Tatyana was pouring the evening tea into cups when a sharp ring at the door made her start. The clock showed half past ten. Who would come to the dacha at this hour?
“Sergey, someone’s here,” she called to her husband, but he was already heading for the door.
A minute later familiar voices sounded in the entryway. Tatyana froze, teapot in hand. The in-laws. They’d arrived without calling, without warning, as if the dacha belonged to them alone.
“Sergey, my son!” cried Klavdia Petrovna, smothering him with kisses. “How we’ve missed you!”
Viktor Ivanovich gave his daughter-in-law a curt nod as he passed straight into the living room. Apparently greeting the lady of the house wasn’t necessary.
“Mom, Dad, what happened?” Sergey asked in surprise. “You didn’t say you were coming.”
“Why warn you?” the mother-in-law snorted, tugging off her light sweater. “It’s our family dacha. We have the right to come whenever we like.”
Tatyana stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the scene. A family dacha? Interesting. And who had been paying the taxes for the last five years, fixing the roof, and tending the grounds?
“We came to see our son, not you, so keep quiet and make room!” snapped Klavdia Petrovna, having noticed her daughter-in-law.
Viktor Ivanovich was already inspecting the living room, appraising the sofa cushions with his hands.
“Why are you just standing there?” the mother-in-law continued. “Help carry the bags in. The traffic was awful—we barely made it.”
Sergey hurried out to the car for the suitcases. Tatyana watched him go, turning over what was happening. Did Klavdia Petrovna truly consider herself the mistress here?
“It was so hot on the road,” the mother-in-law complained, flopping onto the sofa. “The car’s air conditioner is acting up. Viktor Ivanovich is all sweaty.”
Viktor Ivanovich did look worn out. He sat in an armchair, dabbing his bald head with a handkerchief.
“Give me some water,” the father-in-law said shortly.
Tatyana silently went to the kitchen and poured a glass of cold water. When she came back, she found that Klavdia Petrovna had already started unpacking bags right on the floor.
“We’ll put the medicines here,” the mother-in-law narrated, setting vials on the coffee table. “And this is for Viktor Ivanovich’s back. The doctor prescribed rest.”
Sergey lugged in two big suitcases, breathing hard.
“Mom, maybe we should first decide where you’re going to sleep?” he suggested.
“Where to sleep?” Klavdia Petrovna was surprised. “In the bedroom, of course. Viktor Ivanovich’s back hurts—he needs a proper bed.”
Tatyana almost dropped the glass. Their bedroom? The only room where you could hide from the daytime heat?
“But Mom—” Sergey began.
“No buts!” the mother-in-law cut him off. “You’re young—you can make do on the sofa. At our age we need comfort.”
Viktor Ivanovich nodded approvingly, sipping his water.
“Exactly. Guests should have comforts.”
Guests? Tatyana bit her lip. So the owners of the dacha were now guests in their own house?
“Now show me what you have to eat,” ordered Klavdia Petrovna, getting up from the sofa. “We’re hungry—we only grabbed sandwiches on the road.”
Tatyana led her to the kitchen, mentally running through the contents of the fridge. There were cutlets left from lunch, potatoes, salad…
“Ugh, what is this?” the mother-in-law grimaced, peering into a pot. “You plan to feed us cold potatoes?”
“I can heat it up,” Tatyana offered.
“No need. I’ll cook something decent myself,” she waved her off. “Stay out of the kitchen tomorrow—I’ll do the cooking. Properly.”
Tatyana nodded silently. So now she was being stripped of the kitchen too?
“And really,” continued the mother-in-law, opening cupboards, “everything’s in the wrong place here. Dishes scattered, food put wherever. You can tell the hostess is inexperienced.”
Inexperienced? After five years of caring for the dacha? Tatyana clenched her teeth, holding back a sharp retort.
“And why is the fridge half empty?” the mother-in-law wouldn’t let up. “Tomorrow we’re going to the store and buying proper food.”
“We have everything we need,” Tatyana said quietly.
“‘Everything we need,’” sniffed Klavdia Petrovna. “Some yogurts and curd snacks. Where’s the meat? Where’s the fish? A man needs a hearty diet.”
