Olesya realized on Thursday morning that what was supposed to be a twenty-day temporary stay had somehow turned into a completely new way of family life.
She stepped out of the bedroom at half past six, still sleepy and with a towel on her shoulder, and noticed an ordinary piece of paper taped to the bathroom door, held up by two strips of tape.
At the top, written in neat handwriting, it said:
“Bathroom in the morning.
6:20 — Lyubov Nikolaevna.
6:45 — Vadim.
7:10 — Olesya”.
Olesya read through the schedule twice.
Then she checked the time.
It was 6:34.
Water was running behind the door. Her mother-in-law clearly wasn’t planning to leave the bathroom a minute earlier than her allotted time.
Vadim walked out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
“Have you seen this?”
He followed her gaze.
“Oh, the schedule? Yeah. Mom came up with that yesterday. It works, no one’s in anyone’s way.”
“Very convenient.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Especially for me.”
Vadim took a sip of coffee and only then noticed something in her tone.
“What about you?”
“Nothing. I’ve officially been assigned bathroom time at 7:10 in my own apartment.”
“Olesya, why do you have to say ‘my own apartment’ like that?”
“How should I say it? ‘The place where I’m allowed to live after 7:10’?”
Vadim chuckled, deciding his wife was just tired.
The bathroom door opened exactly at 6:45.
Lyubov Nikolaevna appeared in her robe, hair perfectly styled and looking very pleased, like someone who had successfully set up a well-oiled operation.
“Vadik, it’s your turn. Don’t dawdle—Olesya needs to get ready after you.”
“Thanks for remembering,” said Olesya.
“Of course I remember. That’s why I wrote everything down, so we wouldn’t have to fight over the bathroom.”
And she headed to the kitchen.
Olesya watched her go.
Three weeks ago, the offer for her to move in really did seem completely reasonable.
Lyubov Nikolaevna lived alone in a nine-story building on the other side of the neighborhood. At the beginning of October, the building management finally decided to replace the old elevator. The work was supposed to last twenty days.
For sixty-year-old Lyubov Nikolaevna, living on the ninth floor wasn’t exactly appealing. She wasn’t sick or helpless—she could easily go to the store or the market—but walking up nine flights of stairs several times a day was not something she wanted to do.
When she called her son, Olesya was the one who said:
“Of course, let her come here. Why should she have to stay trapped at home for three weeks?”
Four months earlier, she and Vadim had moved into Olesya’s two-bedroom apartment.
Olesya had bought the apartment before she met her future husband. By the time Vadim came into her life, the place was already free of any mortgage. At first, they’d rented an apartment together for over a year—it felt simpler that way. Then they got married, did a bit of remodeling in Olesya’s place, and moved in.
The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was cozy: a separate bedroom, a living room with a fold-out couch, a kitchen, a decent hallway, and a balcony.
Vadim had his own place, too. He’d inherited a one-bedroom from his grandfather. After moving in with Olesya, he rented it out to a young couple until the following spring for thirty-two thousand a month.
Vadim kept the rental money aside.
“This will be our backup fund,” he said at the time. “If the car breaks down, we need repairs—just in case.”
Olesya didn’t mind. They both contributed about equally to the family budget anyway, and the apartment belonged to Vadim, so she wasn’t about to start monitoring every bit of rental income.
They set up a sofa bed in the living room for Lyubov Nikolaevna. Cleared one shelf in the closet. Olesya gave her a spare set of keys so she wouldn’t be dependent on their schedule.
Her mother-in-law arrived with a large bag and immediately announced:
“I’m only staying for twenty days. I don’t need anything.”
On the second day, Vadim brought a suitcase from her apartment.
“There’s a winter robe and some nicer clothes,” explained Lyubov Nikolaevna. “Just in case we go out somewhere together.”
A couple days later, a bag of shoes arrived.
Next came a box of medications.
Then her favorite pillow appeared, because the one in Olesya’s apartment was “the wrong height.”
Then came a houseplant.
“It’ll wither without me.”
Olesya glanced at the ficus, which was nearly a meter tall.
