“And from now on, Larisa Borisovna, you’ll be cooking your own dinner.”
Polina dropped two heavy grocery bags onto the dining table. Her fingers were red where the handles had dug into her skin, and her back ached after spending an hour trapped in evening traffic on a crowded bus. All she wanted was to put the meat in the oven, change out of her work clothes, and stretch out her throbbing legs.
Larisa Borisovna, who had been staying with them for three days because the pipes in her old Soviet apartment building were supposedly being replaced, stood by the stove.
“I’ve put everything in order here!” her mother-in-law announced cheerfully.
She straightened the hem of her colorful cotton housecoat and puffed out her chest as if she expected to receive an award.
“Thank you,” Polina replied coolly.
She pulled open the bottom kitchen drawer to take out her usual cookware.
It was empty.
She checked the oven, where she normally kept her expensive cast-iron roasting pan.
That was empty too.
The special nonstick pancake pan was also missing from its usual hook.
“What are you looking for?” Larisa Borisovna asked cautiously.
“The frying pans,” Polina said calmly.
Her mother-in-law waved the dishcloth dismissively.
“Oh, those ugly black things? You don’t need them. I took them down to the trash earlier.”
For a moment, Polina could not speak.
She stood frozen, staring at the empty cabinet. Blood rushed in her ears as exhaustion gave way to disbelief. She closed her eyes briefly, mentally calculating how much damage her mother-in-law’s “help” had caused.
“You took them where?”
She was still hoping she had misheard.
“To the garbage, sweetheart,” Larisa Borisovna repeated slowly and clearly.
The older woman planted her hands on her hips, completely certain that she had done the right thing.
“They were only taking up space, and they were all black and covered in grime. Horrible things. I brought my own cookware from the country house—proper enamel pots. Look.”
She pointed toward the stove.
Three bulky pots decorated with hideous blue flowers stood in a neat row. The enamel was chipped around the rims. Beside them sat an ancient aluminum frying pan that looked as if it had been used since the Brezhnev era.
“My cast-iron roasting pan cost a lot of money,” Polina said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “So did the pancake pan. I chose them specifically for an induction stove. You threw away expensive belongings that were not yours.”
Two women under one roof were always a test of patience. Polina had tolerated her husband’s mother’s visits, clenched her teeth, and tried to ignore the endless little jabs.
But removing things from someone else’s apartment without permission was a completely new level of audacity.
“Nonsense!” her mother-in-law declared, clicking her tongue condescendingly. “Those modern coatings are terrible for your health. Nothing but chemicals leaking into your food! My enamel pots are much better. We’ll make cabbage soup and stew potatoes. You can buy new ones tomorrow if you’re so desperate, but this time get something proper and light-colored. Cast iron, honestly. What a ridiculous idea.”
“Buy new ones tomorrow?” Polina repeated, shaking her head as if that might make the absurdity disappear. “Larisa Borisovna, do you understand that you threw away cookware worth a considerable amount of money? Ilya and I are paying a mortgage. Every ruble is accounted for. I can’t simply walk into a store in the middle of the month and replace everything.”
Her mother-in-law grimaced.
“You always measure everything in money!”
She waved toward the pots.
“Mortgage, mortgage, mortgage. And what about the fact that Ilya has become so thin because of your diets and takeout food? A man needs proper homemade meals—hot, filling meals. Instead, you feed him plastic from the supermarket. I raised three children without Teflon, and we were healthier than all of you!”
“Ilya eats perfectly well,” Polina cut her off.
She walked to the sink and held her hands under cold running water, trying to cool herself down.
“We both work until eight in the evening. We physically do not have time to stand over the stove for three hours boiling rich soup with pork knuckles.”
“Excuses from a lazy woman,” Larisa Borisovna replied.
She began wiping an already spotless countertop with quick, irritated movements.
“If you really cared about your husband, you would find the time. Instead, you rush home, throw some frozen store-bought meat into your Teflon pan, and think you’ve done your duty. I know how the two of you live when I’m not here. I came to save your family and make this place feel like a proper home, and you’re throwing a tantrum over a piece of metal!”
Polina shook the water from her hands.
The argument had stopped being about cookware a long time ago.
