Margarita woke up on the living room sofa to the sound of clattering pots in the kitchen.
It was 6:45 AM. On the other side of the wall, in their bedroom, there was already no one: Larisa Pavlovna always got up early and immediately started tidying up the kitchen. Maxim was asleep next to her, facing away toward the back of the sofa, and didn’t even stir.
Rita quietly got up, put on her robe, and went out.
Her mother-in-law stood by the open fridge, rearranging the food. Margarita’s yogurts had been moved to the bottom shelf with the vegetables. The cheese that Margarita used to keep in a glass container was now in a plastic bag. The jar of coffee wasn’t in the cabinet above the stove anymore, but on the windowsill.
“Good morning, Larisa Pavlovna.”
“Oh, Rita. Good morning.” Her mother-in-law closed the fridge. “I just organized things a bit. Everything was all over the place. I left the coffee on the window, it’s more convenient for me there. And I put away your big frying pan, it’s too heavy, I don’t use it.”
“But I use it every day.”
“Well, you can take it out when I leave.”
Larisa Pavlovna had arrived this time in the middle of April and was planning to leave in early May. Almost three weeks. Margarita was counting the days, though she wouldn’t admit it even to herself.
Margarita’s father had given her the apartment a year before her wedding. It was a three-room flat by the river where Margarita had grown up. When her father remarried and moved in with his new wife to a house outside the city, he signed the apartment over to his daughter as a gift. “So you’ll always have something of your own,” he said. Her parents had been divorced for a long time but remained on good terms, and her mother, Alla Viktorovna, told her, “He did the right thing. At least one right thing in his life.”
The apartment was in terrible shape—pipes from the ’90s, sparking old wiring, parquet floors warped from an old leak. Margarita spent nearly all her savings on renovations—850,000 rubles. She spent a year living amidst construction, choosing tiles, arguing with the contractor, painting the small room’s walls herself. Back then, she and Maxim had just started dating; sometimes he’d come and help: installed the baseboards, hung a chandelier. He never contributed serious money to the repairs—he didn’t have it. Margarita didn’t think it mattered.
After the wedding, Maxim moved in with her. They split utilities and groceries 50/50. In eight years, Margarita never once said “my apartment” to him. She’d always say “ours,” and she truly believed it. Maxim got used to calling it “ours” too. Later, it just became “our home.”
Larisa Pavlovna lived in Samara. In the early years, she would visit her son a couple of times a year for three or four days. Then a week. Then two. In the past two years, her visits lasted three weeks, and she came four times a year. She would stroll around town, go to the theater and doctors, and meet up with old friends.
Every time, Maxim would say the same thing:
“Rita, just be patient. Mom doesn’t come that often. She likes it here with us.”
Every time, Margarita gave up her bedroom for her mother-in-law. The bedroom had a brand new orthopedic mattress, and Larisa Pavlovna always complained about her back. As for Margarita and Maxim, they slept on the folding couch in the living room. Margarita would move around her plans, cancel meetings, and once even called off a long-awaited trip with her friend to Kazan. She’d already bought tickets, but that same day, her mother-in-law announced she was coming, and Maxim said, “How can you go? My mom is coming. What will she think?”
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Margarita returned the tickets.
Her mother-in-law rearranged the groceries, rehung the towels in the bathroom, and reordered the books on the living room shelves by color. One time, she even threw out Margarita’s old blanket because it was “too worn out.” Margarita stayed silent then, too. She didn’t want Maxim to be caught between his wife and his mother.
Her own mom was completely different.
Alla Viktorovna lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the other side of the river. She worked as a dispatcher for a management company, even though she was already sixty-three. She always said staying home was boring. In the eight years her daughter had been married, she never stayed over more than just one evening. She always called ahead. She always asked, “Ritochka, is it convenient for you?” She’d bring a pie, stay about three hours, and always left before dark.
Maxim barely saw his mother-in-law. He liked having her somewhere across the river, never asking for anything.
Last fall, Margarita was laid off. She’d worked twelve years as an accountant at a machine-building plant, but in October, new owners bought the plant and kept only three people from the accounting team. Margarita didn’t make the cut. She spent four months looking for a job. That winter, a tooth she’d put off treating for two years flared up. The dentist said it couldn’t wait any longer. The bill came to 120,000.
Alla Viktorovna found out by accident and came over that same evening. She laid an envelope on the table.
“Mom, no. That’s your money.”
