Ulyana slowly ran her hand along the freshly painted wall. The empty room was filling with the soft glow of the evening sun, casting long shadows on the perfectly smooth floor. This was their child’s room. Still empty, but already theirs. A warmth spread through her body. Five years. A full five years of her life had been left behind for this moment.
“There’ll be a crib here,” Ulyana pointed to the corner near the window. “And later, when they grow up, we’ll put a desk there.”
Arseniy nodded, leaning against the doorframe. A faint smile played on his lips, but his eyes remained distant. He watched as his wife moved around the room, as if sketching the layout of future furniture in the air.
“You’re right. It’s a bright room — perfect for studying.”
Ulyana heard support in his voice, but not the kind she had hoped for. The past five years she had worked herself to the bone — taking side jobs, saving on everything from clothes to food. The dream of owning her own apartment had become an obsession, a goal she had dedicated a huge part of her life to. And now, finally, she had it — a three-room place in a new building, bought on a mortgage. In her name only.
Arseniy had a job, of course. But his salary as a sales assistant in an electronics store barely covered utilities and groceries. He never aimed for more — as if he lived only for today. When it came time for the down payment, he had spread his hands awkwardly — what he had was all he could give. The amount was so small that Ulyana mentally brushed it off. By then, she had already saved most of what was needed on her own.
“I think we should start with the kitchen,” Ulyana said, stepping out of the child’s room and heading to the apartment’s largest space — a spacious kitchen with access to a balcony. “Table, fridge, stove. Then we can work on the bedroom.”
“Agreed,” Arseniy followed her, eyeing the bare walls. “We should call my parents, let them know we’ve finally moved in.”
Ulyana paused for a moment, then nodded. Yes, of course, they should call. His parents too. Though, for some reason, the memory of her last conversation with her mother-in-law stirred a vague unease.
That evening, Arseniy video-called his mother, showing her the apartment. Ulyana stood beside him, watching the screen where Elena Vasilievna’s face appeared — round, with small eyes and tightly pressed lips.
“Oh, finally we can live like decent people,” commented the mother-in-law as she inspected the kitchen through the phone camera.
Ulyana raised her eyebrows in confusion but said nothing. What did she mean “we”? Probably meant “you.” Or maybe she was speaking generally, like the whole family now had a place. But the phrase stuck in her mind, leaving a strange sense of discomfort.
A week after moving in, when Ulyana and Arseniy had only just bought the essentials and hadn’t even unpacked all the boxes yet, the doorbell rang. Elena Vasilievna was at the door with a huge bag of fruit.
“Came to check on the new homeowners!” she chirped as she squeezed into the hallway. “Show me how you settled in?”
Arseniy smiled and let his mother in. Ulyana went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. Soon she heard the heavy steps of her mother-in-law methodically inspecting each room.
“Nice, nice,” Elena Vasilievna muttered as she opened and closed the doors of the freshly assembled wardrobe in the bedroom.
When everyone gathered in the kitchen, the mother-in-law opened several drawers like she owned the place.
“This spot here would be perfect for my little table — I’m always stuck in some corner,” she said, pointing to the area by the window.
Ulyana froze with a cup in her hand. Strange wording. Why “my”? Why “stuck”? As if Elena Vasilievna was imagining herself living there. Arseniy didn’t seem to notice anything odd and continued chatting about renovation plans.
The next weekend, the mother-in-law came again — this time with her husband, Pavel Nikolaevich. The elderly couple wandered through the apartment, actively discussing furniture placement.
“The bed would be better along that wall,” Pavel Nikolaevich pointed in the bedroom.
“Yes, and the wardrobe will have to be moved,” Elena Vasilievna agreed.
Ulyana smiled politely but inwardly tensed. This was starting to feel surreal. These people were discussing rearranging furniture in someone else’s apartment like they planned to live there themselves.
After they left, Ulyana couldn’t hold it in anymore:
“Arseniy, is it just me, or are your parents acting… strange? Like they’re trying to move into our apartment?”
He waved it off:
“Oh, come on. They’re just happy we finally have our own place. They’ve still been renting all this time.”
“But the way they talk, it’s like they’re moving in.”
