Arina came home from work late in the evening, tired and hungry. The day had been rough—reports, meetings, and sorting out a conflict with suppliers. She worked as a procurement manager for a major retail chain; her schedule was flexible, and sometimes she had to stay until eight at night. Today was exactly one of those days.
Dmitry met his wife in the entryway with a serious face. He worked as an engineer at a factory, got home by six, and had time to rest and eat dinner. Usually he greeted Arina with a smile and asked how her day went. But today he looked worried.
“Hi,” Arina said, slipping off her heels and setting her bag on the cabinet. “Did something happen?”
“I need to talk to you,” Dima ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”
She went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Dmitry poured tea and slid the cup toward her.
“Remember I told you about Mom? That she invested money in a construction company?”
“I remember. They were building some housing complex.”
“Yeah. Turns out the company was a scam. They took money from a bunch of people and disappeared. Mom lost everything. Literally everything.”
Arina frowned.
“How… everything?”
“She sold her apartment to invest in that project,” Dmitry lowered his gaze. “They promised that in a year they’d return the money with interest, plus a new apartment in a finished building. But they didn’t even start construction. They just vanished.”
“My God,” Arina covered her mouth with her hand. “Did she go to the police?”
“A case was opened, but it’s pointless. The founders are abroad. There’s almost no chance of getting the money back.”
Arina leaned back in her chair. Elena Anatolyevna, Dmitry’s mother, had lived alone in a one-room apartment. She was fifty-nine and worked as an accountant at a small office. The salary wasn’t high, but it was enough to live on. After divorcing her husband years ago, she’d gotten used to relying only on herself. Apparently, she decided to improve her living situation—and got caught.
“So what now?” Arina asked quietly.
“Mom is renting a room in a shared apartment. It eats up half her paycheck. It’s hard for her.”
Dmitry looked up at his wife.
“Arishka, I want to ask you… Can we take Mom in for a while? Until she figures out what to do next? A month, maybe two?”
Arina was silent, weighing the request. She and Dmitry lived in a two-room apartment they rented together. They split the rent—thirty thousand a month. They had their own rhythm, their own habits. Having her mother-in-law around would change everything. On the other hand, the woman was left without a home—she needed help.
“Okay,” Arina nodded. “Let her come.”
Dmitry let out a relieved breath, stood up, and hugged her.
“Thank you. Really, it won’t be for long. Mom is already looking for cheaper rental options.”
Elena Anatolyevna arrived the next day. A short, sturdy woman with a cropped haircut and a strict face. A former military accountant, she’d spent her life working at restricted facilities. She was used to discipline, order, and a rigid daily routine.
“Hello, Arina,” her mother-in-law said, holding out her hand for a handshake.
“Hello, Elena Anatolyevna. Come in.”
She stepped into the apartment and looked around. Dmitry helped carry in her bags.
“Mom, we cleared out the second room for you. The sofa folds out. You’ll stay there for now, okay?”
“Thank you, Dmitry. And thank you, Arina, for your hospitality.”
For the first seven days, Elena Anatolyevna was exemplary. She kept to herself and didn’t interfere in the young couple’s life. In the mornings she got up before everyone else and left quietly for work without waking them. In the evenings she came home, cooked herself dinner, and went to her room. Sometimes she watched TV in the living room, but if Arina and Dmitry wanted to watch something, she gave up the remote without a word.
Arina even relaxed, thinking her worries had been unnecessary. Elena Anatolyevna turned out to be tactful and unobtrusive. She helped around the house—washed dishes after dinner, vacuumed on weekends, did her own laundry, never loading the machine with the owners’ clothes without asking.
“See? Everything’s fine,” Dmitry would say, hugging his wife in the kitchen in the evenings. “Mom isn’t getting in our way.”
“Yeah, so far it’s fine,” Arina agreed.
On the eighth day, everything changed.
Arina woke up on Saturday around nine. She wanted to lie there a bit longer, enjoy the warmth of the bed. Dmitry had already gotten up and gone to shower. Arina stretched, yawned, and closed her eyes.
