— Why didn’t you answer Mom? She called you nonstop — fifteen times! She’s gone completely crazy with worry!
Masha flinched, but not because of the loudness of his words — from surprise. She was sitting in her favorite chair by the window, legs wrapped in a blanket, immersed in a book. Saturday was the only day of the week when she could just relax, not count minutes, not think about anything but herself. Ilya burst into the room like a hurricane, his face tense, just having hung up the phone. In his hand, he was clutching the device as if he wanted to crush it. That black screen was his bridge to his mother, and now it seemed that what came from it wasn’t sound, but a current of poisonous anxiety.
— I was at Lena’s. I turned off the sound, we drank coffee, talked. What happened? — Masha replied evenly, trying to stay calm, although irritation was already growing inside. This scene repeated every week — as if on schedule.
— What happened? Mom was worried! She thought something happened to you! Why couldn’t you at least write that you were leaving? It’s not some kind of heroic feat!
Ilya didn’t stand still — he paced the room like a cornered beast, from wall to wall. But Masha understood: the beast here wasn’t him. He was merely an executor, delivering orders from the real mistress — Lidiya Petrovna. His words held no genuine care, only an echo of maternal hysteria. He wasn’t afraid for her — he was afraid that his mother would scold him.
— Ilya, today is my day off. I went to a friend who lives nearby. I wasn’t going on a reconnaissance mission or into the jungle without provisions. Why should I report to anyone where and why I’m going out?
— It’s not a report! It’s basic courtesy! We live in her apartment, Masha! She worries about us, that’s all!
He stopped abruptly and jabbed a finger at the floor, as if marking an invisible boundary of her duties. Masha slowly closed the book. Calm disappeared, replaced by icy anger. She looked at her husband and saw not a grown man, but a frightened boy demanding another child apologize to the teacher so he wouldn’t get a failing grade.
— Worried? Ilya, she’s not worried — she’s controlling. She needs to know everything: where I’m going, with whom, and why. She wants to keep me on a leash, and that leash is in her hands.
— You turn everything into drama! Just call her, say everything’s fine, and that’s it!
There it was — the true goal of this whole spectacle. Not care, not respect, but simply the desire to silence that annoying phone so that silence and comfort return. So that Mom praises her obedient son. Masha’s patience snapped. It didn’t just end — it shattered into dust.
— Now I have to ask your mom’s permission before I leave the house? Report where and why?
— Masha, enough already…
— Never. No way. I am an adult. I work, earn my own money, and I don’t intend to ask your mom’s permission to go to the store or meet a friend. If she doesn’t like it — that’s her problem.
Her voice became firm, almost metallic. She stood up, throwing off the blanket.
Ilya was confused. He hadn’t expected such a reaction. Before, Masha either stayed silent or left, letting him win the battle. But now she stood before him, unshakable, and his usual arguments broke against her like waves against a rock.
— You’re doing this on purpose to make her angry, — he finally managed. — You just don’t want to show basic respect.
— No, Ilya, — Masha stepped closer, looking him straight in the eyes. — You just can’t grow up and stop being a mama’s boy. Tell her: I will not report to anyone. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Period.
— So will you call her or not? — Ilya whispered, almost pleading, as if afraid that loud words might summon his mother out of nowhere. — Masha, why make it complicated? Just say a few words — and everything will settle down.
He looked at her like a beaten puppy — hopeful for forgiveness and afraid of punishment. That look, full of submission and willingness to please at any cost, aroused not pity but disgust in Masha. Everything she once felt for him had shriveled into an icy lump deep inside.
— Settle down until next Saturday? — she said with a bitter smile. — Until the next time I just want to be alone? No. Not anymore. I won’t call. This circus isn’t mine, and I’m not going to play the monkey. If something bothers her, let her call you. And you, as a good son, report to her. You can even keep a journal: “Mom, at 14:05 Masha left. At 16:20 returned. Showed no initiative.”