“Will it really survive just twenty days?”
Lyubov Nikolaevna laughed.
“Oh, of course not. But Vadik was driving anyway.”
By the end of the first week, a folding clothes dryer appeared by the balcony door.
“Mom, we have a dryer already,” even Vadim said.
“Yours is flimsy. You can’t properly hang a sheet on it.”
At that point, Olesya joked:
“If the elevator’s out for another week, we’ll need a moving truck just to take everything back.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna laughed louder than anyone.
And honestly, the first few days weren’t bad at all.
She woke up early, made syrniki or porridge, sometimes cooked dinner. After work, Olesya would come home and happily discover a pot of soup. Her mother-in-law didn’t offer parenting advice, didn’t inspect the dust on the shelves, and didn’t ask why Vadim’s wife didn’t bake pies on Sundays.
If things had stayed that way, Olesya might have even suggested she stay a couple of extra days.
But around the second week, Lyubov Nikolaevna stopped feeling like a temporary guest.
It all began with the mugs.
Olesya opened the cupboard in the morning and for a few seconds couldn’t find her favorite big mug with the thin handle.
“Lyubov Nikolaevna, have you seen the mugs?”
“I moved them to the top shelf.”
“Why?”
“It just makes more sense there.”
Sure enough, all the big mugs stood on the top shelf. Down below now were six tiny teacups that the couple almost never used.
“Why does it make more sense?”
Her mother-in-law was genuinely surprised by the question.
“Small cups are needed more often.”
“By whom?”
“Who else? By everyone.”
Olesya looked over at Vadim.
He quickly got busy making a sandwich.
That same evening, a magnetic box for receipts appeared on the fridge.
“From now on, we’re putting these in here,” Lyubov Nikolaevna announced. “Otherwise, receipts are getting lost everywhere.”
Olesya tried to recall the last time she ever kept a receipt from groceries.
“But why do we need them?”
“To see how much we’re spending on food.”
“I can see that in my banking app.”
“But the app doesn’t show you what exactly was bought.”
“Do we need to know that?”
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips slightly.
“Young people, you never need anything—as long as you have money.”
After dinner, Vadim told her the box didn’t bother him.
“Let it stay.”
Olesya looked at her husband.
I’ve noticed an interesting pattern—nothing ever gets in the way for you if your mom is the one who organizes it.
Well, we can’t just throw out the box now.
Of course not. It’s practically part of the family already.
Vadim once again thought Olesya was joking.
Next, Lyubov Nikolaevna turned her attention to the entryway.
One Sunday, she showed Olesya a picture of a narrow bench with a cushioned seat.
“Look how wonderful this is. I found it. Only twelve thousand.”
“It’s cute.”
“And it would fit here perfectly.”
Her mother-in-law pointed to a spot next to the wardrobe.
“But why do we need it?”
“Why? So we can sit while putting on shoes. It would be more convenient for all of us.”
Olesya paused and fixed her gaze on Lyubov Nikolaevna for a moment.
“And who exactly do you mean by ‘us’?”
She didn’t catch the sarcasm.
“It would be convenient for me, for Vadik. And for you too.”
Olesya nodded.
For some reason, she was even last in the list of her own apartment’s residents.
“I’ll think about it.”
“What is there to think about? I can order it today.”
“No need.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna looked genuinely surprised.
“Why not?”
“Because I haven’t decided if I want a bench here yet.”
For the first time, real tension appeared between them.
But fifteen minutes later, her mother-in-law was already talking about the fridge.
Apparently, their two-meter-tall refrigerator was considered too small.
“If we got a wider one, it would be more convenient.”
“Where would a wider one go?” Olesya asked. “There’s a kitchen cabinet next to it.”
“Remove the cabinet.”
“But I ordered that cabinet just six months ago.”
“Well, the kitchen should serve people, not the other way around.”
Olesya slowly turned her head to her husband.
“Vadim, is our fridge big enough for you?”
He was sitting there on his phone.
“It’s big enough for me.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna nodded with satisfaction:
“There, you see? Things are always simpler for men.”
