Natalya stood at the window and watched her husband, Alexey, and his mother step out of the elevator with heavy grocery bags. They were deep in discussion, and by her mother-in-law’s sharp gestures it was obvious—once again, the topic was Natalya. Lidiya Petrovna pointed toward their apartment on the third floor, shook her head, and pressed her lips together in that familiar way. After seven years of marriage, Natalya could read that face like printed text.
Back when she and Alexey had just married, life felt easier. He’d been attentive and romantic; they could talk for hours about anything under the sun. His mother had kept her distance in the beginning too, limiting herself to polite holiday visits. But little by little, Lidiya Petrovna started showing up more and more often.
First she came “to help with renovations,” because Natalya worked late at a marketing agency and “young people need support.” Then she began cooking dinner for them—“Natashenka is so tired, how could she possibly cook?” After that came the advice: how to keep house, what furniture to buy, how to plan their vacation. And for the past six months she had basically moved into their living room “temporarily,” while, allegedly, the heating system in her own home was being replaced.
“Lyosha, your wife is out late again,” Lidiya Petrovna’s voice floated in from the entryway. “Normal women run a household, not wander around offices. And she…”
Natalya stepped away from the window. She didn’t need to hear the rest. She already knew what was coming—another serving of pointed hints about how she was doing everything “wrong.” She worked too much. She spent too little time at home. She dressed “inappropriately.” She talked to “suspicious” people. There was always a new reason to find fault.
“Oh, look—our hard worker is finally home,” Lidiya Petrovna said, not even looking up as she started sorting the bags. “Lyosha, help me carry this to the kitchen. Some people wouldn’t lift a finger if their life depended on it.”
Alexey glanced at Natalya with an apologetic look and silently took the bags. He always stayed quiet when his mother launched into her jabs—pretended he didn’t hear, changed the subject, let it pass.
“How was work?” he asked, walking by.
“Fine. And you?”
“Worn out. I’m going to eat and then watch TV.”
And that was exactly what happened. Half an hour later Alexey was sunk into his armchair in front of the television, beer in hand, flipping through channels. Lidiya Petrovna ruled the kitchen, occasionally tossing out comments about how people should live and what “normal wives” do.
Natalya went into the bedroom and sat down at her computer. She needed to finish a presentation for tomorrow’s meeting, but she couldn’t focus. The TV droned through the wall, dishes clattered in the kitchen, and one thought kept spinning in her head: When will this end? When will I stop feeling like a visitor in my own home?
The next day after work, Natalya decided to stop by the grocery store near their building. In the checkout line ahead of her stood a man she didn’t know, holding only a carton of milk and a loaf of bread. When it was their turn, the cashier announced the terminal was down—cash only.
“I only have a card,” the man said, looking helpless.
“I’ve got cash,” Natalya replied, handing over bills. “I’ll cover it.”
“Thank you, but I can’t just—”
“Oh, come on,” she waved it off. “It’s milk and bread, not a Mercedes.”
The man smiled, embarrassed but grateful.
“Then I’ll definitely pay you back,” he said. “I live in the next entrance—apartment 45.”
“Natalya,” she answered. “Apartment 38.”
“Igor. And really—thank you.”
They left the store together, and Igor walked her to her entrance. He’d moved in a month ago, he said, worked for an IT company, lived alone.
“By the way,” Natalya remembered, “is it you who smokes on the balcony? The smoke drifts right into our windows.”
Igor flushed.
“Yeah… that’s me. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I won’t do it anymore.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I just can’t stand cigarette smoke.”
They parted ways, and Natalya went upstairs. At home everything looked the same as always: Alexey in his chair facing the TV, Lidiya Petrovna in the kitchen wearing her displeased expression like a uniform.
“Where’ve you been?” Alexey asked without taking his eyes off the screen.
“At the store.”
“Back to wandering around shops,” her mother-in-law muttered. “There’s a mountain of work at home, and she’s off entertaining herself.”
Natalya didn’t answer. She went to the bedroom and lay down, staring at the ceiling. Once, she’d dreamed of a family that felt warm and safe—shared plans, shared interests, a home that felt like a refuge. Instead she’d ended up living with three strangers under one roof.
A few days later, coming home from work, she ran into Igor by the mailboxes.
“Oh, hi!” he said, brightening. “I’ve been meaning to come by and pay you back for the milk.”
“Forget the milk,” she said.
“Then let me at least buy you coffee as a thank-you.”
Natalya started to refuse—then thought, Why, exactly? At home the same scene awaited her: husband in a chair, mother-in-law in the kitchen armed with complaints.
“Alright,” she agreed. “But not for long.”
They went to a small café nearby. Igor turned out to be genuinely interesting—he talked about books, travel, his work. They discovered they both loved Agatha Christie mysteries and the Strugatsky brothers’ sci-fi.
