Tanya was sorting through the documents in her desk drawer, trying to bring order to papers that had piled up for years. Among old receipts and manuals for long-broken appliances, she found the divorce certificate. December. Four months had already passed.
The divorce from Misha had turned out strangely ordinary. No shouting, no smashing dishes. There wasn’t much to divide anyway. The apartment had come to Tanya from her parents before the marriage, and she had bought the car herself. Misha took his things, his books, and left. Without unnecessary words, as if he were going away on a business trip for a couple of days—not forever.
Tanya set the document aside. Now that paper was just one among many. Once it had seemed that divorce was something terrible, irreversible. But it turned out to be an ordinary document with stamps and signatures.
The dacha stayed with Tanya too. She had bought it before she met Misha and registered it in her name. A small six-hundred–square-meter plot with a little house, an old apple tree, and currant bushes. Nothing special, but a quiet, peaceful place. Misha had never been particularly eager to go out there, but his mother, Nina Sergeyevna, loved visiting. Every season she would arrive with seedlings, jars, preserves—and with her own idea of order.
“Tanechka, how can you plant like this? Tomatoes right next to cucumbers! Everybody knows they can’t be so close!” Nina Sergeyevna would clutch her heart as if Tanya had committed a terrible crime.
“I’ve been planting them like this for years, Nina Sergeyevna, and it’s fine. Everything grows,” Tanya would try to defend herself.
“Ah, the youth. They don’t know anything, can’t do anything,” the mother-in-law would sigh and proceed to redo everything her own way.
All winter after the divorce, Tanya spent at home. She enjoyed the silence. No one turned the TV up to full volume during football matches. No one left socks lying around. No one asked what was for dinner as if it were the only duty a woman had.
After work she could sit with a book in an armchair and read as long as she wanted. Or just lie there and stare at the ceiling. For the first time in many years, Tanya felt how pleasant it was simply to listen to silence. In that silence she got to know herself again. It turned out she liked painting with watercolors. And she liked doing jigsaw puzzles. And she loved to dance when no one was watching.
With spring, she felt the pull of nature. She wanted to get out of the apartment and breathe fresh air. Tanya decided to go to the dacha, just to rest. Not to dig, not to plant, not to weed. Maybe just tend the flowerbeds—she had always loved flowers. Put the little house in order after winter, whitewash the trees, sit on the veranda.
On Friday after work, Tanya packed the essentials into a bag: jeans, T-shirts, a hoodie, rubber boots. She tossed groceries into the trunk and set off. She made good time—there was hardly any traffic. It was already beginning to get dark when she turned onto the familiar dirt road.
The May evening smelled of lilacs and fresh grass. The windows of neighboring cottages glowed with warm light. Here and there on the plots, summer residents, starved for the land over winter, were already bustling about. Tanya parked by the gate and pulled the bags from the trunk. It seemed that what lay ahead was silence, peace, and a few days just for herself.
As she walked toward the house, Tanya noticed a light burning in the window. Strange. Maybe she’d forgotten to turn it off in the fall? No, she was sure she’d turned everything off. Maybe the neighbors? But they didn’t have keys.
Tanya carefully opened the gate and went to the house. The yard was tidy, the beds dug up and neatly marked out with string. Some shoots were already greening in the flowerbed. Tanya looked around in surprise. Someone had clearly been running the place.
The door to the little house wasn’t locked. Tanya gently pushed it open and froze on the threshold. On the veranda, at the table, sat Nina Sergeyevna. Wrapped in a plaid, with a cup of tea and a magazine in her hands. By the door stood her house slippers with pompoms. On the table—an open jar of pickled cucumbers. As always.
Tanya stood there, taken aback, in the doorway. Nina Sergeyevna looked up and, seeing her former daughter-in-law, smiled as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
“Tanyusha! I thought you’d be coming tomorrow,” she adjusted her glasses. “Will you have some tea? I’ve just brewed a pot.”
“Nina Sergeyevna?” was all Tanya could manage. “You… how are you here?”
“As usual,” the mother-in-law shrugged. “I always come in the spring. I prepared the beds, brought the seedlings. We’ll plant tomorrow.”
“But we…” Tanya faltered, unsure how to remind her about the divorce.
