“Liza, is there going to be another mouth to feed on my shoulders? I’m already providing for this one, and he isn’t even my blood. Where do you think you’re going to keep having kids in this cramped place?!”
Tamara Petrovna slammed the heavy cast-iron skillet onto the stove with a loud bang.
Oil splattered everywhere, making Liza flinch back, clutching Artyom close to her. Her son buried his nose into her side.
“Mom,” Oleg responded quietly, “we were just talking about our plans. Liza isn’t pregnant.”
“Tyomka’s already big, he doesn’t get in the way at all. And we’re not asking you to feed him, we buy our own groceries.”
“Not in the way, huh?” his mother-in-law whipped around. “He’s quiet as a mouse because he knows he’s just a guest here! And you, Liza, you’re just a guest too.”
Once you have your own, this one will just retreat to the corner.
And where do you think you’ll get the money to get a bigger place? With those pennies you have left over after paying me back for my loan?
That’s my loan, my responsibility. And the apartment will be mine!
“But we’re paying more than half,” Liza interrupted. “We agreed this would be our shared home…”
“It doesn’t matter what we agreed on,” Tamara Petrovna cut her off. “I am not planning to spend my old age dividing square meters with other people’s kids.”
Your Artyom is nothing to me. I have real grandkids from my daughter—those are the ones I’m responsible for. But here… you just brought him and dumped him on my lap!
She nodded toward the room she’d given the young couple.
“Go to your room. And don’t you dare close the door, I know you two—always whispering about me, plotting against your mother.”
I don’t like it when anyone in my apartment locks doors!
Liza took her son by the hand and led him into their small, balcony-less room.
In their twelve square meters, there was their double bed, Artyom’s tiny desk, and an old wardrobe overflowing with her mother-in-law’s things.
They were only allowed to keep their stuff on the bottom two shelves.
“Mom, why is Grandma Toma always angry?” Artyom whispered as they sat down on the bed.
“She’s just tired, sweetheart. Why don’t you read a book, okay?”
Liza opened the window and took a deep breath.
“Oleg,” she called to her husband when he entered the room. “We need to talk.”
“Liza, can we not do this right now? My head is pounding. Mom’s just in a bad mood…”
“She’s always in a bad mood when it comes to us. Why is the loan in her name? We’re paying almost all your salary and my maternity pay!”
“It was easier for the bank that way! She has a pension and thirty years at the same job. We never would’ve gotten that amount at that rate.”
“But the apartment’s going to end up being hers? Do you get that we barely have any rights here? She won’t even let us close the door.”
Today I wanted to draw a tree for Tyomka in the corner of the wall, on the spot where the wallpaper’s missing. You know I could…
Then she barged in and yelled that I was ruining her property!
“Liza… It’s just temporary. A year or two, then we’ll move to our own place, once the building is finished.”
“Our own place, Oleg? You mean the one that’s also in Tamara Petrovna’s name?”
Suddenly, Tamara’s large figure appeared in the doorway.
“At it again?” she squinted. “Oleg, I told you—not to shut yourselves in here. My heart skips a beat when I can’t hear what’s going on in my house.”
Liza, instead of nagging your husband, you’d be better off dusting. Look at this thick layer!
She marched right over to the table where Liza’s photos with her son and a few trinkets stood, and started rearranging everything.
“Those are my things, Tamara Petrovna,” Liza said quietly.
“Everything in my house is mine. And that includes the dust. Clearly, I have to take care of it since you can’t.”
She turned to the boy. “See, Artyomka? Your mother just wants to paint pictures, but she doesn’t know how to keep things tidy.”
You must be just like your father. He probably hid in the corners too.
“My dad is a good man!” Artyom suddenly piped up loudly.
“Oh, so he’s got a voice!” his grandmother chuckled. “Oleg, look at your little defender here.”
You’d better teach him some discipline, or he’ll grow up just like Igor’s boys. At least they’re family, so we can forgive them, but this one…
“Mom, that’s enough,” Oleg finally stood up. “Leave them alone. Let’s go to the kitchen for some tea.”
His mother made a face but left the room.
A week later, Tamara Petrovna’s daughter Natalia showed up with her twin sons.
The apartment became stifling. The boys charged up and down the hallway, knocking things over, shouting, and pushing Artyom.
“Liza,” Natalia poked her head in, munching on an apple. “Hey, your paints are on the table, my boys want to do some drawing. Is that okay?”
“Natasha, that’s my professional watercolor set; it’s expensive. And Artyom is using it now…”
“Oh come on, don’t be so stingy. It’s just paints! A couple of pieces of paper won’t bankrupt you.”
Just then, they heard a crash and a cry from the hallway. Liza ran out and saw one of the twins had pushed Artyom, and he’d hit his head on the doorframe.
“What happened?” Liza scooped up her son.
“He fell all by himself!” the twin yelled.
Tamara Petrovna came out, drawn by the commotion.
“Why is everyone making such a fuss?” she asked irritably. “Artyomka, don’t be a crybaby. So you bumped your head—stop whining!”
“He pushed him, Tamara Petrovna!” Liza snapped. “Artyom has a huge bump on his forehead!”
“He brought it on himself,” her mother-in-law snapped. “He shouldn’t be hanging around in the hallway. Let him stay in the room. My grandsons are the real hosts, they’re at home. And your boy… well, I’ve said it before.”