Then the bedroom door flew open.
Elena Anatolyevna walked in without knocking—bright-eyed, dressed, hair neatly done.
“Good morning!” she said loudly. “Get up! Breakfast is on the table!”
Arina propped herself up on an elbow, blinking in confusion.
“Elena Anatolyevna, it’s Saturday…”
“So what? On Saturday you still need to get up early. I already made porridge. Come eat while it’s hot.”
Her mother-in-law left the room, leaving the door wide open. Arina sat up, rubbing her eyes. Dmitry came out of the shower and looked into the bedroom.
“Mom’s calling us to breakfast.”
“I heard,” Arina said, pulling on a robe. “She could’ve at least knocked.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just what she’s used to.”
Arina said nothing and went to wash up. In the kitchen, the table was set: oatmeal, sandwiches, tea. Elena Anatolyevna sat waiting.
“Sit down, kids. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
Dmitry sat and started eating. Arina sat opposite him and took a spoon. The porridge was bland, under-salted. She added sugar and stirred. She ate silently, feeling a flicker of irritation that her day off had started with a forced early wake-up.
After breakfast, Elena Anatolyevna announced:
“I’ve been thinking. A home needs order and a routine. It’s good for health and discipline.”
“What routine?” Arina didn’t understand.
“Wake-up at seven on weekdays, eight on weekends. Breakfast at eight-thirty. Lunch…”
“Elena Anatolyevna,” Arina cut in. “Dmitry and I have our own schedule.”
“What schedule?” her mother-in-law frowned. “You lie around until eleven on weekends. That’s bad for the body.”
“We work all week and want to rest on weekends,” Arina felt her shoulders tense.
“You can rest after an early wake-up too,” Elena Anatolyevna snapped. “Getting up early energizes you and sets you up for a productive day.”
Dmitry sat in silence, shifting his gaze between his mother and his wife. Arina understood he wasn’t going to step in.
“Okay,” she said, not wanting a fight. “I hear you.”
But the next day, Sunday, Arina stayed in bed until ten. She woke up to the smell of frying eggs. She got up and went to the kitchen. Elena Anatolyevna stood at the stove making scrambled eggs.
“Good morning, Arina. You slept through breakfast.”
“I didn’t want breakfast early,” Arina said evenly.
“How could you not want it? You can’t skip breakfast. It’s bad for your stomach.”
“Elena Anatolyevna, I’m an adult. I decide when I eat.”
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together and said nothing. She turned off the stove and slid the eggs onto a plate. Arina poured herself coffee and sat down. Tension hung in the air.
From Monday on, it became a nightmare.
Elena Anatolyevna set a strict schedule. Wake-up at seven. Breakfast at eight sharp—everyone together at the table. Exactly at 7:00 she would knock on the bedroom door.
“Dima! Arina! Up!”
Arina had to get up even though she didn’t need to be at work until nine. Before, she woke at eight and had time to get ready calmly. Now she had to jump up an hour earlier, sit half-asleep in the kitchen, and pick at porridge.
“Eat, Arina, don’t poke at it,” her mother-in-law would comment. “Porridge is healthy. Oatmeal.”
“I’m not hungry at seven,” Arina muttered.
“That’s because your routine is messed up. In a week you’ll get used to it—you’ll wake up refreshed.”
Dmitry ate silently, not intervening. Arina shot him angry looks, but he acted as if he didn’t notice.
Dinner now happened exactly at six. Elena Anatolyevna came home around five and immediately started cooking. By six the table was set. If Arina and Dmitry were delayed, her mother-in-law called and demanded to know where they were and why they were late.
“Arina, it’s already 6:10. Dinner is getting cold.”
“I’m stuck in traffic, Elena Anatolyevna. I’ll be home in about twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes? The soup will be completely cold. Fine—I’ll reheat it later.”
