Natalia opened the door to her two-room apartment and headed straight for the kitchen. The October evening had turned out rainy, and after a hard day at the design agency she wanted to quickly cook something warm and hearty. Sergei was due back from work in half an hour, and Natalia planned to greet her husband with fragrant cutlets and buckwheat.
While the oil was heating in the pan, Natalia looked around her kitchen. Light-colored cabinet fronts she had picked out herself two years earlier, built-in appliances, a convenient work surface—everything was just as she had dreamed. This apartment was the result of ten years of saving. Every month Natalia put aside a third of her salary, refused expensive clothes, and rarely went to restaurants or cafés.
The sound of keys in the lock brought her back to reality. Sergei came into the hall, but instead of his usual greeting he silently walked into the room. Natalia flipped the cutlets and waited. Normally her husband would immediately talk about work, share his plans for the weekend, or simply give her a hug. Today something was off.
A few minutes later Sergei appeared in the kitchen. His face was tense, his gaze darting. Natalia set the plates on the table and poured apple compote.
“Sit down, dinner’s ready,” she said, placing the cutlets on the plates.
Sergei sat, but didn’t touch his food. Natalia noticed his hands clenching and unclenching under the table.
“Listen, Natasha,” Sergei began, looking toward the window. “I need to have a serious talk with you.”
Natalia set down her fork. Her husband’s tone didn’t bode well. In eight years of marriage she had learned to read his moods by his voice.
“What happened?” she asked, studying Sergei’s expression closely.
“I talked to Mom on the phone for a long time yesterday. Things are tough over there,” Sergei finally looked at Natalia. “Yekaterina Mikhailovna lives in a studio, and now my sister and her child have moved in after the divorce. Three people in thirty square meters is cramped.”
Natalia nodded. She knew about her mother-in-law’s family troubles but didn’t understand where her husband was going with this.
“And what are you suggesting?” Natalia asked cautiously.
Sergei cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair as if preparing for an important announcement.
“Mom has decided we should swap apartments. We’ll give her your two-room place, and we’ll move into her studio,” he said in a tone as if he were reporting the weather.
Natalia froze with a piece of cutlet on her fork. For several seconds she simply stared at Sergei, trying to figure out whether this was a joke. She frowned and tilted her head, trying to process what she’d heard.
“What exactly are you talking about?” Natalia said slowly.
“What’s not to get?” Sergei shrugged. “It’s hard for Mom there, plus my sister and the baby. And we have plenty of space—surely you don’t mind sharing.”
Her husband’s words sounded as if he were talking about lending the neighbors a drill for the weekend. Natalia slowly set her fork on the plate and looked intently at Sergei.
“Are you serious right now?” Natalia raised her eyebrows.
“Absolutely,” her husband nodded, clearly assuming the matter was settled. “Mom’s already started packing. We can move the furniture this weekend.”
Natalia leaned back in her chair. Memories surfaced: how she had saved for the down payment, how she had spent months choosing the neighborhood and layout, how she had taken out the mortgage entirely in her own name because Sergei had a poor credit history. Every month for the last five years it was Natalia who transferred money to the bank, paying down the loan from her salary.
“Seryozha,” his wife said calmly, “do you remember whose name this apartment is in?”
“Well, yours, of course,” her husband answered with slight bewilderment. “Why?”
“Because without my consent no one is moving anyone anywhere,” Natalia smiled faintly.
Sergei frowned. Clearly, this turn of events was not what he had expected.
“Natasha, you’re not going to be stingy, are you?” Sergei tried a different tactic. “Yekaterina Mikhailovna has done so much for us. Remember how she helped when you had problems at work? She lent us money when we bought the car.”
Natalia remembered those episodes differently. Her mother-in-law really did lend money, but every time she reminded them of it for months until the debt was repaid—with interest. And the help during the work troubles amounted to endless advice nobody needed.
“All right,” Natalia said, lifting her glass of compote. “Just keep in mind: my name is on the documents, not yours. And I’m the one paying the loan.”
Sergei froze, not expecting such a reaction. His mouth fell slightly open and surprised lines appeared on his forehead.
