By the window, Marina stood silently as the intense July heat enveloped the city outside. Children dashed between the trees in the yard, seeking refuge beneath the calming shade.
“Marinka, where’s my shirt?” her husband’s call came from the bedroom. “The checkered one!”
Without facing him, Marina responded, “It’s on the top shelf in the closet.”
In the doorway of the living room, Alexey emerged, buttoning up the shirt he’d found. His tall, robust figure bore the hands of a locksmith—hands that once seemed a symbol of security to her.
“Listen,” he said, adjusting his collar. “My mother is visiting today. Make sure it’s tidier; last time she spent the evening complaining about dust.”
Turning slowly, Marina met his gaze, a familiar irritation stirring within her.
“Your mother always finds something to complain about,” she murmured. “Once the borscht was too watery; another time the cutlets overly salty.”
“Then improve,” Alexey shrugged nonchalantly. “She’s experienced and only offers advice, and you take offense.”
Marina tightened her fists inwardly. This apartment was her sanctuary. Before their relationship, she had received this two-room flat, furnished it according to her taste, and spent her entire savings refurbishing it. Yet Valentina Petrovna had intruded repeatedly, rearranging belongings and instructing her on how everything should be arranged.
“Lesha, this is my apartment,” Marina reminded him firmly. “Perhaps you should keep that in mind?”
The hand resting on the doorknob froze.
“What exactly are you implying?” Alexey’s voice darkened. “That I don’t belong here?”
“I’m saying your mother behaves as if she owns this place,” Marina moved closer. “And you allow it.”
Turning toward her, Alexey insisted, “Mother cares for us, for the family! Besides, she even gave up her apartment to help her younger son!”
Marina offered a bitter smile. That tale about “helping the young family” had grown tedious.
“She gave Igor a one-bedroom flat two years ago,” Marina stated slowly. “Does that now give her the right to boss me around in my home?”
“In our home!” Alexey barked. “We are married!”
“With your thirty-thousand salary, we would be renting some corner far away,” Marina blurted before she could stop herself.
Alexey’s expression darkened as he stepped toward her, his full weight looming.
“So now you blame me?” His voice trembled with anger. “Because my earnings aren’t enough?”
“I’m not blaming you,” Marina lifted her chin. “Merely reminding you of reality. Your mother rents because she gave her flat to Igor. Still, she lectures us on how to live.”
“Igor really needed help,” Alexey gazed out the window. “Young couple planning for children!”
“Children,” Marina echoed. “Everything always comes back to children.”
Her husband twisted around, eyes flashing with the familiar fire.
“And what? Isn’t it about time? We have been married five years, and you keep delaying. A real woman should bear children!”
“On what, Lesha?” Marina spread her hands in disbelief. “Your salary? Are you aware how expensive baby food is? Clothes? Medicine?”
“We’ll manage somehow,” Alexey waved dismissively. “Others do!”
“Other people,” Marina shook her head. “While I’m stuck at home on maternity leave without income, and you slave away at the factory for peanuts?”
Outside, birds chirped softly amidst rustling leaves. Alexey fell silent, staring aside as his jaw clenched tight.
“You know what?” he finally spoke, turning back. “Enough of this quarrelling. My mother has problems.”
“What kind of problems?” Marina distanced herself from the window.
“She can’t afford the rent anymore,” Alexey rubbed the back of his neck. “The landlady increased it twofold, but her pension is unchanged.”
Marina nodded, recalling Valentina Petrovna’s months-long complaints about soaring rent costs. It seemed logical she would move in with her younger son in the flat she had given him.
“I understand,” Marina replied. “Then Igor’s family will have to make room.”
Alexey’s posture stiffened, his gaze hardening.
“Mother will live here,” he declared firmly. “Just temporarily, until she finds another place.”
Marina froze, his words ringing from a distance.
“Here?” she repeated bewildered. “In our apartment?”
“Yes, here!” Alexey raised his voice. “What’s the issue? There is plenty of room.”
“Lesha, where will she sleep? The living room?”
“And what’s wrong with that?” he crossed his arms firmly. “Mother sacrificed her entire life for us, and you are stingy!”
Marina leaned back against the wall, a storm of indignation stirring within.
“Why not at Igor’s?” she questioned quietly. “He has the flat she gave him.”
“They have a child!” Alexey shouted. “They need the space. Aren’t we also family?”
“We are family, but this apartment belongs to me,” she reminded him firmly.
Alexey’s face darkened further, stepping closer.
“Selfish! Always thinking only about yourself! A decent wife would support her husband in tough times!”
Marina pressed herself against the wall, overwhelmed by his oppressive presence.
“If you won’t give me children, at least help the family this way!” he insisted. “Mother sacrificed her entire life for us!”
“Lesha, listen—” she began but was cut off.
“Or maybe you don’t want a family at all? Then just say so!”
Marina lowered her gaze, the familiar manipulation pressing on her vulnerabilities. Guilt coursed through her veins.
“Fine,” she whispered. “She can stay for now.”
Within a week, Valentina Petrovna had moved into their living room, arriving with three bulky suitcases and immediately rearranging furniture. The television shifted toward the window, the couch pushed against the wall, and Marina’s cherished houseplants confined to the balcony.
