Natasha placed a plate of fried potatoes on the table but immediately pulled her hand back—the frying pan was too hot. Her fingers were slightly reddened, but the pain was bearable. The air was filled with the aroma of dill and fried onions, the May sun was shining outside the window, and cheerful children’s voices could be heard. A typical evening in their two-room apartment on the third floor.
“Maxim, dinner!” Natasha called her son.
The boy ran out of his room, tousled, wearing a T-shirt stained with markers—apparently, he had been working on a school project. He quickly washed up and sat at the table, reaching for the bread.
“Wait for your dad,” Natasha gently stopped him.
Sergey came out of the bedroom, adjusting his shirt. The construction work clearly took its toll: his face looked tired, hair stuck to his forehead, dark circles under his eyes.
“How was your day?” Natasha asked as she poured him tea.
“Okay. The heat is terrible, the boss nags as usual,” Sergey took the plate with meat. “And you?”
“Maxim was at the library today, preparing for the math olympiad. They say there’s a chance to pass the city stage.”
Maxim smiled shyly and began serving himself some potatoes. A familiar silence settled over the table, broken only by brief comments about the day. Natasha thought she needed to buy new sneakers for her son tomorrow—the old ones were completely worn out.
Suddenly, there was a sharp ring at the door—three long rings in a row.
“Who could that be so late?” Natasha wondered, looking at the clock. It was about eight in the evening.
Sergey got up, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and went to open the door. A second later, a woman’s voice was heard:
“Sergey! Thank God you’re home! Help me bring in the suitcases—I could barely carry them!”
Natasha recognized her mother-in-law’s voice and tensed involuntarily. Valentina Petrovna always appeared suddenly, like a hurricane overturning the established routine. The hallway rustled as Sergey started carrying the bags.
“Maxim, finish quickly,” Natasha quietly told her son.
The boy looked at his mother questioningly but silently continued eating. Natasha began clearing the table—experience told her it was better to tidy up right away.
Valentina Petrovna entered the room with the confident air of the hostess. Her hair was neatly styled, light makeup on her face, and her clothes were stylish and clearly expensive. She carried a leather handbag.
“Hello,” she said, surveying the room. “Maxim, greet me properly.”
The boy stood and approached his grandmother:
“Hello, Valentina Petrovna.”
“‘Valentina Petrovna’?” The woman’s voice turned cold. “I’m not Valentina Petrovna to you—I’m your grandmother. Although…” She gave Natasha a meaningful look, “it’s clear who raised you like that.”
Natasha clenched her teeth and continued collecting the dishes. Maxim shifted nervously from foot to foot.
“Mom, sit down,” Sergey moved a chair. “Will you have dinner?”
“Of course I will. I’m tired from the trip.” Valentina Petrovna sat down and looked around. “So when will you serve me food?”
“I’ll heat it up now,” Natasha replied.
“Don’t heat it up!” the mother-in-law sharply interrupted. “I don’t eat reheated food. Serve it fresh.”
“But we just finished dinner…”
“Great! Then there should be some for me too. Or do you usually welcome guests hungry?”
Sergey looked guiltily at his wife:
“Natasha, do something.”
Natasha returned to the stove. There was only a little meat and a couple of potatoes left in the fridge. She would have to cook again. Maxim was still standing, hesitant to leave.
“Maxim, go to your room and study,” Natasha said.
“Wait,” Valentina Petrovna stopped him. “First, clear the table. I see dirty plates, crumbs. That’s not allowed.”
“We didn’t know you were coming,” Natasha tried to explain.
“That’s bad! The house must always be ready for guests. Maxim, wipe the table and clear the dishes.”
The boy carefully gathered the crumbs and took the plates to the kitchen. Natasha watched him anxiously—the son was afraid even to accidentally provoke displeasure.
“Sergey, help unpack the suitcases,” Valentina Petrovna addressed her son. “I’m staying for a long time.”
“For a long time?” Natasha asked again.
“What surprises you? Isn’t a son supposed to care for his mother? Or are you against it?”
Natasha turned back to the stove. Arguing was pointless—Sergey would side with his mother.
“Of course, Mom, stay,” he quickly said. “We’re glad.”
The mother-in-law nodded approvingly and began inspecting the room more carefully. Her gaze lingered on every stain and speck of dust.
“Natasha, do you even clean?” she asked, running her finger over the windowsill. “Look how much dust! The flowers are dried out.”