Her mother-in-law had not truly come because of the pipes. The plumbing in her apartment could have been fixed in a day if she had hired a competent professional instead of waiting for a free municipal worker for a week.
She had come to prove that there was only one real woman of the house.
“You came here as a guest,” Polina reminded her.
She leaned against the edge of the table.
“This is my home. You threw away my belongings. Do you honestly consider that acceptable behavior for a guest?”
“I only want what’s best for my Ilyusha!” Larisa Borisovna wailed, throwing her hands into the air dramatically. “For my own son! Instead of thanking me, you insult his mother. I spent half the day cleaning this kitchen and arranging everything properly. And now you attack me over a few frying pans. To hell with your precious cookware!”
At that moment, a key turned in the front door.
Cool air drifted in from the hallway, followed by heavy footsteps.
Ilya was home.
Polina fell silent and waited to see what would happen next.
Ilya trudged into the kitchen, pulling off his jacket as he walked. He looked exhausted, with dark shadows under his eyes.
“What’s all the shouting about?” he asked, glancing from his wife to his mother. “I could hear you from the stairwell.”
“Oh, son, your wife is trying to drive me to an early grave over some old frying pans!” Larisa Borisovna cried.
Her accusatory tone instantly transformed into a wounded, tearful one.
She hurried toward the stove.
“I’ve been on my feet all day. I made you rich cabbage soup, just the way you like it, with fresh cabbage. Then she came home and started scolding me!”
Ilya sighed and stared at the floor.
“Polya, why are you making such a big deal out of this? Mom only wanted to help.”
Polina looked at her husband in disbelief.
“Your mother threw away cookware that cost half my advance payment. She did it without asking. Then she replaced it with this.”
She nodded toward the chipped blue pots.
“So she threw it away. What’s done is done,” Ilya said with a dismissive wave. “We’ll buy new ones tomorrow.”
He sat down on a stool by the window.
“Mom, serve the soup. I’m starving.”
Larisa Borisovna shot Polina a victorious glance and began bustling around with the ladle, filling a deep bowl with thick soup.
“Here you are, Ilyusha. Eat some proper homemade food. You’ve become so thin.”
Polina watched the scene without speaking.
Ilya kept his eyes lowered and eagerly ate the soup, pretending not to notice the tension hanging over the room.
That was what he always did. He hid from conflict and waited for the women to finish fighting over territory.
“Is it good?” Polina asked briefly.
“Mm-hmm,” her husband grunted with his mouth full.
“Wonderful.”
Polina reached into her pocket and took out her phone.
There was no point arguing with a woman who believed she was incapable of being wrong, or with a man whose principles disappeared the moment someone put a bowl of soup in front of him.
“What are you doing?” her mother-in-law asked suspiciously.
She had noticed Polina scrolling through a delivery app on the glowing screen.
“Ordering food,” Polina replied dryly.
She opened the menu of her favorite Asian restaurant.
“For myself. A large sushi set and seafood noodles.”
Ilya looked up from his bowl.
“Oh, get some for me too. I like sushi.”
“Your mother made you soup,” Polina replied, tapping the payment button. “Homemade soup. You said yourself it was no big deal. Eat carefully and don’t spill it.”
Larisa Borisovna’s eyes widened in outrage.
“What about the meat? You brought in two whole bags of food. You must have spent a fortune!”
She pointed accusingly at the groceries on the table.
“I’ll put the meat in the freezer,” Polina answered.
She began unloading the bags with deliberate calm.
“And dinner?” her mother-in-law’s voice cracked.
“I’ve been on my feet all day! What am I supposed to eat?”
Polina locked her phone and put it back in her pocket.
“And from now on, Larisa Borisovna, you’ll be cooking your own dinner.”
She picked up the empty shopping bags.
“In your lovely clean enamel pots. Using groceries you buy yourself. Our romantic relationship with shared cooking has temporarily come to an end. The dry goods are in the upper cabinet, and the water comes from the tap.”
Ilya choked on his soup.
“Polya, what are you doing? Mom is our guest.”
“Exactly. She is a guest,” Polina snapped. “And guests do not rearrange someone else’s home or carry their belongings out to the trash. Since you don’t care what your food is cooked in, you can live on your mother’s soup. I did not agree to come home after work and become everyone’s kitchen servant.”
