Victoria stood on the porch of her house and looked out at the garden. The apple trees had already shed their leaves, preparing for winter. The paths were neatly swept, the flowerbeds covered for the cold season. She had bought this house three years ago, after receiving an inheritance from her grandmother.
A two-story home in a quiet part of town. Not huge, but spacious—four bedrooms, a large kitchen, a living room with a fireplace. A ten-are plot with a garden and a gazebo. Victoria had fallen in love with the place at first sight.
She had poured her soul—and a lot of money—into it. She picked the bathroom tiles herself, chose the wallpaper for the bedrooms, selected the living room furniture. She planted flowerbeds, put in roses, and set up a relaxation area with a swing. Every corner of the house had been created by her hands.
In the evenings, she loved sitting in the living room with a book, listening to the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. It was her world, her shelter, her private space.
And then Alexey came into her life.
They met at a corporate party through mutual acquaintances. Alexey worked as an engineer at a large company—calm, steady, with a good sense of humor. Victoria felt drawn to him right away.
They dated for a few months. Alexey would come over to Victoria’s, they’d stroll through the garden, have dinner on the veranda, watch movies in the living room. He admired her home and said he had never seen a place so cozy.
“You’ve created a real paradise,” he would say, hugging her on the garden swing. “It’s so peaceful and good here.”
Victoria would smile. She liked sharing that warmth with someone who understood her.
Half a year later, Alexey proposed. Victoria said yes without hesitation—she loved him and believed they would be happy together.
They had a modest wedding, only the closest people. Victoria’s parents—Elena Mikhailovna and Sergey Andreevich—came from a neighboring city. From Alexey’s side, his parents—Nina Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich—were there, along with his brother and sister-in-law.
After the wedding, Alexey moved into Victoria’s house. He brought two boxes of things and a few books. Victoria cleared space for him in the closet and made room in the bathroom. Everything seemed smooth.
The first weeks of living together were happy. They ate breakfast in the kitchen, spent evenings by the fireplace, planned weekends. Alexey helped around the house—mowed the lawn, fixed the fence, raked leaves.
But soon the family visits began.
Nina Petrovna called on Saturday morning.
“Lyosha, Dad and I want to stop by. See how you’ve settled in.”
“Sure, Mom, come,” Alexey agreed.
Victoria overheard the conversation and frowned. She had planned a quiet weekend—reading, watching a series. But she didn’t object. A mother- and father-in-law are her husband’s parents; they should be received properly.
Nina Petrovna and Viktor Ivanovich arrived by lunch. Her mother-in-law immediately started inspecting the house.
“Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed, walking through the rooms. “Victoria, you have golden hands! To set up a home like this!”
“Thank you, Nina Petrovna.”
“And what a yard! Viktor, look how even the lawn is! And what a cute gazebo!”
Viktor Ivanovich just nodded silently, hands behind his back, examining the property.
Victoria set the table and served homemade cutlets with mashed potatoes. The guests ate with appetite, praising the food.
“Lyosha, you’re lucky with your wife!” Nina Petrovna declared. “She cooks well, and the house is gorgeous!”
Alexey smiled.
“Yes, I’m lucky.”
After lunch, his parents left. Victoria let out a sigh of relief.
But it was only the first visit. Two weeks later, Nina Petrovna called again.
“Lyosha, Dad and I will stop by again. Is Sunday convenient?”
“Of course, Mom.”
Victoria kept quiet. She understood her husband couldn’t refuse his parents.
That Sunday, her in-laws came again. This time they brought Alexey’s brother—Dmitry—along with his wife and two children.
“We thought it would be more fun with the whole family!” Nina Petrovna announced as she walked in.
Victoria froze in the doorway. She hadn’t prepared for that many guests. There wasn’t enough food in the fridge.
“Don’t worry, Vika, we brought lots with us!” her mother-in-law assured her, walking into the kitchen with bags.
The children raced around the house, touching things, jumping on the sofa. Victoria tried to stay calm, but irritation was building inside.
The guests stayed until evening. The kids spilled juice on the living room carpet, broke a rose branch in the garden, knocked over a flowerpot in the entryway. Victoria cleaned up silently, smiling through clenched teeth.
When the relatives finally left, Victoria sank onto the sofa.
“I’m tired,” she said quietly.
“Oh, come on, it was just one day,” Alexey waved her off. “At least it was fun.”
“Fun? I spent the whole day cooking and cleaning!”
“But Mom helped…”
“Your mom brought groceries, that’s all. I cooked, set the table, and cleaned.”
Alexey shrugged.