“It is mine,” Alla Viktorovna agreed. “Which means I decide how to spend it. Ritochka, take it. I was saving it for a rainy day. Well, the rainy day is here.”
Margarita cried for half the evening but took the money. A month later, she found work—managing the accounting for several small businesses remotely. She worked at home, in a small room, seated by the window. Gradually, she took on more clients, and by summer she was making as much as she had at the plant. She started paying her mom back, little by little, even though her mother refused.
Larisa Pavlovna left in early May. Then, at the end of July, on a Wednesday at 6:40 in the morning, Margarita’s mother called her.
“Rita. Rita, there’s water. Water everywhere.”
Alla Viktorovna’s voice was calm, but Margarita immediately knew something serious had happened. Her mother never called this early.
Margarita arrived in twenty minutes. The building smelled damp. The apartment door was open, and in the hallway, on the wet linoleum, stood a plumber in rubber boots and an electrician with a flashlight. Alla Viktorovna, in her robe, was sitting on a stool in the entryway, holding a wet photograph in a frame.
Last night, a pipe burst in the bathroom. Water flowed for several hours until the downstairs neighbor started banging on the door. The bedroom was flooded halfway up the wall. Water was dripping from the ceiling. The electrician said the wiring in the bedroom and hallway needs to be completely replaced, and until then, we can’t turn on the power there.
“You can’t live here,” he told Margarita, pulling her aside. “Not for at least two weeks. It needs to dry out, the wiring replaced, new plaster. Especially for an elderly person—there’s no way she can stay here.”
Margarita went back to her mother.
“Mom, do you have money for a hotel?”
Alla Viktorovna looked up at her and gave a small smile.
“Ritochka, you know. Everything I had I gave you for your dental work. All I have now is my pension and salary. The hotel nearby is three and a half thousand a night. That’s almost fifty thousand for two weeks.”
“Mom, you’ll come stay with us.”
“What about Maksim?”
“Maksim will understand. It’s just two weeks. Your apartment’s been flooded.”
Alla Viktorovna shook her head.
“I don’t want to be a bother, Ritochka. I’ll be in your way.”
“Mom. You gave me a hundred and twenty thousand in February. Please don’t talk about being a bother.”
Margarita spent the entire day at her mother’s apartment. She helped carry out soggy belongings, talked with the downstairs neighbor, coordinated with the building management. They decided her mother would move in on Thursday, when the electrician would finally cut all the power to her place.
In the evening, Margarita came home exhausted. Maksim was already there, sitting in the living room with his laptop.
“Maksim, I need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead.”
“My mom’s pipe burst last night. The bedroom and the wiring got flooded. She can’t live there for now. The repairs will take about two weeks. I’m bringing her here tomorrow.”
Maksim looked up from his laptop.
“To our place? Tomorrow?”
“Yes. For two weeks.”
Maksim set his laptop aside.
“Rita, wait. That’s not going to work.”
“Why not?”
“My mom is coming on Saturday. For a month. I told you about it.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t. I’m telling you now. She’s already bought the tickets. She needs to see some doctors here, and her friend is celebrating a big birthday. I promised her your room.”
“What room of mine?”
“You know, the small one. The one you work in. Mom said it was too hot in the bedroom last time—radiator right by the bed. The small room has a north-facing window and it’s cooler there. And you don’t really care which room you use your laptop in, do you?”
Margarita stood in the middle of the living room, staring at her husband. She couldn’t figure out when he had made all these plans—or with whom. And without her.
“Max, you promised your mom my office for a month and didn’t tell me?”
“I was going to tell you. I would have told you today.”
Margarita sat on the arm of the chair and took a deep breath.
“Okay, let’s think it through. Your mom arrives Saturday for a month. My mom moves in tomorrow for two weeks. The apartment is big. Here’s the plan. For two weeks, both of them stay with us. Your mom gets the small room since she likes it cool. My mom takes the sofa in the living room. We’ll be in the bedroom. I’ll work in the bedroom at the vanity table for two weeks—no problem. After that, my mom goes back home when her repair is done. Your mom stays for two more weeks. Sound good?”
Maksim didn’t even need to think.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be uncomfortable for my mom. Do you really want her to spend two weeks living with your mom in the same apartment? They don’t even really know each other. My mom is coming to relax, and now there will be a stranger in the house.”
“My mom isn’t a stranger. She’s your mother-in-law.”
