“Now the apartment is for three!” declared Valentina Petrovna, rolling a large suitcase on wheels into the hallway.
“You’re mistaken, it’s for one,” I replied, staring at my mother-in-law wide-eyed.
But she was already taking off her coat and hanging it on my coat rack as if she had lived here all her life. Igor stood nearby, mouth open, clearly not understanding what was happening.
“Mom, what does this mean?” he finally managed to say.
“It means exactly that. I sold my old dump, now I’ll be living with you. Temporarily, of course, until I find something suitable.”
I silently watched as my peaceful Sunday turned into chaos. Half an hour ago, Igor and I planned to watch a movie and go to bed early — tomorrow was a workday. Now, my mother-in-law was busy in the living room, arranging bags and boxes.
“Valentina Petrovna,” I started as gently as possible, “why didn’t you warn us? We could have prepared…”
“What’s there to prepare? Family is family. Marina, help me get the bedding, I’ll make myself comfortable on the couch.”
Igor shrugged guiltily and went to carry the second suitcase. I stood in the middle of my apartment feeling it stop being mine.
In three years of marriage, Valentina Petrovna rarely came to visit — for holidays, for a couple of days. She lived in her one-room apartment on the outskirts and didn’t interfere much in our lives. Sometimes she called Igor, asked how things were, but kept her distance. I even liked having such a delicate mother-in-law.
It turned out I was happy too soon.
The next morning, I realized my life had changed drastically. At six a.m., the kitchen was noisy with clattering dishes. Valentina Petrovna got up as usual, turned on the kettle, and started making breakfast.
“Why are you up so early?” I asked, crawling out in my robe.
“Habit. I’ve gotten up at six all my life. And you? Are you night owls?”
“We get up around 7:30. Work isn’t far.”
“That’s wrong. Getting up early makes the day longer. Sit down, I cooked some porridge.”
Igor silently chewed his oatmeal and avoided my gaze. I understood he wasn’t thrilled with this turn of events either, but he didn’t dare argue with his mother.
“Where do you plan to look for an apartment now?” I asked.
“I’m not in a hurry. Studying the market. Prices are biting right now, and the options aren’t great. Maybe something suitable will come up by summer.”
By summer! Four months away!
I couldn’t concentrate at work. My colleague Tamara immediately noticed.
“What’s wrong? You look like a truck ran over you.”
“My mother-in-law moved in. Suddenly, with suitcases. She says she sold her apartment.”
“For long?”
“Don’t know yet. She says temporarily, but I feel something’s off.”
Tamara shook her head:
“My friend had the same story. It started as ‘temporarily’ and ended with the mother-in-law registering officially and acting like she owned the place. You should set boundaries immediately.”
But how do you set boundaries with someone who has already settled in your living room?
In the evening, Valentina Petrovna greeted us with dinner and stories about how she spent the day tidying up.
“Marina, why do you stuff the fridge so much? Half the products were expired. I threw everything out and organized it properly.”
The fridge really was spotless. And empty. My yogurt, expiring tomorrow, went straight into the trash along with cheese that was still perfectly edible.
“And I cleaned the bathroom too. There was a terrible film in there.”
I gritted my teeth. I had cleaned the bathroom two days ago; there was no film.
At dinner, Valentina Petrovna talked about her plans for tomorrow — going to the clinic, then the pension fund, and in the evening she wanted to watch a gardening show.
“Your TV is small and has few channels. Maybe expand your package?”
“We’re fine,” I said. “We rarely watch.”
“How rarely? And the news? And educational programs? Young people are completely out of touch with life.”
Igor nodded in agreement with his mother. I understood — he just didn’t want conflict. But that only made me angrier.
After a week, I felt like a guest in my own apartment. Valentina Petrovna got up at six and woke everyone with the sounds of her morning routine. She vacuumed early too — saying it was better to get all chores done before noon.
My things slowly migrated. My favorite throw disappeared from the couch — my mother-in-law decided it “didn’t match the interior.” My books moved from the coffee table to the shelf — “cluttering the space.” Even my favorite tea vanished — “too strong, bad for the stomach.”
