Larisa stepped across the threshold of the apartment on Mayakovskogo Street for the first time—not as a guest, but as a daughter-in-law. The suitcase in her hand felt heavier than usual—not because of the belongings inside, but because of the weight of expectations. She had dreamed of this moment during three years of relationship with Denis, imagining how she would finally become part of his family.
“Well, you’re here?” Valentina Petrovna greeted her in the hallway, casting a critical glance. “I cleared a spot in the closet, just don’t scatter your rags everywhere.”
Larisa forced a tight smile. She knew her mother-in-law was cold toward her but hoped time would change the situation. After all, they both loved Denis.
“Thank you, Valentina Petrovna. I will try not to cause any inconvenience.”
“We’ll see,” she grumbled, disappearing into the kitchen.
Denis hugged his wife by the shoulders:
“Don’t pay attention to her; she’s just getting used to it. Mom has a strong character, but she’s fair.”
During the first weeks, Larisa rushed between work and attempts to win her mother-in-law’s favor. She got up an hour earlier to prepare breakfast for all three of them, cleaned the apartment until it shone, and even learned to cook pea soup according to Valentina Petrovna’s family recipe.
“Not bad,” the mother-in-law grudgingly admitted after tasting the soup. “Just learn to salt it properly. And anyway, since you live here, you must understand—the household is run by the woman. I’ve done my time; now it’s your turn.”
Larisa nodded. There was logic in her mother-in-law’s words—Valentina Petrovna had worked as a nurse all her life, raised her son alone, and now deserved rest. Besides, her health was poor—her blood pressure fluctuated, and her legs ached.
Gradually, the responsibilities grew. Laundry, ironing, cleaning, shopping, cooking—all fell on Larisa’s shoulders. Denis worked late, and when he came home, his mother wouldn’t let him help with the housework.
“A man should earn money, and a woman should run the home,” she declared firmly. “Don’t get him used to women’s chores.”
Six months into their life together, Valentina Petrovna spoke about money for the first time.
“Larisa, we need to talk,” she said, seating her daughter-in-law at the kitchen table after dinner. “You don’t live here for free. Utilities, groceries—they’re all getting more expensive. I think it’s fair if you give most of your salary to cover shared expenses.”
“Most of it?” Larisa was taken aback. “But I have expenses too…”
“What expenses?” her mother-in-law frowned. “You have a roof over your head, food on the table. What do you need to spend money on? Cosmetic nonsense? Better to put money to good use, save for the future. A woman should be economical, not a spendthrift.”
Larisa stayed silent, but inside she felt a chill. Her salary wasn’t large enough to hand over nearly all of it. And she had no savings—she had spent the last year before the wedding preparing for their life together.
That evening, she tried to talk to Denis.
“Denis, your mother wants me to give her almost my entire salary. I think that’s unfair.”
He rubbed his tired eyes.
“Lara, you have to understand—Mom has always been frugal, she’s used to planning everything. She doesn’t mean any harm; she just worries about our future.”
“But I’m not a child, I can plan my own expenses…”
“Please don’t complicate things. Mom has more experience. And besides, we do live at her expense.”
Larisa wanted to argue that they all lived on shared income, that she worked as much as anyone and contributed more to the household, but Denis had already turned away to the wall.
Another month passed. Valentina Petrovna grew more demanding. Now she criticized every move Larisa made, told her how to fold towels properly, in what order to wash dishes, how much detergent to use.
“You have no idea what money is worth,” she said. “When I was your age, I counted every kopeck. And you live like a princess.”
Larisa silently endured the reproaches. She did indeed come from a more well-off family where there was no need to economize on laundry detergent. But was that her fault?
The breaking point came unexpectedly. On payday, Valentina Petrovna approached Larisa with an outstretched hand:
“Well, hand over your money. It’s time to save for a rainy day.”
Larisa slowly took out the envelope with her salary. She had been thinking about this moment all week, making calculations and weighing her words.
“Valentina Petrovna, I need to talk to you.”
“What’s there to talk about? Give me the money—I know better how to manage it.”
“I calculated the cost of my household services,” Larisa said calmly, pulling out a sheet with numbers. “Cleaning the apartment three times a week at cleaning service rates is twelve thousand rubles a month. Laundry and ironing at dry cleaner prices is eight thousand. Cooking costs another fifteen thousand.”
Valentina Petrovna’s face slowly tightened as she listened to the list.
“That totals thirty-five thousand for my work. Minus one-third of the rent for a similar apartment—ten thousand. So you owe me twenty-five thousand rubles.”
Silence fell. Valentina Petrovna turned pale, then flushed red.
“You’re downright cheeky to demand money from me for this!” she screamed, lunging at her daughter-in-law with fists but tripped on the carpet edge and smashed her forehead on the table corner.