“What do you mean?” he asked, flustered.
“I mean,” Natalia replied evenly, cutting off a piece of cutlet, “I’m the owner of the apartment. And I’m the one who decides who lives where.”
Sergei was silent for a few minutes, apparently digesting the information. Natalia ate her dinner calmly, watching her husband’s reaction. She was curious to see how far he was willing to go to persuade her.
“But we’re husband and wife,” Sergei said at last. “What’s yours is mine.”
“In marriage, yes,” Natalia agreed. “Only I bought this apartment with my own money that I saved even before our wedding. And I took out the loan myself, too.”
Sergei got up from the table and began pacing the kitchen. He clasped his hands behind his back, clearly working on a new strategy.
“Listen, maybe you could at least think about it?” he tried in a gentle tone. “Honestly, you and I don’t need that much space. And Mom really does have problems.”
“Your mother’s problems started when she agreed to take your sister and the baby in,” Natalia observed. “That was her choice.”
“But Svetlana is getting divorced! She has nowhere to go with the little one!”
“Svetlana can rent a place. Or find a job and save for her own apartment. Like normal adults do.”
Sergei stopped by the window and turned to his wife. His face showed bewilderment mixed with irritation.
“Natasha, you’ve always been understanding. What’s gotten into you?” he tried appealing to her feelings.
“What’s ‘gotten into me’?” Natalia finished her compote. “I don’t want to move from a two-room into a studio. And I’m not going to give away the apartment for which I’m paying the loan myself.”
“But Mom’s already making plans!” Sergei exclaimed. “How am I supposed to explain it to her now?”
“Very simply,” Natalia replied, putting the dishes in the sink. “Tell her you don’t make decisions about my apartment.”
Sergei sat back down at the table and buried his face in his hands. He sat silently for several minutes, then looked up.
“What if we at least try?” her husband suggested. “Just temporarily. A month or two. We might even like it.”
Natalia turned from the sink and looked at Sergei carefully.
“Seryozha, do you understand that after that it will be impossible to get your mother out of my apartment?” she asked. “Especially if your sister and the child settle in there.”
“Why impossible?” he tried to object. “If we agree it’s temporary, then it’s temporary.”
Natalia laughed. Over the years of knowing her husband’s family she had learned her mother-in-law’s character. Yekaterina Mikhailovna could find a thousand reasons not to do anything that wasn’t to her advantage.
“Fine,” Natalia said. “I’ll call your mother and talk to her myself.”
Sergei’s face tightened. Apparently, direct communication between his wife and his mother was exactly what he had hoped to avoid.
“Why?” Sergei asked quickly. “I’ll explain everything myself.”
“What exactly will you explain?” Natalia clarified. “That I agreed? Or that I refused?”
Sergei didn’t answer, but from his expression it was clear the second option didn’t suit him.
“Then I’ll call her myself,” Natalia decided, taking her phone from her handbag.
“Wait!” Sergei blurted out. “Don’t call now. Mom is probably already asleep.”
Natalia looked at the clock. Half past eight in the evening.
“At half past eight?” she asked, surprised. “Yekaterina Mikhailovna usually watches TV until eleven.”
“Maybe she’s tired today,” her husband said uncertainly.
Natalia dialed her mother-in-law’s number and turned on the speaker. The beeps echoed through the kitchen as Sergei nervously twisted a napkin.
“Hello, Natalia?” came Yekaterina Mikhailovna’s cheerful voice. “What’s happened?”
“Good evening, Yekaterina Mikhailovna,” Natalia greeted politely. “Sergei said you want to swap apartments. I wanted to clarify the details.”
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end.
“Ah, yes,” the mother-in-law finally said. “Seryozha said he would talk to you. So, do you agree?”
“Yekaterina Mikhailovna, I’m not moving anywhere,” Natalia said distinctly. “And I’m not giving my apartment to anyone.”
“What do you mean, you’re not giving it?” the mother-in-law’s voice turned sharp. “Sergei said you two had already discussed everything!”
“We did,” Natalia replied. “And I said no.”
