Mom said again that you have to give us the bigger room!” Svetlana burst out right from the doorway, not even saying hello. Her face was burning with righteous indignation, and in her hands she clenched the apartment keys as if they were a weapon.
I froze with a cup of tea in my hands. It was Friday evening, which I had planned to spend in silence after a hard work week — clearly, that was not going to happen. Andrey sat on the couch, diligently studying his phone screen, pretending not to hear his sister’s words.
“Svetlana, we’ve already discussed this,” I replied as calmly as possible, though inside I was boiling. “Andrey and I live in this room because we pay for the apartment. You and Viktor have been living here for free for six months.”
“For free?!” shrieked my sister-in-law. “But we’re family! Or do you think that just because you bought the apartment, you can boss us around now?”
The story began eight months ago when I finally managed to buy a three-room apartment. Years of saving, giving up vacations and entertainment, endless overtime—all of this resulted in the coveted square meters in a residential neighborhood. Andrey was genuinely happy with me at the time, promising that now we would live well. We moved in, settled down, and for the first two months, we were truly happy.
Then came the “temporary situation.” Svetlana and her husband Viktor lost their rented apartment—the owners decided to sell. Of course, they were in no hurry to find new housing. Why bother, when there’s a “beloved brother” with a three-room apartment?
“Well, they’ll live here for a couple of weeks until they find something suitable,” Andrey tried to persuade me. “We can’t just throw out our own sister onto the street.”
A couple of weeks turned into a month, then two. Svetlana and Viktor took the smaller room and seemed in no hurry to move out. Moreover, their demands grew.
“Mom is right,” Svetlana continued, settling into a chair like the mistress of the house. “There are two of us, two of you. But we have more stuff, it’s cramped in the small room. It’s logical that you should swap rooms with us. Besides, Viktor snores, he needs good soundproofing, and the walls in the big room are thicker.”
I looked at Andrey. He continued pretending to be fascinated by his phone. A familiar sight—when a decision had to be made or he needed to stand up for me, my husband turned invisible.
“Svetlana, I’ll buy Viktor earplugs,” I replied, holding myself back with all my might. “But we won’t swap rooms. This is our apartment, and we have the right to live in any room.”
“Your apartment!” my sister-in-law shouted. “You keep banging on about that! You think you bought the apartment so now you’re queen? And what about us—we’re Andrey’s family, doesn’t that count?”
“I’m not banging on about anything,” I objected, feeling a pulse pounding in my temple. “But the fact remains—the apartment was bought with my money, registered in my name, and I pay the mortgage. You’ve been living here for free for six months, and I haven’t asked for a single cent, not even for utilities.”
“Ha!” Svetlana threw her hands up theatrically. “Hear that, Andryusha? Your wife is nagging us about utilities! Mom was right—she doesn’t appreciate you, only waves her money and apartment in your face!”
Andrey finally looked up from his phone. I looked at him hopefully—maybe now he would defend me? But no.
“Let’s not fight,” he muttered. “Maybe it’s really worth thinking about… After all, it’s cramped for the two of them in the small room.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. My husband, the man who swore to support me, had just taken his sister’s side about my own apartment!
“Andrey, are you serious?” My voice betrayed a tremble.
“Come on, don’t be like that… I’m just saying we can consider options. After all, it’s family.”
Family. That word had become a curse for me over the past six months. Family demanded concessions. Family demanded patience. Family demanded my money, my space, my time. And what did it give in return? Reproaches, claims, and demands for new sacrifices.
“Exactly!” Svetlana jumped in. “Family! And you, Marina, clearly don’t understand that. Mom always said Andrey should have married a simpler girl, without your ambitions and apartments. One who would respect the family!”
Ambitions. That’s how she called my years of hard labor, saving on everything, giving up simple joys for the dream of owning a home. “Simpler” apparently means someone who would quietly serve all of her husband’s relatives and never dare to object.