“Igor,” I said to my husband when we were alone, “talk to your mother. She needs to set a deadline.”
“Marina, come on. She’s my mother. Where else would she go?”
“Why not to Oleg?”
“He has a room in a communal apartment. It’s cramped even for one.”
“But that doesn’t mean she has to live with us!”
“She’s not staying forever. She’ll find something and move out.”
But I saw no signs of searching. Valentina Petrovna didn’t check ads, didn’t go to viewings, didn’t discuss prices. But every day she made herself more at home.
Two weeks later, I decided to confront her directly.
“Valentina Petrovna, how’s the apartment search going?”
“Nothing works out. Either too expensive, or too far, or bad neighbors. Don’t worry, Marina, I’m not staying forever.”
“How long then? So we understand…”
“Well, maybe by spring. Or maybe by summer. The market is unpredictable.”
By summer! That means at least until May!
“And how do you plan to pay? It’s expensive now.”
“Not your concern. I have some savings.”
Savings for an apartment? These days? Something didn’t add up.
At work, I poured my heart out to Tamara.
“She’s settled in completely. Took over half the closet, established her own rules in the bathroom. And Igor pretends everything is fine.”
“Did you have a serious talk with him?”
“Tried. He brushes me off — says to be patient, she’s his mother.”
“Marina, think about it — maybe she sold her apartment on purpose to move in with you? Counting on you not kicking her out?”
That thought haunted me. What if Tamara was right? What if the whole “temporary” stay was just a show?
At home, tensions rose. Valentina Petrovna increasingly felt like the lady of the house. She rearranged the living room furniture — “more convenient this way.” Bought new curtains — “yours were faded.” Even peeked into the bedroom with advice — “you should renovate here.”
“Igor,” I said again, “this is no longer funny. Talk to her seriously.”
“What’s there to talk about? She’s not doing anything bad. She helps around the house.”
“She’s taking over our apartment! And you don’t see it?”
“Don’t dramatize. She’ll find something and move out.”
But I didn’t believe in those searches anymore. Especially after talking to a neighbor.
Viktor Semenovich lived a floor above. A pensioner, a former foreman at the same factory where Igor worked. Sometimes they exchanged a few words in the stairwell.
“Do you have guests?” he asked me once in the elevator. “Has Valentina Petrovna come?”
“No, she’s living with us now. Sold her apartment.”
“Oh, I see. Did she give the money to Oleg?”
I tensed.
“What money?”
“Well, the money for the apartment. She said she sold it and was giving all the money to her youngest son. He needed it for some business.”
The ground slipped from under me.
“Viktor Semenovich, how do you know this?”
“She told me herself. We met at the store a couple months ago and talked. She said Oleg was starting a business, needed money. She decided to sell the apartment to help him and move in with her elder son.”
So it was all planned from the start! No apartment hunting, no “temporary” arrangements. She intended from the beginning to live with us!
At home, I barely held myself together. Igor was watching TV, Valentina Petrovna knitting in her chair.
“Igor, I need to talk to you.”
“Later, Marina. They’re showing hockey.”
“Now!”
He reluctantly went to the kitchen.
“Tell me honestly — did you know your mother sold her apartment and gave the money to Oleg?”
Igor flushed.
“How did you…”
“Never mind how. Did you know?”
“Well… in general terms…”
“And you knew she was going to live with us?”
“Marina, wait. Yes, I knew. But what could I do? My brother asked for help, he has work problems. And mom… where else would she go?”
“And did you try asking me? This is my apartment!”
“Why do you have to shout! Family should help each other.”
“Your family! What about me?”
“You’re my wife, so you’re family too.”
I looked at my husband and realized — he really thought that way. For him, parents and brother and their problems automatically became mine.
“And what did Oleg spend the money on?”
“Well… the business didn’t go well. Partner let him down.”
“What business?”
“Crayfish farming. He said it was profitable. But it didn’t work out.”
Crayfish! Valentina Petrovna gave 4.5 million for an apartment for crayfish!
