Take Care of Your Son Yourself!
— Well then, you and your dear son can take care of him however you see fit! I’m tired of you constantly telling me what to do in my own house, Alevtina Viktorovna! I am not your personal maid! Not yours, and not your son’s!
— Igor, did you seriously call your mom because I didn’t iron your shirt?
Ksenia stood by the wardrobe door, watching her husband hurriedly fasten his watch. Igor wasn’t even embarrassed. He glanced at the gray shirt hanging on the back of a chair, then at his wife, and just shrugged.
— It wasn’t just about the shirt. I told her the house is a mess and lately you don’t do anything on time.
— A mess? Where exactly?
— Ksyusha, don’t start this morning. I’m running late.
— No, show me this mess. Right now. Where is it?
Igor let out a noisy sigh, as if he was the one being made to nitpick for no reason.
— There was a mug left in the kitchen overnight. Towels hanging badly in the bathroom. My shirts haven’t been ironed for two days. The casserole you made, the one I don’t like, is still in the fridge. Mom at least gets how the house should be.
Ksenia was silent for a moment.
— Do you realize you have two hands?
— There you go again. You can’t just say things normally?
— I said it completely normally. You can iron the shirt. You can wash the mug. You can fix the towel. Don’t eat the casserole if you don’t like it. There are eggs, cheese, and meat in the fridge. You’re an adult.
— Whatever, I don’t have time.
Igor grabbed his jacket and left for the hallway. By the door, he glanced at his phone, quickly sent a text, and grumbled in annoyance.
— So, what did your mom say? — Ksenia asked.
— Nothing.
— Of course.
He left, and Ksenia stood in the middle of the bedroom for another whole minute. Then she picked up his socks, which he’d left next to the laundry basket last night, and for the first time in ages, didn’t take them to the bathroom. She just put them back on the chair.
They’d been married for just over four years. For the first two, Ksenia thought that the thing with Alevtina Viktorovna was just normal tension between a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law — something that would fade with time. She was an active, loud, and confident woman, used to giving advice whether it was wanted or not. At first, Ksenia tried not to argue. If her mother-in-law said borscht should only be made with beef bones, she let her talk. Criticized the curtains? Whatever. Rearranged towels in the bathroom? Fine, they could go back.
But the advice didn’t stop. In fact, it only got more specific.
— Igor likes his cutlets thin, yours are like buns.
— You have to steam iron his shirts, you’ll ruin the fabric otherwise.
— A man needs a hot dinner after work, not these salads.
— Why’d you buy that laundry detergent? I’ve been washing clothes for 30 years, I know better.
Sometimes Ksenia would answer, other times she’d just stay quiet. At first, Igor would make light of it all.
— That’s just my mom. She needs to say her piece.
But then he started repeating her:
— Actually, mom’s right about the cutlets.
And after another year, he started calling her himself.
This happened most often after arguments. If Ksenia asked him to take out the trash, pay the internet, or clean up his dishes, within an hour Alevtina Viktorovna would text her: “Ksusha, don’t put too much on Igor’s plate, he works so hard.” If Ksenia worked late and ordered dinner, her mother-in-law would call the next day to explain how home-cooked food was always better. When Ksenia once left for a weekend with a friend because she was exhausted, Alevtina Viktorovna showed up with a pot of soup for her son and then complained for days about how his wife had left him “starving and alone.”
The worst part wasn’t even all that. Igor liked it.
He liked that his mother always backed up any complaint. He never had to talk things through with his wife, never had to admit he might be wrong. All he had to do was call his mother, tell a version of the story that suited him, and in a few minutes he had her reassurance that Ksenia was a bad housekeeper, an inattentive wife, and just too self-absorbed.
The apartment belonged to Ksenia, though. Her parents had given her a two-bedroom before the wedding, did a great renovation, helped with furniture, and then graciously stepped back. Her father told Igor once:
— Live how you want. We won’t come over uninvited.
And they didn’t.
But Alevtina Viktorovna seemed to take the in-laws’ decision almost as a personal insult.
— Well, isn’t this convenient, — she’d say. — They give their daughter an apartment and play nobles. My son’s just a lodger there.
— He’s my husband, not a lodger, — Ksenia would reply.
