presence.
“You don’t give me children, but at least help the family this way!” he insisted. “Mother has worked hard all her life for us!”
“Lesha, listen,” Marina began, but he interrupted.
“Maybe you don’t want a family at all?” His voice shook with anger. “Then just say so!”
Lowering her eyes, Marina was overcome by guilt. Alexey knew how to pressure her exactly where it hurt.
“Fine,” she whispered. “She can stay a while.”
A week later, Valentina Petrovna moved into their living room, bringing three suitcases filled with belongings. She immediately began rearranging everything — the TV moved to the window, the sofa turned toward the wall, Marina’s houseplants taken out to the balcony.
“It should be brighter here,” the mother-in-law explained as she shifted furniture. “These pots just collect dust.”
Marina silently watched as the living room was transformed into someone else’s bedroom. Alexey assisted his mother, carrying heavy items.
“Mommy, is it comfortable for you?” he asked attentively.
“It’s okay, I can endure,” Valentina sighed, “though space is tight.”
Three months passed. Marina became a shadow in her own home. She tiptoed around, fearing to disturb her mother-in-law, apologizing for every noise and movement.
Valentina Petrovna had completely taken over the space, discarding Marina’s washing powder and replacing it with her own. She forbade buying Marina’s favorite sausage.
- “That’s expensive; buy the cheap one,” she commanded in the store. “Why waste money?”
One morning, Marina cleaned under the watchful eye of her mother-in-law. Taking out the trash, something familiar glinted in the bin. Bending down, her breath caught.
It was a childhood photo album, the very one filled with pictures from school and kindergarten. Her only connection to childhood.
Trembling, she pulled it from the garbage. Its cover was stained with tea leaves.
“Valentina Petrovna,” Marina called softly entering the living room. “Why is this in the trash?”
The mother-in-law did not look up from the television.
“That?” she said indifferently. “I threw it out. Junk, just taking up space.”
“Those are my childhood photos!” Marina’s voice trembled.
“Old stuff,” Valentina waved her hand dismissively. “Why keep something like that?”
Something inside Marina snapped. All the months of humiliation, silence, and shame exploded out.
“Get out!” she shouted. “Leave my apartment immediately!”
With eyes burning in anger, Valentina jumped from the sofa.
“How dare you talk to your elders like that!” she yelled. “You should know your place!”
From the bedroom, a disheveled Alexey appeared, instantly siding with his mother upon hearing the shouting.
“Mom is not going anywhere!” he barked at his wife. “You’re the one who will be out on the street!”
Inside Marina something finally broke. The scream caught in her throat. She stared coldly at her husband and mother-in-law, fury replaced by icy calm.
“The apartment is registered in my name,” Marina said quietly but clearly. “Only I decide who lives here.”
“How dare you!” Alexey stepped toward her, face flushed with rage. “I am your husband!”
“Former husband,” Marina corrected, turning toward the wardrobe.
She grabbed a large sports bag and started stuffing in the mother-in-law’s clothes: t-shirts, skirts, a robe — all thrown in indiscriminately.
“Are you crazy?!” Alexey yelled. “Stop it immediately!”
Marina ignored him. She pulled out Valentina Petrovna’s slippers from under the sofa and threw them into the bag too. The mother-in-law flounced around the room, trying to retrieve her belongings.
“Dear, calm down!” her voice trembled with outrage. “We’re family!”
“Family?” Marina turned sharply. “A family doesn’t throw childhood photos in the trash!”
Valentina Petrovna stepped back toward the wall. Alexey tried to grab the bag, but Marina dodged him.
“Your mother sacrificed everything for us!” he shouted. “And you’re throwing her out like a dog!”
“I’ve endured your antics for five years,” Marina zipped the full bag. “For three months, I lived like a ghost in my own apartment!”
She went to the bedroom for her husband’s clothes: sweaters, shirts, jeans — packing them into another bag. Alexey trailed her closely.
“Snap out of it!” he grabbed her hand. “Where will we go?”
“That’s none of my business,” Marina pulled away. “You’ll go to Igor.”
“Igor has no space!” the mother-in-law screamed from the living room. “There’s a child there!”
“And I am here!” Marina shouted back, leaving the bedroom with two heavy bags.
She placed them by the front door, returned for shoes, makeup, and the mother-in-law’s small items from the bedside table.
“You’ll go crazy with loneliness!” Alexey yelled, putting on his jacket. “You’ll crawl on your knees begging to come back!”
Marina silently held the door open. Valentina Petrovna sobbed, gathering her last belongings into a plastic bag.
“Dear, think again,” she begged. “Where will we live now?”
“Where we’ve always lived before me,” Marina responded calmly.
Alexey grabbed his bag and rushed to the door. On the threshold, he turned, his face twisted with anger.
Valentina Petrovna was the last to cross the door, dragging bags behind her. She looked back from the stairwell.
“Ungrateful!” she shouted one last time. “We wished you well!”
Marina closed the door, locking it twice, securing the chain. From the stairwell came shouting, footsteps, and the slam of elevator doors.
Then silence fell.
Leaning against the door, Marina listened to her breathing. For the first time in months, the apartment was free of television noise and the creak of the sofa under her mother-in-law’s weight.
She crossed the living room, rearranged the sofa to its original position, turned the television back, and returned her houseplants to the windowsills.
Then, sitting on the couch, she opened the rescued photo album. Pages turned: school ceremonies, a birthday with five candles, a kindergarten graduation.
Suddenly, she laughed — softly at first, then louder. Her laughter dissolved into tears of relief before returning to joy. Marina laughed until she cried, clutching the album to her chest.
The home belonged to her once again. Only to her.
Conclusion: This story reveals the tensions that arise when personal boundaries in family spaces are crossed. The struggle highlights the importance of respecting ownership and individual dignity, especially within marriages. Ultimately, Marina’s courage to assert her rights restores her peace and reclaiming of her home.