“Mom isn’t going anywhere! It’s you who will end up on the street!” shouted the husband, forgetting who actually owned the apartment.
Marina stood by the window. The July heat pressed down on the city. In the courtyard, children ran between the trees, hiding in the shade.
“Marinka, where’s my shirt?” came a voice from the bedroom. “The checked one!”
“It’s hanging in the wardrobe,” she replied without turning. “On the top shelf.”
Alexei appeared in the doorway of the living room, buttoning up the shirt he’d found. Tall, sturdy, with the strong hands of a mechanic. Once, those hands had seemed reliable to her.
“Listen,” he began, adjusting his collar. “Mother is coming today. Tidy up properly, will you? Last time she complained about dust the entire evening.”
Marina slowly turned to face her husband. Inside, something tightened with familiar irritation.
“Your mother always finds something to complain about,” she said quietly. “Last time the borscht was too watery, the time before that the cutlets too salty.”
“Then fix it,” Alexei shrugged, as though they were discussing the weather. “An experienced woman gives you advice, and you take offense.”
Marina clenched her fists. This apartment was hers alone. She had received the two-room place before they even met, decorated it to her taste, poured all her savings into the renovation. And now, every time, Valentina Petrovna rearranged things and lectured her about where everything should go.
“Lesha, we live in my apartment,” Marina reminded him. “Maybe you should take that into account?”
Her husband froze, one hand already on the doorknob.
“What are you trying to say?” Alexei’s voice grew darker. “That I’m a stranger here?”
“I’m saying that your mother acts like she owns the place,” Marina stepped closer. “And you encourage her.”
“Mother takes care of us!” Alexei turned his whole body toward her. “She’s family! She even gave up her own apartment for her younger son!”
Marina let out a bitter laugh. That old story about “caring for the young family” was worn thin.
“Your mother gave Igor the one-bedroom two years ago,” she said slowly. “So what? Does that mean she gets to run my home?”
“Our home!” Alexei barked. “We’re married!”
“On your thirty-thousand salary we’d be renting a room on the outskirts,” the words slipped out before Marina could stop them.
Her husband’s face darkened. He stepped toward her, looming with his whole weight.
“So now you reproach me?” his voice trembled with anger. “That I don’t earn enough?”
“I’m not reproaching you,” Marina lifted her chin. “I’m just reminding you of reality. Your mother is renting because she gave her apartment to Igor. And she dares to lecture us on how to live.”
“Igor really needed support!” Alexei turned to the window. “A young family, planning kids!”
“Kids,” Marina repeated. “Always about kids.”
Her husband swung back sharply. His eyes lit with a familiar fire.
“And what, isn’t it time? We’ve been married five years, and you keep putting it off. A real woman should have children!”
“On what money, Lesha?” Marina spread her arms. “On your salary? Do you know how much baby food costs? Clothes? Medicine?”
“We’ll manage somehow,” her husband waved it off. “Other people do!”
“Other people!” Marina shook her head. “And I’ll be stuck at home with no income while you break your back at the factory for peanuts?”
Outside, birds chirped in the leaves. Alexei was silent, staring off to the side. Marina could see the tension in his jaw.
“You know what,” he finally said, turning to her. “Enough of this bickering. Mother has problems.”
“What problems now?” Marina stepped away from the window.
“She can’t rent anymore,” Alexei rubbed the back of his neck. “Her pension isn’t enough, and the landlady doubled the rent.”
Marina nodded. Valentina Petrovna had been complaining for months about the high cost of renting. Naturally, the old woman should move in with her younger son, into that one-bedroom she’d given him.
“I see,” Marina said. “Then Igor’s family will have to squeeze in a bit.”
Alexei straightened abruptly. His gaze hardened.
“Mother will live here,” he snapped. “Temporarily, until she finds something else.”
Marina froze. Her husband’s words reached her as if from far away.
“Here?” she repeated. “In our apartment?”
“Yes, here!” Alexei raised his voice. “So what? There’s enough space.”
“Lesha, where would we even put her?” Marina spread her arms. “Will she sleep in the living room?”
“What’s wrong with that?” he crossed his arms over his chest. “She sacrificed everything for her children, and you’re being selfish!”
Marina backed up against the wall. Outrage churned inside her.
“Why not go to Igor’s?” she asked quietly. “He has the apartment your mother gave him.”
“They have a child!” Alexei barked. “They need space! And what about us—aren’t we a family?”
“We are a family. But this apartment is mine,” Marina reminded him.
Her husband’s face darkened even more. He stepped toward her.
“Selfish!” he spat. “You only think about yourself! A proper wife would support her husband in a difficult moment!”
Marina pressed her back against the wall. Alexei stood too close, suffocating her with his presence.
“You won’t give me children—at least help the family this way!” he went on. “Mother has spent her whole life working for us!”
“Lesha, listen—” Marina began, but her husband cut her off.
“Maybe you don’t need a family at all?” his voice shook with anger. “Then say it outright!”
Marina lowered her head. Alexei knew how to press her, knew all her weak spots. A wave of guilt washed over her.
“All right,” she said quietly. “She can stay for a while.”
A week later, Valentina Petrovna moved into their living room. She brought three suitcases of belongings and immediately began rearranging everything. The television was moved to the window, the sofa was turned against the wall, Marina’s houseplants were carried out to the balcony.
