Alexandra held her three-month-old son, Artyom, close to her chest and gently rocked him from side to side. The baby had been fussy for nearly half an hour, refusing to fall asleep after feeding. Behind her, the familiar creak of the floorboards announced that her mother-in-law had arrived with yet another piece of unsolicited advice.
“Alexandra, what are you doing?” Galina Petrovna asked in her usual disapproving tone. “You can’t keep holding a baby for so long. You’ll spoil him.”
“He just can’t fall asleep,” Alexandra replied without turning around, continuing to rock her son. “Maybe something is bothering him.”
“Nothing is bothering him!” her mother-in-law snapped, stepping closer until Alexandra could feel her breath against the back of her neck. “You simply don’t know how to put a child to sleep. In my day, we placed babies in their cribs and they learned to settle themselves. But you carry him around as if he were made of glass.”
Alexandra tightened her arms around Artyom and silently counted the seconds, hoping Galina Petrovna would finally leave. But the older woman clearly had no intention of ending the conversation.
“And just look at yourself,” she continued, walking around Alexandra and studying her critically from head to toe. “Your hair is a mess, and your robe is wrinkled. I don’t know how Petya can stand looking at a wife like that.”
“Petya understands that I have a newborn,” Alexandra said, finally turning to face her. She forced herself to keep her voice calm. “I sleep two hours a night.”
“Marina from the next building has twins, and she still manages to look like a queen,” Galina Petrovna replied, settling onto the sofa as if preparing for a long visit. “Her hair is always perfect, she wears makeup, and her clothes are neatly pressed. That is what a real woman looks like.”
Artyom finally became still in his mother’s arms. His breathing grew soft and even. Alexandra carefully lowered him into the crib, but her mother-in-law immediately jumped to her feet.
“What are you doing? Why are you putting him on his back?” Galina Petrovna demanded, leaning over the crib. “He could choke. Babies must sleep on their sides.”
“The doctor said sleeping on his back is safer,” Alexandra replied, stepping between the crib and her mother-in-law. “Those are the current medical recommendations.”
“What current recommendations?” Galina Petrovna scoffed. “I raised three children, and all of them survived perfectly well. You and your foolish internet advice are going to harm that child.”
The front door slammed shut. Pyotr had returned home.
Alexandra exhaled with relief, hoping her husband would finally support her. But when Pyotr saw his mother, he merely nodded tiredly and walked into the kitchen.
“Petya,” Galina Petrovna called after him, immediately turning her attention to her son, “you need to speak to your wife. She is raising the baby completely wrong. She carries him all day, ignores a proper feeding schedule…”
Pyotr silently poured himself a cup of tea without looking at Alexandra. She noticed the tension in his shoulders and the way his lips pressed tightly together. Still, he said nothing, pretending the conversation had nothing to do with him.
“And another thing,” Galina Petrovna continued in a theatrical whisper, “when are you planning to have a second child? Artyom needs a brother or sister. Alexandra is already twenty-eight. Time is running out.”
“Mom, please,” Pyotr finally said, though his words sounded more like a request for silence than an attempt to defend his wife.
“I should move in here,” Galina Petrovna suddenly declared. “Someone needs to keep an eye on your wife and the baby.”
Standing beside her son’s crib, Alexandra understood immediately what that would mean. It would be the end of any peace she still had.
Gathering all her strength, she walked into the kitchen and spoke sharply from the doorway.
“This apartment belongs to me. And I do not want to see you here every day, Galina Petrovna. So moving in is completely out of the question.”
Her mother-in-law glared at her furiously but did not argue. Still, Alexandra noticed a strange gleam in the woman’s eyes.
Several months later, an old acquaintance from an IT company offered Alexandra a small project involving updates to a mobile application.
“Sasha, I know you’re on maternity leave,” Maksim told her over the phone, “but the project is manageable. You can work from home whenever you have free time. The pay is good.”
Alexandra accepted without hesitation.
Her laptop returned to life on the kitchen table, and familiar lines of code began flowing across the screen. For the first time in months, Alexandra felt that she had control over at least one part of her life.
The peace did not last long.
Galina Petrovna appeared in the kitchen doorway just as Alexandra was debugging a particularly difficult section of the application.
“What is this?” her mother-in-law demanded. “The baby is crying in the other room, and you are sitting here playing with your little computer games.”
“Artyom is asleep,” Alexandra replied without taking her eyes off the screen. “And this is not a game. It is work.”
“What work?” Galina Petrovna asked, moving closer and looming over the table. “You are a mother. Your work is your son, your home, and your husband. Not this nonsense on a computer.”
Alexandra saved the file and closed the laptop. She had no desire to argue yet again, but her mother-in-law was clearly prepared for another confrontation.
“Look at yourself,” Galina Petrovna continued, sitting across from her. “Your eyes are red, your hair is untidy. Instead of caring for yourself and your child, you sit on the internet all day. It is shameful.”
“I am earning money,” Alexandra said quietly. “For our family.”
“Petya already earns more than enough!” Galina Petrovna struck the table with her palm. “And you? You abandon your own son for a few coins. You are a terrible mother.”
The words cut deeply, but Alexandra remained silent. Arguing with Galina Petrovna was pointless. The woman never changed her mind.
A month passed under constant tension. Then, unexpectedly, Galina Petrovna began visiting less often. When she did come, she behaved more calmly.