“But why?” Yekaterina Mikhailovna protested. “We really are cramped! Svetlana and little Misha have no space at all!”
“And why should your housing problems be solved at my expense?” Natalia asked.
Silence hung on the line. Then the mother-in-law’s angry voice came through:
“Natalia, I thought you were a considerate person. Turns out you’re such a—”
“Such a what?” Natalia asked calmly.
“An egoist!” Yekaterina Mikhailovna burst out. “You and Sergei don’t need much space, and we have a child growing up here!”
“Goodbye, Yekaterina Mikhailovna,” Natalia said and hung up.
Sergei raised his head and looked at his wife apologetically.
“You were too harsh,” he muttered. “Mom will be upset.”
“And why should I care about your mother’s upsets?” Natalia put her phone back in her handbag. “You’d better think about how to explain to her that you shouldn’t have made promises for me.”
The rest of the evening passed in strained silence. Sergei tried several times to start a neutral conversation, but Natalia answered curtly and busied herself with chores.
In the morning Natalia was getting ready for work when the landline rang. Yekaterina Mikhailovna’s voice sounded energetic and confident.
“Natalia? Good morning!” the mother-in-law chirped, as if last night’s conversation hadn’t happened. “My son said you’re ready to swap. When shall we start packing?”
Natalia froze with her coffee cup in hand. Her mother-in-law’s persistence was surprising.
“Yekaterina Mikhailovna,” Natalia said patiently, “yesterday I made it clear: keep living where you’ve been living. You will not touch my home.”
“How can that be?” the voice turned shrill. “Sergei promised!”
“Sergei has no right to promise what doesn’t belong to him,” Natalia cut her off.
“How dare you!” Yekaterina Mikhailovna shouted into the receiver. “We raised Seryozha, put our souls into him, and now some wife of his decides where his mother will live!”
“I’m not ‘some wife,’” Natalia replied coolly. “I’m the owner of the apartment. And I make the decisions.”
“Selfish woman!” the mother-in-law squealed. “We have a small child, and you only think about yourself!”
“Yekaterina Mikhailovna, I’m at work. Goodbye,” Natalia said and hung up.
All day at work her thoughts kept returning to the morning conversation. Natalia understood: her mother-in-law wouldn’t give up easily. Yekaterina Mikhailovna was used to getting her way through her son, and the refusal had caught her off guard.
In the evening Sergei came home looking like a thundercloud. He ate in silence, then sat down across from his wife in the living room.
“Mom called all day,” he began. “She says you’re rude to her.”
“I speak politely but clearly,” Natalia replied without looking up from her magazine.
“Natasha, think it over one more time,” Sergei tried to persuade her. “It’s the right thing for the family. Mom will help us, and we’ll help her.”
Natalia set the magazine aside and looked at her husband intently.
“Seryozha, what exactly will change if we move into a studio?” she asked.
“Well…” Sergei faltered. “We’ll be closer to the family.”
“What else?”
“It’ll be easier for Mom,” he added, uncertain.
“And for us?” Natalia continued. “Will it be easier for us in a cramped apartment?”
Sergei said nothing.
“Seryozha,” Natalia said, getting up from the couch, “I’ve made my decision. If you want, go live in the studio with your mother and sister. But I’m taking the keys to my apartment back from you.”
Her husband jerked his head up. Surprise flashed in his eyes.
“What do you mean?” he asked, bewildered.
Natalia went to the dresser, took out the key ring, and removed the keys to her apartment. She left her husband the car and dacha keys.
“Here are your keys,” Natalia said, handing Sergei the remaining ring. “And these stay with me.”
Sergei stared at his wife with wide eyes. Apparently, this was a turn he hadn’t expected at all.
“Nata, what are you doing?” Sergei asked quietly.
“Giving you a choice,” she replied calmly. “You can live here with me or there with your mother. But you won’t force me to move.”
Sergei took his keys and studied them for a few minutes as if seeing them for the first time.
“And if I stay here?” he asked cautiously.
“Then there will be no more talk about swapping apartments,” Natalia said firmly. “And you will explain to your mother yourself that you shouldn’t have made promises.”