From the living room came the father-in-law’s voice:
“Klava! When are we eating?”
“I’m cooking already!” she called back. “I’ll make some eggs.”
She set about taking over the kitchen as if Tatyana weren’t there at all: turned on the stove, took out a frying pan, began cracking eggs.
“Where do you keep proper oil?” she asked. “Is this sunflower? You should cook with olive oil.”
“There isn’t any olive oil,” Tatyana replied.
“You see?” Klavdia Petrovna shook her head reproachfully. “The most basic things are missing. Good we came— we’ll put things in order.”
Put things in order? In someone else’s house? Tatyana left the kitchen, feeling a boil of anger inside. In the living room Sergey was helping his father get comfortable.
“Dad, maybe put a pillow under your back?” he asked solicitously.
“Yes, my back aches,” the father-in-law complained. “The trip was rough. We need a proper rest.”
“Of course, Dad. Make yourselves at home.”
Make yourselves at home. That was exactly how they were acting. And the real owners were turning into the help.
“Sergey,” Tatyana called to her husband. “Can I have a minute?”
He came over, and she led him into the hallway.
“What is going on?” she asked quietly. “Why are they acting as if we’re the ones who don’t belong?”
“Come on, Tanya,” Sergey began in a soothing tone. “My parents are tired—they need to rest. We’ll put up with it.”
“Put up with it?” Tatyana couldn’t believe it. “For how long? A day? A week? A month?”
“I don’t know—however long they want to stay,” he shrugged. “They’ve nowhere else to go.”
Nowhere else? Klavdia Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich had their own three-room apartment in the city. Air conditioning, all conveniences. Why were they here?
“Sergey, they’re throwing us out of our bedroom,” Tatyana reminded him.
“Dad’s back hurts,” her husband explained. “He can’t sleep on the sofa.”
But they could? Tatyana was about to argue, but the smell of burnt oil drifted in from the kitchen.
“Dinner’s ready!” announced Klavdia Petrovna.
She set plates on the coffee table in the living room without bothering to call her daughter-in-law.
“Eat up, my men,” she said sweetly. “Get your strength back after the road.”
Tatyana watched the family tableau in silence. The in-laws ate, Sergey fussed over his parents, and she stood to the side, like a stranger. In her own house.
“And there weren’t enough eggs for you?” Viktor Ivanovich remarked, looking at Tatyana.
“Plenty,” she lied. “I’m not hungry.”
“Right,” the mother-in-law approved. “No need to stuff yourself at night. That’s how you get fat.”
After dinner, she began directing the cleanup.
“Sergey, help clear the dishes,” his mother asked. “I’m tired.”
Obediently, he gathered the plates and took them to the kitchen. Tatyana moved to help, but the mother-in-law stopped her with a gesture.
“You go rest,” she magnanimously allowed. “We’ll manage.”
Rest? Where? The in-laws had settled in the living room, and they’d taken the bedroom too. That left only the kitchen.
“Where do you keep your bed linens?” the mother-in-law asked her son.
“In the wardrobe in the bedroom,” Sergey replied.
“Bring clean ones,” she said. “And fresh towels.”
Tatyana followed her husband into the bedroom. He pulled out a set of sheets and some terry towels.
“Sergey,” she asked softly, “and where are we going to sleep?”
“On the living room sofa,” he answered, as if it were obvious.
“Together? On one sofa?”
“Well… or you can make do in the armchair.”
In the armchair? Tatyana stared at her husband, bewildered. Did he really not see how absurd this was?
“Sergei, dear!” the mother-in-law called from the living room. “Come help me make the bed.”
He hurried to his mother, leaving his wife alone. Tatyana sat on the edge of the bed, looking out at the summer garden. Yesterday this had been their bedroom, their dacha, their life. And today everything was turned upside down.
Voices drifted in from the next room. The mother-in-law was laying out plans for tomorrow.
“In the morning we’ll go shopping, buy proper supplies,” she said. “Then we’ll take a look at the garden—see what you’ve got growing. Viktor Ivanovich loves tomatoes.”