“You know what, Svetlana,” I stood up, placing the cup on the table so hard the tea splashed out. “I really don’t understand this kind of ‘family.’ A family that only takes and demands. A family that doesn’t respect other people’s work and property. And you know what? I don’t want to understand it anymore.”
“Oh, oh, oh, you’re offended!” Svetlana also jumped up. “Andryusha, see? Your wife is going to kick us out! Her own sister-in-law and husband! Mom will be shocked!”
Mother-in-law. Another sore topic. From the first day we met, Tatyana Petrovna made it clear that I was unworthy of her son. Too independent, too ambitious, too… too much of everything. When I bought the apartment, her dissatisfaction only grew. “A proper wife waits for her husband to provide housing for the family,” she said. The fact that her son at 32 had no savings and lived with me in a rented apartment didn’t bother her.
“Let her be shocked,” I replied, looking Svetlana straight in the eyes. “And yes, I’m asking you to move out. I’m giving two weeks to find housing.”
“What?!” my sister-in-law shrieked. “Andrey, did you hear? She’s kicking us out!”
I turned to my husband. He sat pale and confused, clearly not expecting such a turn.
“Marina, why so abruptly… Let’s discuss everything calmly…”
“We’ve been discussing it for six months, Andrey. Six months I’ve tolerated your sister’s rudeness, her claims, her demands. Six months waiting for them to start looking for a place. Six months hoping you’d finally take my side. But you prefer to pretend nothing is happening.”
“I just don’t want conflicts in the family…”
“And I don’t want to be told in my own home which room I should live in!” My voice broke into a shout. “I don’t want to be reproached for the apartment I bought with my sweat and blood! I don’t want to support able-bodied adults who haven’t even said thank you once in six months!”
“Oh, so we should thank you too!” Svetlana was furious. “For living in this dump in the boondocks? For cramming into a tiny little room? We’re doing you a favor by agreeing to live here! Viktor has to commute across the city every day!”
“Dump in the boondocks.” That’s how she called the apartment for which I gave five years of my life. The apartment, every meter of which I earned with hard work.
“Then what’s the problem?” I smirked. “Find an apartment closer to Viktor’s work. I’m sure you can easily rent something downtown. Or buy, if my apartment is so terrible.”
“You… you…” Svetlana gasped in indignation. “Andrey, are you going to put up with this?”
All eyes turned to my husband. He sat slouched, looking like he wanted to disappear into the ground. The choice was simple—wife or sister. Me or mom with her eternal dissatisfaction. Our family or the clan that had coddled him all his life, decided for him, and now demanded payment for their care.
“Svetlana, maybe really…” he began uncertainly. “You’ve been living here for a long time…”
“Andryusha!” Svetlana looked at her brother as if he were a traitor. “Are you on her side? Mom said she’ll spoil you! Turn you into a henpecked husband! And she did!”
“I didn’t turn anyone into anything,” I said tiredly. “I just wanted a normal family. Where husband and wife support each other, not where the wife serves all her husband’s relatives. But apparently, I was wrong in my choice.”
Andrey flinched as if hit. He understood that I meant more than today’s situation. All those months when he was silent, pretending not to notice his sister’s rudeness, when he urged me to be patient—it all piled up like a snowball.
“Marina, don’t be like this…”
“How should I be, Andrey? Endure silently? Smile when I’m insulted in my own home? Pretend everything is fine when your sister demands our bedroom because her husband snores?”
“By the way,” Svetlana interrupted, “we have the right to live here too! This is my brother’s apartment as well!”
“No,” I cut her off. “This is my apartment. Only mine. And I decide who lives here. Andrey is here because he is my husband. For now. And you live here out of my kindness, which, as it turns out, was a mistake.”
“For now.” Those two words hung in the air like a guillotine. Andrey turned even paler. Svetlana opened her mouth but found no words.
“You… you’re threatening my brother with divorce?” she finally blurted.
“I’m stating a fact. If Andrey thinks the interests of his sister and mother are more important than his wife’s, then what’s the point of such a marriage?”
