“Take your little runt and get out of here, this house was a gift from my son!” shrieked the mother-in-law.
Natalya was standing by the stove, stirring the soup, when she heard the familiar cough behind her. Valentina Yegorovna entered the kitchen with her characteristic gait—slow and important, like a general inspecting his domain.
“Overcooked the potatoes again,” the mother-in-law peered into the pot over her daughter-in-law’s shoulder. “Is that how you’re supposed to cook? My Anton likes his potatoes whole, not falling apart.”
Natalya silently kept stirring the soup. After a year of living under the same roof, she had learned not to react to such remarks. Or rather, she was still trying to learn.
“The soup smells great,” Anton came into the kitchen and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Smells delicious.”
“That’s only because you’re hungry,” Valentina Yegorovna sat down at the table. “Really, though, you should have seared the meat first before putting it in the soup. It tastes better that way.”
Anton shrugged and left the kitchen. Natalya turned off the stove and began setting the table. From the next room came the voice of eight-year-old Dima:
“Mom, can I go to Seryozha’s after lunch? He’s got a new construction set!”
“We’ll see, do your homework first,” Natalya called back.
“Homework in summer?” Valentina Yegorovna threw up her hands. “The child needs to rest! You’re exhausting the boy with your lessons. In our time, children spent the whole summer running around outside, and we grew up just fine.”
Dima appeared in the kitchen doorway, listening to the adults’ conversation.
“Dimочка, come here,” his grandmother called. “Grandma will give you a candy. Don’t listen to your mom, you don’t need to do any lessons in the summer.”
“Valentina Yegorovna, Dima and I agreed—an hour a day he reads and does a few exercises, so he doesn’t lose his skills before school,” Natalya explained calmly.
“Exactly—you agreed! And who asked me? Do I live in this house or not?”
Natalya bit her tongue. This was the argument her mother-in-law had used constantly ever since she moved in with them a year ago. Before that, for two whole years after the wedding, they lived peacefully—Valentina Yegorovna would visit once a week from the neighboring village, sometimes less often. But then came what Anton called “the logical decision”: his mother sold her house and moved in with them permanently.
“Why should I sit alone in a big house?” Valentina Yegorovna had explained back then. “Here I’ll be close to my grandson, and I can help you. I’m not a stranger.”
Anton agreed immediately. He didn’t even consult his wife, just presented it as a fact—his mother was moving in, and they needed to clear out the spare room. Natalya kept quiet at the time. The house was spacious, there was enough room. Besides, she hoped her mother-in-law really would help—watching Dima, helping around the house.
Reality turned out differently. Valentina Yegorovna wasn’t in a hurry to help, but she considered it her duty to comment on every step her daughter-in-law took. How Natalya cooked—wrong. How she cleaned—not clean enough. How she raised her son—too strict.
“Anton, tell your wife not to starve the child!” Valentina Yegorovna shouted toward the living room. “First lunch, then all these silly lessons!”
“Mom, please don’t interfere,” Anton’s tired voice came from the other room. “Natasha can handle it herself.”
The mother-in-law snorted and demonstratively placed a whole handful of candies in front of Dima.
“Eat, grandson. Grandma will take care of you, since your mother is busy with her nonsense.”
Natalya set the plates on the table with such force that they clattered. Dima looked fearfully at his mother, then at his grandmother.
“I’ll eat the candy later, after lunch,” the boy said quietly.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Natalya stroked her son’s head. “Go wash your hands.”
When Dima left, Valentina Yegorovna pursed her lips.
“Turning the child against me, are you?”
“I’m not turning anyone against anyone. We just have rules that Anton and I agreed on.”
“With Anton?” the mother-in-law laughed. “My son never agreed to any rules. That’s all your nonsense. I know mothers like you—you’ll turn the child into a nervous wreck with all your rules.”
Natalya sighed deeply. Arguing was pointless. She had learned that in a year. Any attempt to defend her position ended the same way: Valentina Yegorovna reminding her that the house was in her name.