“And how much did he lose?”
“Almost everything. Only a few coins left.”
“So your mother has no money left?”
“Well… formally no. But we’ll help if needed.”
“We? How?”
“Marina, don’t be angry. Mom isn’t to blame.”
Not to blame! She knowingly sold her apartment, gave the money to her son for a dubious venture, and now sits with us pretending to look for housing!
I went back to the room. Valentina Petrovna looked up from her knitting.
“You two talked a long time. Didn’t argue?”
“Valentina Petrovna, tell me about Oleg. How is he?”
“Fine. Works a bit.”
“And the crayfish business?”
She froze with the needles in her hands.
“How do you know?”
“Doesn’t matter. I know you gave him the money from the apartment sale. And I know there’s no money left.”
Valentina Petrovna put down her knitting.
“So what? A mother has to help her children.”
“But not at the expense of other children! You put Igor in a position where he has to support you!”
“Igor is my son. And you’re his wife. So you’re my daughter.”
“I’m not your daughter! And this is my apartment!”
“Marina!” Igor protested. “How can you talk to your mother like that!”
“How should I talk to someone who deceives me? You’re not going to look for an apartment! You don’t have money! You planned from the start to live here!”
“So what’s wrong with that?” Valentina Petrovna stood up. “Family should be together. I raised my children all my life, now they should take care of their mother.”
“Let Oleg take care of you! He’s the one who spent your money!”
“Oleg has no place. And you have a big apartment, there’s enough room.”
“Enough room? It’s a two-room, not a mansion!”
“Enough room. And Igor is my son, he won’t leave his mother homeless.”
Igor hesitated between us, not knowing what to say.
“Igor,” I addressed my husband, “tell your mother she needs to find another option.”
“Marina, where would she go? She has no money.”
“That’s not my problem! Let her sort it out with Oleg!”
“Oleg already helps as much as he can.”
“How much is ‘as much as he can’?”
“Well… five thousand a month.”
Five thousand! You can’t even rent a room for that!
“Now the apartment is for three!” Valentina Petrovna declared. “And there’s no reason to complain. Igor, tell your wife that mother is more important.”
Igor looked confused, from me to his mother.
“Mom, why do you say that…”
“How else? I’m your mother, she’s just your wife. You can change wives, but you have only one mother.”
That was it. The limit.
“You’re mistaken,” I said calmly. “The apartment is for one. For me. And start packing tomorrow.”
“Marina!” Igor was outraged. “What are you saying!”
“What I think. I’m tired of being a third wheel in my own apartment.”
“But she’s your mother!”
“Your mother. And I’m your wife. Was your wife. Now I’m not sure anymore.”
Valentina Petrovna snorted contemptuously.
“See, Igor, what kind of wife you have. A selfish woman. Ready to throw her mother out.”
“I’m not throwing anyone out. Oleg has a room, let him take his mother. Or rent something together.”
“Are you crazy? Living in a communal apartment?”
“And am I supposed to live in my own apartment with unwanted neighbors?”
Igor tried to take my hand:
“Marina, calm down. Let’s discuss everything calmly.”
I pulled away:
“There’s nothing to discuss. Either your mother moves out, or you both move out.”
“What do you mean, both?”
“Since you don’t see a problem with your mother taking over my apartment, that means you think the same. So you should live together.”
“Marina, you can’t do this!”
“I can. It’s my apartment, my inheritance from my grandmother. And I have the right to decide who lives here.”
Valentina Petrovna jumped up.
“How dare you! Igor is your husband!”
“He was my husband. Now I’m not sure if he’s even on my side.”
“Marina, stop it!” Igor went pale. “You’re not serious?”
“More than serious. Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce.”
In the morning, I really went to Tamara. She worked as a lawyer in a construction company but also knew family law.
“Marina, are you sure? Maybe try to talk some more?”
“What to talk about? He chose his mother. Then let him live with her.”
“Is the apartment registered in your name?”
“Yes, it’s my inheritance. Igor is only registered here.”
“Then it’s simple. File for divorce, evict him, that’s all.”