“You bitch!” she shouted, sitting on the floor and pressing a cloth to her injured forehead. “I let you into my house, feed you, give you drink, and you still demand money from me! Who do you think you are? Nobody! My son could have found anyone, but he chose such a greedy scoundrel!”
Larisa stood still. Something inside her finally clicked and fell into place.
Denis came running at the shouting:
“What happened? Mom, what’s wrong with your forehead?”
“Ask your wife what happened!” Valentina Petrovna sobbed. “She’s demanding money from me for living in my house!”
Denis looked at Larisa confused:
“Lara, what’s going on?”
“I just calculated the cost of my household labor and offered an honest calculation,” she answered evenly.
“But… we’re family; we shouldn’t demand money from each other…”
“You’re right,” Larisa nodded. “We shouldn’t. But your mother has been demanding nearly my entire salary for months. And I do all the housework. It turns out I’m paying for working for free.”
Denis hesitated:
“Well… maybe you’re really too… harsh? Mom meant well…”
In his words, Larisa heard the final answer to all her questions. She realized she would never become part of this family—she would forever remain a lodger, who should be grateful for shelter and the chance to serve the owners.
“Now I understand everything,” she said quietly.
An hour later, Larisa packed her things. Valentina Petrovna kept lamenting and accusing her of every sin. Denis wandered around the apartment, confused, not knowing what to do.
“Lara, where are you going? We can talk about everything…”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” she replied, fastening her suitcase. “Your mother is right—I’ve really been cheeky. So cheeky that I believed I could earn love and respect in a family that from the start considered me a servant.”
“Don’t dramatize…”
“I’m not dramatizing. I just realized that my happiness shouldn’t depend on someone else’s approval.”
Leaving the apartment, Larisa looked back one last time. Denis stood in the doorway with a guilty face, and from the kitchen came the voice of her mother-in-law continuing to complain.
Outside was a frosty February evening. Larisa walked along the snowy sidewalk, feeling an invisible burden lift from her shoulders with each step. For the first time in many months, she could breathe deeply.
She didn’t know what would come next—where she would live, how to build relationships, or whether to try to save the marriage. But one thing she knew for sure: she would never again allow anyone to devalue her work or demand gratitude for the right to be herself.
At her parents’ home, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, Larisa told her mother the whole story.
“You know what’s the scariest thing?” she said. “I almost believed they were right. That I should really be grateful for being tolerated. That my housework is my duty. That my money isn’t really mine.”
Her mother listened silently, then hugged her daughter.
“It’s good that you stopped in time. Some women live their whole lives in such relationships, thinking that’s normal.”
“Maybe I really went too far with those calculations?”
“You just held up a mirror. And they didn’t like their reflection.”
A week later, Denis began calling. At first, he begged her to return, promising to talk to his mother. Then he accused her of destroying the family. Then he asked again for another chance.
“Mom agrees to compromise,” he said. “She understands she was wrong.”
“And do you understand?” Larisa asked.
“Of course I do. We’ll fix everything.”
“Denis, it’s not just about your mother. It’s that you never defended me, never took my side. Even when I was right.”
“But she’s my mother…”
“And I was your wife. Was.”
The divorce went quickly and without scandal. Denis didn’t insist on saving the marriage, and they had no property disputes.
Larisa rented a small one-room apartment in another neighborhood. For the first time in years, she lived alone, and the feeling of freedom was intoxicating. She could eat whenever she wanted, sleep as long as she pleased, spend money on whatever she considered necessary.
She had to change jobs—the old one was too close to Denis’s home. The new place turned out better—the team was friendlier, salary higher, and prospects more interesting.
Six months later, Larisa ran into Denis at a shopping mall. He looked tired.
“Hi,” he greeted awkwardly. “How are you?”
“Good,” she answered sincerely. “And you?”
“Fine… Mom often thinks of you. She says she misses you.”
Larisa doubted the sincerity of those words but said nothing.
“Listen, maybe we could meet and talk?” Denis continued. “I’ve reconsidered a lot during this time.”
“No need,” she declined gently. “We have different ideas about family. It’s not a matter of time or reconsideration.”
“I can change…”
“Denis, you’re not a bad person. We just don’t suit each other. I wish you happiness.”
She turned and left without looking back.
That evening, sitting in her small but cozy apartment, Larisa thought about the past year. She no longer sought anyone’s permission to be herself. She no longer tried to earn love through self-denial. She no longer considered her work and time less valuable than others’.
Maybe someday she would meet someone who valued her not for submission but for strength. Someone who would see her not as a free housekeeper, but as an equal partner. But for now, she enjoyed the newfound freedom to be herself—without compromises, without excuses, without needing to buy someone’s love with her own dignity.
Outside, snow was falling, but inside the room was warm and cozy. Larisa smiled at her reflection in the dark window. She was alone, but not lonely. She was free.