“Marina, do you even understand what you’re doing? I’ve already bought my ticket! Are you seriously planning to make your son’s own grandmother stay in a hotel?”
I tightened my grip on the phone and looked down from the balcony. Artyom was kicking a ball around the courtyard with the neighborhood boys, occasionally shouting something to his friends and laughing happily.
Six months earlier, we had moved to a southern coastal city. For the first time in years, it felt as though peace had finally returned to our lives.
Then that phone call came.
“If you want to see Artyom, you’re welcome to visit, Anna Vitalyevna,” I replied. “But you won’t be staying in our apartment.”
“And why not?”
 
“Because this is my home.”
“Volodya told me everything! You have a two-bedroom apartment close to the sea, and there are only two of you. Yet you can’t find room for your child’s own grandmother?”
I immediately became suspicious. How did Anna Vitalyevna even know how many rooms we had?
After my mother died, I sold the apartment she had left me, added my savings, took out a mortgage, and bought a modest two-bedroom place in the south. It wasn’t some luxurious seaside penthouse—just an ordinary apartment in a pleasant neighborhood.
Apparently, however, the words “two-bedroom apartment in the south” meant “free seaside vacation” to Anna Vitalyevna.
“I can send you some nearby hotel options.”
“I don’t need a hotel! I’m coming to visit my only grandson!”
“The grandson you haven’t seen in three years.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
Then my former mother-in-law began listing her aching joints, her small pension, and all the reasons she considered me shameless and heartless. As I listened, I remembered more clearly why I had once promised myself that I would never live under the same roof as that woman again.
When Volodya and I were married, Anna Vitalyevna had a key to our apartment. My husband had made her a copy without telling me.
She could let herself in on a weekend morning without warning, open the refrigerator, and immediately begin an inspection.
“What is this? Yesterday’s soup? You’re feeding my Volodechka leftovers?”
Or she would casually announce in front of our guests:
 
“Marina has always been a terrible housekeeper. But at least her nails look pretty. That’s what matters.”
Volodya remained silent whenever she spoke to me that way.
Every single time.
My patience finally ran out at Artyom’s fifth birthday party. He accidentally knocked over a glass of juice, became frightened, and started crying.
Anna Vitalyevna immediately declared in a loud voice:
“Well, that explains it. He takes after his mother. The same unstable nerves.”
I looked at my husband, hoping he would finally defend us.
He simply lowered his eyes to his plate.
We divorced several months later.
After the divorce, Anna Vitalyevna seemed to erase not only me but also her grandson from her life.
She never called on his birthdays.
She didn’t send New Year’s greetings.
For three years, she never even asked, “How is Artyom?”
But as soon as we moved close to the sea, Grandma suddenly remembered how desperately she missed him.
“The choice is yours,” I told her. “If you want to see Artyom, come. But you’ll have to stay somewhere else.”
Anna Vitalyevna didn’t answer.
She simply ended the call.
I was certain the matter was settled.
 
Five days later, at exactly seven in the morning, someone began ringing our doorbell insistently.
When I opened the door, Anna Vitalyevna was standing on the landing.
Two enormous suitcases and a large travel bag were piled around her feet.
She looked at me as if her arrival were the most natural thing in the world.
“Well? Why are you just standing there? Help me carry my things inside.”
For several seconds, I could only stare at her.
“Why did you come here?”
She frowned.
“What do you mean, why? I came to see my grandson!”
“I told you very clearly that you wouldn’t be staying with us.”
Anna Vitalyevna pressed her lips together in displeasure.
“Marina, I’ve spent twenty hours traveling. Let’s not put on a performance in the hallway.”
I heard footsteps behind me.
“Mom, who is it?”
Artyom appeared in the corridor.
The moment Anna Vitalyevna saw him, her entire expression changed.
 
