Yana stared at the laptop screen, double-checking the numbers in the table. The last payment on the loan had been sent. Three years of monthly payments, strict budgeting, and constant side jobs had come to an end. The house was officially hers—fully paid off, with no encumbrances. Outside, the maple leaves rustled, gently swaying in the wind, as if applauding this achievement.
“Well, it’s ours now!” Yana turned in her chair and looked at her husband, who was lying on the couch, absorbed in his phone.
Vitaly looked up from the screen and smiled.
“Awesome! So, should we celebrate tonight? Maybe make some barbecue?”
“We’ll make it,” Yana nodded, closing the laptop. “But let’s not do it today. Let’s do it this weekend. We’ll invite your parents, my mom, and really celebrate.”
Vitaly sat up on the couch and stretched.
“Great idea! Mom will be happy. By the way, she called yesterday, asking how we were doing.”
Yana slightly winced. Her relationship with her mother-in-law had been strained from the start. Tamara Petrovna never missed an opportunity to hint that her son could have found a “more suitable match.” Yana was too independent, too self-sufficient for Tamara Petrovna’s traditional views.
“Say hi for me,” Yana said politely. “And yes, we’ll be expecting everyone by four on Saturday.”
The story of the house began three years ago. Yana worked as a financial analyst at a large company. Her salary was decent, but the expectations were high. Sometimes, she had to work late into the night, taking work home on weekends. On top of that, she took on side jobs—consulting for small businesses, creating business plans, preparing tax returns for freelancers.
Vitaly worked at an auto repair shop, fixing cars, and sometimes did private taxi work. He earned less than Yana, but it was steady. They rented a one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts, saving little by little for their own home. They planned to save for a down payment in about five or six years.
But then, an unexpected opportunity came up. One of Yana’s clients, a construction company owner, offered her a chance to participate in an employee program—a new house in the suburbs at a discounted price with convenient installments. It was a small but cozy two-story house with four bedrooms, a garage, and a six-acre plot. The perfect place to start a family.
Yana didn’t hesitate for a second. She used her savings for the down payment, handled the paperwork, and took out a loan. Everything was in her name—it was simpler from the bank’s perspective, given her stable income and excellent credit history.
“Zhenya, you won’t believe it! We’re buying a house,” Yana told her best friend on the phone. “A two-story house, with a garden!”
“Are you crazy? Where are you getting the money?” Zhenya asked in surprise.
“I saved a little, plus I took out a loan. I’ll manage,” Yana answered confidently. “I’ve calculated everything to the penny.”
“And Vitaly? Is he contributing too?”
Yana hesitated before answering.
“No, for now it’s all on me. He’s a bit tight with money right now; he just fixed his car. But he’ll participate later, of course.”
In reality, there was no “later.” Yana continued to pay for the house, for repairs, for furniture, and for the garden. Vitaly helped physically—painting, sawing, digging, planting. But financially, Yana carried the whole load.
“Here, I saved a little,” Vitaly would sometimes say, handing her a few thousand rubles. “For curtains or whatever else we need.”
Yana thanked him but knew that these “savings” were just a drop in the ocean compared to her monthly payments. Still, she never complained. The house was her dream, her project, her achievement.
When they moved in, Vitaly was beaming with happiness.
“Our family nest!” he proudly told friends, giving them a tour of the house. “Look at this kitchen! And the bedroom!”
Yana smiled, listening to him talk. “Our nest” sounded nice, even though Vitaly hadn’t contributed much financially.
The first guests in their new home were Vitaly’s parents. Tamara Petrovna, a tall woman with perfectly styled hair, scrutinized every corner, pursing her lips at any unfinished work.
“The wallpaper isn’t applied evenly,” she commented, running her finger along the wall in the living room. “And the baseboard isn’t flush. Vitalik, you should’ve kept an eye on this!”
“Mom, we’re still not done with the repairs,” Vitaly tried to explain.
“Of course, of course,” Tamara Petrovna nodded. “Still, well done. Now you live like people do. Thanks to the family.”
Yana remained silent, though she really wanted to ask what exactly her mother-in-law meant by “thanks to the family.” Yana’s own savings, her credit history, and her regular payments—none of that seemed to count.
From then on, the relationship with Tamara Petrovna remained tense. She called regularly, asking how the repairs were going, if Yana’s boss was giving her bonuses “so you could finish with the house.” And always, in every conversation, there was talk of “your house,” “your family nest.”
“Vitalik, I don’t understand why you still haven’t put up a fence on the north side,” Tamara Petrovna would say during each visit. “You really need one in your house.”
Yana tried not to pay attention. After all, her mother-in-law didn’t live with them; she came once a week for a couple of hours and then left. And the house was beautiful—getting cozier each month, more and more like the image Yana had cherished in her dreams.