“Do you do any sports?” he asked. “I recently started power walking—go to Sokolniki Park on weekends.”
“I walk sometimes too,” Natalya said. “Usually alone. My husband doesn’t like anything active.”
Igor nodded and didn’t push for details. They talked for nearly two hours, and Natalya realized she hadn’t enjoyed a conversation that much in ages.
At home, Alexey met her with a sour face.
“Where were you? Mom cooked dinner and you weren’t here.”
“At a café.”
“With who?”
“With the neighbor from apartment 45. We met at the store.”
Lidiya Petrovna appeared in the doorway.
“Well, look at that—going to cafés with neighbors while your husband sits here hungry.”
“Alexey isn’t helpless,” Natalya said evenly. “He can reheat dinner himself.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is!” her mother-in-law snapped. “The husband should warm his own food while the wife runs around cafés!”
Natalya walked into the bedroom without responding. She was exhausted from defending every step she took.
In the following weeks she bumped into Igor a few more times—near the building, at the store. They’d chat briefly, and those little encounters slowly became her breathing space. Igor didn’t lecture her or criticize her; he listened. He understood.
One day, she tried again with her husband.
“Lyosha… maybe we could go somewhere? A theater show, a restaurant—anything. We haven’t gone out in months.”
“I don’t feel like it. I’m tired after work. I want to rest at home.”
“Then let’s at least walk in the park. It would do you good.”
Alexey shot her an irritated look.
“What ‘good’? I’m fine. And walking isn’t rest—it’s effort.”
“But we don’t do anything together anymore…”
“What are we supposed to do? I work, earn money, come home, eat, watch TV. That’s a normal life.”
“And what about us?”
“What about us? We’re married, we live together—everything’s normal.”
From the kitchen, Lidiya Petrovna couldn’t resist joining in.
“Alexey is right. Theaters and restaurants are a waste of money. Home is best—family. Besides, she’ll go to the theater and there are men everywhere…”
Something inside Natalya boiled over.
“Lidiya Petrovna, this is a conversation between me and my husband.”
“And who am I—an outsider? I’m his mother. I have the right to speak.”
“You do,” Natalya said. “But not in our bedroom.”
“See?” Alexey shook his head. “Instant drama. Why go anywhere if we can’t even talk peacefully at home?”
Natalya finally understood it was pointless. She grabbed her sports jacket and left.
In the park she unexpectedly ran into Igor. He was striding along in headphones, walking fast.
“Natalya!” he called, smiling and waving. “What a coincidence!”
“Hi,” she said—and for the first time that day, she actually smiled.
“Out for a walk too? Want company?”
They followed the paths together, and Natalya felt herself loosen, breathe easier. Igor told funny stories, showed her quiet corners of the park she’d never noticed.
“You look a little sad,” he said gently. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“I get it,” he said. “Work, home, family… it all lands on you.”
Natalya blinked, surprised at how accurately he’d guessed.
“How do you know?”
“It’s in your eyes. My sister went through the same thing until she divorced. Now she says she feels reborn.”
They walked for nearly three hours. With Igor, time disappeared. He didn’t pressure her or instruct her—he simply stayed beside her, warm and steady.
At home, Alexey was waiting, irritated again.
“Where were you?”
“In the park.”
“Alone?”
Natalya hesitated for a beat.
“No. I ran into someone.”
“The same neighbor?”
“Yes.”
Lidiya Petrovna popped out of the living room immediately, as if she’d been waiting.
“There it is! Strolling through parks with men! Alexey, do you see what’s happening?”
“Mom, stop,” Alexey said, exhausted.
“How can I stop? Your wife spends time with strange men and you’re silent!”
“I was just walking,” Natalya tried.
“Decent women don’t go walking with other men!”
“And who should I walk with if my husband refuses?” Natalya shot back.
“You should walk alone! Or stay home!”
Alexey turned the TV up louder, clearly refusing to get involved. In that moment, Natalya understood he would never be on her side.
Over the next months, her meetings with Igor became regular. They walked in the park, browsed bookstores, sat in cafés discussing what they’d read. Natalya realized she was looking forward to those meetings—realized, too, that Igor was becoming more important to her than her husband. With him she could be herself, without apologizing for every word or bracing for the next accusation.
At home, the atmosphere only grew tighter. Lidiya Petrovna settled in completely—brought more of her things, rearranged furniture, reorganized the kitchen, criticized Natalya over every detail.
“Alexey, talk to your wife,” she declared one evening. “She’s completely out of control—always at cafés, always at the park, never home. The house is neglected, there’s no order.”
“Neglected?” Natalya snapped. “It’s clean!”