Olesya thought that life really had become incredibly easy for one man in this apartment.
In the mornings, his hot pancakes were waiting for him.
Somehow, his shirts always turned up ironed.
Every day, he left for work with a container of food his mother had packed.
In the evenings, all he had to do was take off his shoes and ask what was for dinner.
Vadim didn’t seem to be even slightly inconvenienced by his mother’s prolonged stay.
The twentieth day rolled around on a Friday.
Olesya asked over breakfast:
“Lyubov Nikolaevna, is your building’s elevator finally running again?”
“They say it’s still in a trial phase.”
“Will it take long?”
“I don’t know. Everything these days gets done halfheartedly.”
On the twenty-second day, they discovered that the hallway was filled with the strong smell of paint.
By the twenty-fifth day, the upstairs neighbor had started renovations.
“He starts using the drill early in the morning,” Lyubov Nikolaevna complained. “If I go home, I’ll go crazy.”
Olesya looked at Vadim.
He was calmly eating his cutlet.
“So, you like it here then?” she asked.
“Olesya, let my mom stay just a little longer. What’s the harm?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out what ‘a little’ actually means.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna jumped in:
“As soon as everything settles down, I’ll go home. Don’t worry, I’m not intruding.”
Olesya almost wanted to ask whom exactly her mother-in-law could possibly be intruding on, considering she now scheduled everyone’s bathroom time.
But she said nothing.
The answer came on its own three days later.
On Saturday morning, Vadim said:
“Let’s go pick up Mom’s winter jacket. They’re calling for colder weather and she only has a light one here.”
Olesya agreed. She was curious herself to check out the building entrance that had kept Lyubov Nikolaevna from returning home for almost a month.
They arrived around noon.
They walked up to the elevator.
Vadim pressed the button.
The doors opened instantly.
The elevator was brand new, spotless, and so swift that they reached the ninth floor before Olesya could even think of a polite way to ask her question.
She glanced at her husband.
“Testing phase?”
“Looks like they’re done already.”
“Apparently.”
There was no smell on the landing.
No paint, no construction dust.
Right then, an elderly woman stepped out from the neighboring apartment carrying a trash bag.
“Oh, Vadik!” she said happily. “When is your mom coming back? I keep calling her, but she’s still staying at your place.”
“Soon, Aunt Zina.”
“Why isn’t she coming back though? The elevator’s been running for over a week now. They did a good job, it’s so quiet.”
Olesya turned to Vadim.
Aunt Zina kept talking:
“We actually threw a bit of a party when it started working. That first day I rode down three times just for the fun of it. Two months of walking was enough exercise for a lifetime.”
“Got it,” Olesya said.
Vadim suddenly took a keen interest in his mother’s door lock.
They found the jacket quickly.
On the way back, Olesya stayed silent until they were out of the parking lot.
Then she asked:
“Did you know?”
Vadim didn’t bother to play dumb.
“About the elevator?”
“No, about Aunt Zina. Of course the elevator.”
He shifted to the right lane.
“For a few days.”
“A week and a half?”
“Something like that.”
“So why is your mom still living with us?”
Vadim stared at the road for a moment.
Then he finally said what he probably thought was quite a reasonable explanation:
“I’m fine with it.”
Olesya turned her head.
“You’re fine with what?”
“With Mom staying with us. She cooks. Everything’s tidy in the morning. She irons my shirts. I figured, why rush her out right away?”
“You figured.”
“Yeah.”
“On your own?”
Now Vadim realized this conversation was heading in the wrong direction.
“Olesya, please don’t make a big deal of it. She’ll just stay another month.”
“A month?”
He stayed quiet for a moment.
“I told her she could stay until the end of November.”
Olesya even asked again:
“You told her what?”
“That there’s no rush to move back home.”
“Today is October 29th.”
“Yeah.”
“So you invited your mother to live in my apartment for another month without telling me at all?”
“Why do you say ‘your’ apartment right away?”
Olesya looked at him.
Vadim quickly corrected himself:
“I know the apartment is in your name. That’s not what I meant. We’re family.”