The garden was theirs now too? Tatyana remembered her springtime labor—planting seedlings, watering, weeding. And now the fruits of her work would go to uninvited guests.
“And one more thing, son,” the mother-in-law continued, “we need to rest after the trip. So don’t make noise in the morning—we’ll sleep in.”
Don’t make noise. In their own house. Tatyana gave a bitter smile. What next? A ban on walking around during the day? Breathing more quietly?
Evening drew to a close, and the sleeping arrangements were still unresolved. Tatyana took a pillow and blanket and went to the living room. The sofa was short and uncomfortable. How were two people supposed to fit?
Sergey appeared half an hour later, once his parents had settled in the bedroom.
“So—do we fit?” he asked, eyeing the sofa.
“Sergey, this is impossible,” Tatyana sighed. “It’s a twin-and-a-half at best.”
“It’s fine—we’ll manage somehow,” he said breezily.
Somehow. For Sergey, everything was simple. His parents had come—so they had to put up with it. Never mind that the owners of the house had been turned into the homeless.
The night was miserable. The sofa creaked with every movement, the blanket kept slipping off, and by morning Tatyana’s back ached all over. Sergey snored, sprawling over half the sofa.
At six a.m. Viktor Ivanovich woke up. He turned the bedroom TV up to full volume, started hacking and blowing his nose loudly. Sleeping any longer was impossible.
Tatyana got up and stretched her stiff neck. The mirror showed a crumpled face with dark circles under the eyes. A lovely start to vacation.
In the kitchen, the mother-in-law was already in charge, brewing coffee and frying sausages.
“Ah, you’re up already,” she noted. “Good. Go to the neighbors and find out where the nearest store is. We need to buy groceries.”
Tatyana nodded without a word, pouring herself some water. Inside, something clicked over—like an invisible switch flipping. She no longer wanted to argue, prove, or explain. She wanted to observe.
“Of course,” Tatyana said calmly. “I’ll go.”
The mother-in-law nodded in satisfaction, turning the sausages in the skillet.
“And buy good meat and fish. Viktor Ivanovich can’t go without meat. You’ve only got porridge and salads.”
“All right,” Tatyana agreed.
Sergey wandered into the kitchen, rumpled, in a wrinkled T-shirt.
“Mom, what are you making?” he yawned.
“Breakfast for the men,” the mother-in-law cooed. “And your wife will go to the store and buy food.”
Sergey glanced at Tatyana, but she only shrugged. Let him see what his indulgence had led to.
“Tan, maybe I’ll go with you?” he offered.
“No need,” his wife said. “Rest with your parents.”
Tatyana stepped out into the yard and drew a deep breath of morning air. A neighbor’s rooster greeted the dawn; somewhere a lawnmower buzzed. An ordinary country morning—if not for the circus in her own home.
She didn’t go to the neighbors. Instead she sat on the bench beneath the apple tree and thought things through. The in-laws were acting like conquerors. Sergey was indulging them. And she had been turned into the help.
Well then, time to show the in-laws the difference between guests and usurpers.
Half an hour later Tatyana came back inside. The mother-in-law was washing dishes, the father-in-law reading a newspaper, Sergey sitting beside him.
“So, did you find out about the store?” the mother-in-law asked.
“I did,” Tatyana said. “It’s far. So you’ll go there yourselves.”
The raised eyebrows said she’d been understood.
“How’s that—yourselves? You’re the hostess—you should do the shopping.”
“I am the hostess,” Tatyana agreed. “Which is why I decide who buys what in my house.”
A tense silence fell. The father-in-law looked up from his paper; Sergey shifted uneasily.
“Tan…” her husband began.
“And now I’m going to rest,” Tatyana interrupted. “In my bedroom.”
“But our things are in there!” the mother-in-law protested.
“Then take them,” Tatyana advised. “Move them into the living room.”
“You’ve got some nerve!” the mother-in-law flared up. “Driving out your elders?”
“I’m not driving anyone out,” Tatyana replied evenly. “I’m just putting everything back where it belongs.”