“Artyom, my darling boy!”
She rushed to embrace him and then pulled a boxed construction set out of her travel bag. Artyom’s face lit up with delight.
At that moment, I understood exactly why she had arrived without warning. Saying a firm no over the phone had been easy. Closing the door on a grandmother with two suitcases while my excited son stood beside me was another matter entirely.
“All right,” I said. “Come in, have breakfast, and get some rest. After that, I’ll take you to a hotel.”
Anna Vitalyevna said nothing.
An hour later, one of her suitcases was lying wide open in the middle of the living room. A robe had appeared over the back of a chair, and a pair of slippers had been carefully placed beside the sofa.
I looked at everything she had unpacked.
“Why are you taking out all your belongings?”
“What am I supposed to do—dig through my suitcase every day for the next two weeks?”
“What two weeks?”
“I told you how long I was coming for. I might even stay three weeks if my health allows.”
 
“You may stay in a hotel for an entire month if you wish.”
The smile vanished from her face.
“Are you really prepared to carry the sin of throwing an elderly woman out of your home?”
She deliberately raised her voice for the final words.
Artyom immediately looked out of his room.
“Grandma, are you going somewhere?”
Anna Vitalyevna released a theatrical sigh.
“It appears I have to. Your mother has decided that there’s no room for your grandmother in this house.”
A familiar wave of irritation rose inside me.
It was exactly like the old days. The only difference was that Volodya had once been the audience for her performances. Now she intended to use my son instead.
“Grandma will be staying very close by,” I calmly explained to Artyom. “You’ll be able to see each other every day.”
His expression brightened immediately.
“Can we go to the beach today, then?”
“We’ll see, sweetheart,” Anna Vitalyevna replied. “Grandma is tired from the journey.”
 
I needed to work, so I went into my bedroom.
A few hours later, I came into the kitchen and heard Anna Vitalyevna speaking to someone on the balcony.
“Lyuda, it’s wonderful here! The apartment is nice, and the balcony is spacious. I’ll definitely stay for three weeks… Of course you should come! Why waste money on accommodation? There’s plenty of room. Marina will complain for a while, but then she’ll calm down.”
I stopped where I was.
Now everything made perfect sense.
I waited until she finished the call and then asked:
“Is Lyudmila also coming to visit Artyom?”
Anna Vitalyevna flinched and spun around.
“It’s very rude to eavesdrop on private conversations.”
“And is it polite to invite your friend to stay in my apartment without asking the owner?”
“I didn’t invite anyone! We were only talking.”
“A car will pick you up at four.”
She stared at me, confused.
“What car?”
 
“A taxi. It will take you to your hotel.”
Anna Vitalyevna jumped to her feet.
“I’m not going anywhere!”
“In that case, you can change your ticket and return home.”
Within minutes, she was calling Volodya.
Not long afterward, my own phone rang.
“Marina, what have you done?” he demanded. “Mom is crying.”
“Pay for her hotel.”
“Do you have any idea how much a room costs there?”
“Yes, I know exactly how much it costs.”
“But you have two rooms!”
“Vova, explain something to me. Why did your mother believe she had the right to stay in my home?”
He was silent for a moment.
“Well… I told her you had enough space.”
“And what else?”
Another pause followed.
“I said you would get upset at first but eventually let her stay. Marina, I know you.”
Those words hurt more than anything else he had said.
“I know you.”
So they had discussed everything in advance and made their decision without involving me. They had designated my apartment as free vacation accommodation. They had assigned me the role of hostess, cook, and housekeeper. Neither of them had considered asking for my permission.
After all, Marina would complain for a while and then surrender.
“Apparently, you don’t know me at all, Vova.”
 
I ended the call.
The taxi arrived at exactly four o’clock.
By then, both suitcases and the travel bag were waiting beside the front door.
Anna Vitalyevna glared at me openly.
“Are you really going to throw me out in front of the child?”
“I paid for one night at the hotel. Starting tomorrow, you can pay for it yourself, ask Vladimir to cover it, or return home.”
“I am not spending half my pension on a hotel when you have an entire empty room!”
“But you said you came to see your grandson. If that’s true, why should it matter where you sleep?”
“Of course it matters!”
“Why?”
By then, Anna Vitalyevna had stopped trying to conceal her anger.
“Because I don’t have that kind of money!”
 