— Stop mocking! You just don’t understand how hard it is for her…
He didn’t finish. A sharp click sounded in the room — the sound of a key in the lock. In the tense silence, it sounded like a gunshot. For Masha, it was a symbol: the apartment was not a home, but territory where the mistress could burst in at any moment without warning to check if everything was going by her rules.
Ilya froze. All his anger evaporated, he shrank as if expecting a blow. He cast a panicked look at Masha: “Well, you’ve ruined everything.”
The door flew open. On the threshold stood Lidiya Petrovna. In a dark burgundy coat buttoned to the top, with a patent leather purse held like a shield, she looked like a general arriving to inspect a misbehaving unit. Her face was calm, but her eyes — small and sharp — were already assessing the situation. She ignored her son and sharply turned to Masha.
— Just in time, — her voice was soft, almost tender, but it sent chills down the spine. — Repeat, please, what you just said to your husband… About the circus and the monkey. I think I didn’t hear from the stairs.
Ilya tried to intervene:
— Mom, we’ll handle it ourselves…
— Silence, Ilya, — she snapped without looking at him. Two words — and he shut up, stepping back to the wall, becoming an unnecessary witness. The fight wasn’t for him.
Masha didn’t avert her gaze. All the energy of the quarrel turned into cold, clear resolve. She was no longer afraid. On the contrary — she felt a strange relief. The enemy was no longer a voice on the phone. He stood in front of her.
— I said, I am not obliged to report to anyone, — she said clearly, looking straight into her mother-in-law’s eyes. — I am not a child or a prisoner.
Lidiya Petrovna’s face began to redden. The mask of calm cracked, and rage burst out. She stepped forward, invading Masha’s personal space. The air grew heavy.
— How dare you… — she began, gasping, but stopped abruptly, composing herself. — In my house?! You live within my walls, walk on my floor, breathe my air! And you dare say you won’t do what I consider necessary? Got it? — another step, and Masha felt the sharp smell of her perfume mixed with mothballs. — You will do as I say! You are under my roof, eating bread bought with my son’s money, and you think you can make the rules here?!
It was a lie. Thick, dense like viscous syrup — a lie Lidiya Petrovna presented as truth. Masha had long earned more than Ilya, but that didn’t matter now. It wasn’t about facts — it was about how skillfully the mother-in-law built her version of the world, where she was the victim, benefactor, the only one who gives something, and everyone else were just debtors. Her face, a moment ago crimson with rage, took the color of an overripe plum, almost black. She savored the moment of power, enjoying her righteous anger like a precious wine.
— Do you understand? In my house, you will report every step! Every glance toward the door! Don’t like it — pack up and leave!
The last words sounded like a triumphant finale. This was her trump card, long saved as the last card in her sleeve. She waited for this moment — when she could finally throw it on the table and destroy her rival. Her finger, adorned with a massive gold ring with a dull ruby, sharply pointed toward the corridor — a gesture of exile, a sentence. She froze in that pose, expecting tears, pleas, submission. Everything she expected to see from the “ungrateful one.”
Ilya pressed himself against the wall as if trying to dissolve into the wallpaper. He was not a man — he was a shadow, a pathetic reflection of a man. His eyes flickered between his mother and wife, but showed neither protection nor support. Only fear. He was a spectator frozen in anticipation to avoid the blow. His choice had been made long ago — and it was always on his mother’s side.
Masha did not flinch. Did not lower her gaze. Something clicked inside her — as if shields were raised, and her mind switched to cold calculation mode. The fury that had boiled inside her a minute ago evaporated, replaced by icy clarity. She looked at the outstretched finger of her mother-in-law, then at Ilya. At his pale face, at the eyes full of horror and helplessness. At that moment she saw not betrayal — she saw emptiness. And that emptiness gave her a strength she didn’t even suspect.
— With pleasure, — she said. Her voice was calm, almost melodic, devoid of emotion. It sounded in the tense room like a foreign sound, so out of place that Lidiya Petrovna was confused and slowly lowered her hand.