“Great. And family means one person invites whoever they want for however long they want, and the other only finds out by accident in the car?”
“I knew you’d bring this up.”
“So you decided not to ask me?”
“I figured you’d grumble a bit and get used to it.”
That phrase stung more than bathroom schedules, the box of receipts, and the imaginary paint smell combined.
Not because Vadim wanted to live with his mom.
Not even because he liked the breakfasts and the freshly ironed shirts.
He’d simply decided in advance that his wife’s opinion could be waited out.
A little bit of discontent, a few sour looks—and then Olesya would just give in.
It was just easier that way.
“I see,” she said.
“See what?”
“Everything.”
“Olesya, can we please not make a scene at home.”
— There won’t be a show.
And truly, she had no intention of putting on a show.
When they came back, Lyubov Nikolaevna was sitting in the kitchen, flipping through a furniture store brochure.
— Did you find it? she asked.
Olesya set the bag with the jacket down next to the chair.
— We found it.
Then she went to the storage closet and took out a large household bag.
Lyubov Nikolaevna looked at it with interest.
— Where are you going?
— Nowhere. This is for you.
— Why do I need it?
— For slippers, creams, chargers. Things that won’t fit in your suitcase.
Her mother-in-law smiled.
— Are you talking about a moving truck again?
— No. A taxi will do for today.
The smile disappeared.
— What taxi?
— To your home.
Vadim walked into the kitchen.
He instantly realized what was happening.
— Olesya.
— What?
— We just talked about this.
— Exactly.
Lyubov Nikolaevna glanced back and forth between her son and her daughter-in-law.
— I don’t understand something.
Olesya didn’t bother to share the details of the conversation in the car.
— Your elevator has been working for a week and a half now. So today, you’re going home. I’ll help you pack everything and call a car.
— But Vadik said I could stay till December.
— Vadik didn’t ask me.
Her mother-in-law slowly closed the brochure.
— So you’re kicking me out?
— No. Your temporary stay is over. You came for twenty days because of the elevator. The elevator works now. The reason is gone.
— What does it matter if it works or not, if I’m not bothering anyone?
Olesya glanced at the note on the bathroom door.
— There is a difference.
Lyubov Nikolaevna noticed where she was looking.
— Oh, come on, why are you so hung up on that schedule? I was only trying to help.
— I understand. But next time, let’s improve your apartment, not ours.
Her mother-in-law stood up.
— Vadim!
It was as if her son was more than just a few steps away—almost in another neighborhood.
Vadim stepped closer.
— Mom, calm down.
— No, you tell me this. You said I could stay.
— I did.
— And now I’m being thrown out with my bags.
Vadim looked at his wife.
At that moment, his patience gave out right where Olesya’s, on the contrary, became surprisingly strong.
— Who do you think you are to kick my mother out?! he raised his voice.
The kitchen fell silent.
Even Lyubov Nikolaevna stopped protesting.
Olesya was holding a folded drying rack. She set it against the wall and looked at her husband.
— I’m the owner of the apartment. I invited your mother for twenty days, not until December.
Vadim opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
His face showed that rare confusion you get when you’ve prepared a whole speech, only to have someone remind you of an uncomfortable fact in a single sentence.
The apartment really did belong to Olesya.
He hadn’t contributed money to buy it.
He hadn’t paid off its mortgage.
He hadn’t made it his property after the wedding.
He lived here only because they were husband and wife and decided to build a home together.
Until today, Olesya had never used this in an argument.
But Vadim had never tried to decide, on his own, who would live here for another month either.
— Fine, he said much more quietly. Then I’ll just leave with Mom.
Olesya nodded.
— That’s your decision.
The outcome could have been quite impressive, if Lyubov Nikolaevna hadn’t stepped in almost immediately.
“Where will you go with me?”
Vadim turned around.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. I only have one room.”
“Mom, I know how many rooms you have.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“I’ll stay with you for a week.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna even threw up her hands.
“Where exactly?”
This time, Olesya turned to the drying rack, because she felt herself start to smile.
“On the couch,” Vadim said.
“What couch? You can’t even stretch your legs on it.”
