“This is all your fault!” the mother-in-law shouted, pushing the guests aside. “What a little present you’ve given me, you wretch!”
In the three-room Khrushchyovka apartment on Preobrazhenka, the war began on the very first day, when Anna Mikhailovna saw her brand-new daughter-in-law, Katya, taking off her shoes in the hallway. She didn’t remove them neatly, as a well-bred girl should, but pulled them off her feet and left them lying in the middle of the corridor.
“Shoes go into the special cabinet,” the mother-in-law said coldly, pointing to the narrow cupboard by the door.
“Of course, Anna Mikhailovna,” Katya smiled, but there was a sharp flicker in her eyes.
Sergey didn’t notice this exchange of glances at the time. He was happy—he had finally brought his wife home to his mother. He thought they would become friends. The two most important women in his life would surely find common ground.
How wrong he was.
At sixty, Anna Mikhailovna had retained the steely character of a kindergarten director—accustomed to order and unquestioning obedience. Katya, a twenty-seven-year-old economist with ambition and her own ideas about how life should be arranged, had no intention of submitting.
The first weeks passed like reconnaissance in battle. The mother-in-law made remarks about cooking (“sour cream is added at the end, not while it’s boiling”), while the daughter-in-law rearranged the pots in the cupboards to her own liking (“it’s much more convenient this way, Anna Mikhailovna”). When the mother-in-law complained about the mess in the bathroom, Katya hung her tights to dry on the radiator in the living room. When she protested against loud music in the evenings, Katya turned on the vacuum cleaner precisely at seven in the morning.
Sergey tried not to notice. At work, when colleagues asked how things were at home, he replied:
“It’s fine. They’re just getting used to each other.”
But at home, no such adjustment was happening. On the contrary, the sharp edges of their characters clashed more and more, leaving deep scratches on family peace.
Katya understood she was not living in her own home and tried not to cross the line. But when her mother-in-law once again sighed in her presence: “If only Sergey had married Lenochka from the next building—at least she knows how to cook,” Katya’s patience wore thin.
“Anna Mikhailovna,” Katya would say evenly, “did you know that in one month I earn more than your Lenochka makes in half a year working as a cashier at Pyaterochka?”
“Money isn’t the most important thing in a family,” the mother-in-law retorted.
“Agreed. The most important thing is respect. Which, unfortunately, is lacking in our family.”
Such conversations usually ended with both women retreating to different rooms, and Sergey, returning from work, finding tense silence at home and a half-cooked dinner.
But the real conflict flared up over a silk dress.
Noticing that his wife had become withdrawn and irritable, Sergey decided to fix the situation with a romantic evening. He reserved a table at a restaurant and bought theater tickets.
“Katya,” he said to his wife in the morning, kissing her cheek, “tonight I’m stealing you away. Dress beautifully—we’re going on a date.”
Katya’s face lit up with her first genuine smile in many days.
“Seriozha, that’s wonderful! I’ll wear my new dress.”
That dress was her pride—a natural silk in a noble emerald green, bought with her very first bonus at her new job. Katya carefully took it out of the closet and hung it on the door to let the folds straighten.
“Mom,” Sergey said to Anna Mikhailovna, “we’re going to a restaurant tonight. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not, son. Enjoy yourselves,” she replied, though her gaze lingered on the dress.
When Katya returned home from work, full of anticipation for the evening, the dress was no longer on the closet door. A worrying thought flickered through her mind, but she pushed it away. Surely it had just fallen.
But the dress was neither in the closet, nor on the floor, nor on the bed.
“Anna Mikhailovna,” Katya called, trying to keep calm, “have you seen my green dress?”
“Ah, that dress,” the mother-in-law appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sorry, I thought you’d hung it up to be washed. It was terribly wrinkled. I tossed it into the washing machine.”
Katya’s throat went dry:
“Which washing machine?”
“Ours, of course. On ninety degrees, to make sure it came out perfectly clean.”
Katya rushed to the washing machine. Through the glass door, she could see a shapeless gray-green rag that had once been her beloved dress.