Masha scanned the room with a slow, cold gaze — as if seeing it for the first time. Evaluating. Counting.
— Only one small clarification, Lidiya Petrovna.
Pause. The words hung in the air like a guillotine before the strike.
— This corner sofa you watch your shows on. The TV hanging on the wall. The fridge filled to the brim with groceries. The washing machine that saves you time. The microwave. The coffee machine. Even this chair I’m sitting in. All of this — was bought with my money. Every penny. Neither you nor Ilya contributed a single kopek to the furnishing of this home.
She spoke so dryly, as if reading a store receipt. Every word was like a nail hammered into the coffin lid of an old life. Lidiya Petrovna’s face began to sag, the crimson color replaced by grayish-dirty, like a withered leaf. She didn’t expect this. She expected tears, but got a bill.
— So, — Masha looked into her eyes again, and in her gaze was no malice — only calculation, — either you compensate me right now the market value of all these things — I’m even willing to account for depreciation — or I call movers and take everything bought with my money. And you and your son can continue controlling each other, counting how many times a day someone went to the toilet sitting on bare boards. The choice is yours.
The silence that fell over the room became dense like resin. Not ringing, not dramatic — empty. Vacuum. Lidiya Petrovna and Ilya froze like wax figures. The mother-in-law’s confidence melted, replaced by confusion, then by a grimace of powerless rage. She looked at the sofa, the floor lamp, the TV, realizing for the first time that these were not part of her world by right of birth, but just things bought by someone else’s hands.
Of course, she was the first to come to her senses. Pride and survival instinct didn’t allow her to give up.
— So what? — she spat, trying to restore authority in her voice, but it came out pathetic and hoarse. — You think we’ll perish without your junk? Take it! Just free up some space!
An attempt to save face. But it sounded like a cry of a hurt child. Ilya, previously a mute decoration, finally muttered:
— Masha, stop it… Mom, stop… Let’s talk…
No one heard him. He was as out of place as a musician at a funeral. Masha slowly shook her head, looking at her mother-in-law with a slight, almost ghostly smile.
— Free up space? Yes, Lidiya Petrovna, you will have more of it than you can imagine. Imagine: bare walls. Bare floor. Echo of every step. You will sit here — on a stool if it remains, and I might even take the kitchen set because I paid for it.
She spoke quietly, almost tenderly, but every word was like a blow. She didn’t shout — she painted a future. And that future was terrifying.
— You will come home to an empty apartment. No TV. No light in the windows. No noise to drown out the silence. You will have to talk. You will share grievances — who offended whom at the store, who was hurt at work. And you will sit together in that empty box, enjoying your righteousness.
She turned her gaze to Ilya.
— And you, Ilyusha, will bring all your salary to Mom. She will decide what to spend it on — bread or potatoes. She will ration your portions like in childhood. And then you will report why you were fifteen minutes late. Not because she worries — because she will have nothing left but control over you. Total, absolute. Your dream will come true. You will be alone — just the two of you.
Pause. Long. Heavy. She gave them time to feel every word, to live this nightmare in their minds.
— And I… — Masha took a deep breath, — I will rent a small apartment. Cozy. Without phone calls, without demands, without leashes. I will drink coffee on Saturdays. In silence. In peace. In my life.
Lidiya Petrovna opened her mouth. Wanted to say something. But couldn’t. The words were gone. Before her stood not a subordinate, but a judge. Not a victim — an eliminator.
Masha didn’t wait for a response. The conversation was over. She calmly took out her phone. Unlocked the screen. Her finger slid across the glass. Ilya and Lidiya Petrovna, mesmerized, watched her hand. In complete silence, they saw how she slowly, letter by letter, typed into the search bar: “M-o-v-i-n-g c-o-m-p-a-n-i-e-s.”
She didn’t press “search.” She just looked up, holding the phone so they could clearly see the text on the screen.
It was not a threat. It was a conclusion. The final chord. The bill presented for payment. And they would have to pay it not for a day or a week — but for the rest of their lives.