Her tone was displeased and reproachful. Arina would get home feeling guilty for staying late at work, sit down, eat reheated soup, and listen to lectures about planning her day better and leaving earlier to make it to dinner.
“Elena Anatolyevna, I can’t control traffic.”
“You can leave with a time buffer.”
“I work until six. I can’t leave earlier.”
“Then you should’ve found a job closer to home.”
Arina clenched her fists under the table to keep from snapping. Dmitry chewed silently, eyes fixed on his plate.
Now television was “allowed” only after nine in the evening. Elena Anatolyevna explained that daytime shows distracted from useful things.
“Before nine you should be doing household tasks,” she’d say. “Cleaning, cooking, laundry. TV is rest after you’ve done your work.”
Arina used to come home, eat dinner, and sit in front of the TV with tea, watching series to unwind. Now she couldn’t. After the six o’clock dinner, Elena Anatolyevna handed out instructions—wash the dishes, wipe the stove, dust the living room.
“Elena Anatolyevna, I’ve been at work all day. I’m tired.”
“Everyone gets tired. But the home needs attention. You can’t let the household go.”
“Our home isn’t neglected,” Arina argued. “We manage.”
“You manage?” Elena Anatolyevna looked around the kitchen. “There’s dust on the windowsill. Splatter on the stove. The bathroom mirror is dirty.”
“That’s minor!”
“Minor things create the overall picture,” Elena Anatolyevna snapped. “You need to keep things clean every day, not once a week.”
Arina would turn and go to the bedroom, slamming the door. Dmitry would come in after her and sit on the bed.
“Arishka, don’t get worked up. Mom just wants to help.”
“Help?” Arina turned to him. “She’s dictating how we live! We had our own routine—our own habits!”
“It’s temporary. Just put up with it.”
“How long is this going to last?”
“Mom is looking for a place. She’ll move out soon.”
“Soon—when? In a month? Two? Half a year?”
Dmitry shrugged.
“I don’t know. But it won’t be forever.”
Arina lay down and turned to the wall. Dmitry patted her shoulder and left the room. She stared at the wall, feeling irritation pile up inside.
A week passed. Elena Anatolyevna didn’t loosen her grip. Wake-up at seven, breakfast at eight, dinner at six, TV after nine. The schedule was enforced without exception. Arina felt like a soldier in a barracks, not the mistress of her own home.
One evening she tried to talk to her mother-in-law. She waited until Dmitry went to shower, then approached Elena Anatolyevna in the kitchen.
“Elena Anatolyevna, can I talk to you?”
“Of course, Arina. I’m listening.”
“You see, Dima and I have a certain rhythm. We’re used to living our way. And your… new rules are getting in the way a little.”
Her mother-in-law straightened and crossed her arms.
“Getting in the way? How?”
“For example, getting up early. I don’t need to get up at seven. I can get up at eight and still make it to work.”
“Getting up early is good for your health.”
“For you, maybe. Not for me.”
“So you think my experience means nothing?” Elena Anatolyevna’s voice turned cold.
“No, I just…”
“I’m fifty-nine years old, Arina. I have experience. I have wisdom. I know how a household should be run, and I’m trying to pass it on to you. And you treat my help like interference.”
“This isn’t help,” Arina said quietly. “It’s dictatorship.”
Elena Anatolyevna went pale.
“Dictatorship? I’m trying to bring order into this home! Help you organize your life! And you call it dictatorship!”
“Elena Anatolyevna, we’re adults…”
“Adults should respect their elders!” her mother-in-law raised her voice. “Value their experience and wisdom—not reject their advice!”
The conversation was over. Elena Anatolyevna turned and left for her room. Arina stood in the kitchen with her fists clenched. The diplomatic approach hadn’t worked.
The next day, her mother-in-law started complaining to Dmitry. Arina heard their conversation from the bedroom.
“Dima, your wife has no respect for elders. I try to help, and she snaps at me.”
“Mom, Arina wasn’t snapping…”
“She was! She called my help dictatorship! That’s an insult!”