“This is your idea of clean?” Lidiya Petrovna ran a finger along the windowsill. “Dust. And when was the last time you washed the refrigerator?”
“Maybe it’s time for you to go back to your place,” Natalya said tightly. “Your repairs must be finished by now.”
“Back home?” her mother-in-law looked genuinely shocked. “Why would I go? I’m needed here! Who will look after Alexey if you’re always gone?”
“He’s an adult,” Natalya said. “He can look after himself.”
“Oh sure,” Lidiya Petrovna scoffed. “Men need care and attention. And what do you give him? Complaints!”
Natalya looked to her husband, waiting—hoping—he’d say something. Alexey stayed silent, sipping beer and staring at the screen.
That night Natalya couldn’t sleep. She lay beside her snoring husband and thought about how her life had shrunk into survival. Work all day. Come home to coldness and reproaches. Sleep. Repeat.
And then there was Igor—bright islands in the gray routine. He asked what she thought. He laughed at her jokes. He remembered what she liked and what she didn’t. With him, she felt alive.
One day after a walk, sitting in a café, Igor reached across the table and took her hand.
“Natalya… I need to say something. What we have—our conversations—matter to me. You’ve become… someone special.”
She didn’t pull her hand away.
“You are to me too.”
“I know you’re married,” Igor said softly, “but I can’t pretend I don’t feel anything. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Natalya stayed quiet, staring at their joined hands. She had fallen too—she’d simply been afraid to admit it.
“I’m not asking for an answer right now,” Igor added. “I just needed you to know.”
“Thank you for being honest,” she whispered.
That evening, Natalya went into the bedroom and pulled two large suitcases from the closet. Calmly, methodically, she packed Alexey’s things: shirts, trousers, underwear, socks. Then she moved to the living room and packed Lidiya Petrovna’s belongings as well—dresses, slippers, makeup, medication.
Alexey and his mother returned from the store like always, talking loudly. Natalya heard them coming up the stairs and went to the door.
The bell rang. She opened it and, with a bright, almost cheerful smile, set the suitcases down in front of her husband.
“Here are your things—and your mother’s,” she said lightly. “You’re moving out.”
Alexey and Lidiya Petrovna froze in the doorway, not understanding what they were seeing.
“What does that mean?” Alexey managed at last.
“It means I’m done living three people’s life under one roof,” Natalya answered. “You and your mother already live separately from me—making decisions without me, ignoring what I need. So let it be official. Live separately.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Lidiya Petrovna tried to push past her, but Natalya blocked the way.
“No,” Natalya said, steady. “I’ve finally come to my senses. I’m tired of being a guest in my own home. Tired of explaining myself for every step. Tired of living with people who don’t care about me.”
“Natalya, let’s talk calmly,” Alexey tried.
“Calmly? We’ve talked calmly for five years. Where did it get us? You turned into a man glued to the couch, and your mother behaves like she owns my apartment.”
“This is family!” Lidiya Petrovna protested. “You have no right!”
“I do,” Natalya said. “I bought this apartment before the marriage. I decide who lives here.”
“You can’t throw us out,” Alexey said, stunned.
“I can,” she replied. “And I am. You’re grown adults. Go stay at your mother’s. I’m not burying myself in this marriage anymore.”
She set the suitcases out onto the landing.
“Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce. You can come for anything else when I’m home.”
Then she closed the door and leaned her back against it. Angry voices rose from the hallway, but gradually they moved away.
Natalya walked through the apartment and inhaled the silence like fresh air. For the first time in years, she was alone in her own home. She opened every window, turned on the music she loved, and brewed herself real tea—good tea, the kind she never bothered with when she was always trying to please someone else.
The next day she met Igor near the entrance.
“How are you?” he asked, studying her face.
“Good,” she said. “I’m getting divorced.”
He didn’t pretend to be shocked or pry.
“That’s a hard decision.”
“No,” Natalya answered quietly. “Living in a marriage that felt like a life sentence—that was hard.”
“If you need support,” Igor said, “I’m here.”
“I know,” she said. “Thank you.”
The divorce went through without scandal. Alexey tried to return, promised his mother wouldn’t interfere anymore, but Natalya didn’t budge. She had spent too many years enduring and hoping things would change. People don’t change unless they truly want to.
Igor didn’t rush her. He understood she needed time to recover, to sort through her feelings. They kept meeting—walking, talking, living slowly back into joy—without him pushing for anything more than she was ready for.
With Igor, Natalya began to bloom again. She remembered how to laugh, how to dream, how to make plans. They fit each other easily: shared interests, similar values, the same vision of what “home” should feel like. No one was surprised when Igor eventually proposed—and she said yes.
As it turned out, her life wasn’t ending at all.
It was only beginning.