The doorbell rang at half past nine. Svetlana froze with her cup of coffee — after a month since the divorce, she’d forgotten what it was like to have unexpected guests.
“Svetochka, it’s me! Open up!”
Valentina Petrovna stood on the doorstep, arms full of bags and a bundle of keys. The very same keys that Igor had ‘forgotten’ to take.
“I brought some cottage cheese. How are you holding up? Not too lonely, I hope?”
“I’m fine,” Svetlana replied curtly, letting her former mother-in-law inside.
Valentina Petrovna marched straight to the kitchen and immediately took over — pulling out groceries, turning on the kettle, wiping down the table.
“Igor called yesterday. Complained that his new girlfriend’s apartment is tiny, and he’s so used to all the space here.”
“That was his choice.”
“Oh, come on!” Valentina Petrovna threw up her hands. “Men are so impulsive. He acted on a whim and now he’s suffering. You know how many years he lived here? Twelve! This is his home.”
She walked over to the dresser, where the wedding photo stood, and turned the frame to face the room.
“Why should it be turned away? Igor should be able to look at his apartment.”
“Mine,” Svetlana quietly corrected her.
“Of course, darling. But a little bit his too. Fairness above all, you know.”
Within a week, Valentina Petrovna started showing up every other day. Always with the keys, always finding something to ‘fix.’
“Move that violet away from the window, it’ll burn. Igor always said flowers need some shade.”
She moved the pot to the table, brought her own towel, and left a pair of slippers by the door.
“And the fridge is looking quite empty. Thank goodness I’m keeping an eye on things — what if Igor pops in and there’s nothing to feed him?”
“He doesn’t pop in,” Svetlana answered dryly.
“For now he doesn’t. But he’ll come to his senses. Those new wives, you know — they just play around and leave. The first family is sacred.”
Valentina Petrovna opened the cabinet and counted the plates.
“What a lovely dinner set you’ve got left. Did Igor gift it to you for your anniversary?”
“He did. Bought it with his own money.”
“Still, he picked it out with love. That’s what counts.”
By the end of the month, her mother-in-law didn’t even bother knocking. She came in with her own keys, and started bringing friends over for tea.
“Tamara, look what a great layout this place has! Igor lived here for years, basically grew up in these walls. Too bad he had to leave.”
The neighbor clucked her tongue, touched the curtains, and peeked into the bedroom.
“Svetochka, you are lucky to have a place like this.”
“Lucky…,” Valentina Petrovna echoed. “But is it really fair for one person to have so much space?”
Svetlana listened from the kitchen, her fists clenched. The violet on the table had wilted completely — her mother-in-law was drowning it with daily waterings.
“And how is poor Igor doing?” Tamara chimed in. “Having to squeeze into someone else’s place.”
“Exactly. Maybe it’s time to think it over… you know, be reasonable about things.”
On Saturday morning, the front door slammed louder than usual. Svetlana peeked out and froze. Valentina Petrovna was hauling a suitcase into the hallway.
“I’ve decided to stay for a while,” she announced, hanging up her coat. “Igor asked me to keep an eye on the apartment.”
“What apartment?” Svetlana’s voice trembled.
“Why, this one, of course! Until you two split the property fairly. The couch in the living room will suit me just fine.”
Valentina Petrovna walked into the room and placed her suitcase by the wall.
“Besides, it’s dangerous for a woman to live alone. I’ll help keep things tidy, and you’ll have some company.”
“I didn’t ask you…”
— Who’s asking, anyway? Life itself is asking. Igor has every right to this home. He lived here for twelve years!
By evening, Valentina Petrovna had settled in completely. She put her medicines on the shelves, hung up her robe, and turned the TV up to full volume.
— Tomorrow my son will come to pick up his things. You don’t mind, do you?
Svetlana stayed silent, staring at a withered violet.
— He called, you know. He’s worried. He says it’s awkward—Svetochka in this big apartment all alone, and he’s out renting.
The phone rang in the hallway.
— Igor! — Valentina Petrovna exclaimed, grabbing the receiver. — Yes, I’m already here. Keeping things in order.
A pause. Igor was saying something.
— Svetochka is fine with it. She understands that fairness is important. Right, dear?
Valentina Petrovna looked expectantly at her daughter-in-law.
Svetlana stood up and walked to the table. She picked up the violet—the same plant she’d been tending for three years, protecting from drafts and repotting.