By the spring of the third year in the house, Yana had landscaped the garden—flowerbeds, pathways, a gazebo for summer gatherings. When Tamara Petrovna came to visit, she couldn’t hide her admiration.
“How beautiful!” she exclaimed, looking at the blooming tulips. “A real paradise! You have such a big house, there’s plenty of room for everyone in the summer!”
Yana felt uneasy. What did she mean by “everyone”? But she didn’t ask, deciding that she had either misheard or misunderstood.
A week later, the hint was repeated.
“Vitalik said you have four bedrooms,” Tamara Petrovna said during a family dinner. “One for you, the second for the office, the third is a guest room. And the fourth is empty?”
“Yes, for now,” Yana answered cautiously. “We’re thinking of turning it into a nursery when we get the chance.”
“Until then, the room is sitting idle,” Tamara Petrovna nodded. “It’s so nice here in the summer. The air is fresh, the garden is beautiful…”
Yana stayed silent. She didn’t want to ruin the weekend with arguments. But inside, the tension was building. All these hints, all this talk about “extra rooms”—what was it leading to?
“Don’t pay attention,” Vitaly said when his parents left. “Mom just likes to talk. No one is forcing us to invite anyone.”
Yana calmed down. Indeed, whether to invite someone or not was up to the hosts, not the guests. And she was the one in charge of the house. With all the rights that came with it.
At the beginning of May, Yana returned home earlier than usual. Seasonal allergies had flared up, and her boss had sent her home to rest and be in shape for the report the next day.
Yana was about to take her medicine and lie down when she passed by the office door, which was slightly ajar, and heard Vitaly’s voice. He was talking on the phone.
“Yes, Mom, I remember,” Vitaly said. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday and bring all your things. There will be enough space for everyone until the fall, don’t worry.”
Yana froze at the door. What was this about? What things? Why until the fall?
“Yana knows everything, we discussed it,” Vitaly continued. “You’ll be on the second floor, in the far bedroom. It’s quiet there, and the sun doesn’t shine in the windows.”
Yana felt a lump rise in her throat. She didn’t know anything. They hadn’t discussed anything. What was going on?
When Vitaly finished the conversation, Yana entered the office.
“What was that about?” she asked, trying to speak calmly.
“What do you mean?” Vitaly looked surprised.
“The conversation with your mom. What things are you talking about? Why did you say we discussed everything?”
Vitaly looked confused.
“Oh, that… Mom has wanted to spend the summer out of the city for a while. She has problems with her blood pressure; it’s hard for her in the city apartment. I suggested she stay with us until the fall. We have a free room.”
“And when were you planning to tell me about this?” Yana felt her anger boiling inside.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” Vitaly shrugged. “The house is shared. There’s room for everyone.”
“Shared?” Yana raised her voice. “I took out the loan. I made the payments. I paid for the repairs. Which part of the house is yours?”
“Wait, wait,” Vitaly raised his hands. “Are you serious? We’re family. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. Isn’t that how it works?”
“You think so?” Yana took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Then why didn’t you ask me first before inviting your mom to stay the whole summer?”
“What’s there to ask?” Vitaly asked, genuinely surprised. “Is it that hard for you? The room is empty anyway. Mom will help with the garden, with cooking. She gets rest, we get help.”
Yana looked at her husband and didn’t recognize him. Did he really not understand what the problem was? Didn’t he see that he had crossed a boundary, made an important decision unilaterally?
“Vitaly, it’s not about whether it’s difficult for me or not,” Yana said slowly. “It’s about respect. You should have discussed it with me first before inviting your mom.”
“Oh, come on, stop with the formalities,” Vitaly waved his hand. “Mom’s not a stranger.”
“To me, almost a stranger,” Yana retorted. “And if she moves in, I’ll have to interact with someone I barely know every day when I come home from work.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Vitaly frowned. “Mom is a good, kind woman. You just haven’t gotten to know her properly.”
“And I won’t, if she moves into my house without an invitation!”
“In our house,” Vitaly corrected. “Not just yours.”
Yana snapped:
— This is my house, and my money! — Yana exclaimed. — Let your mom stop expecting handouts!
The room fell silent. Vitaliy looked at his wife as though seeing her for the first time. Yana was breathing heavily, feeling not just anger, but real fury boiling inside her. Not because her mother-in-law was coming — after all, you can invite anyone over for a couple of days. But because her opinion had simply been erased, and she wasn’t even consulted.
— Are you serious right now? — Vitaliy asked quietly. — Handouts? My mom’s a pensioner who struggles in the city during the summer.
— It’s not about your mom, — Yana walked over to the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a folder of documents. — It’s about how you’ve handled this. Look, here it is. The purchase agreement, the deed of ownership, the loan agreement — all in my name. All payments went through my account. This is my house, Vitaliy. Legally, it’s mine.