The matter of the house was a separate wound. When Natalya had just moved in with Anton after the wedding, she didn’t pay much attention when he said the house was registered to his mother.
“It’s safer this way,” Anton had explained at the time. “You never know, but no one can take anything away from my mother. It’s just a formality, after all—I built the house, my money went into it.”
Natalya believed him. She herself had nothing—after her divorce, she had left her one-bedroom apartment to her ex-husband just to end the process quickly. She and Dima had rented until she met Anton.
The first two years felt like a fairy tale. Anton treated Dima well, and the boy grew attached to his stepfather. The house was cozy, with a large yard. Natalya planted a vegetable garden, flowers. It seemed life had finally settled into place.
And then Valentina Yegorovna arrived with her suitcases.
“I have the right to live in my own house!” she declared when she saw her daughter-in-law’s bewildered face. “Or are you against a mother living with her own son?”
Anton hugged Natalya and whispered:
“Just be patient for a while, she’ll settle in and calm down.”
But his mother never calmed down. On the contrary, with each passing month she grew more self-assured. She rearranged the furniture in the living room to her liking. She threw out the curtains Natalya had chosen and hung up her own—with huge roses. She claimed the best armchair by the television and spent hours watching soap operas at full volume.
“Anton, maybe you could talk to your mother?” Natalya asked one evening. “She has the TV blaring all day, Dima can’t concentrate on his homework.”
“Oh, come on, let her watch. What else does she have to do?” her husband waved her off. “And really, don’t dramatize. Mom’s behaving normally, you’re just too sensitive.”
Natalya said nothing. What was there to say? Anton adored his mother, and in any conflict he automatically took her side—even when Valentina Yegorovna clearly went too far.
Like last month, when she caused a scene because Natalya had bought Dima new sneakers.
“Spendthrift!” Valentina Yegorovna shouted through the whole house. “Throwing money away! My Antosha wore the same shoes for three years, and he turned out fine!”
“It’s my money, I earned it myself,” Natalya tried to explain.
“Your money? In my house there is no ‘yours’ and ‘mine’! Everything is shared! And don’t you dare start setting up your own rules here!”
Anton had simply gone out to the garage. He came back two hours later, when the fight was already over, and pretended nothing had happened.
At dinner, Valentina Yegorovna kept on lamenting:
“In our day, women respected their husbands. And now? They think they know everything and won’t listen to anyone.”
“Mom, that’s enough,” Anton muttered, not looking up from his plate.
“Enough? I’m only telling the truth! Your wife doesn’t even treat me like a person. She cooks any old thing, tortures the boy with her lessons, wastes money on who knows what.”
“Valentina Yegorovna, I work as a nurse in double shifts, I provide for my child myself, and I still take care of everything at home. What exactly is it you don’t like?” Natalya finally snapped.
The mother-in-law slowly set down her spoon and gave her daughter-in-law a heavy stare.
“What I don’t like is that you’ve forgotten whose house you live in. If I want, I can throw you out of here along with your runt. This is my house, my son gave it to me!”
“Mom!” Anton finally raised his voice. “How can you say that?”
“What? I’m telling the truth! The house is registered in my name, I’m the mistress here. And she needs to know her place.”
Dima stared fearfully from his mother to his grandmother. The boy’s lower lip began to tremble…
“Dimochka, go to your room and do your exercises,” Natalya said quietly.
When her son left, she rose from the table.
“You know what, Valentina Yegorovna? I’m not going to endure this any longer.”
“Then get out of here!” the mother-in-law shrieked. “Take your little runt and get out! This house was a gift from my son!”
Natalya slowly stood up from the table. Something clenched in her chest, but she straightened her back and looked her mother-in-law straight in the eye. She would not give this woman the satisfaction of seeing her weakness.
“All right, Valentina Yegorovna. We’ll leave.”
“That’s right!” the mother-in-law exclaimed triumphantly. “No need to freeload here! Go find yourself another fool willing to put up with your brat!”
“Mom, stop it!” Anton tried to intervene, but his mother only became more furious.