“I work,” Natasha answered shortly, stirring the meat.
“You work? And that prevents you from keeping the house clean? I worked all my life and kept everything in order. And you? Maxim probably doesn’t even make his bed.”
“He does,” the boy interrupted from the kitchen.
“Don’t butt into grown-up conversations!” his grandmother rebuked. “Children should be seen but not heard.”
Maxim fell silent. Natasha heard the door to his room close. Good that he left.
“Mom, don’t be so picky,” Sergey pleaded. “Natasha tries.”
“Tries? Look around! Is this trying? In two days, I’ll fix everything here. I’ll show you how things should be done.”
Natasha put freshly prepared food in front of her mother-in-law. Valentina Petrovna sniffed it and poked the meat with a fork.
“Not enough salt. And the meat is tough. Sergey, you see how they feed you?”
“Mom, it’s fine,” Sergey replied, though his voice sounded uncertain.
Natasha sat down, clasping her hands. Her throat was dry. Valentina Petrovna continued eating, commenting on every detail. With each word, Natasha’s tension grew.
“Where will I sleep?” the mother-in-law asked, pushing aside her half-empty plate. “I hope not on the couch?”
“We have two rooms: Sergey and I sleep in one, Maxim in the other,” Natasha began.
“Then let the boy sleep on the couch. I need a proper bed.”
“Maybe we can find another solution?” Sergey suggested.
“What other solution? You want to send your mother to the couch? After all I’ve done for you?”
Sergey lowered his head. Natasha understood—the decision was already made.
“Maxim!” Valentina Petrovna called. “Tomorrow you clear out your room. Pack your things neatly and sleep in the living room.”
Maxim looked at his parents, holding a book in his hands. Natasha wanted to object, but Sergey spoke first:
“Listen to Grandma, Maxim.”
“But my textbooks, computer…” the boy began.
“You’ll move them,” Valentina Petrovna cut him off. “And you have too much time for games anyway. You’d better help around the house.”
Maxim nodded and went to his room. Natasha heard him carefully moving things. Her heart ached—the son didn’t even try to protest, used to feeling his opinion didn’t matter.
“Tomorrow I’ll take care of the order,” Valentina Petrovna declared, getting up from the table. “And I’ll take care of Maxim’s upbringing. He’s growing up without a man’s hand.”
“But Sergey is here,” Natasha couldn’t hold back.
“Sergey is not the biological father. That makes a big difference. The boy needs discipline, not coddling.”
Natasha suddenly stood up and started angrily clearing the dishes. Plates clinked in her hands, almost slipping. Sergey sat, not knowing where to look—sometimes at his wife, sometimes at his mother, clearly embarrassed by what was happening.
“I’m tired from the trip,” Valentina Petrovna said, rising from the table. “I’m going to rest. Natasha, put fresh sheets on the bed and air the room—the stuffiness is unbearable.”
With that, the mother-in-law headed to the children’s room. Maxim was just coming out, clutching a pile of his things to his chest. Seeing his grandmother, he instinctively pressed himself against the wall, letting her pass.
“And remember,” Valentina Petrovna added, stopping beside him, “tomorrow you wake up early, make the couch, and clean up after yourself. I don’t want to see a single thing unfolded.”
Maxim silently nodded. The mother-in-law disappeared into the room, firmly closing the door behind her. Natasha looked at her son—he stood in the middle of the living room with his things, not knowing what to do next.
“Mom, where will I study?” he quietly asked.
“At the coffee table or in the kitchen,” Natasha replied just as quietly. “For now, we’ll put your books in a box.”
Maxim slowly nodded and began carefully arranging his things on the couch. Natasha saw how hard her son was trying to hold back. He was no longer a child but not yet an adult—old enough to understand the injustice and too young to resist it.
“Natasha, don’t make a tragedy,” Sergey said quietly, approaching his wife. “It’s temporary. Mom is elderly, alone…”
“Temporary?” she asked without turning. “How temporary?”
“I don’t know… Her apartment is currently unlivable—neighbors flooded the bathroom, repairs are underway. Living there is impossible.”
Natasha wanted to ask why she was hearing this only now but changed her mind. Arguing was useless. Valentina Petrovna would stay as long as she deemed necessary.