Sergei nodded, realizing that arguing was useless. The resolve in his wife’s voice brooked no objections.
The next day Yekaterina Mikhailovna called twice. First to Sergei at work, then home in the evening. Natalia heard her husband explaining the situation to his mother:
“Mom, it’s not going to work. Natasha doesn’t agree… Yes, I know I promised… No, I can’t persuade her… She owns the apartment…”
His mother-in-law’s voice carried even through the receiver—she was clearly not holding back her emotions. Sergei kept the phone away from his ear and gave his wife a guilty look.
“Mom, what can I do?” he said wearily. “It’s not my decision…”
The conversation lasted almost half an hour. Yekaterina Mikhailovna tried to get her son to find other arguments, suggested various swap options, even hinted at temporary living arrangements. But Sergei steadfastly repeated the same thing: the apartment wasn’t his, and it wasn’t his place to decide.
That weekend his mother-in-law came in person. Natalia heard the familiar voice in the stairwell and braced herself for an unpleasant conversation.
“Natoshechka!” cooed Yekaterina Mikhailovna as she walked into the apartment. “How are you, dear?”
“Fine,” Natalia replied evenly.
Her mother-in-law walked through to the kitchen, looked the rooms over carefully, and sat down in the living room.
“Everything is so beautiful here!” Yekaterina Mikhailovna gushed. “So much space! And the three of us are suffocating in a studio.”
Natalia silently served tea and cookies. She knew the real conversation was about to start.
“Natoshechka,” the mother-in-law began confidingly, “you’re a smart girl. Understand the situation: Svetlana is getting divorced, the child needs room to play. And you and Sergei are young, you don’t need so many rooms.”
“Yekaterina Mikhailovna,” Natalia replied calmly, “I understand your situation. But I’m not going to solve it at my expense.”
Her mother-in-law’s expression changed. The sweet smile vanished; harsh lines appeared around her mouth.
“What does it cost you?” Yekaterina Mikhailovna snapped. “Help your family just this once!”
“There are different ways to help,” Natalia noted. “With money, advice, temporary lodging. But not by giving away your own apartment.”
The mother-in-law set her cup down so hard the tea splashed into the saucer.
“So family means nothing to you!” she protested.
“Family means a lot,” Natalia agreed. “But manipulation through family feelings doesn’t work.”
Yekaterina Mikhailovna stood up. Her face flushed with indignation.
“What an egoist you are!” she burst out. “Poor Seryozha, tied to such a cold woman!”
Natalia walked her to the door, listening to the stream of outrage. The mother-in-law slammed it so hard the glass in the cabinet rattled.
Sergei came home in the evening and immediately noticed the tension.
“Did Mom come by?” he asked cautiously.
“She did,” Natalia answered shortly.
“And how did it go?”
“It didn’t. My position hasn’t changed.”
Sergei sighed and asked no further questions. Apparently, he understood the topic was closed for good.
The following weeks passed quietly. Yekaterina Mikhailovna stopped calling, didn’t visit, and didn’t even invite them to Sergei’s birthday. But her husband became noticeably more attentive to his wife: he helped around the house, brought flowers for no reason, suggested going to the theater or a restaurant.
One evening Natalia remarked:
“You know, Sergei, your mother actually did me a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” her husband asked, surprised.
“She showed me that I can stand up for my interests,” Natalia smiled. “And that other people’s opinions shouldn’t influence important decisions.”
Sergei nodded thoughtfully.
“You’re probably right,” he agreed. “I should have told Mom straight away that the apartment is yours and you decide.”
“You should have,” Natalia confirmed.
A month later word came that Yekaterina Mikhailovna had found another solution to the housing issue. Svetlana got a job and rented a small apartment for herself and her son. And the mother-in-law stayed in her studio, visiting her grandson from time to time.
Natalia felt satisfied with the decision she had made. The apartment remained her property, the family dynamics had been clarified, and other people’s plans had crashed against her calm resolve. Most importantly, she realized that sometimes a firm “no” solves problems better than endless concessions and compromises.