“Be quiet! Are you blind? Can’t you see how she’s wrapping you around her little finger? She latched onto you with her bastard, occupied my house!”
“I’m not a bastard!” suddenly came a small, trembling voice from the hallway.
Everyone turned. Dima stood in the doorway, fists clenched. His face was red, his eyes brimming with tears.
“You’re mean! A mean grandma! I hate you!”
Valentina Yegorovna gasped with outrage.
“What?! How dare you, you little wretch! In my house! Why, I’ll—”
She moved toward the boy, but Natalya stepped between them.
“Don’t you dare touch my son.”
“Your son? And who do you think you are? Nobody! A stray! Wandering from one rental to another with your bastard, until my fool of a son picked you up!”
Anton sat at the table, his gaze fixed on his plate. Natalya looked at her husband, waiting for a single word in her defense. But Anton remained silent.
“Dimochka, go to your room. Pack your favorite toys in your backpack,” Natalya said calmly.
“Mama, are we leaving?” the boy sniffled.
“Yes, sweetheart. We’re going to Grandma Galya and Grandpa Kolya’s.”
Dima nodded and ran to his room. Valentina Yegorovna smirked with satisfaction.
“Good riddance! Just don’t you dare touch my things! Everything in this house is mine!”
Natalya walked past her mother-in-law in silence and went to the bedroom. She pulled down two suitcases from the storage shelf—one hers, one for the child. Methodically, she began packing clothes. First her own, then Dima’s. Valentina Yegorovna stood in the doorway, watching like a hawk.
“That dress was bought here! Leave it!”
“I brought this dress with me three years ago,” Natalya replied evenly, continuing to pack.
“You’re lying! Anton, tell her!”
But Anton never appeared. Natalya opened the nightstand, took out her documents and her son’s, a savings book, and a small jewelry box with the few pieces left from her mother. She carefully placed them in a separate bag.
“What’s that? Show me!” Valentina Yegorovna tried to snatch the bag.
“These are my documents and my son’s documents. Don’t touch them.”
Natalya went into the child’s room. Dima sat on the bed, clutching his favorite teddy bear to his chest.
“Mama, we’ll never come back here, will we?”
“I don’t know, my love. We’ll see.”
She quickly gathered the boy’s clothes, his textbooks, notebooks. She took his drawing albums he loved so much. The mother-in-law followed her, muttering:
“Just try to take anything of mine! I’ll call the police! Thief!”
Natalya stopped and turned to Valentina Yegorovna.
“You know what? I’ll go to the neighbors right now. Let Nina Vasilievna and Pyotr Ivanovich witness what I’m taking. Then no one can say I stole anything.”
“Go ahead! Call the whole village if you want!”
Natalya stepped into the yard. In the neighboring garden, Nina Vasilievna was watering her plants.
“Nina Vasilievna, may I ask you for a moment?”
The neighbor came over to the fence. The two women had always been on good terms, often chatting.
“What’s the matter, Natasha dear? You look so pale.”
“Dima and I are leaving. For good. Could you and Pyotr Ivanovich come over and see what I’m taking? So later Valentina Yegorovna can’t accuse me of theft.”
“My God, so it’s come to this! Of course, I’ll call my husband right away.”
Five minutes later, the neighbors were in the hallway. Valentina Yegorovna puffed herself up like a turkey.
“What did you come for? To put on a show?”
“We came as witnesses,” Pyotr Ivanovich said firmly. “To confirm that Natalya Sergeyevna is only taking her personal belongings.”
In front of the neighbors, Natalya walked through the house again, showing what she was taking. Two suitcases of clothes, a bag with documents, a backpack with children’s toys, a few books.
“That’s all. I’m not taking anything else. All the furniture, dishes, appliances stay here.”
“And so it should! Don’t touch my property!” the mother-in-law shouted.
Nina Vasilievna shook her head.
“Valentina Yegorovna, shame on you! Natasha has kept this house for years—tended the garden, planted flowers…”
“None of your business! Don’t meddle in my household!”