“I know you and Misha divorced,” Nina Sergeyevna said calmly, stirring her tea. “But that doesn’t mean the land should lie idle. I’ve prepared everything as always. It’s habit, you know.”
Tanya stood silently in the doorway. Something tightened inside. Had nothing really changed? Not the divorce, not all the things that had been said, the chill of those last months of marriage, the arguments…
“Nina Sergeyevna,” Tanya began, not quite knowing what she would say next. “But Misha and I are no longer…”
“I know, I know,” the mother-in-law cut her off. “But the dacha is still here. I’m used to it. And you’re used to it. And Misha has his own life now, a new family. He has no time for garden beds.”
“A new family?” Tanya flinched. Of course she had guessed that Misha wouldn’t be alone for long. But somehow those words stung.
“Why yes,” Nina Sergeyevna nodded, as if it were the most ordinary thing. “He got married a month ago. To his Irina, from accounting. I told him he was rushing, but he’s a grown man.”
Tanya slowly set her bag on the floor. For some reason, the news made it harder to breathe. She had imagined so many times how Misha would suffer, regret the divorce. And he just went and got married. So quickly, as if their ten years together had never been.
“So, will you have tea?” Nina Sergeyevna asked again, as if not noticing her former daughter-in-law’s state. “And help me pull out the bed, would you? My back’s acting up, and it’s hard to do alone.”
Tanya looked at this elderly woman sitting in her house as if she had every right to be there. Talking about her son’s new wife so matter-of-factly, as though Tanya were just an acquaintance. Running the plot as if nothing had changed.
Something inside Tanya began to boil. Something she had held back for a long time, not letting it out. Something like resentment, anger, and disappointment all at once.
“Nina Sergeyevna,” Tanya’s voice sounded unusually firm. “This is my house. Not your family hotel. Misha and I are divorced, he has a new family, and you’re here doing everything as if nothing has changed?!”
Nina Sergeyevna set down her cup and looked at Tanya over her glasses.
“What’s changed? The land is the same, the beds are the same. And I’m the same. And you. Only Misha isn’t here.”
“Everything has changed,” Tanya took a step forward. “Everything, do you understand? And I’m no longer obliged…”
The mother-in-law pressed her lips together and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Not obliged to do what? Take care of the land? Keep things in order? Or did you think the dacha would take care of itself?”
Tanya moved away from the door and slowly walked deeper into the house. She set the bag on the floor and looked around. For the first time, she truly saw how much the interior had changed. It was no longer her house. Her mother-in-law reigned here.
Bright floral tablecloths everywhere, which Tanya had never liked. Embroidered throw pillows. Porcelain kitten figurines on the windowsill. When Tanya opened the fridge, she saw rows of jars with preserves: cucumbers, tomatoes, compotes. Everything neatly labeled in her mother-in-law’s handwriting.
“Your things are everywhere,” Tanya said, closing the fridge. “As if this were your house. As if you were the mistress here.”
“What of it?” Nina Sergeyevna stood and began straightening the napkins on the table. “I’ve always come here. You can’t just abandon the beds. This is my season too. I’ve already prepared the seedlings, drawn up the planting calendar.”
“But this is my house. My property.”
The mother-in-law shrugged, as if formalities like ownership didn’t concern her.
“Misha will come back,” she said with conviction. “He’ll wander back. He’ll realize he acted rashly.”
Tanya shook her head, not believing her ears.
“Nina Sergeyevna, Misha got married. A month ago. You yourself just said so.”
“That’s all temporary,” the mother-in-law waved it off like a bothersome fly. “So he signed some papers. Papers can be torn up easily enough. He loves you, he’s just got a difficult character. Just like his father.”
“He’s going to have a child,” Tanya looked straight into her eyes. “With Irina. They’re expecting a baby. Misha told me himself when we were re-registering the car.”
The mother-in-law hesitated for a moment, but quickly collected herself.
“So what? Children are a good thing. You could have too… if you had tried harder.”
Tanya clenched her fists. That old refrain. Ten years of marriage, and all those hints: “It’s about time,” “Your clock is ticking,” “Everyone else has grandchildren already.”
“We’ve talked about this. A thousand times. I couldn’t have children. And Misha knew that before we got married.”