“You’re exaggerating. You’re just tired. Rest—tomorrow will feel easier.”
Victoria said nothing. Arguing was pointless.
From that day on, the visits became regular. Every weekend someone came. Sometimes his parents, sometimes his brother with his family, sometimes distant relatives from Alexey’s side.
Victoria turned into a permanent hostess. She cooked, set tables, cleaned, washed, changed bed linens after guests. Her weekends became an endless marathon of cooking and cleaning.
Summer was even worse. Alexey’s relatives took a liking to the yard for barbecues. Every Saturday a whole crowd arrived—his parents, his brother’s family, cousins, sisters, their children.
“Victoria, do you have a grill?” Viktor Ivanovich would ask.
“Yes, in the shed.”
“Great! Then we’ll do shashlik!”
Victoria made salads, chopped vegetables, marinated meat. The guests ate, drank, laughed. And she ran back and forth between the kitchen and the veranda, serving one thing after another.
“Vika, where’s the ketchup?” Nina Petrovna would shout.
“Vika, can we have more bread?”
“Vika, do you have ice for the drinks?”
By evening, Victoria could barely stand. The yard was covered in trash—plastic plates, bottles, napkins. She gathered it into bags, washed dishes, wiped tables.
Alexey helped light the grill and cook the meat. That was it. The rest of the time he sat with his relatives, talking and laughing.
“Lyosha, help me at least wash the dishes,” Victoria would ask.
“Later, Vik, I’m tired. I’ll wash them tomorrow.”
Tomorrow never came. Victoria washed them.
She began to hate weekends. She started dreaming of being alone in the house for at least a day.
In mid-December, when Victoria thought the worst was behind her, Nina Petrovna called.
“Vika, hi! So—getting ready for New Year’s?”
“Hello, Nina Petrovna. Not really yet. It’s still early.”
“How is it early? It’s already mid-December! You have to plan! So I thought—we should all celebrate together! Your house is big, there’s room for everyone!”
Victoria went still.
“What do you mean—all together?”
“Our whole family! Me and Viktor Ivanovich, Dima with Lena and the kids, Aunt Sveta with Uncle Kolya, their children will come too… About fifteen people total! Can you imagine how fun it’ll be?”
“Nina Petrovna, but I…”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll help you with everything! I’ve even made a menu already! Here, write it down…”
Her mother-in-law began dictating the list: Olivier salad, herring under a fur coat, aspic, roasted duck, French-style potatoes, cold cuts, appetizers…
“Nina Petrovna, wait…”
“Yes, yes, write it down! And we need a cabbage pie—I like it. And a cake, of course. You know how to bake cakes, right?”
“I…”
“Perfect! Then it’s settled! We’ll come on December 30, and we’ll leave… well, let’s say January 8. The holidays are long, why rush!”
Victoria felt her head spin.
“Nina Petrovna, I didn’t agree to that…”
“Oh, Vika, don’t be modest! We’re family! All right, I have more calls to make—need to inform everyone. Kisses!”
Her mother-in-law hung up.
Victoria stood in the kitchen with the phone in her hand and couldn’t believe what had just happened. Fifteen people. For ten days. In her house.
That evening, Victoria tried to calm down. She brewed tea and sat on the sofa, thinking how to talk to her husband properly.
She didn’t want a scandal. But she also didn’t want to turn into a servant for Alexey’s entire family over the New Year holidays.
She took out a notebook and started writing down her thoughts. She needed to clearly formulate what she was unhappy with.
First: no one asked her. Nina Petrovna announced her decision as if it were a done deal.
Second: fifteen people for ten days was a huge burden—cooking, cleaning, laundry. She would be working nonstop.
Third: it was her house—the house she bought and created herself. She had the right to decide how and with whom she spent time there.
Victoria closed the notebook. She knew Alexey wouldn’t understand. For him, family was sacred. But she had to try to explain.
Alexey came home from work around eight. He was tired but cheerful.
“Hi,” he said, kissing Victoria. “What’s for dinner?”
“Casserole in the oven. Lyosha, we need to talk.”
“About what?” he asked, heading to the bathroom to wash his hands.
“About New Year’s.”
“Oh, right!” He brightened. “Mom called—said she discussed everything with you. Great idea, isn’t it? The whole family together!”
Victoria sat down across from him.
“Lyosha, I don’t want to celebrate New Year’s with your relatives.”
Alexey looked at her in surprise.
“Why?”
“Because no one asked me. Your mother just called and announced that everyone would come.”
“So what? We’re family.”
“I wanted to spend the holidays just with you. Quietly. Calmly. No fuss.”