Alexandra gradually relaxed, believing that her mother-in-law had finally accepted the situation.
She was wrong.
One evening, Galina Petrovna arrived for dinner as usual. She played with Artyom, helped set the table, and behaved with surprising warmth. After the meal, once the baby was asleep in his crib, she remained in the kitchen.
“Sasha,” she began in a soft, almost caring voice, “have you thought about the future?”
“What part of the future?” Alexandra asked cautiously as she cleared the last plates.
“The part where serious decisions will have to be made. You can barely leave the baby alone for a moment. And you are on maternity leave anyway,” Galina Petrovna said, leaning back in her chair. “Transfer the apartment into your husband’s name. It would be much safer.”
Alexandra froze with a plate in her hands. Heat slowly rose to her face, but her voice remained controlled.
“Safer for whom?”
“For the family, of course,” Galina Petrovna replied with a sickly sweet smile. “Petya is the man and the head of the household. Naturally, the property should be registered in his name.”
At that moment, Pyotr entered the kitchen.
Alexandra turned toward him, hoping he would reject the idea immediately. But the expression on his face told her everything before he even spoke.
“Mom is right,” Pyotr said, avoiding his wife’s eyes. “It would make contracts and official documents easier if the apartment were registered to me.”
In that instant, Alexandra understood.
This was revenge for refusing to let Galina Petrovna move in. Her mother-in-law had not forgotten or forgiven the humiliation. She had simply changed her strategy and decided to act through her son.
Something inside Alexandra broke.
All the anger she had buried for months rose within her like a wave.
“Are you serious?” she asked. Her voice was quieter than usual, but there was something dangerous in it. “You actually want me to give you my apartment?”
“Sasha, don’t react like this,” Pyotr said, trying to approach her.
Alexandra stepped back toward the sink.
“We are a family,” he continued. “What difference does it make whose name is on the paperwork?”
“What difference does it make?” Alexandra spun around to face him.
The fury in her eyes made Pyotr instinctively recoil.
“The difference is that this apartment belongs to me,” she said. “I inherited it from my grandmother.”
Galina Petrovna rose from her chair, preparing to interfere, but Alexandra raised one hand and stopped her.
“And do you remember, Petya, how I handled everything alone?” Alexandra continued, her voice growing louder. “Do you remember disappearing for three days after I gave birth because you had important business with your friends? Do you remember how I got up with the baby every night because you had an important meeting in the morning?”
“I was working,” Pyotr protested. “I was working for the family.”
“For the family?” Alexandra laughed bitterly. “When Artyom was sick, who stayed with him at the hospital? I did. Who buys his diapers? I do. Who works during maternity leave because there is never enough money? Me again.”
Pyotr remained silent and lowered his gaze.
Alexandra saw the muscle twitching in his cheek, a sure sign that he was angry but had no answer.
“And now you want my apartment in exchange for what?” she demanded, looking around the kitchen. “For playing with your son once in a while? For occasionally washing a few dishes?”
“Sasha, calm down,” Galina Petrovna tried to interrupt.
Alexandra turned toward her sharply.
“You stay out of this!” she exploded. “You planned all of it. For months, you insulted me, criticized everything I did, and now you have decided to take my home.”
“We only wanted what was best,” Galina Petrovna began.
Alexandra cut her off.
“What was best? Best for whom?” She lifted her chin. “You know what? Both of you, get your things and leave my apartment.”
“What?” Pyotr stared at her. “What are you saying?”
“I am telling you to get out. If you do not want to live in my apartment under my conditions, then live wherever you like. With your mother, for example.”
Alexandra walked into the bedroom and began packing her husband’s belongings.
“Sasha, have you lost your mind?” Pyotr grabbed at the clothes, trying to take them from her. “We have a child.”
“I have a child,” Alexandra corrected him as she continued filling the bag. “And I can manage without you. I have been managing without you this entire time.”
Galina Petrovna clutched her chest and pretended to be unwell.
“What are you doing, girl?” she cried dramatically. “You are destroying your family.”
Alexandra handed the packed bag to Pyotr.
Her voice was calm when she answered.
“I am not destroying anything. I am protecting what matters to me. My son and my home.”
“Sasha, think about this,” Pyotr said, gripping the handles of the bag until his knuckles turned white. “We can discuss everything. We can find a compromise.”
“A compromise?” Alexandra shook her head. “For three years, I have compromised. I listened to your mother, tolerated her insults, and kept quiet. Where was the compromise when I needed your support?”
“Petya, say something to her,” Galina Petrovna pleaded, pulling at her son’s sleeve. “Explain that we only wanted to help.”
“You wanted to help yourselves,” Alexandra replied coldly. “You wanted my apartment, and you wanted to continue controlling my life.”
Pyotr stood in the hallway holding the bag, unable to make himself move. His mother nervously twisted the edge of his shirt, clearly searching for another argument.
“Go, Petya,” Alexandra said quietly. “And do not come back until you understand that family does not mean a wife giving her husband everything she owns. Family means two people protecting each other.”
The door slammed shut.
The apartment became silent.
Alexandra leaned against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. Her chest burned with pain, but at the same time, she felt an unfamiliar sense of relief.
A soft cry came from the nursery. Artyom had awakened.
Alexandra rose and went to her son.
She knew she would manage.
She still had her profession, her growing child, and, for the first time in years, freedom waiting ahead of her.