— Husband today, but who knows about tomorrow? A man should have his own place.
Igor heard these chats and usually stayed silent. But after another fight, he admitted he’d given his mom a spare set of keys.
— Just in case.
— In case of what?
— You never know. We might be gone, and she needs to water the plants. Or we lose our keys.
Ksenia insisted he get the keys back. Igor promised. She believed him. She later realized she shouldn’t have.
That day, after their morning argument, Ksenia was working from home. Around lunch, she started a load of laundry, cleaned the kitchen floor, and finally sat down with her laptop. At about 2 p.m., the lock turned.
At first, Ksenia didn’t even comprehend what was happening.
Alevtina Viktorovna appeared in the hallway — in her coat, with a big bag, and an expression like she was here to check on tenants who’d neglected the place.
— Hello, — Ksenia said coolly. — Would it kill you to call first?
— What, I need to make an appointment to see my own son now?
— Igor’s not home.
— I know. I’m here for you.
The mother-in-law walked in, took off her shoes, and immediately inspected the floor.
— Well. Sand.
— What sand?
— Regular sand. Under the shoe rack. When did you last clean here?
Ksenia closed the door.
— Today.
— Didn’t do a good job.
— Alevtina Viktorovna, why are you here?
— To talk. Igor called me upset this morning.
— Oh, really.
— Don’t get snarky. Your husband goes to work hungry, has to find his own shirts, the house is a mess. And you make him feel guilty on top of it.
— He’s not hungry. And his shirts are in the closet.
— Unironed ones!
— Just two. The rest are fine.
The mother-in-law went to the kitchen, ran her finger along the window sill, and studied it like she was searching for evidence of a crime.
— Dust.
— I’m working today, not taking a housekeeping exam.
— Of course. All you ever do is work. What about your family?
Ksenia could feel that familiar annoyance rising up in her again. But this time, it was mixed with something new — a deep exhaustion. Not the kind where you just want to lie down, but the kind where you suddenly stop agreeing to things you’ve put up with for years.
— My family was all here this morning. One grown man went to work right after complaining to his mom that his wife didn’t iron his shirt… Continued just below in the first comment
— Igor, did you seriously just call your mom because I didn’t iron your shirt?
Kseniya stood by the closet door, watching her husband hurriedly fasten his watch. Igor didn’t even seem embarrassed. He glanced at the gray shirt hanging on the back of the chair, then at his wife, and just shrugged.
— It’s not just about one shirt. I just told her the house is a mess and lately you haven’t been getting anything done.
— A mess? Where exactly?
— Ksyusha, don’t start in the morning. I’m running late.
— No, show me the mess. Right now. Where is it?
Igor let out a noisy sigh, as if he was the one being forced into pointless nitpicking.
— There was a mug left in the kitchen since last night. The towels in the bathroom are just hanging there any old way. My shirts haven’t been ironed for two days now. And once again there’s your casserole in the fridge, which I don’t like. At least Mom understands how a home should be kept.
Kseniya was silent for a few seconds.
— Are you aware that you have two hands?
— There you go again. Can’t you just say things normally?
— I said it normally. You can iron a shirt. You can wash a mug. You can fix a towel. If you don’t like the casserole, don’t eat it. There are eggs, cheese, and meat in the fridge. You’re a grown man.
— That’s it, I don’t have time.
Igor grabbed his jacket and headed to the hallway. At the door, he glanced at his phone again, quickly typed a message, and let out a disgruntled huff.
— And what did your mom say? — Kseniya asked.
— Nothing.
— Of course.
He left, and Kseniya stood in the middle of the bedroom for another minute. Then she picked up the socks he’d tossed off the night before—missing the laundry basket—and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t take them to the bathroom. She just put them back on the chair.
They had been married a bit over four years. The first two years, Kseniya thought the tension with Alevtina Viktorovna was the usual annoyance between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, something that would settle down eventually. Her mother-in-law was energetic, loud, confident, and always ready to give advice—even when no one asked. At first, Kseniya tried not to argue. If the mother-in-law said borscht should only be cooked on beef bones—fine, let her say it. Criticized the curtains—okay. Moved the towels in the bathroom—Kseniya just put them back.
But the advice never stopped. It just kept getting more specific.
— Igor likes his cutlets thin, and yours are like bread rolls.