Alexey frowned.
“Vik, are you serious? New Year’s is a family holiday. Of course we’ll celebrate with relatives.”
“With relatives—yes. But not with fifteen people!”
“It’s not fifteen. Mom exaggerates. Ten or twelve at most.”
“Lyosha, it’s not about the number! It’s that I’ll turn into a maid! I’ll be cooking, setting tables, cleaning up after everyone—ten days in a row!”
“You’re exaggerating. Mom said she’d help.”
“Your mom never helps! She comes, sits down, and gives orders. And I do everything!”
Alexey leaned back in his chair.
“So you don’t like my family?”
“I didn’t say that! I’m saying I don’t want my house to turn into a hotel for your relatives!”
“It’s my house too! I live here!”
Victoria stood up.
“You live here. But I bought the house. I furnished it. I pay for it. And I’m the one who gets to decide who lives here.”
“Wow,” Alexey snapped. “So I’m just a temporary guest here, huh?”
“Don’t twist my words! I just want you to ask me before inviting a crowd of people into my home!”
Alexey stood up from the table.
“You know what? I’m not discussing this. My family is coming for New Year’s, and that’s final. If you don’t like it—that’s your problem.”
He left the kitchen. Victoria remained standing there with clenched fists, her hands trembling with anger.
She realized the conversation had failed. Alexey hadn’t even tried to understand her.
Over the next few days, Victoria kept thinking. She tried to find a compromise, but she couldn’t see one. Either she agreed and became a servant, or she refused and ruined her relationship with her husband.
She called her mother.
“Mom, I have a problem…”
Elena Mikhailovna listened carefully.
“Sweetheart, you have to protect your boundaries. This is your home, your space. No one has the right to dictate terms to you.”
“But Lyosha doesn’t understand…”
“Then explain again. Clearly and firmly. No hysterics, but no giving in either. You have a right to your own holidays.”
“And if he doesn’t agree?”
Her mother was silent for a moment.
“Then decide what matters more—keeping a relationship with a person who doesn’t respect you, or keeping yourself.”
Victoria hung up and stared out the window for a long time. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind.
That evening she spoke to Alexey again.
“We need to finish this conversation.”
“About what?” he asked without looking up from his phone.
“About New Year’s. I’m serious—I don’t want your relatives coming.”
Alexey sighed.
“Vik, we already talked about this.”
“No, you just declared they were coming. You didn’t hear me.”
“Because there’s nothing to hear! That’s my family!”
“And this is my house!”
Alexey finally looked up.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just my relatives. We’ll celebrate together. New Year’s is a family holiday.”
“I’m not against a family holiday. I’m against being turned into a maid!”
“No one is turning you into anything! We just need to host guests—feed them, accommodate them! Any normal wife does that!”
Victoria pressed her lips together.
“So any normal wife… And I’m not normal because I don’t want to serve fifteen people for ten days?”
“You’re exaggerating again! No one is demanding you serve anyone! Just celebrate together!”
“Lyosha, do you understand what it means? Cooking three times a day. Cleaning up after everyone. Laundry. Making sure everyone is comfortable. That’s a huge amount of work!”
“So what? Working hard once a year for family isn’t a problem!”
“For your family! Not mine!”
“So my family is strangers to you?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You did! You clearly showed you don’t need my parents!”
Victoria took a deep breath. The conversation was going nowhere. Alexey wasn’t hearing her—he was only defending his position.
“All right,” she said quietly. “Let me be direct. I don’t have to put up with your relatives in my house. Decide today who you’re living with—me or them.”
Alexey froze, eyes widening.
“What?”
“That’s what I said. Either your relatives don’t come, or you move out with them.”
“You… you’re giving me an ultimatum?”
“Call it whatever you want. But I’m not turning my home into a dormitory.”
Alexey stood there, processing it. His face reddened.
“So you’re making me choose between you and my family?”
“No. I’m asking you to respect my boundaries. But if you think your family’s right to throw a holiday in my home matters more than my comfort—then yes, you’ll have to choose.”
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Alexey clenched his fists.
“Fine. I’ll think about it.”
He turned and left the room. Victoria heard him go upstairs, enter the spare bedroom, and close the door.
She remained standing in the middle of the living room, her hands shaking, her heart pounding. She didn’t know if she’d done the right thing. But she knew for sure—if she stayed silent, she would lose herself.
Victoria went to the kitchen, put the kettle on, poured herself tea, and sat by the window. Outside, snow was falling, covering the garden with a white blanket. Beautiful. Calm.