“It’s fine.”
“And when will you get up? I wake up at six in the morning.”
“Mom, I’ll manage.”
“What about me?”
Vadim frowned.
“What about you?”
“You snore at night.”
“I do not snore.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna looked at Olesya.
“Does he snore?”
Olesya decided not to get involved in the family debate.
“Sometimes.”
“There you go.”
“Mom, what does that have to do with anything?”
“A lot. Besides, I have a lot of stuff. Where will your things go?”
“I’ll come with just a bag.”
“And you have to go to work in the morning. There’s traffic from my place.”
Just a minute ago, Lyubov Nikolaevna was the deeply offended mother being cast out by a heartless daughter-in-law.
Now, she was making a rather convincing argument to her own son about why living together would be a real domestic challenge.
Olesya unfolded the drying rack, took off two towels, and folded them again.
Meanwhile, Vadim made one last attempt.
“Actually, I have my own apartment.”
“It’s rented out,” Olesya reminded him.
He looked at her irritably.
His one-bedroom really was rented out until April. Vadim had no intention of evicting his tenants just for a family drama, and there was no reason to do so anyway.
“I can book a hotel.”
“You can,” Olesya agreed.
Lyubov Nikolaevna immediately furrowed her brow:
“Spending money now too? Really.”
“Mom, five minutes ago you were on my side.”
“I’m still on your side. That’s why I say: don’t do anything foolish. Live with your wife.”
“And you?”
“And I’ll go home. Since the elevator is working, after all.”
Olesya raised her eyebrows.
It took about seven minutes to go from “I’m being kicked out” to “since the elevator is working.”
Packing lasted almost an hour.
Turns out, in four weeks, Lyubov Nikolaevna had managed to settle into the apartment much more thoroughly than Olesya had thought.
In the bathroom, they found three creams, a hairbrush, and a spare towel.
On the bedroom windowsill, there was a bag with medicine.
In the kitchen, a jar of her favorite tea was discovered, hidden behind the grains.
On the balcony lay two pairs of shoes.
From the living room, they carried out a suitcase, a pillow, and a ficus plant.
“Don’t forget the drying rack,” Olesya reminded.
“That’s mine.”
“That’s exactly why I mention it.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna looked at her, but didn’t argue.
Thankfully, she hadn’t had time to order the ottoman.
Before leaving, her mother-in-law stopped in the hallway and handed Olesya a spare set of keys.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t keep them for myself.”
“I know.”
“Just making sure you’re not thinking that.”
“I wasn’t.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna zipped up her jacket.
They looked at each other for a moment.
Then, all of a sudden, her mother-in-law said:
“I guess I really did stay longer than planned.”
Olesya decided not to finish her off with a victorious look.
“We just agreed on twenty days, that’s all.”
“It was just so convenient with Vadik.”
From the next room came the sound of:
“I can hear everything!”
Lyubov Nikolaevna gave a little smirk.
“Well, am I wrong? Who else is going to iron your shirts for you?” she teased.
Vadim didn’t reply.
A few minutes later, the taxi arrived.
The three of them carried the luggage down together. The ficus tree rode in the front seat because it wouldn’t fit in the trunk along with the suitcase and the drying rack.
Just before he got into the car, Lyubov Nikolaevna turned to her son:
“Come by tomorrow.”
“What for?” he asked.
“To change the kitchen light bulb,” she replied.
“Mom, you just finished explaining how inconvenient it is for me to come over to your place,” Vadim pointed out.
“Living there is inconvenient. Changing a light bulb is fine,” she countered.
Olesya turned away so she wouldn’t burst out laughing again.
After she left, Vadim and Olesya returned home in silence.
For the first time in almost a month, the living room felt strangely empty.
The sofa was folded up.
The ficus was no longer standing by the window.
The second robe was gone from the bathroom.
It even seemed like there was more air, although Olesya knew perfectly well the square meters hadn’t actually increased in the last hour.
Vadim went into the kitchen and poured himself some water.
“Do you really think I’m a stranger here?” he asked.
Olesya sat down at the table.
