When the doorbell rang, I had no idea that an hour later my life would be turned upside down. The prospective buyers of the apartment were smiling so amiably that I was taken aback—we weren’t selling anything. Then it turned out that my mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna, had decided to dispose of our home without the slightest knowledge on our part. But let me start from the beginning.
My relationship with my husband’s mother was disastrous from the very first days we met. Valentina Petrovna considered me an arrogant sort because I grew up in a family of scholars. My parents both held Candidate of Sciences degrees, people of the old school, true Soviet intellectuals. Yet everything I achieved was the result of my own work. No one lent me a helping hand when I applied to university—I got in thanks to my knowledge and perseverance. My parents were physicists, while I chose philology, planning to become a teacher. Fate, however, had other ideas—I defended my dissertation and stayed on to work at the same university where I had studied.
My mother passed away a year and a half ago after a long illness, which she faced bravely for several years. My father could not bear the loss of the woman he had lived with for four decades. Twelve months without his beloved turned him into a completely different person—he grew old, began to lose his memory, sometimes didn’t recognize his relatives. Watching a brilliant man, whom you had admired all your life, fade away became a real torment for me. My father followed my mother three months ago, and I couldn’t accept a world without them both.
They say that as an adult you cope with your parents’ death more easily. It turned out—that’s not true. We need our mother and father at any age, and I went through orphanhood painfully and sharply.
After my father, I inherited a spacious one-room apartment. Long ago, back in Soviet times, he, as a scientist, was given a three-room flat after I was born; there was a state program for research workers, which my father used. But in old age the large living space was no longer needed, and my parents moved to a small apartment closer to our home.
My husband Maxim tactfully avoided the subject of the inheritance—I physically couldn’t cross the threshold of my parents’ place without breaking into tears. Everything there remained untouched, as if time had stopped. On the desk lay Dad’s glasses, the ones he wore in the evenings to read in his favorite armchair. In the sideboard stood Mom’s jewelry box next to the crystal set and salad bowls. I had suggested many times that we get rid of that relic of the past, but Mom would only smile and, three times a year, carefully wash her treasures and arrange them back in their places. On New Year’s she invariably brought out the crystal salad bowls for the holiday table.
After my parents were gone, I realized I couldn’t cope with the grief on my own. I had to see a psychotherapist. The specialist helped me through it, prescribed medication. I recovered slowly, and from time to time, out of habit, I would pick up the phone to call my father, to ask how he was, whether I should bring his favorite cookies and sweet pears…
“Tanya, are you ready to talk about your dad’s apartment? Or is it still too soon?” Maxim asked cautiously one evening.
I looked at my husband and nodded sadly.
“It’s time to move on. Let’s talk.”
“Bogdan is already grown; he doesn’t want to go into tenth grade—he wants to enter a culinary college. I think we should give him his grandfather’s apartment and let him try living on his own. What do you think?”
I agreed without hesitation.
Maxim and I married almost twenty years ago. We didn’t rush to have children. I was working on my dissertation, and it was incredibly hard. Then we took out a mortgage on the apartment where we live now. It was an old two-room place that needed a major overhaul. We kept renting while slowly fixing up our own flat, finally moved in, and then the finishing work dragged on for another five years. We couldn’t go faster—first Bogdan was born, then we lacked funds, then we both worked without weekends, then I was defending my doctorate. Life spun us in a whirl of events, but Maxim and I held together, and little Bogdanchik gave us the strength to overcome anything.
A child really does keep you disciplined—that’s the honest truth. Love for a child becomes both a compass and a support. When I first held my son, I felt such a powerful surge of energy that I was ready to move mountains if anything threatened my baby. In our measured life, though, there were no serious dangers for Bogdan. He was rarely ill, adapted easily to kindergarten and then to school, where he was an average student but without failing grades. He announced his desire to become a chef back in sixth grade. I smiled then, smoothing his tousled hair, thinking that plans were bound to change. But ninth grade was ending, and Bogdan Maksimovich knew exactly what he wanted from life. So when my husband suggested giving our son his grandfather’s one-room apartment, I agreed readily. It was a sensible decision. Our boy was not frivolous—quite the opposite. Confident and clear about his path, Bogdan more than deserved his independence.
“All the essentials are there—furniture, dishes. Let him live there and we’ll see how he gets on,” I told Maxim.
“He might even move this summer. The main thing is to do well on the exams.”
“Of course, the exams are the main thing. And besides, we already have a future daughter-in-law,” I smiled.
Bogdan had been dating a wonderful girl for two years. I liked Kristina very much—well-mannered, quick-witted, beautiful. They made a lovely couple, and I promised myself I would be the perfect mother-in-law—in any case, the exact opposite of my own.
Recently my husband and I had a serious quarrel—again because of his mother. Valentina Petrovna had long been working on her son about buying a country house for her and my father-in-law. When my husband delicately hinted that we could help with the down payment, since parents should be respected, I went off like a firecracker.
“Maxim, why on earth should I spend my hard-earned money on your mother’s whims? I have a growing son; I want to live for myself a bit—to travel, to rest. And then your mama shows up and demands a private house. Don’t even dream of it!”
“I’m not suggesting we pay for the whole thing, but we can help with a certain amount.”
“Listen, she’s driven me up the wall. One day it’s ‘buy our medicines,’ the next it’s ‘help with groceries.’ And in return, what? Last time she showed up, flung open the fridge and started rummaging through the pots, checking what I’d cooked. I am a grown woman, by the way. I am the mistress of my own home, and I won’t tolerate being treated like that!”