I looked directly into her eyes.
“Let’s imagine we lived in a one-room apartment. Would you still have come? Would you have rented somewhere to stay and spent every day with Artyom for two weeks?”
“Stop twisting everything!”
“I’m not twisting anything. I’m trying to understand whether you truly came to see your grandson or simply wanted a free holiday by the sea.”
Her face turned red.
“Why should I give my money to strangers when you have a whole apartment here?”
The hallway suddenly became very quiet.
I turned my head.
Artyom was standing outside his bedroom, looking at his grandmother.
“Grandma, you said you came to see me.”
Anna Vitalyevna immediately softened her voice.
“Of course I came for you, my darling.”
“Then I’ll visit you at the hotel tomorrow. After that, we can go swimming together.”
She looked away.
“We’ll see.”
Artyom seemed confused.
“Why only ‘we’ll see’?”
“Because Grandma is exhausted. And after all of this, I’m no longer in the mood for anything.”
My son frowned.
“But you haven’t seen me for three years.”
Anna Vitalyevna said nothing.
Neither did I.
For the first time, I didn’t feel the need to persuade anyone or explain anything.
Ten minutes later, the driver carried her luggage downstairs.
Before leaving, Anna Vitalyevna hugged Artyom tightly and announced loudly enough for me to hear:
“Remember that Grandma loves you very much. Unfortunately, it seems that not everyone needs our love.”
The following morning, she sent me a message:
“I changed my ticket. I’m leaving today. I hope that one day Artyom understands what you did.”
I showed my son only the part saying that his grandmother had decided to leave.
 
“She’s going home already?” Artyom asked in surprise. “But we were going to visit the beach together.”
“Grandma must have changed her plans.”
He thought about it for a moment.
“Mom, why couldn’t she stay at the hotel and go to the beach with me every day?”
I had no idea how to explain to a nine-year-old that adults were sometimes unwilling to admit—even to themselves—what they truly wanted.
“You should ask Grandma that question.”
Artyom remained silent for a while.
Then he said quietly:
“Maybe she didn’t miss me very much.”
That was the last conclusion I wanted my son to reach.
“Don’t think that way. Adults sometimes behave strangely and make choices that are difficult to understand. But none of this is your fault.”
Several days later, Volodya called.
 
“Well, are you satisfied now?” he asked. “Mom is already home. She cried throughout the entire journey.”
“Vova, answer one question. She hadn’t seen Artyom for three years. She had a paid hotel room ten minutes away from our apartment. She could have stayed and spent every day with her grandson. Why did she leave?”
“Because you humiliated her.”
“How? By refusing to let her live in my apartment for free?”
Volodya didn’t answer.
“So did she come to see Artyom, or did she come for a free vacation by the sea?”
“Marina, it’s impossible to have a normal conversation with you.”
“Then don’t.”
I ended the call.
That evening, Artyom and I went to the waterfront.
 
He soon spotted some boys he knew and ran toward the water with them, while I remained sitting on a bench.
There had been a time when Anna Vitalyevna could open the door to my apartment with her own key.
She used to inspect my refrigerator, rearrange my belongings without permission, and consider it perfectly normal to tell me how I should live.
A great deal had changed since then.
My marriage to Volodya had ended.
Artyom and I had moved away.
My son had grown older.
Years had passed.
Yet Anna Vitalyevna had arrived with exactly the same confidence she had always possessed. She believed that all she had to do was present Marina with a decision that had already been made—and Marina would eventually give in.
There was only one thing my former mother-in-law had failed to consider.
She no longer had a key to my door.
Would you allow your former mother-in-law to stay in your home so she could spend time with her grandson, or would you also insist that she book a hotel?