“Marina, let’s talk in private,” Andrey finally got up from the couch. “Svetlana, maybe you should go to your… room?”
“Yeah, right! So she can brainwash you? No way! Mom is right—people like her only need to be given an inch, and they’ll climb onto your neck!”
I laughed. Honestly, I laughed from the heart for the first time in many days. The irony of the situation was killer—they accused me of leeching off them, the people who had been living in my apartment for free for six months!
“You know what?” I took my phone. “I’m calling a taxi now and going to a friend’s. You all figure out your family issues here. Andrey, when you decide what’s more important to you—our marriage or your sister’s comfort—call me. You have until morning.”
“Marina, wait!” Andrey rushed to me, but I stepped back.
“No. I’m tired of waiting. Tired of hoping you will finally become a husband, not your mother’s boy. Tired of fighting for a place in my own home. So decide. Either Svetlana and her snoring Viktor start looking for housing tomorrow, or I will. But not housing—a good divorce lawyer.”
Svetlana shouted something after me, Andrey tried to stop me, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I threw on my jacket and left the apartment, leaving them to sort things out.
Outside, a fine autumn drizzle was falling. I lifted my face to the sky, letting the drops mix with unwelcome tears. It was painful. Painfully painful to realize that the person you love can’t protect you. That for him, his mother’s opinion and his sister’s comfort are more important than his wife’s happiness.
My phone vibrated. A message from Andrey: “Marina, come back, let’s talk calmly.”
I smirked. We could have talked calmly six months ago, when his relatives just moved in. Three months ago, when the first complaints started. A month ago, when Svetlana first mentioned the big room. But he chose silence, hoping everything would resolve itself.
The taxi arrived quickly. Settling in the back seat, I dialed my friend’s number.
“Ol, can I stay at yours tonight? Yeah, family stuff again. I’ll tell you when we meet.”
While driving, my phone was ringing nonstop—Andrey, Svetlana, even my mother-in-law got involved. I actually decided to listen to the last one—curious what Tatyana Petrovna would say.
“Marina, what circus did you cause there?” my mother-in-law’s voice was full of righteous anger. “Svetochka is crying, saying you’re kicking them out! Have you lost all shame? It’s family!”
“Tatyana Petrovna, this is my apartment,” I replied wearily. “And I have the right to decide…”
“Your apartment! You’re always on about that! Doesn’t it count that my son lives there? That his sister temporarily needs housing? When you got married, you should have understood you were taking not just your husband, but his family too!”
“Temporary means two weeks, not six months. And I didn’t sign up to support all my husband’s relatives.”
“Ungrateful! My son married you, and you…”
I hung up. I had no strength left to listen to these accusations. My son married you—as if that was a favor on their part, not a mutual decision between two adults.
At Olga’s, they met me with tea, cognac, and chocolates—tried and true remedies for family drama.
“Tell me,” my friend ordered, sitting me down on the couch.
I told her everything. About the apartment, the relatives, the demands for the big room, Andrey’s position. Olga listened, shook her head, and occasionally poured more cognac.
“You know what I’ll say?” she said when I finished. “You did the right thing leaving. Let your husband finally decide who he’s with—his wife or his mommy.”
“And if he chooses mommy?”
“Then be glad you found out now, not in ten years and with three kids. Imagine what would happen next? Mother-in-law would move in ‘to help with the grandchildren’? Then some distant relatives would show up?”
I shuddered. The picture was terrible, but realistic. If Andrey can’t stand up for us now, what will happen next?
My phone rang again. This time an unknown number.
“Marina?” came an uncertain male voice. “This is Viktor, Svetlana’s husband.”
Well, he joined the negotiations too.
“I’m listening, Viktor.”
“I… I wanted to apologize. For Svetlana, for myself. We really got carried away. We’re just… just used to it, you know. It’s convenient—not paying for housing. But it’s wrong. I told Svetlana we need to move out, find our own place, but she… Well, you know her character.”