“It needs to be lighter here,” the mother-in-law explained as she shifted the furniture. “And these pots just collect dust.”
Marina silently watched as the living room turned into a stranger’s bedroom. Alexei helped his mother, carrying heavy things.
“Mom, will you be comfortable here?” he asked tenderly.
“I’ll manage,” Valentina Petrovna sighed. “Though it’s a bit cramped.”
Three months passed. Marina became a shadow in her own home. She tiptoed around, afraid to disturb her mother-in-law. She apologized for every rustle, every movement.
Valentina Petrovna had completely taken over the space. She threw out Marina’s laundry detergent, replacing it with her own. She forbade her from buying her favorite sausage.
“This one is too expensive, buy the regular kind,” she ordered in the store. “Why waste money?”
In the mornings, Marina cleaned the apartment under her mother-in-law’s watchful gaze. One day, as she collected the trash to take it out, something familiar caught her eye in the bin. Marina bent over and froze.
A children’s photo album. The very one with pictures from school, from kindergarten. Her only keepsake from childhood.
With trembling hands, she pulled it from the garbage. The cover was stained with tea leaves.
“Valentina Petrovna,” Marina called, entering the living room. “Why was this in the trash?”
Her mother-in-law didn’t even lift her eyes from the television.
“Oh, that?” she replied indifferently. “I threw it out. Just clutter, taking up space.”
“These are my childhood photos!” Marina’s voice trembled.
“Old junk,” Valentina Petrovna waved her off. “Why keep that anyway?…”
Something snapped inside Marina. Three months of humiliation, silence, and shame burst outward.
“Get out!” she screamed. “Get out of my apartment immediately!”
Her mother-in-law jumped up from the sofa, eyes blazing with fury.
“How dare you behave like this with your elders!” she shrieked. “You should know your place!”
A disheveled Alexei rushed out of the bedroom. Hearing the shouting, he instantly took his mother’s side.
“Mother isn’t going anywhere!” he roared, glaring at his wife. “It’s you who will end up on the street!”
But something inside Marina had broken completely. The scream stuck in her throat. She looked at her husband and his mother with a cold gaze. Rage gave way to icy calm.
“The apartment is in my name,” Marina said quietly but firmly. “Only I decide who lives here.”
“How dare you!” Alexei stepped toward her, his face red with anger. “I’m your husband!”
“Ex-husband,” Marina corrected, turning toward the wardrobe.
She pulled out a large sports bag and began stuffing her mother-in-law’s clothes into it. T-shirts, skirts, a robe—everything went in without distinction.
“You’ve lost your mind!” Alexei shouted. “Stop this immediately!”
Marina didn’t answer. She pulled out Valentina Petrovna’s slippers from under the sofa and tossed them into the bag. The older woman darted around the room, trying to snatch her things back.
“Daughter, calm down!” her voice shook with outrage. “We are family!”
“Family?” Marina snapped around. “Family doesn’t throw childhood photos in the trash!”
Valentina Petrovna shrank back against the wall. Alexei tried to grab the bag, but his wife dodged him.
“Mother sacrificed her whole life for her children!” he shouted. “And you’re throwing her out like a dog!”
“For five years I’ve endured your behavior,” Marina zipped up the overstuffed bag. “And for three months I’ve lived like a shadow in my own apartment!”
She went to the bedroom for her husband’s things. Sweaters, shirts, jeans—all went into another bag. Alexei followed her closely.
“Come to your senses!” he grabbed her arm. “Where are we supposed to go?”
“Not my problem,” Marina pulled away. “You’ll go to Igor’s.”
“There’s no room at Igor’s!” the mother-in-law shrieked from the living room. “There’s a child there!”
“And here there’s me!” Marina shouted back, stepping out of the bedroom with two packed bags.
She set them by the front door. Then she went back for the shoes, Valentina Petrovna’s cosmetics, and the trinkets from her bedside table.
“You’ll go mad from loneliness!” Alexei yelled, throwing on his jacket. “You’ll crawl on your knees begging us to return!”
Marina silently held the door open. Her mother-in-law sobbed as she stuffed her last things into a plastic bag.
“Daughter, think again,” she pleaded. “Where will we live now?”
“Where you lived before me,” Marina replied.
Alexei grabbed his bag and rushed to the door. At the threshold he turned, his face twisted with rage.
Valentina Petrovna was the last to cross the threshold, dragging her bags. She turned back from the landing.
“Ungrateful!” she shouted after her. “We only wanted the best for you!”
Marina closed the door. Turned the key twice. Slid the chain across. From the staircase came shouts, stomping, the slam of the elevator doors.
Then silence.
Marina stood with her back against the door, listening to her own breathing. For the first time in months, the television was silent, the sofa didn’t creak under her mother-in-law’s heavy body.
She walked into the living room. Put the sofa back in its place, turned the television around. Returned her houseplants to the windowsills.
Then she sat down on the sofa, took the rescued photo album in her hands. She flipped through the pages—school ceremonies, a birthday with five candles, kindergarten graduation.
And suddenly she laughed. Softly at first, then louder and louder. Laughter turned into sobs of relief, then back into laughter again. Marina laughed until tears ran down her cheeks, clutching the album to her chest.
The home was hers again. Hers alone.