The whole day passed under a cloud of tension. The in-laws bickered with each other; Sergey dashed between his wife and his parents; Tatyana calmly went about her business. She watered the garden, read a book, cooked lunch only for herself and her husband.
“We’re hungry!” the mother-in-law protested. “Where’s our lunch?”
“At the store,” Tatyana answered serenely. “Go buy it.”
By evening, the in-laws’ patience snapped. Viktor Ivanovich announced he was going back to the city, and Klavdia Petrovna began packing, loudly voicing her outrage.
“I’ve never seen anything like it!” she lamented. “A daughter-in-law driving out her husband’s parents!”
“I’m not driving you out,” Tatyana corrected her. “I’m explaining the difference between guests and invaders.”
That night, once the in-laws had quieted down in the living room, Tatyana couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. Her plan had fully taken shape. Tomorrow it would all be settled.
In the morning Tatyana got up before everyone. She dressed quietly, made coffee, and sat by the window with a cup. Soon the in-laws stirred.
“Well, have you come to your senses?” the mother-in-law asked, appearing in the kitchen. “Are you going to behave properly?”
“I will,” Tatyana nodded. “As befits the mistress of the house.”
While the in-laws had breakfast in the living room, Tatyana quietly carried their suitcases into the entryway. Then she returned to the kitchen as calmly as before.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the father-in-law demanded when he found the luggage by the door.
“It means it’s time to get ready to go,” Tatyana explained.
“Get ready how?” the mother-in-law didn’t understand. “We only just arrived!”
“You barged in without an invitation,” Tatyana said patiently. “Took over someone else’s bedroom, forbade the hostess to use her own kitchen, demanded to be waited on. That isn’t being guests— that’s being usurpers.”
“How dare you!” the mother-in-law exploded.
“Guests are invited,” Tatyana said firmly. “I don’t tolerate usurpers.”
Sergey burst out of the bedroom, staring at the scene in confusion.
“What’s going on here?”
“Your wife is throwing us out!” his mother complained.
“I’m not,” Tatyana corrected her. “I’m explaining the rules for behavior in someone else’s home. Even if it’s a relative’s.”
“Tan, you’re going too far,” Sergey tried to intervene.
“I’m setting boundaries,” his wife replied. “What you failed to do yesterday.”
Tatyana turned to the in-laws:
“You want to visit? Fine. Call ahead and ask permission. Come with a small gift, not demands. Say thank you for the hospitality instead of bossing the owners around.”
“We’re his parents!” the mother-in-law objected.
“Sergey’s parents,” Tatyana specified. “And what are you to me? Strangers who burst in at night and declared themselves the owners.”
Viktor Ivanovich silently put on his cap and took up a suitcase.
“Let’s go, Klava. We’re not welcome here.”
“What you did yesterday isn’t welcome,” Tatyana agreed. “Polite guests always are.”
Klavdia Petrovna noisily stuffed the remaining things into a bag, muttering curses under her breath. Sergey hovered between his wife and his mother, not knowing whom to support.
“Son, you do understand your wife is wrong?” his mother implored.
Sergey stood on the porch, staring grimly at the ground.
“Mom, I don’t know…”
“You do,” Tatyana interjected. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”
The car pulled away, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Sergey and Tatyana were alone in the yard again.
“Why did you do that?” her husband asked.
“Because you didn’t,” she answered. “Yesterday you needed to tell your parents this is our dacha. That we are the owners here. That guests should ask permission.”
“But they’re my parents!”
“Exactly,” she nodded. “Parents should set an example of good manners, not throw their weight around.”
Sergey was silent, thinking it over.
“Sergey,” Tatyana said gently, “I’m not against your parents. I’m against their behavior. If they want to come as proper guests— they’re welcome. But I won’t let anyone boss us around in our home.”
He nodded slowly, beginning to understand.
“You’re probably right.”
“Of course I’m right,” Tatyana smiled. “Now let’s have breakfast. In our kitchen, in our house, by our rules.”
The dacha was their home again. Quiet, calm, and welcoming to those who knew how to be guests.