“Medicine doesn’t stand still…” the mother-in-law began, but Tanya cut her off.
“You know it wasn’t that simple. Nothing about it was simple. And things aren’t simple now either. This dacha is my property. I bought it before I married Misha.”
“But we came here for so many years,” hurt crept into the mother-in-law’s voice. “We had our family barbecues here, birthdays. So many memories! I planted rose bushes—with all my heart! My favorites. Burgundy ones. I even have photos of me and Misha putting up the gazebo.”
Tanya sighed. Yes, they had come here as a family. Yes, there had been good moments. But that was all in the past. Now this was her house, and hers alone.
“Understand, I am no longer your son’s wife. I’m not part of your family. I don’t need to be polite or patient to keep the peace. We are now just strangers to each other.”
Nina Sergeyevna frowned.
“What do you mean, strangers, Tanechka? So many years together. I’m like family to you… I shared recipes, gave you advice…”
Tanya thought of those “advices.” “Misha likes his fried eggs not runny,” “Misha can’t stand socks being in different places,” “Misha gets a headache from your perfume.”
“I’m grateful for everything you did. Truly. But now I have my own life. And you have yours.”
The mother-in-law was silent, running her finger along the rim of the cup.
“So what am I supposed to do now? Where am I to grow my seedlings? I’ve gotten used to this land. And the neighbors here know me.”
Tanya felt irritation rising inside. This conversation was going nowhere. At some point, she just couldn’t hold back any longer:
“We’ve been divorced for a while, he has a new family, and you’re here acting as if I’m still his wife!” she said firmly and calmly. “This is my house, not your family hotel!”
Nina Sergeyevna fell silent. It seemed the words had finally sunk in. She set her cup on the table and pressed her lips together. Silence settled over the room.
“Ungrateful—that’s what this is,” the mother-in-law muttered at last. “All those years of care… And where am I supposed to start my seedlings now? Misha has that… Irina. And I only have a balcony.”
Tanya didn’t answer. Instead, she walked to the front door and pointed toward the gate. The gesture spoke louder than any words.
“The keys, please,” Tanya said quietly but firmly.
The mother-in-law looked at her former daughter-in-law in disbelief.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. The keys.”
With some effort, the older woman got to her feet, took a key ring from her pocket, and laid it on the table. Then she slowly began gathering her things: glasses, magazine, shawl.
“I thought we’d handle this in a human way,” she said, putting on her jacket. “I thought we’d become family over the years. Turns out all those heartfelt talks, the advice, the care—were all for nothing.”
“Not for nothing,” Tanya replied. “But everything has its time. And our time is over.”
The mother-in-law pressed her lips together, took her bag, and headed for the exit. At the gate she turned, as if expecting Tanya to change her mind and call her back. But Tanya simply looked on—calm and resolute. The older woman waved a hand and left.
Tanya closed the door behind her and returned to the house. It was quiet—the kind of quiet that had never existed when her mother-in-law was around. Tanya went to the table, took off the bright floral tablecloth, and folded it up. Then she opened the windows, letting in the fresh spring air. She took a deep breath.
For the first time in a long while, the air in the house belonged to her alone. Without other people’s smells, without other people’s rules, without other people’s expectations. Tanya walked through the rooms, gathering her mother-in-law’s things—pillows, figurines, albums. All of it could be passed along through mutual acquaintances.
Then she took her sketchbook from her bag. She sat on the steps and began to sketch—the old apple tree, the currant bushes, and that very flowerbed with the roses her mother-in-law had planted. Well, perhaps the roses should stay. They were truly beautiful. But now they would grow differently—not as a reminder of the past, but as part of a new present.
The sun was sinking behind the horizon, tinting the sky in gentle shades of pink. Tanya set the sketchbook aside and simply sat, watching the sunset. Freedom is a strange thing. It’s hard to accept it at once. It seems that without the usual boundaries and frames, life will fall apart. But then comes the understanding—the boundaries only made it harder to breathe.
Tanya smiled and closed her eyes, turning her face to the sun’s last rays. Tomorrow would be a new day. And the dacha would finally become the way she had always seen it—a cozy place where she could be herself. Without looking back at anyone else’s expectations. With no need to conform. Just a home. Her home.