She thought about what would happen if Alexey chose his family. Divorce? Most likely. Would it hurt? Yes. But it was bearable.
The main thing was not to lose her home. Not to lose herself. Not to accept the role of a servant just to keep a marriage.
Hours passed. Alexey didn’t come down. Victoria went to bed alone in the first-floor bedroom. She couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, listening for sounds. But upstairs it was quiet.
In the morning she woke up early. Alexey was still upstairs. Victoria made breakfast and drank coffee, waiting.
Alexey came down around eleven. He looked exhausted and rumpled. He sat at the table and poured himself coffee.
“I’ve made a decision,” he said, not looking at Victoria.
She froze.
“And what is it?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m used to being close to my family. If you can’t accept them, then we’re not meant to be.”
Victoria nodded slowly. She expected it, but it still stung.
“All right. When are you moving out?”
“Today. I’ll pack my things and go.”
“Okay.”
They sat in silence, finishing their coffee. Then Alexey got up and went upstairs. Victoria heard him opening closets, pulling things out.
She didn’t go up. She didn’t try to persuade him. The decision had been made, and it had to be accepted.
An hour later Alexey came down with two suitcases and a backpack.
“I took only what I need. I’ll pick up the rest later.”
“Fine. Let me know when you’re coming—I’ll try not to be home.”
He nodded. They stood in the entryway, looking at each other. There was so much left unsaid, but neither spoke.
“Well… bye,” Alexey said, opening the door.
“Bye.”
He left. Victoria closed the door and leaned against it. Tears came on their own, but she didn’t sob—she just stood there, crying quietly.
Then she wiped her face and went to the kitchen. She poured herself water, drank in big gulps, and looked at the clock. Noon. A whole day ahead.
Victoria didn’t know what to do with herself. She wandered through the house, peeking into rooms. Everything was in its place, but there was a sense of emptiness.
She went up to the bedroom where Alexey had slept. The closet was half-empty. His book lay on the nightstand. Victoria picked it up, flipped through it, and set it back down.
That evening the phone rang. Nina Petrovna.
Victoria stared at the name on the screen for a long time, then answered.
“Yes?”
“Victoria? It’s Nina Petrovna. Lyosha is here. He said you fought. What’s going on?”
“We broke up.”
“What do you mean, broke up?! Over what?!”
“Because I don’t want your whole family living in my house for ten days.”
Her mother-in-law fell silent, then exploded:
“Have you lost your mind?! You ruined a family over something so trivial?!”
“It’s not trivial to me. It’s about respecting my boundaries.”
“What boundaries?! We’re family! You’re obligated to host your husband’s relatives!”
“I’m not obligated to anyone. It’s my house, and I decide who lives here.”
“Selfish!” Nina Petrovna shouted. “You only think about yourself! Is that how normal wives behave?!”
“Normal wives respect themselves. And demand respect from others.”
“Ugh!” Her mother-in-law practically spat into the phone. “You’re a bad wife! Not family-minded! My son deserves better!”
“Maybe,” Victoria replied calmly. “That’s why we’re getting divorced.”
“Getting divorced?! You’re not even—”
“We will. I’m filing tomorrow. Goodbye, Nina Petrovna.”
Victoria ended the call and blocked her mother-in-law’s number.
The next day she went to a lawyer. She booked an appointment in advance and had thought everything through. The documents were ready—marriage certificate, passport, proof of home ownership.
The lawyer listened carefully.
“Any children?”
“No.”
“Any joint property?”
“No. I bought the house before the marriage. The car is mine too. He has his own car, registered in his name.”
“Then the divorce will be quick. Through the registry office—one month.”
“Good. Please handle it.”
Victoria signed the application and left the office. Outside, it was cold but sunny. The snow squeaked under her boots.
She felt a strange relief, as if a weight had slipped off her shoulders.
At home, Victoria called her parents.
“Mom, Dad—I’m divorcing Alexey.”
“Sweetheart, what happened?” Elena Mikhailovna asked anxiously.
Victoria told them the whole story. Her parents listened in silence.
“You did the right thing,” her father, Sergey Andreevich, said. “You can’t let people wipe their feet on you. Even if it’s your husband.”
“So you’re still coming for New Year’s, like we planned?” her mother asked.
“Of course. I’m waiting for you.”
“All right. Stay strong, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.”
Victoria hung up and smiled. Her parents had always supported her, always respected her choice.
Unlike Alexey.
Alexey called several times that week. Victoria declined. Then he started texting:
“Vik, let’s talk.”
“We can work this out.”
“Don’t divorce over something so silly.”