Morning started early. At exactly six-thirty, Natasha was awakened by the sound of a running vacuum cleaner. She looked at the clock—it was too early. Sergey had already left for work; his shift started early. Natasha quickly got dressed and went into the living room.
Valentina Petrovna, dressed in a housecoat, methodically vacuumed the carpet. Maxim sat on the very edge of the couch, tense, trying to finish a paragraph on history.
“Maxim, take your feet off!” the mother-in-law sharply ordered, not turning off the vacuum. “How can I clean when you’re constantly in the way?”
The boy pulled his legs up, trying to take up as little space as possible. But the couch was narrow, and his textbook kept slipping off his knees.
“Good morning,” Natasha said, entering the room.
“Morning will be good when there’s order,” Valentina Petrovna snorted, turning off the vacuum. “And look at this… It wasn’t visible last night, but in daylight—it’s a nightmare.”
She shook her head and began moving furniture to reach the far corners. Maxim stood up each time to make space.
“Will you cook breakfast?” the mother-in-law asked. “Or will you just grab whatever you can again?”
Natasha silently went to the kitchen. The cleaning continued behind the wall, accompanied by comments about the dust and disorder found. Maxim couldn’t finish his paragraph—every few minutes he had to get up.
“Maxim, time for breakfast!” Natasha called.
The boy sat in his usual place. Valentina Petrovna followed and without a word took exactly his chair. Maxim hesitated.
“Move here,” the mother-in-law pointed to a stool by the window.
The boy obediently moved. The table was too high, the plate too far. Natasha wanted to offer to switch places, but Valentina Petrovna said:
“Don’t spoil him. Let him get used to order.”
Breakfast passed in tense silence. The mother-in-law ate slowly, carefully chewing every bite, criticizing the table setting and the choice of dishes. Maxim was in a hurry—there was little time left before school.
“Don’t rush,” Valentina Petrovna stopped him. “Cultured people eat measuredly. And you must be thankful for the food.”
“Thank you,” Maxim mumbled.
“Louder. Say: ‘Thank you for breakfast.’”
“Thank you for breakfast.”
“That’s better. See, this is how to raise kids,” the mother-in-law said to Natasha. “Without discipline, nowhere.”
Natasha silently nodded and began clearing the dishes. Maxim finished his tea and went to get ready. On the way to school, he looked for his backpack for a long time—it turned out Valentina Petrovna had moved it during cleaning.
“Mom, I’m leaving,” he said, peeking into the kitchen.
“Goodbye,” Natasha answered.
“Wait,” the mother-in-law stopped him. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?”
Maxim came back, awkwardly kissed his grandmother on the cheek:
“Goodbye, Valentina Petrovna.”
“Grandmother,” she corrected coldly. “I’m your grandmother, not Valentina Petrovna.”
“Goodbye, grandmother.”
“That’s right. But after school, go straight home. No delays.”
Maxim nodded and ran out. Natasha watched him go—usually, the boy left cheerful, but today his shoulders were hunched like someone much older.
“Now we’ll take care of the house properly,” Valentina Petrovna declared, rubbing her hands. “I’ll show you how to run a household.”
The day became a continuous chain of tasks. Valentina Petrovna made Natasha wash all the dishes again, rewash the towels, wipe every surface. Every movement was monitored, every action criticized.
“You’re washing it wrong. Look how it should be done.”
“The towel is dirty, wash it again.”
“There’s dust left in the corner—you wiped poorly.”
By evening, Natasha was completely exhausted. The apartment was sparkling, but it brought no joy. Valentina Petrovna settled in the children’s room, neatly spreading her things over every surface.
Maxim returned from school quiet, shoulders down. He timidly asked if he could take his math notebook.
“You can, but don’t touch anything else,” the mother-in-law allowed. “And in general, don’t enter without permission.”
When Sergey returned, Valentina Petrovna began describing the work done in detail. Her husband nodded approvingly, admiring the sparkling surfaces.
“This is real order,” she said. “That’s how it should be.”
“Yes, Mom, beautiful,” Sergey agreed. “Natasha, take an example.”
At dinner, Valentina Petrovna took the head of the table—the very place where Sergey usually sat. He moved without objection, Maxim automatically sat on the stool by the window.
“Maxim, pass the bread,” the mother-in-law commanded.
The boy reached across the table to hand her the breadbasket.
“You should get up and serve, not reach across the table,” the woman scolded. “They never taught you manners.”