“Mom, maybe it really would be better to ease up a bit… on these rules?”
“What rules? I’m just trying to bring order! This home is chaos! You wake up whenever you want, eat whenever you want—this is wrong!”
“Mom, we’ve lived like this for three years…”
“Exactly! Three years of living wrong! It’s a good thing I came—I can steer you onto the right path!”
Dmitry fell silent. Arina heard him sigh and then walk into the bedroom. He came in and closed the door.
“Arishka, can we please not fight with Mom?”
“Not fight?” Arina sat up on the bed. “Dima, your mother turned our home into an army barracks!”
“You’re exaggerating…”
“I’m not! She dictates when we get up, when we eat, when we watch TV!”
“Just endure it. For the sake of peace.”
“What about me?” Arina stood up. “What about my peace? My right to live in my own home the way I want?”
“Arishka, please,” Dmitry stepped toward her. “Mom is in a hard situation. She has nowhere to go. Let’s just get through this period. She’ll move out soon.”
Arina looked at him and realized he was afraid to fight with his mother. He wasn’t ready to stand up for his wife, to defend her interests. He chose the easiest route—ask his wife to endure it.
“Fine,” Arina said coldly. “I’ll endure it.”
Another week passed. The tension grew. Every morning Arina woke up to Elena Anatolyevna knocking. She ate bland porridge she didn’t want. She rushed from work to make it to the six o’clock dinner. She washed dishes, dusted, followed her mother-in-law’s orders. Only after nine could she sit in front of the TV.
Arina felt like a stranger in her own home. Every action was monitored; any deviation from the schedule earned a remark. Elena Anatolyevna interpreted Arina’s attempts to restore the old order as disrespect and ingratitude.
“I’m doing this for you, and you don’t appreciate it,” she’d say. “In my day, young people respected elders.”
All week Arina dreamed of sleeping in. Work was hell—a contract fell through, management called her in for a dressing-down, and she had to stay late every day. She came home exhausted and collapsed into bed. And every morning at seven—knocking, her mother-in-law’s voice.
On Friday evening Arina went to bed early, at ten. She turned off her alarm and asked Dmitry not to wake her in the morning.
“I want to sleep. Please tell your mom not to knock on the door.”
“Okay, I will.”
Arina fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow—deeply, without dreams. Her body finally got a chance to rest.
At exactly eight in the morning, the bedroom door slammed open.
Elena Anatolyevna strode in briskly and announced loudly:
“Good morning! Get up! Breakfast is on the table!”
Arina jolted awake, her heart pounding. The bang of the door and the loud voice hit her nerves like a blow. She pushed herself up on an elbow, hair a mess, eyes red.
“What… you again?”
“Breakfast is ready. Come eat.”
Her mother-in-law walked out, leaving the door open. Arina sat on the bed, feeling something inside her finally snap. Two weeks of anger, irritation, exhaustion—everything exploded at once.
Dmitry lay beside her, buried in his pillow. Arina turned to him, grabbed his shoulder, and shook him.
“Dmitry! Get up!”
He opened his eyes, blinking sleepily.
“What?”
“Your mother just barged into our bedroom! Without knocking! She woke me up!”
“Well… she wanted to call us to breakfast…”
“I don’t want breakfast!” Arina screamed. “I want to sleep! Do you understand?! Sleep!”
She jumped out of bed, threw on her robe, and stormed into the kitchen. Elena Anatolyevna stood at the stove, stirring porridge.
“Arina, sit down, please. The porridge is getting cold.”
“I’m not going to live on your mother’s schedule!” Arina shouted, looking at Dmitry as he followed her in. “This is my home, not her barracks!”
Her mother-in-law froze with the spoon in her hand. Dmitry blinked, not expecting such a reaction.
“Arina, calm down…”
“I won’t!” Arina spun on him. “For two weeks I’ve been putting up with this nightmare! Two weeks living by a schedule that was forced on me—in my own home!”