“Rita, you know what I mean. My mom is used to peace and quiet, to having things just the way she likes them. And now your mom will be in the living room, using the TV, the bathroom, the kitchen. No. It has to be comfortable for her.”
“And where is my mom supposed to live?”
“Let her stay at a hotel. Or with a friend. She’s a grown woman, she’ll figure something out. Why should I be solving her problems?”
“She doesn’t have money for a hotel, Max. She gave me all her savings when I lost my job. For my dental treatment. Do you remember that?”
Maxim grimaced.
“That’s between you two. What’s my mom got to do with it?”
Margarita stood up and walked to the window. Down by the river, the streetlights were starting to glow.
“Max, for eight years I’ve given up the bedroom to your mom every single time. Three weeks, four times a year. I sleep on that sofa, it makes my back hurt. I canceled my trip to Kazan when she arrived. I stayed quiet when she threw out my blanket. I keep quiet when she moves my groceries or hides my frying pan on the top shelf. Why is her month of rest more important than two weeks for my mom? My mom’s apartment was flooded. She truly has nowhere else to go.”
“Rita, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“But I do.”
Maxim suddenly stood up from the couch.
“Your mother can get a hotel and my mom will stay here! If you don’t like it, that’s your problem!” he declared.
Margarita turned to look at him.
“Here.” He said it as if “here” belonged to him. As if it was him who, eight years ago, scraped off old wallpaper, picked out the tiles, and gave the contractor all his savings. As if it was his father who gifted him the apartment where he grew up. He was standing in the middle of her living room deciding who was allowed to live there and who wasn’t. Her mom wasn’t allowed.
Margarita suddenly remembered all these eight years at once. How every time she’d vacate the bedroom. How she canceled plans, rescheduled meetings, smiled at her mother-in-law at breakfast even when she criticized the towels. How she kept quiet so Maxim would never have to choose between his mother and his wife. For eight years, she shielded him from that choice.
But the moment her mom needed help, Maxim made his choice in a single second. He didn’t even think twice.
Margarita said nothing. She quietly walked into the bedroom, changed, and lay down. Maxim stood in the living room for a while, then turned on the TV.
That night she barely slept. She lay there staring at the ceiling. She didn’t feel hurt or bitter. Instead, everything was clear. Like the feeling you get in the morning after a long illness, when the fever is finally gone.
In the morning, as soon as Maxim left for work, she called her mom.
“Mom, pack your things. Just the essentials. I’ll be there at six.”
“Rita, what did Maxim say?”
“Mom, everything’s fine. Just pack.”
At six in the evening, Margarita pulled up to her mother’s building. Alla Viktorovna was already waiting at the door with two bags and a shopping bag holding her medicine and that same framed photograph she had held that morning. In the picture, little Rita sat on her father’s shoulders.
At home, Margarita led her mom into the small room. She picked up her laptop, papers, and lamp from the table and carried everything into the bedroom.
“Mom, make yourself comfortable.”
“Ritочка, where are you going to work then?”
“In the bedroom. There’s a desk in there too.”
Maxim came home around seven, stepped into the hallway, and immediately noticed his mother-in-law’s shoes and coat by the rack. From the small room, he could hear his mother-in-law talking to someone on the phone. He stopped in his tracks.
“What’s this?”
Margarita walked out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a towel.
“Mom’s moved in with us. For two weeks.”
“Rita, we agreed about this yesterday!”
“We didn’t agree on anything. You told me my mom could stay at a hotel. And I didn’t answer you.”
“My mom is coming on Saturday! I promised her the room!”
“This is my apartment, Max. And it’s my room. I decide who lives here.”
Maxim’s face went pale.
“Are you serious right now? You’re saying this to me? ‘My apartment’?”
“I haven’t said it for eight years. I’m saying it now.”
She paused. Then, calmly, she spoke—as if she’d rehearsed this, though she hadn’t rehearsed at all.
“Max. After yesterday, I don’t want to live with you anymore. I listened to you and realized I’ve been the only one compromising all this time. You’ve never compromised, not once. And the moment you needed to, you just said: it’s my problem. Fine. I’ll deal with my problems myself. I’m asking you to pack up and move out.”
“Now? At night?”
“Today.”
“Rita, are you crazy? I need time. I have to find a place, figure things out. At least a month. I’ll stay here for now, then…”
“No, Max. For the next month, your mom will be living here, and I need you to move out today.”
Maxim stared at her for a long time, then laughed.