“Don’t start, Lizka,” Natalia said, hugging her sons. “They’re just kids. Mine are energetic, what am I supposed to do—lock them up?”
That evening, after the guests had left and Artyom was asleep, Liza walked into the kitchen. Oleg was sitting there with his mother, discussing what color tiles to get for the new apartment.
“I think we should go with beige,” Tamara Petrovna lectured. “It’s practical. And for the bathroom too. None of those trendy patterns you like.”
“But Mom, Liza wanted…” Oleg began.
“Does it really matter what she wants?” his mother interrupted. “Who pays for the girl, calls the tune.”
The apartment’s in my name? It is. The loan is mine? Also mine. When she earns enough for the walls herself, then she can make the decisions.
Liza stepped forward with determination.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said calmly. “Oleg, tomorrow we’re starting to look for a place to rent.”
Her mother-in-law slowly set her cup down on the saucer.
“What did you say? Rent? Are you out of your mind, girl? Throwing money away like that?”
Here you have a roof over your head, food on the table, and your own mother by your side.
“You are not my mother, Tamara Petrovna. And you never will be. You can’t stand my son, you handle our money like it’s your own.”
Why would I ever want that?!
“Liza, how can you say such things…” Oleg started to panic. “Mom, don’t listen to her…”
“I’m telling the truth, Oleg. We’re paying for this apartment, but we have no say here at all. Your mother already picked out the tiles and decided who’s in charge!”
“Of course I’ll be in charge!” Tamara Petrovna shouted, jumping up from her chair. “And what if you leave Oleg tomorrow just like you left your first husband? Am I supposed to give you a piece of this apartment?”
Forget it! I’m protecting my son. And your… your kid is not going to be anyone’s heir in this house.
“Enough! He’s not some nobody! He has a name—Artem. And he’s a hundred times better behaved than your grandkids, who beat him up today, and you didn’t even apologize!”
“Look at her, Oleg!” Tamara Petrovna wailed. “She’s insulting me in my own house! She needs to be kicked out with that attitude.”
“Liza, apologize to my mom,” Oleg said quietly.
Liza froze. She stared at the man she married three years ago, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“Apologize? For what? For wanting my child to grow up in a healthy environment? For not wanting to feel like a burden in a home I’m paying for?”
“Liza, really, you’re overreacting. Mom is just looking out for our future. We put it in her name for security, that’s all. Let’s just get through this year peacefully and…”
“No, Oleg. We’re not going to just get through it. Either we move out tomorrow or…”
“Or what?” Tamara Petrovna sneered. “You’ll run back to your parents’ village? Bet they won’t be thrilled to see you back with extra baggage.”
“My parents, unlike you, will always welcome us. I just wanted us to have a real family, Oleg. Our own family.”
But it looks like you’re already married—to your mom!
Liza turned and walked into the bedroom to start packing her things.
“Are you serious?” Oleg came into the room ten minutes later. “It’s the middle of the night, where will you go?”
“To a friend’s place. And tomorrow I’ll rent a room.”
“With what money? You gave everything to my mom this month.”
“I’ll manage,” Liza zipped up her suitcase. “I have commissioned illustration work, I’ll be fine.”
I’d rather work three shifts than keep hearing how my son supposedly ruins your mom’s life, the great martyr.
“Liza, don’t be ridiculous. Stay. We’ll talk about it in the morning. My mom will cool off—she’s really not that bad…”
“She won’t cool off, Oleg. She doesn’t care about anything except having total control over you. And I’m just in her way!”
She woke up Artem, quickly dressed the sleepy boy. He didn’t fuss—he just quietly watched his mom argue with her husband.
Tamara Petrovna was waiting for them in the hallway.
“Go on, go,” she hissed. “You won’t get far. You’ll crawl back in a week when you have nothing to eat.”
Just know I won’t let you back in! At least not until you apologize on your knees!
“Don’t worry,” Liza replied calmly to her mother-in-law’s remarks. “I will never cross the threshold of this apartment again.”
Liza left. She went down the stairs deliberately slowly, hoping her husband would come after her… But Oleg didn’t come out of the apartment.
Lisa finally rented her own place. She had to take on some debt, of course, but she doesn’t regret it for a second.
It was tough—she had to draw late at night after Artyom fell asleep just to cover the bills—but at least nobody rubbed it in their faces for needing a meal.
Oleg called several times, complaining that his mother started getting sick, that he was having trouble at work, and that construction on the house was delayed.
“Lisa, maybe you’ll come back?” he asked her once. “Mom said if you admit your mistakes, she’ll let you choose the wallpaper for one of the rooms.”
“Oleg,” Lisa sighed. “You still don’t get it. I don’t need her permission. In fact, I don’t need anything from you anymore.”
Tell Tamara Petrovna that her loan is her own business. I’m filing for divorce.
There was silence on the other end. Lisa put down the phone and turned to her son.
“Mom, look, I made the leaves green!” Artyom proudly pointed at the wall. “Does it look good?”
“It looks beautiful, honey. The most beautiful tree in the world.”
Lisa divorced Oleg. The apartment they had been paying for stayed in Tamara Petrovna’s name, but Oleg didn’t live there long—his mother nagged him so much that he left for another city to find work, leaving her alone within those empty walls.
For now, Elizaveta isn’t in a hurry to start a new relationship—the past is still too fresh.