“I consider you my husband. That’s why, four months ago, we decided together to live here.”
“Then why did you say that?”
“Because you started yelling that I have no right to decide who lives in the apartment that belongs to me.”
Vadim set his glass down.
“That was my mother.”
“That’s exactly why I immediately agreed to twenty days.”
“But what if she really had nowhere to go?”
“Then we would’ve talked and figured it out together. As a team.”
Vadim stayed quiet.
Olesya continued, now a bit calmer:
“The problem isn’t your mom. Or even the fact that she moved my mugs around. Although I will be putting those mugs back today.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“The real issue is that you made the decision without me. And you explained why—because it was convenient for you. Meals done, shirts ironed, lunches packed. And just for that, you thought I’d be okay with enduring all this for a month.”
“I didn’t think it would upset you that much,” Vadim admitted.
“You didn’t even bother to find out whether it would upset me or not.”
This time, Vadim didn’t argue.
That evening, he took the bathroom schedule off the door himself.
Olesya noticed, but said nothing.
The following few days were a bit tense.
In the morning, they realized that shirts really don’t iron themselves.
Vadim opened the closet, took one out, and examined a sleeve.
“It’s wrinkled,” he said.
Olesya was sipping her coffee.
“Amazing,” she responded sarcastically.
He looked at her.
“Are you just going to mock me now?”
“Nope. But I can introduce you to the iron.”
Finally, Vadim laughed.
He ended up ironing his shirt himself.
A day later in the evening, he put on a pot of pasta because Olesya was late at work. Before, in a similar situation, he would have just waited for her or ordered food.
When she got home, there was a pot on the stove and a pan with chicken next to it.
“I thought about frying potatoes,” Vadim announced, “but I decided our relationship isn’t strong enough yet for that kind of challenge.”
“Good call,” Olesya replied.
They had a peaceful dinner.
A week later, the topic of his mother came up again.
Lyubov Nikolaevna called Vadim and informed him that they were going to replace the pipes in her bathroom. The workers promised to finish in two days, but the water would be off for almost an entire day.
Olesya only caught the end of the conversation.
“I’ll talk to Olesya and call you back,” Vadim said.
He put his phone down.
“Mom’s having plumbers over on Wednesday. She’s asking if she can spend one night at our place.”
Olesya looked at him.
Here it was—the same situation, just on a much smaller scale.
Just a week ago, Vadim would have told his mother yes first and only told his wife after the fact.
Now, he was asking her first.
“Just one night?”
“Yes. She’ll come Wednesday evening and leave Thursday morning. If it’s inconvenient for you, I’ll let her know.”
“Let her come.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
“But I’m not signing any more bathroom schedules.”
“I’ll warn her right away.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna arrived on Wednesday with a small bag.
It really was small.
No pillow.
No ficus.
No drying rack.
The next day after breakfast, she folded up her bedding herself and by half past eight she was getting ready to go home.
At the door, she looked at Olesya.
“They’ll finish the pipes today.”
“That’s great.”
“So I’ll be back at my place this evening.”
“Alright.”
“By the way, I ordered that bench for myself.”
Olesya smiled.
“That’s exactly where it belongs.”
Lyubov Nikolaevna smiled too:
“I figured as much.”
After she left, Vadim closed the door and looked at his wife.
“See? Everything by the book.”
“Which book?”
“We invite guests together. We set the terms together. No moving ficuses without prior approval.”
“That’s improvement already.”
“And bathroom schedules are banned by the constitution of this apartment.”
Olesya laughed.
A few days later, she found the schedule itself in a kitchen drawer among batteries, old manuals, and spare pens.
Apparently, Vadim had taken it down from the door and absentmindedly stuffed it in there.
Olesya was about to throw out the paper, but then changed her mind.
She folded it in half and left it there.
Not out of spite.
More like a family historical artifact.
The only surviving evidence of that brief era when Olesya’s apartment had an official routine, according to which Lyubov Nikolaevna went to the bathroom first, Vadim followed, and the apartment’s owner patiently waited for her turn until 7:10 in the morning.