“Anna Mikhailovna,” Katya’s voice trembled, “that was a silk dress. It cost twelve thousand rubles. Silk can only be washed in cold water.”
“Oh, I didn’t know,” the mother-in-law spread her hands. “I thought everything could be washed at ninety degrees. Well, just buy a new one, if it was so expensive.”
Katya stared at the remains of the dress and felt everything inside her tighten into a hard knot. It wasn’t just a dress. It was a symbol of her independence, her achievements, her right to be herself in this house.
“I will never forget this,” she said quietly and stepped away from the machine.
That evening, she and Sergey went to the restaurant after all, but Katya was silent and distant in her old black dress.
“What’s wrong?” her husband asked.
“Nothing. Just tired.”
She didn’t tell him about the ruined dress. Why bother? He would have taken his mother’s side anyway, saying she hadn’t meant any harm, that Katya should be more indulgent with an elderly person.
But Katya held on to her resentment tightly, biding her time.
That moment came a month later, when Anna Mikhailovna began preparing for her birthday. Sixty-one years old—not a milestone, but still a good occasion to gather the whole family and show off what a wonderful family she had.
“We’ll invite everyone,” the mother-in-law announced at dinner, “including your parents too, Katya dear. Let them see how well we all live together.”
Katya nodded, already sketching out a plan in her mind.
A week before the celebration, an unexpected truce settled between the women. There was a menu to plan, groceries to buy, the table setting to think through. They discussed recipes, divided responsibilities, even consulted one another on how to decorate the apartment.
“Maybe we should make the Olivier salad not with sausage, but with tongue?” Katya suggested.
“Good idea. And we’ll make the herring under a fur coat as a roulade—it’ll look beautiful.”
Sergey watched this cooperation with relief. Finally, the two women in his life seemed to have found common ground.
On the birthday morning, they bustled around the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Katya chopped vegetables for salads, while Anna Mikhailovna worked her magic over the hot dishes. By four o’clock the table was groaning under the weight of food—traditional salads, stuffed pike, homemade pies, and a Napoleon cake they had baked together.
“Oh, girls, what a sight!” exclaimed Aunt Valya, the first guest to arrive. “It’s like a restaurant!”
“Our hostesses have outdone themselves,” Sergey said proudly, hugging his wife and mother at once.
The evening was going splendidly. Guests praised the food, Anna Mikhailovna basked in compliments, Katya smiled modestly. They even sang “Moscow Nights.”
“Katya, darling, would you share the recipe for that herring under a fur coat?” asked their neighbor, Aunt Marina.
“That’s not my recipe,” Katya replied. “Anna Mikhailovna taught me.”
The mother-in-law nodded in satisfaction. At last, her daughter-in-law was saying the right things.
By ten in the evening, when the guests had split into groups, chatting among themselves, Anna Mikhailovna decided it was time to open the presents.
The table in the small room was piled high with boxes, bags, and bouquets. One by one, she methodically unwrapped them, thanked the givers, and showed each gift to the guests. A beautiful scarf from her sister, a set of pots from her niece, perfume from the neighbors.
The last was a plain white envelope, without any markings.
“And what’s this?” the birthday girl wondered, holding it up to the light…
“And what is this?” the birthday girl exclaimed, holding it up to the light.
Katya stood by the opposite wall, watching her mother-in-law closely.
Anna Mikhailovna opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. After reading the first few lines, she turned pale, then flushed red, then pale again.
“What is it, Mom?” Sergey came closer.
But his mother was already running across the living room, pushing aside dancing guests, waving the paper in the air.
“This is all your doing!” the mother-in-law shouted, shoving people aside. “What a present you’ve given me, you wretch!”
The guests froze, the music fell silent. Anna Mikhailovna thrust the sheet into Katya’s face:
“Read! Read what she gave me as a gift!”
Sergey took the paper from his mother’s trembling hands and read aloud:
“Dear Anna Mikhailovna! In response to your request regarding the possibility of placement in our institution, we invite you to a tour of the Golden Years nursing home. Ekaterina Sergeevna called to inquire about the conditions of residence for her mother-in-law. You are welcome to visit at any convenient time…”
The silence was so heavy that the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.