“Mom is just trying to help…”
“Help?” Arina laughed hysterically. “She isn’t helping—she’s dictating! Ordering! Controlling!”
Dmitry stepped toward her and tried to take her hand. Arina jerked away.
“Don’t touch me! You’re on her side! You always have been!”
“I’m not on anyone’s side…”
“You’re lying!” Arina yelled. “You’re afraid to defend me! Afraid of conflict with your mom!”
Elena Anatolyevna finally came to herself and turned to Arina.
“Arina, how dare you speak to me like that! I’m older than you!”
“I don’t care!” Arina stepped toward her. “You turned my home into a prison! I’m not living by your rules!”
“These aren’t rules—they’re order!”
“This is dictatorship!” Arina was practically screaming. “And I’m done tolerating it!”
She turned to her husband and jabbed a finger into his chest.
“Listen carefully, Dmitry. Either your mother stops forcing her routine on us and lives here like a guest—or she moves out. There is no third option.”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum?” Dmitry went pale.
“Yes. I am. I can’t live like this anymore.”
“But she’s my mom!”
“And this is my home! Our home! We pay for this apartment, and I have the right to live here the way I want!”
Elena Anatolyevna stood there with her lips pressed tight. Her face flushed; her hands trembled.
“Dima, do you hear how she’s talking to me?”
He looked from his mother to his wife, at a loss.
“Mom… maybe we really should… change the approach a little?”
“Change the approach?” Elena Anatolyevna drew herself up. “I’m trying to help you live correctly—and neither of you appreciates me!”
“We do, Mom, but…”
“No ‘but’!” Elena Anatolyevna ripped off her apron and threw it on the table. “If you don’t need my help, say it outright!”
“We don’t,” Arina said calmly.
Her mother-in-law froze, staring.
“What did you say?”
“We don’t need your help. We managed for three years without it. We’ll manage again.”
Elena Anatolyevna turned and went to her room, slamming the door. Dmitry remained in the kitchen with Arina. She was breathing hard, trying to calm down.
“You went too far,” Dmitry said quietly.
“No. I said what I should’ve said two weeks ago.”
“She’s my mother, Arishka…”
“I know. But this is our home. And I’m not living in it like I’m in the army.”
Arina went back to the bedroom and lay down. Her hands shook from the nerves. Tears rose to her eyes, but she held them back. She didn’t want to cry. She just wanted to be alone.
For the next two days, Elena Anatolyevna behaved perfectly. She got up quietly and didn’t knock on the bedroom door. No mandatory breakfasts and dinners. No orders. She sat in her room and came out only when necessary. In the kitchen, she cooked for herself, ate in silence, cleaned up in silence.
Arina enjoyed the quiet. She could finally sleep in. Eat breakfast when she wanted. Watch TV whenever she wanted. The home became a home again, not a barracks.
Dmitry walked around gloomy, barely speaking to his wife. Arina understood he was offended—but she wasn’t going to apologize. She believed she had done the right thing.
On the third day, in the morning, Arina woke to the familiar knocking on the door.
“Dmitry! Arina! Up! Breakfast in half an hour!”
Arina sat bolt upright. She checked the time. Seven o’clock. Elena Anatolyevna was back to her old behavior.
Arina got up, threw on her robe, and went out of the bedroom. Her mother-in-law was in the kitchen setting the table.
“Elena Anatolyevna, we agreed…”
“We didn’t agree on anything,” the woman cut her off. “I just gave you time to calm down. But there must be order in the home. Otherwise everything falls apart.”
“Nothing is going to fall apart!”
“It will. You live however you feel like. That’s wrong.”
Arina clenched her fists. She understood talking wouldn’t help. Her mother-in-law wouldn’t change. The two-day peace had only been a tactical pause—an attempt to wait out the conflict.
Arina turned, went into Elena Anatolyevna’s room, pulled out a suitcase from the closet, and started packing her mother-in-law’s things. Clothes, shoes, cosmetics—fast and decisively.
