Marina stood by the window. The July heat pressed down on the city. In the yard, children ran between the trees, hiding in the shade.
“Marinka, where’s my shirt?” came from the bedroom. “The checkered one!”
“It’s hanging in the closet,” she replied without turning. “On the top shelf.”
Alexey appeared in the doorway of the living room, buttoning up the shirt he had found. Tall, sturdy, with the working hands of a locksmith. Once, those hands had seemed reliable to her.
“Listen,” he began, adjusting his collar. “My mother is coming today. Clean up better, otherwise last time she spent the whole evening complaining about dust.”
Marina slowly turned to her husband. Something inside her clenched with familiar irritation.
“Your mother always complains about something,” she said quietly. “Last time the borscht was too watery, the time before that the cutlets too salty.”
“Then do better,” Alexey shrugged, as if talking about the weather. “She’s an experienced woman, giving advice, and you take offense.”
Marina clenched her fists. This apartment belonged only to her. She had received this two-room flat before they even met, furnished it to her taste, invested all her savings in the renovation. And now Valentina Petrovna came in every time, rearranged things, and lectured her on where everything should stand.
“Lesha, we live in my apartment,” Marina reminded him. “Maybe you should take that into account?”
Her husband froze, one hand already on the doorknob.
“What are you trying to say?” Alexey’s voice darkened. “That I don’t belong here?”
“I’m saying your mother acts like she owns the place,” Marina stepped closer. “And you let her.”
“Mother cares about us!” Alexey turned his whole body toward her. “About her family! By the way, she even gave up her own apartment for her younger son!”
Marina gave a bitter smile. That story about “helping the young family” had grown tiresome.
“Your mother gave Igor a one-bedroom two years ago,” she said slowly. “So what? Now she has the right to boss around in my home?”
“In our home!” Alexey barked. “We’re married!”
“On your thirty-thousand salary we’d be renting a corner on the outskirts,” the words slipped out before Marina could stop them.
Her husband’s face darkened. He stepped toward her, looming with all his weight.
“So now you reproach me?” His voice shook with anger. “Because I don’t earn enough?”
“I’m not reproaching you,” Marina lifted her chin. “Just reminding you of reality. Your mother rents now because she gave Igor her flat. Yet she lectures us on how to live.”
“Igor really needed help!” Alexey turned to the window. “Young family, planning kids!”
“Kids,” Marina repeated. “Always about kids.”
Her husband spun back around. The familiar fire lit in his eyes.
“And what, isn’t it time? We’ve been married five years and you keep putting it off. A real woman should have children!”
“On what, Lesha?” Marina spread her hands. “On your salary? Do you know how much baby food costs? Clothes? Medicine?”
“We’ll manage somehow,” he waved it off. “Others do!”
“Others,” Marina shook her head. “And I’ll be stuck on maternity leave without a penny while you break your back at the factory for peanuts?”
Outside, birds chirped in the leaves. Alexey was silent, staring off to the side. Marina saw his jaw tighten.
“You know what,” he finally said, turning back. “Enough bickering. My mother has problems.”
“What problems now?” Marina stepped away from the window.
“She can’t rent anymore,” Alexey rubbed his neck. “Her pension isn’t enough and the landlady doubled the rent.”
Marina nodded. Valentina Petrovna had been complaining for months about the high cost of rent. It was only logical she move in with her younger son—into the very one-bedroom she had given him.
“I see,” Marina said. “Then Igor’s family will have to make room.”
Alexey straightened sharply. His gaze hardened.
“Mother will live here,” he declared. “Temporarily, until she finds something else.”
Marina froze. His words echoed as if from afar.
“Here?” she repeated. “In our apartment?”
“Yes, here!” Alexey raised his voice. “What’s the big deal? There’s enough space.”
“Lesha, where will she stay? In the living room?”
“What’s wrong with that?” he crossed his arms. “Mother sacrificed her whole life for her children, and you’re being stingy!”
Marina stepped back against the wall. Inside, indignation churned.
“Why not with Igor?” she asked quietly. “He has the flat your mother gave him.”
“They have a child!” Alexey roared. “They need the space! Aren’t we a family too?”
“We are a family, but this apartment is mine,” Marina reminded.
Her husband’s face grew darker still. He stepped closer.
“Selfish! Always thinking only of yourself! A normal wife would support her husband in a hard time!”
Marina pressed her back against the wall. He was too close, suffocating with his presence.
“You won’t give me children, at least help the family this way!” he went on. “Mother has sacrificed her whole life for us!”
“Lesha, listen—” Marina began, but he cut her off.
“Maybe you don’t need a family at all? Then say it straight!”
Marina lowered her head. Alexey knew how to press, knew every weak spot. Guilt washed over her.
“All right,” she said quietly. “She can stay for a while.”