— You need to iron his shirts with steam, or you’ll ruin the fabric.
— After work, a man needs a hot dinner, not those salads of yours.
— Why did you buy that detergent? I’ve been washing for thirty years and know better.
Sometimes Kseniya would answer, sometimes she’d stay silent. At first, Igor tried to turn everything into a joke.
— That’s just how my mom is. She needs to speak her mind.
But later, he started to repeat her words.
— Actually, Mom’s right about the cutlets.
And a year later, he was calling her himself.
This happened especially often after arguments. Ksenia might ask him to take out the trash, pay for the internet, or clean his plate, and an hour later Alevtina Viktorovna would message her daughter-in-law: “Ksyusha, don’t overburden Igor, he works so much.” If Ksenia was late at work and ordered dinner, her mother-in-law would call the next day to remind her that home-cooked meals are always healthier. Once, after Ksenia spent the weekend at a friend’s to recover from a tough week, Alevtina Viktorovna showed up at her son’s place with a pot of soup and later complained for a long time that his wife left him “hungry and all alone.”
continued in the comments
But the worst part wasn’t even all that. Igor actually liked it.
He enjoyed that his mother backed him up on any complaint he had. He didn’t have to discuss who does what around the house with his wife—or admit he might be wrong. All he had to do was call his mom, tell the story in a way that suited him, and within minutes he’d have reassurance that Ksenia was indeed a bad housekeeper, an inattentive wife, and, in general, too focused on herself.
But the apartment belonged to Ksenia. Her parents had given her a two-bedroom place even before the wedding. They renovated it nicely, helped furnish it, and then simply stepped aside. Her father said to Igor once:
“Live as you wish. We won’t come over without an invitation.”
And they truly never did.
For some reason, Alevtina Viktorovna took this decision by Ksenia’s parents as almost a personal insult.
“Well, isn’t that convenient,” she’d say. “They give their daughter an apartment and now play the noble ones. And my son lives there like a tenant!”
“He’s my husband, not a tenant,” Ksenia would reply.
“A husband today, but who knows about tomorrow. A man should have his own place.”
Igor heard these conversations and usually stayed silent. But one day after another fight, he admitted that he had given his mother a spare set of keys.
“Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“You never know. Maybe we go away and she needs to water the plants. Or if we lose a key.”
Ksenia demanded he take the keys back. Igor promised he would. She trusted him. Later it turned out that was a mistake.
That day, after their morning conversation, Ksenia was working from home. During her lunch break, she did laundry, mopped the kitchen floor, and finally sat down at her laptop. Around two o’clock, she heard a key turn in the lock.
At first, Ksenia didn’t even realize what was happening.
Alevtina Viktorovna appeared in the hallway—in a coat, with a large bag, and a look on her face like she was there to inspect the flat after careless tenants.
“Hello,” Ksenia said coldly. “Why didn’t you call first?”
“What, I have to make an appointment just to see my own son now?”
“Igor isn’t home.”
“I know. I came to see you.”
Her mother-in-law entered the apartment, took off her shoes, and immediately looked at the floor.
“Look at that. Sand.”
“What sand?”
“Ordinary sand. Under the cabinet. When did you last clean here?”
Ksenia closed the door.
“Today.”
“Didn’t do a good job.”
“Alevtina Viktorovna, why are you here?”
“To talk. Igor called me this morning all upset.”
“Is that so.”
“Don’t get snippy. Your husband is already going to work hungry, looking for his shirts himself, the house is a mess—and somehow you still manage to make him feel like he’s the guilty one.”
“He’s not hungry. And he does have shirts in his closet.”
“They’re not ironed!”
“Two of them aren’t ironed. The rest are fine.”
Her mother-in-law walked into the kitchen, ran her finger along the windowsill, and then looked at her as if searching for evidence of a crime.
“Dust.”
“I have work today, not an exam on cleaning.”
“Exactly. All you care about is work. What about your family?”
Ksenia felt that familiar irritation starting to rise—and this time, it was mixed with something else. Tiredness. Not the kind that makes you want to lie down, but the kind that makes you stop accepting things you’ve put up with for years.
“My family was right here this morning. One grown man left for work, but not before complaining to his mom that his wife hadn’t ironed his shirt.”