Natalya carried the bags outside. She called a taxi through the app. While they waited for the car, Dima clung to his mother, avoiding his grandmother’s eyes.
“Mama, Uncle Anton won’t come with us?”
“No, sweetheart.”
At last, Anton appeared in the doorway. His face was bewildered.
“Nata, are you serious? Where are you going?”
“To my parents.”
“But… Why? We can talk this through, work it out…”
“Work out what, Anton? Your mother is throwing me and my child out of the house. You remain silent. What is there to discuss?”
“She just lost her temper. Mom didn’t mean it, that’s just her character.”
Natalya looked at her husband. They had lived together for three years, yet it felt like a stranger was standing before her.
“Anton, your mother called my son a freak and a bastard. Right in front of you. And you stayed silent.”
“Well, what could I have said? She’s my mother!”
“And what are we to you? Strangers?”
The taxi pulled up. The driver helped load the luggage into the trunk. Dima climbed into the back seat. Natalya turned to Anton.
“I’m filing for divorce.”
“Nata, wait! Don’t do this! Let’s talk!”
But Natalya was already in the car. As the taxi drove off, Dima looked out the rear window. Anton stood in the middle of the yard, with Valentina Yegorovna beside him, shouting and waving her arms.
“Mama, are you crying?”
Natalya wiped her eyes.
“No, sweetheart. Just tired.”
The road to her parents’ home took two hours. They lived in a regional center, in a three-room apartment. Galina Andreyevna opened the door and understood everything immediately by the look on her daughter’s face.
“Come in, my dears. Dima, Grandpa is in the room, go to him. He bought you a new book.”
The boy ran to his grandfather, and Natalya collapsed into her mother’s arms, finally letting herself cry.
“There, there, my darling. Let it out. You’ll tell me later.”
That evening, after Dima fell asleep, Natalya told her parents everything. Nikolai Stepanovich listened silently, only clenching his fists.
“You did the right thing leaving,” her father said. “There was nothing worth enduring there. Too bad you didn’t tell us sooner.”
“I thought I could manage. I thought Anton would come to his senses, talk to his mother.”
“Your Anton is a mama’s boy,” sighed Galina Andreyevna. “For men like him, it’s easier to find a new wife than to stand up to their mother.”
Natalya’s phone buzzed constantly with calls. Anton rang every hour. She didn’t answer. Finally, she sent a message: “Don’t call. We’ll communicate through lawyers.”
The next day, Natalya went to see a lawyer. The divorce turned out to be simple — there was no shared property, the house belonged to the mother-in-law, and they had no children together.
“You’ll be divorced in a month, if your husband doesn’t contest it,” the lawyer said.
Anton came three days later. Nikolai Stepanovich didn’t let him past the threshold.
“Natalya doesn’t want to see you. And don’t traumatize the boy.”
“But I have to explain! I’ll send my mother away, we’ll live together, just the two of us!”
“Too late, Anton. You should’ve thought of that earlier.”
A month passed. The divorce went through without issues. Anton signed all the papers without even trying to argue. Natalya found work at a local hospital. Dima started at a new school. At first, he was sad, but he soon made friends.
One evening, Galina Andreyevna said to her daughter:
“You know, it’s actually a good thing it turned out this way. Imagine if you had stayed there another ten years. What would’ve become of you? Of Dima?”
Natalya nodded. Her mother was right. Better to leave in time than spend a lifetime enduring humiliation. She had a job, she had her son, she had her parents. And that was what mattered most.
Six months later, Nina Vasilievna called with the latest news. Anton was still living with his mother. Valentina Yegorovna now ordered her son around as she pleased. She made him do all the housework — cook, clean, everything. Anton had lost weight, grown gaunt. At work he was having problems, constantly late because his mother demanded he cook her breakfast and wash the dishes first.
“She tells everyone now that you were ungrateful. But no one believes her. Everyone saw how you kept that house in order.”
Natalya listened and just shrugged. Let her say whatever she wanted. The important thing was that she and Dima were living peacefully now, without shouting and insults. And that was worth a great deal.