“It needs to be brighter here,” her mother-in-law justified while moving pieces around. “And those pots just collect dust.”
Silently, Marina observed as her living room transformed into someone else’s bedroom. Meanwhile, Alexey assisted his mother, lugging heavy items.
“Mom, are you comfortable here?” he asked softly.
“I’ll manage,” Valentina Petrovna sighed, admitting the limited space.
Three months passed, and Marina dwindled into a mere shadow within her own home. She treaded lightly, wary of disturbing her mother-in-law. Every sound, every movement warranted an apology.
Valentina Petrovna assumed complete control. She discarded Marina’s laundry detergent, replacing it with her own brand, and forbade Marina from buying her favorite sausage.
“This is too expensive, get the usual kind,” she proclaimed during shopping trips. “No need to waste money.”
Each morning, Marina cleaned meticulously under her mother-in-law’s watchful gaze. One day, while taking out the trash, a familiar item caught her attention. She bent down, stunned.
A childhood photo album, filled with kindergarten and school memories—her sole link to the past. Stained by tea leaves, it called to her.
“Valentina Petrovna,” Marina called out from the living room. “Why was this thrown away?”
Without lifting her eyes from the television, her mother-in-law answered, “Oh, that? I tossed it. Just clutter taking up space.”
“Those are my childhood pictures!” Marina’s voice trembled in disbelief.
“Old junk,” Valentina waved dismissively. “Why keep such things?”
Something inside Marina snapped. Three months of humiliation, silence, and shame erupted uncontrollably.
“Get out!” she cried. “Leave my apartment immediately!”
Valentina Petrovna sprang from the couch, eyes ablaze.
“How dare you disrespect your elders!” she yelled. “Remember your place!”
Disheveled, Alexey burst out of the bedroom, siding immediately with his mother.
“Mom isn’t going anywhere!” he shouted at Marina. “You’re the one leaving!”
But inside Marina, something had shattered irreparably. Her scream stifled midway. She faced her husband and mother-in-law with chilling composure. Anger dissolved into lucid determination.
“The apartment is registered in my name,” she said quietly, decisively. “Only I decide who stays here.”
“How dare you!” Alexey approached her, face fiery with rage. “I am your husband!”
“Ex-husband,” Marina corrected, heading to the closet.
She pulled out a large sports bag and began collecting her mother-in-law’s clothes—shirts, skirts, robes—carelessly throwing them inside.
“You’ve lost your mind!” Alexey yelled. “Stop this right now!”
Ignoring him, Marina grabbed slippers from beneath the couch and tossed those in as well. Valentina Petrovna scrambled to reclaim her belongings.
“Daughter, calm down!” her voice quivered with outrage. “We are family!”
“Family?” Marina spun around sharply. “Family doesn’t discard childhood photos in the trash!”
Her mother-in-law recoiled. Alexey attempted to seize the bag, but Marina evaded.
“Mother sacrificed everything for us!” he shouted. “And you’re throwing her out like a dog!”
“For five years, I tolerated your nonsense,” Marina zipped the stuffed bag. “For three months, I was a ghost in my own house!”
She went to the bedroom to gather Alexey’s clothes—sweaters, shirts, jeans—into another bag. Alexey followed, grabbing her hand.
“Think! Where will we go?”
“Not my problem,” she pulled free. “Go to Igor’s.”
“There’s no room at Igor’s!” Valentina Petrovna wailed from the living room. “There’s a child!”
“And here, there’s me!” Marina shouted back as she carried both bags toward the door.
She placed them near the front door, then returned for shoes, cosmetics, and little ornaments.
“You’ll go mad with loneliness!” Alexey shouted, donning his jacket. “You’ll return crawling, begging us to take you back!”
Marina silently held the door open. Her mother-in-law sniffled, stuffing the last items into a bag.
“Daughter, think twice,” she pleaded. “Where will we go now?”
“Back where you lived before me,” Marina answered firmly.
Alexey grabbed his bag and stormed out, glancing back with fury etched on his face.
Last to leave, Valentina Petrovna dragged her suitcases, pausing on the landing to shout back.
“Ungrateful! We only wanted what was best for you!”
Marina closed the door, locking it twice and sliding the chain into place. The clamor of footsteps, shouting, and elevator doors faded within the stairwell.
Silence settled.
With her back against the door, Marina listened to her own calm breathing. For the first time in months, the noisy TV and heavy couch creaks were absent.
She crossed to the living room, restored the couch, turned the television toward the seating area, and placed her plants back on the windowsill.
Seated gently, Marina took the rescued photo album into her hands. Slowly flipping through the pages, she saw school events, a birthday marked by five candles, kindergarten graduation.
Then laughter bubbled out. Soft at first, then growing louder. Her laughter dissolved into relieved tears before turning back to joyous laughter, continuing until tears streamed freely down her cheeks, clutching the album close.
The home was hers once again—truly hers alone.
Key Insight: This story highlights the emotional turmoil and struggles many face when personal space and family boundaries collide, underscoring the importance of respect and self-assertion within shared living situations.