“You’re reading too much into it,” Arseniy frowned. “That’s just how they talk.”
Ulyana decided to back off for now, but the anxiety lingered. Her mother-in-law’s visits became more frequent — two or three times a week. And each time, Elena Vasilievna came with new remarks that made Ulyana’s heart sink.
“We really should move our things already — they’re just sitting in boxes,” she said once, eyeing the hallway wall.
“What things?” Ulyana asked.
“Well, ours. Mine and your father-in-law’s. Why let them gather dust?”
Another time, she casually mentioned they were looking for a car:
“So we don’t have to take the bus to visit you. It’s a bit far, after all.”
Ulyana tried to talk to Arseniy again, but he just brushed her off:
“They’re joking. Mom’s tired of the old apartment and dreams about a new one. But they’re not seriously planning to move in.”
But the look in Elena Vasilievna’s eyes when she talked about relocating was deadly serious. And with every visit, Ulyana became more convinced — this wasn’t a joke.
One evening, just as Ulyana and Arseniy sat down for dinner, the doorbell rang. Standing there were Elena Vasilievna and Pavel Nikolaevich, suitcases in hand.
“We won’t stay long,” the mother-in-law said cheerfully, stepping inside. “Just a week, until we figure things out with our rental. The landlady suddenly raised the rent, so we’re still deciding what to do.”
Arseniy willingly helped carry the bags in. Ulyana watched in silence. Their “short” stay stretched into two weeks. They took the child’s room — the one Ulyana had lovingly planned to furnish.
Another week passed, and during dinner, the mother-in-law suddenly smiled and said something that made Ulyana’s breath catch:
“You got yourself a spacious apartment. So, when do we move in?”
Silence fell around the table. Arseniy froze with his fork mid-air, not daring to meet his wife’s or his mother’s eyes. Pavel Nikolaevich stared at his plate like it held something profoundly fascinating.
Ulyana slowly put down her fork, wiped her hands with a napkin, and looked directly into her mother-in-law’s eyes.
“Elena Vasilievna, let’s be clear,” her voice was calm, though everything inside was boiling. “This apartment is in my name. I saved for the down payment for five years, and I’m paying off the mortgage now. There are no plans for joint living arrangements.”
“But we’re family!” the mother-in-law exclaimed. “What nonsense is this? In a family, everything is shared!”
“Perhaps in a family,” Ulyana replied coolly. “But not with a mortgage. If you need housing, I can help you find a rental. We can discuss terms in writing — to avoid misunderstandings.”
Elena Vasilievna flushed, and Pavel Nikolaevich cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Arseniy still said nothing, torn between his mother and his wife.
The mother-in-law suddenly giggled, as if she’d heard a funny joke. The wrinkles on her face smoothed out, and a strange cheer lit up her eyes.
“You sound like a stranger! Really? You expect me to pay to live in my own son’s apartment?”
Arseniy forced a smile, sneaking a glance at Ulyana. His look said it all — he hoped she would back down, say something conciliatory, and put an end to this awkward moment. But Ulyana kept her gaze steady.
“In his apartment? No,” she said firmly. “In my apartment. And yes, you’ll have to pay. Like everyone does.”
The clink of a fork against a plate broke the silence — Elena Vasilievna had pushed her food aside.
“Do you know how much we invested in Arseniy? How much we spent on his education? On tutors? On sports clubs?” the mother-in-law’s voice rose with each word. “And now, as an elderly woman, I have to pay to live with my own child?”
“Mama—” Arseniy began but stopped under his mother’s piercing glare.
A heavy silence fell. Ulyana took a sip of water, gathering her thoughts. Elena Vasilievna drummed her fingers on the table, and Pavel Nikolaevich continued to study his plate.
“Arseniy, say something!” the mother-in-law snapped. “This is your home too!”
The young man raised his head, looked around at everyone, and shrugged:
“I’m not involved. The documents are in Ulyana’s name,” he said quietly. “She’s right — it’s her decision.”
Ulyana looked at her husband carefully. That wasn’t support — it was just a statement of fact. Arseniy wasn’t defending their home or his wife. He was simply stepping aside, like he always did when it came time to make a difficult decision.