Polina turned and walked into the bedroom, leaving her husband and mother-in-law alone with their perfect vision of domestic comfort.
Saturday morning began loudly.
Polina was not allowed to sleep in. Through the thin walls of the apartment building, Larisa Borisovna’s voice carried clearly from the kitchen. She was talking on the phone, obviously complaining to one of her friends.
“I’m telling you, Lyuba, she has become completely shameless!” Ilya’s mother said indignantly. “I try to help her, bring her decent light-colored cookware, environmentally friendly too, and she causes a scandal! Ilyusha sits there afraid to say a word against her. She must have bewitched him. There is no respect for elders anymore!”
Polina pushed the blanket aside.
There was no point trying to sleep.
She pulled on a sweater, slipped her hands into the pockets, and walked into the hallway.
The moment Larisa Borisovna saw her, she quickly ended the call.
“Good morning,” her mother-in-law said challengingly, pressing her lips together.
“Good morning,” Polina answered evenly as she walked toward the kettle. “I see you’ve already informed all the relatives about how ungrateful I am.”
“What was I supposed to do, stay silent?” Larisa Borisovna exploded. “A mother comes to help, and she gets put on bread and water!”
Polina spooned coffee into a mug.
“You came to impose your rules in an apartment where I pay most of the mortgage. You also threw away my belongings. I think your help can now be considered complete.”
A sleepy Ilya appeared in the kitchen doorway. He scratched the back of his head, clearly annoyed at being woken so early.
“Are you two starting again? It’s the weekend. Polya, seriously, stop sulking. Mom will apologize for the cookware. Right, Mom?”
Larisa Borisovna frowned.
“Absolutely not! I was protecting her health!”
Polina picked up her coffee and turned toward her husband.
Something inside her finally snapped.
She was tired of playing the good, patient woman who always smoothed things over.
“Ilya, listen to me carefully.”
Polina lowered her voice, but that only made it sound firmer.
“I work just as much as you do. I contribute my money and energy to this home. I will not tolerate anyone treating my belongings like garbage.”
She took a sip of the scalding coffee.
“Your mother thinks it is acceptable to throw away my cookware. You think it is acceptable to ignore it. So you will replace the frying pans yourself, using your own personal money after the mortgage payment. Until then, you can eat whatever Larisa Borisovna cooks in her enamel pots.”
Ilya tried to protest.
“Polya, this is ridiculous. I don’t have spare money for expensive cookware right now, and you know it. The car insurance is due.”
“Then you’ll eat cabbage soup until payday,” Polina replied.
She stepped around him and headed back toward the bedroom.
“And one more thing. Larisa Borisovna stays here only as long as the pipe repairs take. If even one more of my belongings disappears or is moved without my permission, your mother will be staying in a hotel. At your expense.”
She closed the bedroom door behind her.
No shouting. No plates smashed against the wall.
Only clear boundaries that should have been established long ago.
By Sunday evening, the conflict had taken on a colder and more serious form.
Ilya finally began to understand the scale of the problem when Polina ordered herself grilled meat for the second evening in a row, while only a lonely portion of boiled cabbage remained in his mother’s pot.
He attempted to begin a peace-making conversation, but one look at his wife’s stubborn expression made him retreat to the sofa.
Larisa Borisovna deliberately banged her flowered pots around the kitchen while boiling plain pasta for breakfast. She refused to sit at the table with them, waiting for an apology and an admission that she had been right all along.
The apology never came.
Polina continued with her life. She went to work, came home, and bought prepared food only for herself.
But until the end of the week, not a single object in the apartment was moved from its proper place.
Her mother-in-law washed every dish she used with almost frightening care, leaving neither a crumb nor a stain on the spotless countertop.
By a strange coincidence, the pipes in Larisa Borisovna’s old apartment were repaired three days earlier than expected.
She packed her bags, collected her blue enamel pots, and left after saying a dry goodbye to her daughter-in-law.
A person like her could not be changed, but she had understood the boundaries perfectly.
The following day, Ilya returned from work carrying a heavy shopping bag.
Inside were two brand-new nonstick frying pans, their dark surfaces gleaming quietly beneath the kitchen light.