A week later, Valentina Petrovna moved into their living room. She brought three suitcases and immediately began rearranging everything. The TV went to the window, the couch to the wall, Marina’s houseplants banished to the balcony.
“It should be brighter here,” the mother-in-law explained as she moved furniture. “And those pots just gather dust.”
Marina silently watched her living room turn into a stranger’s bedroom. Alexey helped his mother, carrying heavy things.
“Mom, will you be comfortable here?” he asked gently.
“I’ll manage,” sighed Valentina Petrovna. “Though there’s not much space.”
Three months passed. Marina became a shadow in her own home. She tiptoed around, afraid to disturb her mother-in-law. Apologized for every sound, every move.
Valentina Petrovna fully took over. She threw out Marina’s laundry detergent, replaced it with her own. Forbade buying her favorite sausage.
“This one’s too expensive, buy the regular kind,” she ordered in the store. “Why waste money?”
In the mornings, Marina cleaned under her mother-in-law’s watchful eye. One day, carrying out the trash, something familiar caught her eye. She bent down and froze.
A childhood photo album. The one with kindergarten and school pictures. Her only memory of childhood.
With trembling hands, Marina pulled it out, stained with tea leaves.
“Valentina Petrovna,” she called, entering the living room. “Why was this in the trash?”
Her mother-in-law didn’t even look up from the TV.
“Oh, that? I threw it out. Just junk, takes up space.”
“These are my childhood photos!” Marina’s voice shook.
“Old stuff,” Valentina waved her off. “Why keep it?”
Something snapped inside Marina. Three months of humiliation, silence, and shame burst out.
“Get out!” she screamed. “Get out of my apartment right now!”
The mother-in-law jumped from the couch, eyes blazing.
“How dare you treat your elders this way!” she shrieked. “You should know your place!”
Disheveled Alexey rushed from the bedroom. Hearing the shouting, he instantly took his mother’s side.
“Mom isn’t going anywhere!” he roared at his wife. “It’s you who’ll be out on the street!”
But inside Marina something had broken for good. Her scream died in her throat. She looked at her husband and his mother with icy calm. Rage gave way to cold clarity.
“The apartment is in my name,” Marina said quietly but firmly. “Only I decide who lives here.”
“How dare you!” Alexey stepped toward her, face red with fury. “I’m your husband!”
“Ex-husband,” Marina corrected, turning to the closet.
She pulled out a large sports bag and began throwing in her mother-in-law’s things—shirts, skirts, robes—without care.
“You’ve lost your mind!” Alexey shouted. “Stop this at once!”
Marina didn’t answer. She yanked slippers from under the couch, tossed them in the bag. The older woman scurried, trying to grab her belongings back.
“Daughter, calm down!” her voice trembled with outrage. “We’re family!”
“Family?” Marina spun around. “Family doesn’t throw childhood photos in the trash!”
The mother-in-law shrank back. Alexey tried to grab the bag, but Marina dodged.
“Mother sacrificed everything for her children!” he shouted. “And you kick her out like a dog!”
“For five years I endured your nonsense,” Marina zipped the bulging bag. “For three months I lived like a ghost in my own home!”
She went to the bedroom for her husband’s things—sweaters, shirts, jeans—all into another bag. Alexey followed, grabbing her hand.
“Think! Where will we go?”
“Not my concern,” Marina pulled free. “Go to Igor’s.”
“There’s no room at Igor’s!” the mother-in-law wailed from the living room. “There’s a child!”
“And here there’s me!” Marina shouted back, carrying out both bags.
She set them by the front door. Returned for shoes, cosmetics, trinkets.
“You’ll go mad with loneliness!” Alexey shouted, pulling on his jacket. “You’ll crawl back begging us to return!”
Marina silently held the door open. Her mother-in-law sniffled, shoving the last of her things into a bag.
“Daughter, think again,” she pleaded. “Where will we live now?”
“Where you lived before me,” Marina replied.
Alexey grabbed his bag, stormed out. On the threshold he turned back, face twisted in rage.
Valentina Petrovna stepped out last, dragging her bags. She glanced back from the landing.
“Ungrateful!” she shouted. “We only wanted what’s best for you!”
Marina shut the door. Turned the key twice, slid the chain. Shouts, footsteps, elevator doors echoed from the stairwell.
Then silence.
Marina stood with her back to the door, listening to her own breathing. For the first time in months, there was no blaring TV, no creaking couch under heavy weight.
She walked into the living room. Put the couch back, turned the TV around. Returned her plants to the windowsill.
Then she sat down, took the rescued photo album in her hands. Flipped through the pages—school ceremonies, a birthday with five candles, kindergarten graduation.
And suddenly she laughed. Quietly at first, then louder. The laughter turned to sobs of relief, then back to laughter. She laughed until tears streamed down her face, clutching the album to her chest.
The home was hers again. Hers alone.