Elena Anatolyevna rushed in and saw her packing.
“What are you doing?!”
“Packing your things,” Arina replied calmly.
“What right do you have?!”
“Every right. This is my home.”
“Dmitry!” the mother-in-law screamed. “Dmitry, come here!”
Dmitry ran in, saw his wife with the suitcase.
“Arina, what are you doing?”
“Packing your mother’s things. She’s moving out.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“No. I’m simply doing what I warned you I would do. Your mother hasn’t changed—so it’s time for her to leave.”
“Arina, she’s my mom! She has nowhere to go!”
“She has options. A hotel, a rented room, a hostel. There are plenty.”
“You can’t throw her out onto the street!”
“I can,” Arina snapped the suitcase shut. “And I am.”
She pulled out her phone and called a taxi. It would be at the building in twenty minutes. Elena Anatolyevna stood pale, hands clenched.
“Dmitry, are you going to let her do this to me?”
Dmitry said nothing, looking from his mother to his wife. Arina carried the suitcase into the entryway and set it by the door.
“Fifteen minutes. Elena Anatolyevna, get ready.”
“I’m not going!” the mother-in-law shouted. “This is abuse!”
“These are the consequences of your behavior,” Arina said coldly.
Dmitry stepped toward his wife.
“Arina, stop! You’re being insane! Mom is in a terrible situation! She has nowhere to go!”
“She should’ve thought of that before turning our home into a barracks.”
“I’m your husband! I’m asking you!”
Arina turned to Dmitry and looked him in the eyes.
“And I’m your wife. And for the last two weeks you ignored me. You didn’t defend me. You told me to endure it. Now it’s my turn to set conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Either your mother leaves right now, or you both leave. Choose. I don’t need a spineless man.”
Dmitry went white and took a step back.
“You… you can’t say that…”
“I can. I’m tired, Dmitry. Tired of living by someone else’s rules in my own home. Tired of you not standing on my side. So choose. Right now.”
Dmitry stood there, mouth slightly open. Elena Anatolyevna stared at her son, waiting for him to defend her. But he stayed silent.
A horn sounded from below. Arina opened the apartment door.
“The taxi is here. Elena Anatolyevna—goodbye.”
Her mother-in-law grabbed the suitcase and walked out. At the threshold, she turned around.
“Dmitry… are you coming with me?”
He didn’t move. Elena Anatolyevna choked back a sob, turned away, and walked toward the elevator. The apartment door closed.
Arina looked at her husband.
“Now it’s your turn. Are you staying or leaving?”
“I… I don’t understand…”
“You do. You chose your mother, not me. For two weeks you were on her side. You didn’t defend me. You told me to endure it. That means you’re more comfortable with her than with me.”
“Arishka, don’t say stupid things…”
“This isn’t stupid. It’s the truth. And if you’re not ready to stand by me, you don’t belong here.”
Dmitry blinked a few times. Then he slowly went to the bedroom, took out a sports bag, and started packing. Arina watched from the hallway without stopping him. Ten minutes later, he came out with the bag.
“Do you really want this?”
“Yes,” Arina nodded.
“Fine,” Dmitry put on his jacket. “Then goodbye.”
The door slammed. Arina was alone in the apartment. She went into the kitchen and sat at the table. Silence—total, absolute silence.
She sat staring out the window. Inside, there was emptiness. No relief, no joy—just emptiness. But there was no regret either. She knew she’d done the right thing. She picked up her phone and called work to say she wouldn’t be coming in today.
Arina went to the bedroom, lay down, and closed her eyes. For the first time in two weeks she could sleep as long as she wanted. No one would knock at seven. No one would force her to eat porridge. No one would dictate rules.
She fell asleep and didn’t wake until noon. Rested, refreshed. She got up, made coffee, and sat in the kitchen with her cup. Outside, the sun was shining; the city was living its life. Arina watched the street as she sipped her coffee.
For the first time in a long time, she felt truly free—free in her own home, which belonged only to her again