“You’re scaring me, right? You want me to cancel my mom’s visit? Fine. You win, congrats. But kicking me out is ridiculous.”
Margarita didn’t answer. She went into the bedroom, pulled down three big travel bags from the top shelf, and started packing his things: shirts, sweaters, jeans, his razor and toothbrush from the bathroom, chargers, and documents from the dresser.
Maxim stood in the doorway, watching her. Then he realized she wasn’t bluffing. He took out his phone and started scrolling through rental ads.
An hour later, he found a studio in a neighboring district. Twenty-eight thousand a month, immediate move-in. He transferred the landlord the first month’s rent and a security deposit. Margarita carried the bags out to her car, plus two boxes with his books, computer, and shoes. She drove them to the address and helped him carry it all up to the fourth floor.
The studio was empty. There was a narrow bed, a table, a small fridge, and an electric stove. The window looked out onto garages.
“The keys, Maxim.”
He hesitated for a long time before taking two keys off his keyring and placing them in her hand.
“Rita. You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe,” Margarita replied, and left.
The day after he moved out, Margarita called a locksmith and changed the lock cylinder on the front door. Now, she was the only one with access to the apartment.
Late in the evening, after eleven, Larisa Pavlovna called. Margarita was sitting in the kitchen with her mother. Both of them jumped at the sound of the phone. Continued in the comments.
“Rita! What on earth did you do?! Maxim just called me! He says I can’t come visit! Says he lives in some tiny studio, only ten meters! I already bought tickets! For Saturday! So where am I supposed to go now?!”
“Larisa Pavlovna, you need to talk to Maxim.”
“I already talked to him! He says there’s no space! And that he doesn’t have money for a hotel for me—he won’t even give me any! Says now he has to pay rent, has no money! And I’ve got doctor’s appointments! My friend is celebrating her birthday! Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
“I understand, Larisa Pavlovna,” Margarita replied. “You can book a hotel. You’re an adult woman. You’ll find something.”
Her mother-in-law was speechless over the phone, then hung up.
Alla Viktorovna sat across from her daughter in silence. Her eyes were red.
“Ritочка, this is all my fault,” she said quietly. “I ruined your marriage. I should have gone to a hotel. I would have managed somehow, borrowed from Tonya…”
“Mom. Don’t say that.”
“How can I not say it, Rita? You were together eight years. And as soon as I come—this happens.”
Margarita took her mom’s hand.
“Mom, you didn’t ruin anything. You just came when you really needed help. For the first time in eight years. And I finally saw that for Maxim, my mom is a stranger, but his mom is family. I hadn’t seen it all these years—or didn’t want to. Your pipe burst, and suddenly it all became clear to me.”
Alla Viktorovna looked at her daughter for a long time.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Mom.”
Alla Viktorovna stayed with her daughter for two weeks and three days. The renovations finished a bit later than promised—the electrician got sick and they had to wait for someone else. During that time, she would wake up early and make breakfast while Margarita was still asleep. She didn’t move anything in the fridge. She would always ask if she could use a towel. In the evenings, they’d sit in the kitchen and talk for hours—probably longer than they had talked since Margarita was a child.
During those two weeks, Maxim called only twice. The first time, he asked if Margarita had changed her mind. The second time, he asked her to return his winter coat, which she had forgotten to pack in his bags. Margarita left the coat with the concierge at his building.
Larisa Pavlovna ended up returning her tickets. As Margarita later heard from mutual friends, Maxim never gave his mother any money for a hotel, saying he was broke himself.
In mid-August, Margarita filed for divorce. A month later, at the registry office, they signed the papers one last time. Maxim was polite but barely looked at her.
The renovation in her mom’s apartment finished in mid-August: new wiring, new plaster, fresh light wallpaper in the bedroom. Margarita herself took her mom home and helped hang new curtains in the bedroom. Alla Viktorovna walked around the apartment, touching the walls, opening the closets, smiling.
“It feels like a new apartment. Ritочка, thank you so much.”
Margarita pulled a key with a little blue dolphin keychain from her pocket and handed it to her mom.
“Mom, this is for you. From my apartment.”
Alla Viktorovna looked at the key, not taking it.
“Why, Rita?”
“So you can come whenever you want. No need to call. No need for a reason. Not just when your pipes burst.”
Alla Viktorovna picked up the key, held it in her palm for a moment, and then slipped it into the pocket of her sweater. She turned away towards the window, as if she was admiring the new curtains.
“Alright,” she said without turning around. “I’ll come.”