— Just tell my son you don’t mind, — her mother-in-law insisted.
Svetlana looked up. There was something different in her eyes.
— You want to take me to court over my apartment? Go ahead! Your son won’t get even a millimeter.
Valentina Petrovna dropped the receiver onto the couch.
— What did you just say?!
— You heard me, you old harridan!
Svetlana burst out, but then seemed a bit stunned. She set the violet on the windowsill, away from the radiator. Then she turned to face her mother-in-law.
— Pack your things. Now.
— Have you lost your mind? — Valentina Petrovna jumped up from the couch. — I’m sick and alone! My son asked you to look after me!
— Your son is married to someone else. And he lives with her.
— That’s only temporary! He’ll come to his senses and come back!
— He won’t come back. And even if he does, there’s no place for him here.
Svetlana threw the front door wide open.
— You’re heartless! — screamed Valentina Petrovna, grabbing her suitcase. — Igor will find out what you’re really like!
— Let him. He’ll also realize times have changed.
— I’ll tell him everything! How you humiliated me!
— Go ahead. But first explain who really did the humiliating these past twelve years.
Valentina Petrovna backed toward the door, dragging her suitcase.
— You’ll regret this! Igor will see what you’ve done!
— He already knows. That’s why he left.
Svetlana took the set of keys from the table and handed them to her mother-in-law.
— And leave these behind. You won’t need them anymore.
The door slammed shut. Silence filled the apartment like a warm blanket.
Half an hour later, the phone rang. It was Igor.
— Svetka, what’s going on? Mom’s crying, saying you threw her out!
— I didn’t throw her out. I asked her to leave my home.
— How can you treat an elderly woman like that?
— And how can you endure twelve years of rudeness?
A pause.
— Listen, maybe we can calm down about all this? Mom was just worried…
— About what? That you two couldn’t take my apartment from me?
— It’s not about taking! I have a right…
— A right to what? To a home bought with my money? To a flat you and your mom dreamed of squeezing me out of?
— Svetka, you don’t understand…
— I understand everything perfectly. For the first time in years.
Svetlana hung up. The phone immediately rang again. She turned off the sound.
In the morning, her neighbor Tamara caught her by the elevator.
— Sveta, what was that all about yesterday with Valentina Petrovna running off with a suitcase? Did you two have a fight?
— We came to an understanding.
— Does Igor know?
— He does now. And he’s really upset.
— Well, of course, it’s family after all…
— What family? — Svetlana pressed the elevator button. — He lives with someone else.
— That’s true, but his mother is now all alone…
— Let her move in with her son. Into that famously tiny apartment of his.
The elevator arrived. Tamara was left downstairs, mouth open in shock.
Back at home, Svetlana brewed some coffee and sat by the window. The violet on the windowsill had perked up—after spending the night away from the radiator’s heat, it was looking much livelier.
On the dresser lay a facedown photo. Svetlana picked up the frame and looked at the young faces—their own, hers and Igor’s. There’d been so many plans, so many hopes… and so much silence.
She opened the desk drawer and put the photo away inside.
At one o’clock, the intercom rang. It was Igor.
— Svetlana, it’s me. Let me in, let’s talk.
— Say whatever you need from downstairs. I can hear you just fine.
— Don’t be ridiculous. Open up.
— I’m not opening the door. Say what you want.
There was a pause. She could hear him breathing heavily into the receiver.
— Fine. My mother stayed at my place last night. There’s barely any room, and my wife isn’t happy. Maybe you could let her back in?
— No.
— Sveta, she’s old!
— Then her son should take care of her. Her official and legal son.
— My apartment is tiny…
— And mine is mine. I want to live alone.
— Fine, fine. Then let’s meet and talk this over calmly.
— There’s nothing to talk about.
— How can you say that? I’m not your enemy. Let’s try to work something out, like adults.
— If we’re talking about acting like adults, then you don’t bring your mother over to take your ex-wife’s apartment.
— Nobody was trying to take anything! It would just be fair if—
— Fair is when everyone lives where they have the right to live.
Svetlana hung up the intercom.
A week went by. Valentina Petrovna didn’t show up again. Igor stopped calling. Tamara, the neighbor, stopped talking to her—apparently she finally realized the story was over.
Svetlana watered her violet, made coffee, and read by the window. No one cranked the TV to full volume, rearranged her things, or gave her advice about life.
For the first time in twelve years, she truly felt at home. In her own place, by her own rules.