“Katya,” Sergey said quietly, “is this true?”
Katya looked at her mother-in-law with a cold smile.
“And what’s so terrible? If Anna Mikhailovna can’t even figure out how to wash clothes properly, maybe it’s worth checking her mental faculties? That institution has excellent qualified staff; they won’t let her make any more foolish mistakes.”
“How dare you!” shrieked the mother-in-law. “I’ll show you my mental faculties!”
She lunged at Katya, but Sergey grabbed his mother’s arms.
“Mom, not in front of the guests! It’s shameful! And you, Katya,” he turned to his wife, “a gift like this—that’s going too far.”
“Too far?” Katya smirked. “And when she ruined my twelve-thousand-ruble dress—that wasn’t too far?”
“What dress?” Sergey was confused.
“My silk dress, the one your dear mommy washed at ninety degrees! By accident, of course. She didn’t know silk couldn’t be washed that way.”
“I really didn’t know!” Anna Mikhailovna screamed, struggling to free herself. “And anyway, you drove me to it! The whole apartment is upside down because of you!”
“I’m the one who turned the apartment upside down?” Katya stepped forward. “I’m the one making remarks every day? I’m the one sighing about how your son married the wrong woman?”
The guests stood in a semicircle, unsure whether to intervene or quietly slip away. Aunt Valya was already pulling on her coat.
“Girls,” Uncle Kolya tried to interject, “maybe this isn’t the time, with everyone here?”
But neither woman heard him. They stood face to face, their eyes blazing with months of pent-up resentment.
“Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing?” Katya sneered. “Every day—some nitpicking. The pot’s in the wrong place, the vacuuming at the wrong hour. Do you think your son loves you more than me?”
“I’m his mother!” Anna Mikhailovna shouted. “I raised him for thirty years! And who are you?”
“I’m his wife! And I’m the one living with him, not you!”
“Enough!” Sergey roared so loudly everyone flinched. “Enough, both of you! I’m ashamed of you! To cause such a scene in front of guests…”
But it was too late. The guests were already quietly leaving. Some muttered thanks for the meal, others simply nodded goodbye. Within half an hour, the apartment was empty.
Only the three of them remained—husband, wife, and mother-in-law—amid the remains of the feast and the shattered fragments of family peace.
“Katya,” Sergey said wearily, “the nursing home—that was cruel.”
“And ruining an expensive dress—that was fine?” his wife retorted.
“I’m sick of hearing about your dress!” sobbed Anna Mikhailovna. “It’s always about that dress! So it was ruined, so what? It happens!”
“Anna Mikhailovna,” Katya’s voice was very quiet, but each word was sharp and clear, “it wasn’t an accident. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Her mother-in-law’s mouth snapped shut. She stared at her daughter-in-law with wide eyes.
“And the nursing home wasn’t an accident either. It was my answer. To your hints, to your remarks, to that ruined dress.”
Anna Mikhailovna turned silently and walked to her room. At the doorway she stopped:
“Then it’s war.”
“Then it’s war,” Katya agreed.
After the birthday, life in the apartment grew even heavier. The fragile truce was gone, and the women began to spite each other with double the energy. Anna Mikhailovna “accidentally” washed Katya’s clothes with bleeding red socks. Katya, in return, reset her mother-in-law’s alarm clock an hour late so she would be late for work. When the mother-in-law hid Katya’s hair clips, the daughter-in-law salted her coffee instead of sugaring it.
Sergey flitted between them, begging for peace, but the women were relentless. Each was convinced of her own rightness, each nursed her grudges well.
“Mom, try to understand Katya,” he pleaded with his mother.
“Katya, she’s an elderly woman,” he begged his wife.
But no understanding came. In the cramped apartment, a real war had broken out, and there was no end in sight.
In the evenings, Sergey sat in the kitchen, drinking tea, and thought about how somewhere in the world there were families where everyone loved each other and didn’t quarrel over dresses and nursing homes. But in his family, peace was a fragile thing, shattered by a single careless word.
And in the neighboring rooms, the two most important women in his life were busy inventing new ways to hurt each other.
And no one could stop them.
Not even love.