Vitaliy nervously smiled:
— What’s the difference whose name is on the papers? We’re family. Husband and wife — one flesh, right? We should help each other.
— Help, yes, — Yana nodded. — But that doesn’t mean you can just manage my property without asking me.
— My property? — Vitaliy stood up, clenching his fists. — So, everything we have is only yours? What about all the work I’ve done around the house? I built the fence, fixed the roof, planted the trees!
— And I appreciate your contribution, — Yana tried to stay calm. — But that doesn’t give you the right to invite someone to live here without consulting me.
— Not “someone,” but my mother! — Vitaliy raised his voice. — The woman who raised me, who’s always supported us!
— I’m not against her visiting, — Yana explained. — But living here for several months is something entirely different.
— What don’t you like? The room is empty, she’ll help with the household, cook. It’ll be easier for you!
Yana shook her head:
— Vitaliy, don’t you understand? I come home from work, and I want to be in my house. Without having to engage in small talk, without other people’s eyes on me, without needing to explain my plans. I’ve worked myself to the bone for three years, paying off the loan, to have this — my personal space.
— You’re selfish, — Vitaliy spat. — You just don’t like my family. You’ve always been cold with my mom.
— That’s not true, — Yana replied. — I’ve always been polite. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to live with her under the same roof.
— So, you don’t care about my wants? My feelings? My family?
Yana took a deep breath. This was the issue. For Vitaliy, there was “his family” — mother, father, sister. And Yana? Wasn’t she his family too? Wasn’t she the one who had been by his side for the last five years?
— Vitaliy, understand, — Yana began. — I’m not against your mom as such. I’m against how this was decided. If you had come, asked, discussed it — everything could have been different.
— What’s there to discuss? — Vitaliy threw up his hands. — Mom calls and says she’s struggling in the city. Should I have said, “Sorry, mom, I’ll go ask Yana if you can come over?”
— That’s exactly what you should have done, — Yana said firmly. — Because the house is mine.
— You’re back to that again! My house, my money… You’re a heartless, soulless woman!
Yana remained silent, looking out the window. She knew: if she gave in now — this house would no longer be her fortress forever. Today, Tamara Petrovna would move in, tomorrow it would be another relative of Vitaliy’s. And one day, Yana would just be asked, “What are you even doing here?”
— I won’t give in, — Yana finally said. — Your mother won’t live here. Period.
— But I’ve already promised! — Vitaliy almost shouted. — What am I supposed to tell her? That my wife forbade it?
— Exactly that. Tell her you didn’t discuss it with me beforehand. That it’s your fault, not hers.
Vitaliy shook his head:
— I’m not going to do that. Mom’s coming on Saturday, I’ve already made up my mind.
Yana stared at her husband for a long moment before nodding:
— Okay. I understand.
After that conversation, Yana didn’t start a scene. She just went upstairs, entered the bedroom, and closed the door. Her heart was racing, her thoughts tangled, but one thing was clear — she couldn’t back down.
The next morning, when Vitaliy left for work, Yana called a locksmith and security system company. The technician arrived an hour later, listened to her request, and got to work.
— Change all the locks? — the technician, a gray-haired man with a sharp gaze, asked. — And the gates too?
— Yes, everything, — Yana nodded. — And please install a video intercom. I want to see who’s coming when I’m not home.
By lunchtime, the work was done. The new locks gleamed on all the doors, and a modern intercom panel with a camera was installed at the main entrance. Yana paid the technician, received three sets of keys, and an instruction manual.
She put one set in her bag, another in the safe in the bedroom, and left the third on the coffee table in the living room. For Vitaliy.
That evening, when she heard the front door open, Yana went to the hallway. Vitaliy, clearly surprised that his key didn’t work and he had to ring the bell, looked at the new intercom panel.
— What’s this? — Vitaliy asked, pointing at the device.
— Video intercom, — Yana answered calmly. — And new locks. Here’s your set of keys.
Vitaliy took the keys, frowned:
— Why? The old locks were fine.
— It’s a precaution, — Yana said. — Boundary protection. Mine and my house’s.
— Back to your old ways, — Vitaliy sighed wearily. — Let’s not fight. I’ve been thinking about our conversation all day, and I realize I rushed. I should have discussed it with you first. I’m sorry.
Yana nodded:
— I accept your apology. And I’m glad you understand.
— So, can we remove the locks? — Vitaliy asked hopefully. — I feel awkward ringing the bell to my own house.
— No, — Yana shook her head. — The locks stay. And I have a conversation.
They walked to the kitchen. Yana put the kettle on, took out cookies — the same ones Vitaliy had loved since childhood. She sat down across from him.