“You’re humiliating him.”
“How so?”
“With that attitude. A man should feel like a man in his own house.”
“And what am I supposed to feel like?”
“A wife.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“But it is an answer, Ksenia. You just twist everything. I know Igor. He’s not the type to cause conflicts. If he’s calling me, it must mean you’ve really pushed him.”
Ksenia looked at her mother-in-law and suddenly remembered how, a year ago, Igor was home sick for a week. He only had a fever for the first two days, but Alevtina Viktorovna called five times a day to ask if Ksenia had given him broth, checked his blood pressure, changed the bed linens. At the time, Ksenia was also working—with a 37.5°C fever—because she was under a project deadline. On the fourth day, she asked Igor to at least put the dishes in the sink. Twenty minutes later, her mother-in-law called and scolded her, saying you shouldn’t make a sick person do chores.
Ksenia had stayed silent back then.
There was another moment she’d tried not to remember. Last autumn, Ksenia got sick and barely left bed for two days. The first night, Igor cooked himself dumplings and brought her some tea. The next day, when Ksenia asked him to run to the pharmacy and pick up something easy for dinner, he called his mom to ask what he should get. An hour later, Alevtina Viktorovna arrived with food containers. Instead of just dropping off the food, she started reorganizing the kitchen and scolding her daughter-in-law for “letting the house go.”
“Do you realize that I’m sick?” Ksenia asked from the kitchen door.
“That’s why I came. Somebody has to do everything.”
“Igor is home.”
“He’s a man.”
Igor sat in the other room, pretending not to hear any of it. Later, he told his wife she shouldn’t have been rude to his mom—after all, she brought food. Ksenia tried to explain she was grateful for the soup, but hadn’t asked her to open the cabinets and inspect whether the stove was clean. Igor still couldn’t see what the problem was.
And by spring, it happened again, this time about his birthday. Ksenia suggested celebrating at a café—no cooking or cleaning for fifteen guests. Igor agreed, but after talking to his mom, he suddenly announced that a “home celebration is cozier.” In the end, Alevtina Viktorovna planned the menu, sent the shopping list, and two days before the party asked when Ksenia would start baking the cake.
“I’m not baking a cake. We’ll just buy one.”
Igor has had homemade honey cake for his birthday ever since he was a kid.
“Then bake it, if you want to,” came the reply.
Igor’s mother took offense. That evening, Igor told Ksenia she didn’t have to be so stubborn. In the end, Ksenia gave in—not with the cake, but she ended up making half the dishes, cleaned up until two in the morning, and went to work the next day. Later, Igor would tell his friends how ‘they organized everything together so well.’
There were so many moments like this. Each one seemed like a small thing on its own. But over time, all these little things built a life where Ksenia constantly had to prove she was trying hard enough. And Igor almost never stopped to ask himself if he was.
Today, she didn’t feel like staying silent.
“Do you know how many times Igor has used the washing machine in the past month?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Not once. How many times has he cooked?”
“A man doesn’t have to…”
“How many times has he changed the bed sheets?”
“Ksenia!”
“You came here to talk about my responsibilities. I’m talking about his.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone.”
“This is my home.”
“It’s my son’s home too!”
“No, it’s my apartment. Igor lives here because we’re married. But the apartment belongs to me.”
Alevtina Viktorovna noticeably paled.
“So that’s what you’re like. You really are going to throw his home in his face.”
“I’m not throwing anything in your face. I’m just reminding you that you came in with your own key, uninvited, and now you’re walking around my apartment checking for dust.”
“Igor gave me the key.”
“Which he promised to take back.”
“Apparently, he didn’t think it was necessary.”
After that line, Ksenia felt something finally click into place inside.
She didn’t argue anymore. She walked into the bedroom, opened the closet, and took two big sturdy bags from the top shelf—left over from a friend’s move.
“Where are you going?” her mother-in-law shouted from the kitchen.
Ksenia didn’t answer.
She started packing her husband’s things. First, the at-home T-shirts and sweatpants. Then jeans, shirts, sweaters. She wasn’t neat, but she didn’t toss things either. She just took them off hangers and folded them. Phone charger, electric shaver, a box of documents, spare sneakers.