Maxim blushed, stood up, and served the bread properly. Natasha clenched her teeth—every word from the mother-in-law hurt the child, but Sergey was silent.
“And anyway,” Valentina Petrovna continued, pouring herself tea, “children should eat after adults. That’s how it is in decent families.”
“Mom, he’s a child,” Sergey objected uncertainly.
“Even more reason to discipline. Maxim, wait until we finish, then you’ll eat.”
The boy looked at Natasha confused. His eyes filled with tears, but he tried hard to hold them back. Natasha felt anger boiling inside her, but what could she do? Sergey already sided with his mother.
“Right, Mom. Discipline is important.”
Maxim slowly pushed his plate away and folded his hands on his lap. The twelve-year-old sat hungry, watching the adults eat his dinner. Natasha saw his lips tremble as he swallowed back tears.
“First my mother will eat, then your pathetic little son will eat!” Sergey shouted, roughly pushing Maxim when the boy tried to take a piece of bread.
The boy recoiled as if struck. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He jumped up from the table and ran into his former room, slamming the door loudly.
Natasha froze. Those words were a blow. “Pathetic little son.” Sergey called Maxim that—a boy who had considered him his father for three years. Blood rushed to her head, her hands trembled.
“How dare you?” Natasha’s voice was quiet but icy. “How dare you speak about my son like that?”
“So what?” Sergey didn’t even look up from his plate. “Let him know his place.”
“Well done, Sergey,” Valentina Petrovna approved, looking at her son. “Finally took control over that boy. He had gotten completely spoiled.”
Natasha slowly stood up from the table. The anger she had suppressed for months now burst out. All these years of humiliating remarks, cold attitude toward Maxim, pressure from the mother-in-law—it all built up inside and demanded release.
“Valentina Petrovna, you’ve gone too far,” Natasha said firmly, not looking away. “This is my home. And my son. No one has the right to insult him.”
“Your home?” the mother-in-law asked dryly. “The apartment is registered to my son. So he’s the owner here, not you.”
“Sergey, say something!” Natasha turned to her husband. “You heard how she talks to me.”
Sergey was silent, shifting from foot to foot. He didn’t dare look up.
“Mom’s right,” he finally muttered. “You take on too much. Maxim must respect his elders.”
“Respect?” Natasha’s voice cracked. “You called a twelve-year-old boy ‘pathetic’! Where’s the respect?”
From the children’s room came muffled sobbing—Maxim was crying, hiding his face in a pillow. Natasha felt her heart tighten with pain for her son.
“Don’t shout at me,” Sergey also got up. “I’m the man here.”
“The man?” Natasha laughed bitterly. “What kind of man are you if you let your mother run your own house? You can’t even stand up for your wife, let alone your son.”
Valentina Petrovna smirked:
“I’m right: a son should obey his mother, not his wife. Especially one who brought in someone else’s child.”
“Someone else’s?” Natasha went cold. “Maxim has lived here for three years. Sergey himself said he considers him his son.”
“He said it, but that doesn’t make it true,” the mother-in-law sneered. “By blood—he’s a stranger. And his upbringing shows it. Ill-mannered, rude…”
“Enough!” Natasha exploded. “My son is better behaved than both of you combined! He would never dare insult his elders like that!”
“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that!” Sergey shouted, jumping up.
“And don’t you dare yell at me!” Natasha retorted, standing her ground.
They stood face to face, breathing heavily and angrily. The air between them was charged, ready to discharge into another scandal.
“Sergey,” Valentina Petrovna said calmly, “it’s time to decide. Either you’re a real man and the master of the house, or you’ll let some woman control you.”
“A woman?” Natasha almost choked with indignation. “I’m his wife!”
“For now,” the mother-in-law added with a hint. “If you continue like this, you won’t be for long.”
The threat was direct and clear. Valentina Petrovna no longer hid her intentions—to get rid of Natasha and Maxim at any cost.
“Mom, don’t,” Sergey weakly tried to intervene.
“I must, son. This woman is destroying our family. Maxim is growing up without a father’s discipline, disrespecting elders. And Natasha, instead of being grateful for everything you’ve done for her, still bosses you around.”
Natasha listened and felt the last hope crumble inside her. All these years of patience, compromises, the desire to keep the family—it was all in vain. Valentina Petrovna would never accept her or Maxim. And Sergey… Sergey had already chosen a side.