Victoria didn’t reply. She knew talking was pointless. Alexey wouldn’t change his mind—and neither would she.
One evening he came over. He rang the doorbell. Victoria opened the door.
“What do you want?”
“To talk. Please.”
She let him in. They went to the living room and sat on the sofa.
“Vik, I’ve been thinking… Maybe we rushed it,” Alexey began. “Maybe we should give each other one more chance.”
“Why?”
“Well… we love each other. Is it really worth destroying everything over one argument?”
“Lyosha, it’s not one argument. It’s respect. You don’t respect my boundaries. You don’t respect my right to decide what happens in my home.”
“I just wanted us to celebrate with family…”
“With your family. Without asking me. Without considering my opinion.”
Alexey lowered his head.
“I thought you’d be happy…”
“Happy to become a maid? Seriously?”
“I didn’t mean for you to take it that way…”
“But I did. Because that’s the reality. Every time your relatives come, I work nonstop. And you don’t even notice.”
Alexey looked up.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t notice.”
“Now you have. Too late.”
“Vik, give me a chance. I’ll change. I’ll help more. I’ll ask your opinion…”
“Lyosha, you won’t change. Because for you, family is sacred. You’ll always put your mother’s opinion above mine.”
“No! I swear!”
Victoria shook her head.
“When you had to choose between me and your mother—you chose her. That says a lot.”
“I didn’t choose her! I just didn’t understand why you were so категорична!”
“Because it’s my home. My life. And I have the right to live the way I want.”
Alexey was silent. Then he stood.
“All right. I get it. You won’t forgive me.”
“It’s not about forgiveness. It’s that we want different things. You want to live surrounded by relatives. I want quiet and peace. We’re incompatible.”
“So that’s it?”
“Yes. It’s over.”
Alexey nodded and headed for the door. At the threshold, he turned back.
“I’ll still come for my things. In a few days.”
“Let me know in advance.”
He left. Victoria closed the door and leaned against it. This time there were no tears—only exhaustion.
She went to the kitchen, brewed tea, and sat by the window, looking at the garden. New Year’s was coming soon. Her parents would arrive soon. They would celebrate the holiday the three of them—calmly and warmly.
Just the way she wanted.
On December 29 her parents arrived. Elena Mikhailovna and Sergey Andreevich brought treats, gifts, and a good mood.
“Sweetheart!” her mother hugged Victoria. “How are you?”
“I’m okay, Mom. I’m happy to see you.”
They settled into the guest bedroom. Victoria showed them around the house and walked them through the garden. Her parents admired everything.
“You did the right thing not giving in,” her father said. “It’s your home. You had the right to protect it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
On the 31st they cooked together. Her mother made salads, her father helped set the table. Victoria baked a pie and roasted chicken. They worked in sync—no rush, joking and laughing.
By evening the table was set. Not as abundant as Nina Petrovna demanded, but cozy and delicious.
They celebrated New Year’s the three of them, raising glasses of champagne.
“To a new life,” Victoria said.
“To a new life,” her parents echoed.
After the chimes, they sat in the living room by the fireplace, talking and reminiscing. Warm. Calm. No fuss, no shouting, no need to run to the kitchen every five minutes.
“How nice,” her mother said, leaning back on the sofa. “So cozy and quiet.”
“Yes,” Victoria agreed. “Exactly how I wanted to celebrate.”
Her father smiled.
“You made the right choice, daughter. The most important thing in life is being honest with yourself.”
The divorce was finalized at the end of January. Victoria received the certificate and felt a final sense of relief. That chapter was closed.
Alexey picked up the rest of his things in February. They met briefly—he took the boxes, nodded at her, and left. No words, no reproaches.
Victoria remained alone in her house. She walked through the rooms, savoring the silence and freedom. No one dictated how she should live. No one brought crowds of relatives into her home. No one turned her into a servant.
She sat by the fireplace with a book and felt happy—truly, deeply happy.
In spring she refreshed the living room—replaced the sofa, hung new paintings, bought a beautiful rug. She did everything herself, to her own taste, without anyone else’s advice or objections.
In summer she invited friends over for shashlik. They sat in the gazebo, drank wine, laughed. No chaos, no cooking for a crowd—just a pleasant evening with close people.
“You’re glowing,” one of her friends noticed. “Looks like the divorce did you good.”
“Yes,” Victoria nodded. “I finally got my life back.”
She looked at the garden, the house, and her friends around her. It was her life—one where she made the decisions. A life without toxic relatives, without a husband who didn’t respect her boundaries.
She was free. And happy.
And she didn’t regret her decision for a single second