Ira lifted her eyes from the screen—the program code once again stabbed at her with errors. Three days were left until the project deadline, and the client had been calling since morning no less than once every half hour. This contract meant financial stability for them for the next two months.
—Ira! — a loud voice boomed from the kitchen. — When are you going to wash the frying pan?
Her fingers froze above the keyboard. The frying pan. The very one her mother-in-law had used to cook pancakes for lunch while Ira was on an urgent call with the development team.
— Galina Mikhaylovna, I’m working. The project is very urgent, — she replied, without taking her eyes off the monitor.
— Working? — her mother-in-law sneered, appearing in the doorway with wet hands. — I’m the one stuck on the internet, and the whole house is on my shoulders. Maksim is sprawled on the couch glued to his phone—he’s been “exploring himself” for the third month now after getting fired, — she added by way of explanation.
— Mom, don’t start, — Maksim muttered without lifting his head.
— Don’t start? And who’s going to do the laundry? Who’s going to run to the store?
— Galina Mikhaylovna, I pay for the washing machine, the groceries and the internet…
— You pay? Money isn’t a cure-all! In my day, women went to the market themselves and took care of the family. Not dodged their responsibilities.
Ira saved the file and took a deep breath. Responsibilities. For five years she had been carrying the family on her back: three people, a mortgage still being paid off, her mother-in-law’s treatment and Maksim’s courses while he searched for his “calling.” In return—constant reproaches over unwashed dishes.
The phone rang again—the client.
— Ira Vladimirovna, it’s extremely important that we get the module by morning.
— I’ll do it. I’m already working on it.
But she barely had time to reach for the keyboard again when demonstrative clattering of dishes came from the kitchen.
— That’s it, I’ve had enough! — Galina Mikhaylovna barked loudly. — I’m walking around hungry, cooking on dirty pans, and you’re just sitting at the computer!
Maksim got up from the couch, but instead of helping, he reached for the fridge.
— Ira, when are we going to have lunch? I’m hungry already.
Ira felt a knot of tension tighten inside her. This project was worth half a million rubles; their life for a couple of months depended on it, and yet all family conversations boiled down to dirty kitchenware and lunch.
— Go to the kitchen! — her mother-in-law shouted, bursting into the living room. — Enough of being glued to that computer! After a stroke, I’m still supposed to be in charge of the cleaning!
Ira slowly turned—her mother-in-law stood in the doorway, waving a wet rag, her face burning with anger.
— Are you even listening to me? — Galina Mikhaylovna went on. — Or have you completely forgotten how to be grateful?
On the laptop, the cursor was blinking—an unfinished line of code, whose success was worth half a million rubles. Her phone showed three missed calls and two messages: “Need a quick answer!” And her mother-in-law was demanding she drop everything immediately for the sake of a frying pan she herself had used.
— Galina Mikhaylovna, please let me finish the module in an hour, — Ira asked.
— One hour! It’s always this “hour” of yours! And when about the family? Your husband is hungry, I’m tired, and you’re playing games!
— Mom, don’t worry, — Maksim said lazily, not taking his eyes off the screen. — Ira will do everything later.
— Later? I’ve had enough of this “later”! — her mother-in-law screeched and headed to wash the dishes.
Ira stared at the screen where the cursor was blinking. Two hours—and the work would be finished; two hours—and the family would be provided with money. But Galina Mikhaylovna did not want to wait and demanded attention.
— I asked you nicely—go to the kitchen! Right now! — but she did not expect what would happen next.
In that moment, something inside Ira broke—quietly and for good; not an explosion, not a scream, but defeat.
She got up, saved the file and closed the laptop.
— All right, — she said calmly. — I’m going to the kitchen.
Her mother-in-law straightened up in triumph and stepped aside, giving way. Maksim nodded approvingly—finally things were “in order” at home.
Ira did go—but not to the frying pan. She walked to the windowsill where the router stood. She pulled the plug out of the socket.
The green lights went out one by one.
— What are you doing? — Maksim shouted, jumping up from the couch and staring at his frozen screen.
— Turn the internet back on! I have a tournament!
Ira silently gathered her laptop, documents and car keys.
— Where are you going? — her mother-in-law exclaimed.
— To work.
— What do you mean, work? And the dishes, and who’s going to cook?
— Ask the one who eats the food but doesn’t earn the money for it.
Maksim tried to turn the router back on, but Ira was already holding the plug in her hand.
— Ira, don’t you dare. My game starts in an hour. Turn it on!
— I’m the one who pays for the internet and the electricity. If I want, I’ll turn it on. If I don’t, I won’t.
— What are you doing? — her mother-in-law turned pale. — This is a home, a family! You can’t do that!
Ira put on her jacket and turned to them.
— I can’t? But it’s okay to yell while I’m working? It’s okay to demand I drop an important project because of a frying pan?
— We didn’t mean… — Maksim began.
— You meant for me to go to the kitchen. I went. Now I’m going where my work is respected.
The coworking space greeted her with silence and the smell of fresh coffee. At the next table they were discussing layouts, in the corner a girl was negotiating over video. No one was shouting demands about frying pans.
Ira opened her laptop. The code started to flow easily again—without shouting and demands to cook. Within an hour the module was ready and sent to the client.
Her phone was silent—they had figured out at home that mobile service doesn’t depend on the router.
In the evening, Ira came back home—the kitchen light was on, Maksim was sitting with a tablet, and Galina Mikhaylovna was flipping through a magazine.
— Finally, — her husband grumbled. — Turn the internet on.
— And make some dinner, — her mother-in-law added. — Why should I be the only one slaving away?
Ira put down her bag, took the router and plugged it back in.
— They paid for the project. Three hundred thousand.
— Not bad, — Maksim nodded. — Now we can relax.
The router lights started blinking, bringing life back into the house.
The main conclusion: it’s worth changing your approach to organizing home life if you want to preserve both your professional dignity and family peace.
— Enjoy, — Ira said. — But from now on everything will be different.
— Different how? — her mother-in-law asked warily.
— I’ve rented an office to work from. There, they respect me.
— But it’s more convenient at home, — Maksim objected.
— Maybe it’s convenient for you at home. For me, it’s convenient where my work is valued and not dismissed as “fiddling on the internet.”
Her mother-in-law set the magazine aside.
— Ira, if I said the wrong thing…
— It’s not just what you said, but how. And not just once.
Ira got ready the next day.
— And I’m taking the router with me. If you want internet—get your own connection.
Maksim sat sadly on the edge of the bed.
— Is this for long?
— I don’t know.
— What if I find a job?
— Then we’ll talk.
Her mother-in-law appeared in the doorway.
— Maybe I was wrong… But after the stroke it’s hard for me…
— I understand, — Ira replied. — But it’s also hard for me to work with you shouting.
— So now I’m supposed to keep quiet forever?
— No, talk. But talk to me like a person, not like hired help.
Picking up her car keys, she felt her phone vibrate—another new client.
— See you in the evening. Make dinner yourselves.
The door closed softly, without a bang.
And for the first time in three years, real silence settled over the apartment.
“Sometimes, in order to preserve yourself and your values, you need to defend your boundaries and strive for respect.