I was speechless. The last thing I expected was an apology from my sister-in-law’s husband.
“Viktor, I…”
“Don’t say anything. We will move out. I started looking for options a month ago. Svetlana just thought we could keep living like this. For free, convenient. But I understand this is your apartment, your life. Sorry it turned out this way.”
“Thank you,” I exhaled. “Thank you for understanding.”
“No problem. We should be thanking you for putting up with us so long. I’ll try to find something within a week. And… talk to Andrey. He’s a good guy, just crushed by his mom and sister. It’s hard for him to say no to them. But he loves you, that’s for sure.”
Viktor hung up, leaving me completely confused. The last person I expected support from.
“So, what’s up?” Olga peeked from the kitchen.
“Sister-in-law’s husband apologized and promised to move out in a week.”
“No way! I thought they were united.”
I thought so too. But life, as always, turned out to be more complicated.
Around midnight, a message came from Andrey: “I choose you. I’ve always chosen you, just feared conflict. Sorry. Svetlana and Viktor will look for an apartment. Mom is furious, but that’s her problem. Come home. Please.”
I read the message several times. My heart skipped, but my mind demanded guarantees.
“This must not happen again,” I wrote. “No more relatives in our home without my permission. And learn to say ‘no’ to your mom.”
“I promise. I understand. Almost lost you because of my cowardice. Won’t happen again.”
“So, made up?” Olga read the exchange over my shoulder.
“We’ll try. But if it happens again…”
“Then no more tears, straight to the lawyer, right?”
“Exactly.”
I returned home in the morning. Andrey met me at the door—disheveled, eyes red, but determined.
“They’re already looking at apartments,” he informed me. “Viktor found several options. Svetlana’s sulking, but that’s her problem. And… I talked to Mom. Told her if she doesn’t accept you and stop interfering in our lives, we’ll communicate once a year on major holidays.”
“And how did she take it?”
“Called me an ungrateful son and hung up. But I won’t change my mind. You were right—either I’m a husband, or I’m Mom’s boy. I choose to be a husband.”
We hugged, and I felt the tension of the past months start to ease. Of course, one conversation won’t solve everything. We still have a lot of work ahead, learning to set boundaries, preventing such situations. But the important thing is—the beginning has been made.
A week later, Svetlana and Viktor moved out. Sister-in-law feigned injured innocence to the end, but I saw understanding in her eyes—the free ride was over.
Mother-in-law didn’t talk to us for a month, then started cautiously calling Andrey. I didn’t interfere—that’s his mom, let him build the relationship. The main thing is that relationship no longer affects our family.
We turned the big room into an office—put two desks so both of us could work from home when needed. No snoring, no complaints, just the two of us in our home.
The apartment became what it was supposed to be—a family nest, a place comfortable and calm. A place you want to come back to.
And you know what? It was worth it. All those years of saving, all the sacrifices—they paid off not only in square meters but in self-respect. I stood up for what I earned. Defended my home, my family, my principles.
And Andrey… Andrey is learning to be a husband. Not his mother’s son, not his sister’s brother, but a husband. My husband. And he’s succeeding. Slowly, with creaks, but succeeding.
We never talk about that night when I went to my friend’s. But we both remember. And both know—it won’t happen again. Because some lessons only need to be learned once.
And recently, I got a message from Viktor. They rented an apartment near his work, and he thanked me for pushing them toward independence. “We needed this,” he wrote.
Maybe we all needed it. Me—to learn to defend my boundaries. Andrey—to grow up and become a real husband. Svetlana and Viktor—to start living their own lives.
Sometimes conflict is not destruction, but cleansing. Like a thunderstorm that washes away the stuffiness and brings freshness. Our family storm has rolled away, leaving behind the clear sky of new relationships.
And in our big room, no one snores anymore. Only the clock ticks, counting the minutes of our calm, happy life in our home. The very home I gave five years for. And which has truly become ours—not just on paper, but in essence.