About five minutes later, Alevtina Viktorovna appeared in the bedroom doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing Igor’s stuff.”
“Why?”
“So it will be easier for you to take care of him.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“No. Quite the opposite.”
“Stop it right now!”
“I won’t.”
Her mother-in-law stepped toward the bag.
“I’m calling Igor right now.”
“Go ahead.”
“He’ll set you straight, fast.”
“I hope he comes right over.”
Alevtina Viktorovna went out to the hallway with her phone. Ksenia could hear her telling her son that his wife was ‘having a meltdown,’ ‘throwing out his things,’ and ‘completely lost it.’ Igor seemed not to believe her at first, then started asking questions. A minute later, her mother-in-law came back.
“He’s on his way.”
“Good.”
“And he’s very angry.”
“That’s good too.”
Ksenia kept packing his things.
Alevtina Viktorovna tried to stop her several times, first threatening Ksenia that Igor would leave and she’d be alone. Then she pleaded, saying couples don’t divorce over ‘the usual household disagreements.’ Then she suddenly tried to get Ksenia to feel sorry for her.
“You do know I’m not your enemy. I just want you to live a good life together.”
— So why did you never come to Igor to explain that he needs to respect his wife?
— He respects you.
— He calls you to complain about a shirt.
— Because it’s impossible to reason with you!
— Well, now we’ve settled it.
Ksenia brought the first bag into the hallway. Then the second. Next to them, she placed her husband’s laptop bag, his winter boots, and a box of tools. She put a set of keys aside, which she had found in the pocket of Igor’s old jacket. The spare key was there too.
She looked at him and even smirked. So his mother had another key after all. Not only did Igor never take back the first set—he apparently made a new one.
— What’s so funny? asked Alevtina Viktorovna.
— Nothing. I just realized something.
Igor showed up about forty minutes later. He rushed into the apartment without taking off his shoes, saw the bags, and immediately raised his voice.
— Are you completely insane?!
— No.
— Why did you pack up my things?
— Because you don’t live here anymore.
— What do you mean I don’t live here? I’m your husband!
— For now, you are.
— Ksenia, stop talking nonsense! My mother called and said you just lashed out at her for no reason!
— For no reason? You complained about me to her this morning.
— So what? I was talking to my mother! Do I need your permission now to tell her things?
— No. You can tell her whatever you want. Just go live with her too, then.
— You’re kicking me out over a shirt?
— No, Igor. The shirt is just today’s reason. I’m kicking you out because for four years, there have been three people in this marriage: you, me, and your mom. And whenever we argue, you don’t talk to me—you call her.
— Because at least she knows how to listen!
— Good for her, then.
— Ksyusha, don’t act like…
— Don’t call me that right now.
Alevtina Viktorovna walked over to her son and tugged on his sleeve.
— Igoryok, I’ve told you before, you can’t let her do whatever she wants. She feels like the apartment is hers, so now she’s in charge.
— Mom’s right, said Igor. You use this apartment against me every time. What am I supposed to be here, nobody?
— You were my husband here. But for some reason, you decided that means you’re someone to be served—and if the service isn’t good enough, you call your mom for an inspection.
— Nobody called her!
— She came in with her own key.
Igor fell silent.
— The one you promised to take back, Ksenia continued. What’s more, I found another set. Did you make her a new one?
— What difference does it make?!
— It makes a big difference to me.
— It’s just in case!
— In case of what? To check for dust under the dresser?
Alevtina Viktorovna threw her hands up.
— My God, what kind of person are you! I just came to talk, and now she’s making me out to be a criminal. Igor works hard all day, comes home to no good food, wrinkled shirts, a wife who is always tired. And she still wonders why he complains to his mother!
Ksenia looked first at her mother-in-law, then at her husband.
Igor did not object. In fact, he nodded.
— Well? Did Mom say anything wrong?
This was exactly what Ksenia had been waiting for, though she didn’t realize it herself.
If only, even now, he had stopped his mother. If only he had admitted she went too far. If he’d acknowledged that coming in with a key uninvited was too much. Maybe they could have still talked later, after everyone cooled down.
But Igor stood next to Alevtina Viktorovna, looking at his wife as if the two of them were there to give her an exam together.
Ksenia grabbed both bags, dragged them closer to the door, and set them right in front of her mother-in-law.