“What if he refuses to move out?”
“They’ll evict him forcibly. The law is on your side.”
I filed the papers that same day. Igor called about ten times, asking to meet and talk. I didn’t answer.
That evening, a scandal awaited me at home.
“You really filed for divorce?” Igor was red with anger.
“Really.”
“Because of what? Because of mom?”
“Not because of mom. Because of you. You didn’t listen to me.”
“What was I supposed to hear? You want to kick my mother out!”
“I want to live in my apartment without strangers.”
“What strangers? She’s my mother!”
“To me, strangers.”
Valentina Petrovna sat in the chair, looking at me hatefully.
“Homewrecker. Tearing a son away from his mother.”
“I’m not tearing anyone away. Live together if you want. Just not here.”
“Where then?”
“Not my problem.”
The next day, Igor brought Oleg. He was a thin, nervous guy with darting eyes.
“Marina, you’re a smart woman,” he started. “Understand, mom is old. Where else can she go?”
“To you.”
“I have an eight-meter room! There’s a bed and a desk!”
“Rent something bigger.”
“For what? My salary is twenty thousand!”
“And what did you expect when you borrowed money from mom for crayfish?”
Oleg blushed.
“Well… it didn’t work out. Happens.”
“Happens. But we shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
“Marina,” Igor intervened, “we’re family. We have to help each other.”
“You’re family. And I’m an ATM.”
“Why ATM? Just a place to stay!”
“A place in my apartment. At my expense. With my bills.”
“So what if the bills! Pennies!”
Pennies for them, a duty for me.
Valentina Petrovna stood up.
“Enough arguing. Marina, either take back your words or we’ll leave with Igor.”
“Leave,” I said calmly.
Igor stared at me wide-eyed.
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“Marina, I love you…”
“And I don’t anymore.”
It was true. Looking at a husband who couldn’t stand up for me, couldn’t protect our relationship from his mother’s intrusion, I realized — love was gone. Only irritation and exhaustion remained.
They packed for three days. Valentina Petrovna packed while muttering something about ingratitude and heartlessness. Igor was gloomy, tried to talk to me, but I answered shortly.
“Where will we go?” he asked on the last evening.
“You’ll rent something. Oleg will help.”
“With his salary?”
“Then you’ll chip in together.”
“Marina, come to your senses. We lived together for three years…”
“Three good years. Until your mother appeared.”
“She’s not to blame!”
“She is. And you are too.”
On Saturday morning, they moved out. Oleg arrived with some mover, quickly took out suitcases and boxes. Valentina Petrovna said at parting:
“You’ll regret it. You won’t find a husband like Igor again.”
“No need,” I replied. “I don’t want one like him anymore.”
Igor tried to hug me goodbye, but I pulled away. He stood in the doorway and quietly said:
“If you change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
When the door closed behind them, I sat on the couch and felt peace for the first time in a month. Silence. My couch, my throw, my books on the table. My apartment.
A week later, I changed the locks. Another week later, I signed up for English classes — I’d long wanted to improve my language skills. I met friends, went to the theater to see a play I’d wanted to watch for a long time.
Igor called for another month. Asked to meet, talk. Said he rented a one-room apartment and took his mother in. That he realized his mistake. That he was ready to fix everything.
“Too late,” I answered. “You made your choice back in March.”
“But I love you!”
“And I don’t anymore.”
The divorce was finalized quickly. Igor didn’t claim the apartment — he knew he had no chance. Valentina Petrovna called a couple of times, tried to guilt-trip me — saying her son was suffering because of me. I just hung up.
Now six months have passed. I live alone in my apartment and regret nothing. I work, study English, meet friends. Tamara says I’ve blossomed — become calmer and more confident.
Sometimes I meet acquaintances in the store who ask about Igor. I answer briefly — divorced. Some shake their heads — say I destroyed the family because of my mother-in-law. But I know — the family wasn’t destroyed by me. The family was destroyed by the man who couldn’t protect what he was supposed to protect.
The apartment is really for one now. And I like it that way.