My mother-in-law had been pulling stunts like that our entire married life. When I was young, she hurt me a lot, but I was an inexperienced girl and mostly kept quiet, swallowing the insults. After Bogdan was born, I toughened up and started pushing back. That’s when a real war began, and my mother-in-law stopped concealing her hostility. She tried to reproach me, jab where it hurt, criticize everything I did. My home was never clean enough, my food not tasty enough—everything was wrong. It got to the point where Valentina Petrovna even managed to fall out with her own grandson. He came home from school—he was about fourteen then—and heard her insulting me at the top of her lungs. He couldn’t stand it. He burst into the kitchen, told his grandmother exactly what he thought of her behavior, demanded she never dare offend me again, and practically showed her the door. Since then, Valentina Petrovna has harbored a grudge against her grandson and constantly told me he was just like me and nothing like his father. That hint only made my husband and me laugh, and my mother-in-law didn’t get the reaction she wanted.
Our son aced his exams and entered culinary college with no trouble. We marked the occasion with cake and a large pizza and told Bogdan he could move into his grandfather’s apartment. He was genuinely happy and thanked his father and me. And then the doorbell rang. It was Saturday; we weren’t expecting anyone. Shrugging, Maxim went to answer it. Soon I heard my mother-in-law’s voice.
“I’ve come to talk, son. Is your wife home?”
I greeted her and invited her to the table.
“Please sit with us, Valentina Petrovna—we’re celebrating Bogdan’s admission.”
“Thank you. Congratulations, Bogdanchik. Takes after his mother—smart boy,” she said, the last words sounding like mockery.
“So, why have you come? What did you want to discuss?” I got straight to the point, eager to hear out our uninvited guest and see her off as quickly as possible.
“Your place has been put up for sale. People will come to view it in half an hour,” my mother-in-law said.
“What do you mean you’re going to sell our apartment?”
“Quite simply. You have the one you inherited from your parents; you and Maxim will have enough. Bogdan is already an adult—why do the two of you need such spacious quarters?”
“For the record, this is my apartment too,” my husband finally snapped out of his shock. “We bought it with a mortgage, paid the loan for many years, and did the renovations. Why on earth should we sell it, Mom?”
“You’ll move into Tanya’s parental place, and with the sale of this one you’ll buy a little house in the country for us, and a room or studio for Bogdan—using whatever is left after buying the house.”
I laughed out loud—definitely from nerves.
“Are you in your right mind, Valentina Petrovna? Why should we be obliged to set you up with a house? You have your own apartment—sell it and buy yourselves a mansion or a shack if you like. But don’t you dare lay a finger on our property.”
“Then sell the place you inherited. Why do you need so much housing?” she persisted.
“Bogdan will live in my parents’ apartment. He’s an adult now; he’ll study and move out from us. Your dreams of a country house have nothing to do with us. We have our own life—our own family.”
“You’re greedy and mercenary, Tatyana! And you, Maxim! Aren’t you ashamed? We fed you, raised you, taught you, and this is how you repay us in our old age!”
“Grandma, sorry, but having a child was your decision,” Bogdan unexpectedly spoke up for his father and me. “So don’t come here expecting to bleed your son dry!”
My mother-in-law rose from the table without touching the cake.
“Choke on your apartments!”
And she left, slamming the door.
We sat at the table looking at each other.
“What was that?” Bogdan asked, theatrically widening his eyes.
For some reason, that question instantly defused the situation. Unfortunately, it shouldn’t have—because the doorbell rang again.
“Hello, we’re here to view the apartment!” a young woman said to me with a friendly smile, holding the hand of a boy of about five.
The little one waved cheerfully.
“I’m terribly sorry—there’s been a dreadful misunderstanding because of my mother-in-law. We’re not selling. But we can offer some candy. Little one, would you like a treat if your mom allows it?” I asked the boy, looking questioningly at his mother.
They both nodded, and I brought the child a handful of candies.
“Thank you, lady!” the boy said.
“Oh, this is so awkward! Please forgive us—Valentina Petrovna assured me it was an urgent sale, and this neighborhood is so good… I even came without my husband while he’s at work, so we wouldn’t miss the chance…”
“It’s all right, these things happen. Don’t worry—there are lots of places for sale in our area now,” I reassured the stranger and, after a warm goodbye, closed the door.
“Mom, do you mind if Kristina and I get married after we finish school?” my son asked when I came back. “Dad agrees.”
“Um…” I was so flustered I didn’t know what to say. “You’re already an adult, Bogdan. It’s your decision. I like Kristina very much.”
“You won’t demand we sell our apartment to buy a country house, will you?”
At my son’s words we all burst out laughing again.
That evening my father-in-law called and apologized for his wife’s behavior. I told him not to worry—after all, nothing bad had happened in the end.
Bogdan moved out a week later. We talked every day on the phone. As for my mother-in-law, our relationship ended completely—and I didn’t regret it in the least.
When Bogdan and Kristina finished college, they got married. I was amazed again at how much my son had become a whole, grown-up person. A year after the wedding, they brought me an adorable granddaughter, little Polina, to babysit. Now Maxim and I were a grandfather and grandmother, which delighted us enormously. I was planning to sell my parents’ apartment to help the young couple, but Bogdan got a job at an excellent restaurant, and they took out their own mortgage. As for my dad’s apartment, my husband and I decided to rent it out and receive a little extra income.