“Well then, you can take care of your son yourselves, since that’s what you both want! I’ve had enough of you constantly telling me how to do things in my own home, Alevtina Viktorovna! I am not your personal maid! Not yours, and not your son’s!”
Alevtina Viktorovna opened her mouth, stunned, unable to say anything for several seconds.
“You… You’re giving me my son’s things?”
“Yes. Take them.”
“Ksenia!” Igor barked. “Put everything back!”
“No.”
“I said, put it back!”
“And I said: you don’t live here anymore.”
Igor stepped toward her, but Ksenia didn’t back down.
“This is my house too!”
“No. And you know it perfectly well.”
“We’re married!”
“That doesn’t make the apartment my parents gave me yours.”
“So that’s how you’re going to talk now?”
“How else am I supposed to talk to you? For four years, I tried not to make a war because of your mother. I only ever asked for one thing: to not involve her in our fights. You promised. And then you kept calling her. I asked you not to give her keys. You promised. Then you made another set. I asked you, at the very least, to clean up after yourself. And your solution was to complain to your mom.”
“Because you’re always unhappy about something!”
“Go be with someone who’s happy with you.”
“I will!” Igor shouted. “And we’ll see how you manage on your own!”
“We’ll see.”
Alevtina Viktorovna had already regained her composure.
“He’ll come get his things himself. I’m not going to carry them.”
“Then I’ll just leave them here, in the hallway outside the door.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
Ksenia opened the front door.
“Want to try me?”
Her mother-in-law froze.
Suddenly Igor let out a bitter, short laugh.
“Whatever, Mom, let’s go. Let her sit here alone and cool off. She’ll come running by tomorrow.”
“I won’t come running.”
“Of course not. You’re just emotional right now.”
“Igor, take your laptop.”
“I’ll grab it later.”
“No. Take it now.”
She picked up the bag and handed it to him. He took it, reluctantly.
“And your documents are in the side pocket.”
“You’re really kicking me out?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, there was no irritation on his face—just confusion. Apparently, until this moment, he thought this was just another argument after which Ksenia would calm down, make dinner, and maybe even apologize to his mother.
“Ksyu…”
“Don’t.”
Alevtina Viktorovna abruptly grabbed one of the bags.
“Come on, Igoryok. Don’t humiliate yourself. If she doesn’t want a husband, let her live alone with her precious apartment.”
“Gladly,” Ksenia replied.
Igor took the second bag. Already on the landing, he turned back.
“I’m not leaving the keys. I’m registered here…”
“You’re not registered here. And you won’t need the keys anyway.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’m changing the locks today.”
“You have no right!”
“I do.”
“Ksenia, you’ll regret this.”
“Maybe. But today, you’re both leaving.”
She closed the door. She didn’t slam it—she just closed it and turned the lock.
Immediately, both voices started up on the other side. Alevtina Viktorovna demanded for the door to be opened. Igor banged his palm against the door, yelling that his wife was acting crazy. Ksenia walked into another room, got her phone, and found the number for the 24/7 locksmith service.
“Good evening. I need to replace the cylinder in my front door lock. Tonight, please. Yes, I have all the apartment documents ready.”
When she returned to the hallway, everything was quiet behind the door.
The locksmith arrived an hour and a half later. He was a man about fifty, who first inspected the lock, named his price, and asked for her passport and proof of ownership. Ksenia brought him the folder.
“Did you lose the old keys?” he asked.
“You could say that.”
He didn’t ask any more questions.
While the locksmith worked, Ksenia started tidying up her apartment. Not because she recalled her mother-in-law’s critiques, but because after they left, everything around her was just irritating. Half the closet in the bedroom now stood empty. There was a spot in the bathroom cabinet where Igor’s razor used to be. And on the armchair—those infamous socks.
Ksenia picked up the socks with two fingers and tossed them in the trash can.
Her phone rang almost without a break. First it was Igor. Then Alevtina Viktorovna. Then Igor again. Messages started coming in.
“Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Open up, I forgot my charger.”
“Because of you, Mom’s checking her blood pressure.”
“We’ll talk properly tomorrow.”
“Don’t think everything will go the way you want.”
Ksenia only read the first four messages, then turned off notifications.