After a tense dinner, Arseniy’s parents packed their things and left. At the door, Elena Vasilievna turned and cast a sorrowful glance around the apartment.
“It’s disgusting to even come here now,” the mother-in-law said as she pulled on her coat. “If we’d known earlier how greedy this daughter-in-law is, we would’ve thought ten times before giving away our boy.”
Pavel Nikolaevich quietly led his wife away without adding anything. Arseniy closed the door and walked to the bedroom, avoiding Ulyana’s gaze.
The following days passed in heavy silence. Arseniy frowned, spending long hours glued to his phone, but he didn’t start a conversation. Ulyana didn’t speak first either — she needed time to reflect. Was there another way to handle the situation? Should she have been gentler? Or, on the contrary, should she have set boundaries even earlier?
But with each day free from her mother-in-law’s intrusive visits, Ulyana felt more and more relief. The apartment was gradually becoming exactly the home she had dreamed of — free of tense conversations, judgmental glances, or someone else imagining how to rearrange her bedroom to suit their needs.
She started setting up the nursery — bought a crib, hung shelves for toys, laid down a soft rug. Coming home from work, Ulyana no longer felt anxious — about what her mother-in-law might blurt out or what new plans she was scheming. At last, the apartment was a place where she could simply breathe.
Two weeks later, while Ulyana was making dinner, Arseniy got a call from his mother. The conversation took place in the kitchen, so the young woman heard every word.
“Yes, Mom, everything’s fine,” Arseniy said, glancing cautiously at his wife. “No, Ulyana’s not mad… Yeah, I understand… Wait, what? Seriously?”
He stepped over to the window and lowered his voice, but in the small kitchen, everything was still audible:
“Permanently? For how long exactly?.. I see… Okay, I’ll ask her…”
After the call, Arseniy stood silently for a while, watching Ulyana chop vegetables for a salad.
“Mom called,” he finally said. “She says she’s thought everything over and is ready to follow the rules. But just temporarily, for a couple of months. There’s some issue with her landlady, and they might not renew the lease.”
Ulyana continued chopping cucumber methodically, not reacting to her husband’s words. Arseniy shifted uncomfortably, clearly waiting for a response.
“So can they? Just for a couple of months, until they find something?” he asked directly after the silence dragged on.
Ulyana set the knife down, wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, and quietly left the kitchen. She returned a minute later with some papers.
“Here,” she said, placing the documents in front of him. “Rental agreement. The price is below market, considering the family connection. Payment schedule, house rules. If they agree — they can move in.”
Arseniy picked up the papers, slowly reading through each section. Ulyana saw his face tighten when he got to the rental amount.
“You… prepared this in advance?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes. I knew this conversation would come up again,” Ulyana replied calmly. “So I decided to be ready.”
Arseniy flipped the page, scanning the rules: “No rearranging furniture without approval,” “No guests without prior notice,” “Quiet hours after 10 PM.” Standard rental terms. Nothing unusual — except that this was for his parents.
“But… this feels kind of strange,” Arseniy said, looking up at her. “They’re my family.”
“And this is my apartment,” Ulyana answered simply. “The one I’ve put five years of my life into.”
Arseniy stared silently at the agreement, then slowly lowered his eyes. Something shifted in his expression — as if he finally understood. He had lived in that apartment too, without investing time, money, or effort. And now, this paper was a cold but honest mirror.
“So that means I should… pay too?” he asked quietly, still not looking up.
“You’re my husband,” Ulyana said, shaking her head. “But if you want, we can discuss your contribution to the family budget.”
Arseniy carefully folded the agreement and handed it back to her.
“I’ll call Mom tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll explain everything.”
Elena Vasilievna never called about moving in again. Her visits became rare and brief — a couple of hours at most. No hints, no passive-aggressive remarks.
And Ulyana no longer explained, justified, or argued. She knew one thing with certainty: a home is more than walls. It’s her space, earned with her hard work. And in this home, there’s no room for people who don’t respect someone else’s effort and boundaries.
She stuck a magnet on the fridge that read, “Home is where your story begins.” For her, that story began with learning how to say “no” — and perhaps, that was an even greater victory than owning the apartment itself.