— I’ve been thinking a lot, — Yana began. — About us, about the house, about the future. And I’ve realized that we’ve come to a crossroads.
— What crossroads? — Vitaliy asked, growing cautious.
— You need to decide what you want, — Yana spoke calmly, without accusations. — If you want to live with me in this house, you’ll live by my rules. First: no one moves in without my consent. Second: all major decisions are made together. Third: you respect my right to personal space.
— And if I don’t agree? — Vitaliy asked quietly.
— Then you’re free to go where your mom decides for you, — Yana replied. — Where you’ll be more comfortable.
Vitaliy remained silent for a long time, turning the cup of tea in his hands.
— You’re putting me in a position where I have to choose, — he finally said. — Either my mom or you.
— No, — Yana shook her head. — I’m giving you a choice: either you live like an adult, respecting others’ boundaries, or like a child, waiting for your mom to decide for you.
That evening, they didn’t speak any more. Vitaliy went to sleep in the guest room, and Yana sat for a long time in the kitchen, looking out the dark window. There was no anger, no resentment — only a calm certainty in her own right.
The next morning, as she was getting ready for work, Yana found a note on the kitchen table: “I need time to think. I’ll stay at mom’s for now.” And the keys — the same ones she had given Vitaliy the day before.
When Yana returned home in the evening, she went through all the rooms. Some of Vitaliy’s things were missing from the closet, his favorite razor was gone from the bathroom, and his laptop was missing from the study. He really had left.
A strange feeling came over Yana. On one hand, sadness that a close person had chosen not her. On the other hand, relief. No more justifications, explanations, or having to prove her right to her own home and her own life.
Yana turned on the music — the kind Vitaliy always thought was “too pompous.” She poured a glass of wine, settled into the armchair by the window. Outside, the maple leaves rustled, the flowers she had planted were fragrant in the garden, and the house was quiet and peaceful.
The phone rang a few times. Once — Zhenya, wondering how she was. Twice — a colleague from work, wanting to clarify some project details. The third time — Tamara Petrovna. Yana didn’t answer that call.
On Saturday, the very day Tamara Petrovna was supposed to move in, Yana woke up early. She calmly made breakfast, had coffee on the porch, then grabbed her gardening tools and went out to trim the roses. Working in the garden always calmed her.
Around noon, a familiar car pulled up to the gates. Vitaliy. With him — Tamara Petrovna, laden with bags.
Yana didn’t rush to open the door. First, she looked through the video intercom to see who was there, even though she could already see the car. Then, she calmly wiped her hands, took off her gardening gloves, and only then went to the gate.
— Hello, — Vitaliy said. He looked confused. — We’re here.
— I see, — Yana nodded. — Why?
— Why what? — Tamara Petrovna interjected. — We agreed! Vitalik said I’d stay with you until fall.
— Vitalik said, — Yana repeated, looking at her husband. — And what did I say, Vitaliy?
Vitaliy looked away:
— Yana, let’s not make a scene. Mom’s here, she’s got her things. Open the gate.
— No, — Yana answered calmly. — Tamara Petrovna, I’m sorry, but you won’t be staying in my house. Not until fall, not even until tomorrow.
— How dare you! — Tamara Petrovna threw her hands up. — This is my son’s house!
— This is my house, — Yana said firmly. — And only mine. All the documents confirm that.
— Vitalik! — Tamara Petrovna turned to her son. — Tell your… wife to open the gate!
Vitaliy remained silent, staring at the ground.
— Fine, — Yana said, addressing her husband. — You have a choice, like I said. You can stay here with me, on my terms. Or go with your mom. Decide.
Tamara Petrovna continued to protest, but Yana didn’t listen. She only watched her husband. He kept studying the ground under his feet.
— I’m sorry, Yana, — Vitaliy finally said. — I can’t leave my mom. She really struggles in the city in the summer.
— I understand, — Yana nodded. — Then I won’t keep you.
— My things… — Vitaliy began.
— I’ll pack them up and give them to you when it’s convenient, — Yana replied. — Just call me beforehand.
They left — the confused Vitaliy and the upset Tamara Petrovna. And Yana returned to her roses. Inside, there was emptiness — but not the kind that comes with loss, but the kind that comes when you shed a heavy burden. Lightness and freedom.
That evening, sitting on the porch with a cup of tea, Yana thought about how strangely life works. You can live with someone for years and not know what really matters to them. You can pour your soul into a house and then discover that not everyone considers it yours.
But the most important thing — Yana realized that she would never again let anyone cross her boundaries. She wouldn’t give away her home, her freedom, her right to make decisions for herself. Even if it meant staying alone.
There were no foreign slippers in the hallway. No unsolicited advice in the kitchen. No one turned the TV up full volume in the living room. The house belonged only to Yana — its rightful owner. And that was the right thing.