The locksmith finished up around ten in the evening. He handed her three new keys and demonstrated how the lock worked.
“Try it out.”
Ksenia opened and closed the door several times.
“Everything’s fine.”
“Then we’re done.”
After he left, for the first time all day, she found herself in total silence.
Ksenia didn’t feel the relief she had expected. It just hurt. After all, you can’t fit four years of marriage into two bags and forget it right away. She remembered how Igor helped her father with the kitchen remodel, how they went to the sea together, how they used to watch TV shows under the same blanket in winter. The good memories don’t disappear just because the ending turned out bad.
But alongside those good memories, there were others now: her mother-in-law coming in with her own key; her husband nodding along at complaints about un-ironed shirts; two adults believing Ksenia was supposed to take care of one of them just because that’s what someone else used to do.
The next morning, Igor showed up.
Of course, the new key didn’t work. He rang the doorbell.
Ksenia didn’t answer the door.
“I know you’re home!” he shouted through the door.
“You do.”
“We need to talk!”
“Go ahead.”
“Through the door?!”
“Yes.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
He was silent for a few seconds.
“Mom says you owe her an apology.”
Ksenia closed her eyes and even smiled.
“Then there’s nothing left for us to discuss.”
“Why are you bringing up Mom?!”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Igor, you didn’t come here to admit you were wrong yesterday. You didn’t come to see if maybe we could calmly work things out. You just came to pass on your mother’s demands.”
“She’s older than you!”
“Goodbye.”
“Ksenia!”
She walked to the kitchen and turned on the kettle.
Igor stood outside the door for another ten minutes, then left. That evening, he sent her a long message accusing her of destroying their family out of pride, insisting that normal women know how to compromise, and reminding her that Alevtina Viktorovna always treated her like a daughter.
Ksenia didn’t reply.
A week later, he picked up the rest of his things. Ksenia put them in a box and gave them to a mutual neighbor to avoid meeting him in person. Afterwards, Igor messaged saying he’d be staying with his mom “until she comes to her senses.”
Ksenia didn’t bother to explain that she had no intention of changing her mind.
Alevtina Viktorovna stopped by the apartment two more times. The first time, she rang the bell for ages and loudly announced from the hallway that Ksenia had “ruined a good man’s life.” The second time, she brought some documents and demanded a discussion about how much Igor had supposedly invested in the apartment. Ksenia reminded her through the door that her own parents had paid for the renovations and furniture even before the wedding, and that she and Igor had always split the utility bills.
After that, her mother-in-law stopped coming by.
Igor himself gradually went silent. At first he messaged nearly every day, then once a week, and finally only about practical matters. Not once did he ever say he understood why his wife couldn’t keep living like that. Instead, he talked about “women’s emotions,” “disrespect for his mother,” and her “unwillingness to save the family.”
Ksenia found herself reading his messages less and less.
Two months later, she changed Igor’s name in her phone from “Igoryok” to the simple “Igor.” A week after that, she filed for divorce.
The apartment started to feel strikingly empty. Sometimes a mug would sit on the kitchen counter all night if Ksenia was too tired. There were no more shirts to iron. She hung up the towels however she liked. On Saturdays, she could leave the cleaning and go visit her parents or meet up with a friend if she wanted.
And no one came to check for dust behind the cabinet.
One evening, as Ksenia carried groceries home, she saw Igor standing outside the building with a bag, looking tired.
“Mom’s sick,” he said instead of hello. “Now I do everything for her myself—cooking, cleaning. Turns out, it actually takes a lot of time.”
Ksenia looked at him.
For a split second, she thought he might finally say something important. Not ask to come back, just admit the obvious.
But Igor went on:
“That’s why I think maybe you overreacted back then. We could’ve split everything fairly. Mom’s even ready to talk if you apologize for what you said.”
Ksenia opened the building door.
“Take care of your mom, Igor.”
“Ksenia, wait.”
“I need to go home.”
“Isn’t there anything else you want to say?”
She shook her head.
The new key turned smoothly in the lock. Ksenia stepped inside, closed the door, and set the grocery bag on the cabinet.
The entryway felt peaceful. Only her keys hung on the hook. And for the first time in many years, she didn’t have to wonder who else might walk through that door without her permission…