“You know what,” Natasha said quietly, “you’re right. It’s time to make a decision.”
She went to the children’s room. Maxim lay face down on the pillow, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.
“Maxim,” she called.
The boy lifted his tear-streaked face.
“Mom, am I really pathetic?” he whispered.
Natasha’s heart broke. She sat next to him and hugged her son.
“No, sweetheart. You’re the best boy in the world. The smartest, kindest, and strongest. What Sergey said was nonsense. Adults sometimes say things like that when they’re angry.”
Maxim wiped his tears with his sleeve and looked seriously at his mother:
“Mom, can we live without them? Without Sergey and his mother?”
Natasha froze for a second. The words spoken by the child seemed to underline her own thoughts.
“We can,” she answered confidently. “We’ll manage.”
“Then let’s kick them out,” Maxim suggested. “This was our apartment before Sergey moved in.”
Natasha stood up and decisively headed to the living room. Valentina Petrovna and Sergey were sitting at the table, whispering. Seeing her, they fell silent.
“Valentina Petrovna, pack your things,” Natasha said calmly. “Leave today.”
The mother-in-law laughed:
“What am I hearing? You want to kick me out?”
“I do. And I will. Sergey, you’re leaving too. Now.”
“Natasha, have you lost your mind?” her husband jumped up. “Where will I go?”
“To my mother’s. If she’s more important to you than family, live with her.”
“Listen, fool,” Valentina Petrovna got up, “the apartment is registered to Sergey. So you’ll be the one cleaning up—with your brat.”
“You’re wrong,” Natasha smiled coldly. “The apartment was bought with my money—from the sale of the previous one. They just registered it to Sergey for convenience. I have all the documents.”
The mother-in-law’s face turned pale. Sergey nervously shifted his gaze between the two women.
“And one more thing,” Natasha added, “we’re not officially married. Sergey is just a cohabitant here. And I have the right to end our relationship at any time.”
“Not married?” Valentina Petrovna looked at her son in shock. “You told me you got married!”
Sergey silently lowered his head. Natasha smirked:
“You promised to register for three years but kept postponing it. Now I understand why—you were waiting for their blessing.”
Valentina Petrovna threw glances around, trying to find a way out.
“Fine,” she said, “then we’ll take everything Sergey bought. The TV, the fridge, the washing machine…”
“Take it,” Natasha agreed calmly. “We’ll manage without it.”
“Natasha,” Sergey tried to intervene again, “let’s talk. Maybe we can find a compromise…”
“Compromise?” the woman looked at him long and hard. “For three years I made compromises. I endured your remarks, your indifference to Maxim. And today you called my son pathetic. What kind of compromise can there be?”
Sergey fell silent. Valentina Petrovna realized she lost but still tried to fight:
“You’ll regret this! You won’t manage alone with a child. Who will take you with a stranger on your neck?”
“Better alone than allowing my son to be humiliated,” Natasha replied firmly.
An hour later, the packing was done. Valentina Petrovna demonstratively packed every item belonging to Sergey, throwing hostile looks at Natasha. Sergey silently folded clothes into a suitcase.
“Mom, can I help?” Maxim appeared in the doorway.
His eyes were still red, but the tears had dried. Natasha nodded, and her son began carrying boxes to the hallway.
“And don’t hope to come back!” Valentina Petrovna threw over her shoulder, standing at the door.
“I don’t hope to,” Natasha replied calmly. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Sergey lingered by the door:
“Natasha, maybe we still…”
“No,” she said firmly. “You made your choice. Live with it.”
The door closed. Natasha turned the key and leaned back against it. Silence settled in the apartment—for the first time in many months calm and free.
Maxim came over and hugged his mother’s waist.
“Mom, thank you,” he whispered. “I knew you’d protect me.”
Natasha stroked her son’s head. Difficulties lay ahead—it would be hard on one salary. But no one would call Maxim pathetic again. No one would put him in a corner or make him wait for leftovers.
“You know what,” she said, “tomorrow we’ll rearrange the furniture. You’ll get your room back.”
“And where will we put the couch?”
“In the living room and leave it there. There’s enough space.”
Maxim beamed and hugged his mother tighter. Natasha looked at the empty table where the whole ‘family’ had sat not long ago and felt no regret.
Because family is not those who live under one roof.
Family is those who protect each other.
And for that, she was ready to give up everything.