The house on the edge of the settlement had always smelled of apples and cinnamon. Grandma loved to bake on weekends, and that aroma had soaked so deeply into the wooden walls that even three years after her passing, Alina would catch those familiar notes as soon as she opened the door. Here, every floorboard creaked in its own way, every photograph on the wall held a story. The antique sideboard with carved doors, the rocking chair by the window, the embroidered doilies on the chest of drawers—all of it made up the world in which Alina had grown up, and which she carefully preserved.
Igor had appeared in Alina’s life almost a year earlier. They’d met at a mutual friend’s birthday party, started talking about movies and books, exchanged numbers. Their relationship developed slowly and pleasantly—walks along the embankment, dinners together, long conversations until morning. Her fiancé worked as a site foreman at a construction company, carried himself confidently, and seemed like a reliable man. When, six months later, Igor proposed, Alina agreed without hesitation.
After the engagement, everything changed.
Igor began coming over more and more often—at first just on weekends, then he’d stay several days in a row. Little by little, he moved some of his things in: work clothes, tools, his laptop. At first it seemed natural—after all, the wedding was soon, why waste time commuting between two homes? But with each passing day Alina noticed how her usual way of life was beginning to shift.
Igor lined his tools up in the hallway, took over half the wardrobe in the bedroom, and in the evenings turned the TV up to full volume. Alina tried not to attach too much importance to it—soon her fiancé would be her husband, and the house would be their shared home. But inside, a vague uneasiness was growing, as if a stranger was slowly pushing her out of her own space.
In early December, when there was exactly one week left before the wedding, Igor came home from work and, kicking off his boots in the hall, casually said:
“Mom’s coming tomorrow. Just for a bit, until they finish the renovation at her place.”
Alina froze with a plate in her hands.
“What renovation? You never mentioned it.”
“Well yeah, I forgot to say. She decided to change the pipes, repaint the ceilings. You know what it’s like in an old apartment—something’s always leaking. Two weeks, three at most.”
“Igor, but our wedding is in a week! Guests, preparations…”
“That’s exactly why. Mom will help with the organization, you know how good she is at running a household.”
Alina wanted to object, but Igor had already gone into the living room and turned on his computer. The conversation was over.
The next day her future mother-in-law arrived by taxi. Valentina Stepanovna looked younger than her fifty-five years—slim figure, neat haircut, a stern gaze in her brown eyes. She carried two huge suitcases into the house and went straight to the kitchen.
“Igoryok, show me where you keep everything. Alina, dear, you just relax for now, I’ll sort it out myself.”
Without waiting for an answer, she opened the sideboard and started rearranging the plates.
“My, what a mess. Mugs mixed in with bowls, spoons in different sections. No, this won’t do.”
Alina stood in the doorway and watched as strange hands invaded her world. Valentina Stepanovna moved confidently, without asking permission, without the slightest interest in the hostess’s opinion. Igor silently helped his mother, shifting pots from the top shelf to the bottom.
“Do you have any kind of system at all?” the mother-in-law went on, dusting the shelves. “Or do you just shove things wherever?”
“I’m used to it this way, it’s convenient for me,” Alina replied quietly.
“‘Used to it’ doesn’t mean it’s right. Just wait, in a day you’ll thank me. Now everything will be done properly.”
By evening the kitchen had changed beyond recognition. Plates stood stacked by size, mugs were lined up in straight rows, spoons and forks lay separated. Alina opened the sideboard and stared helplessly at the new order—now, to get to her favorite cup, she had to move half the dishes.
“Mom, maybe you didn’t need to be quite so drastic?” Igor said cautiously.
“Igoryok, I know better. How many years have I been running a household? When you have kids, you’ll understand that order is everything.”
Alina bit her tongue. She didn’t want to argue, and she didn’t see the point—her mother-in-law would stick to her opinion anyway.
The next day the same thing happened. Valentina Stepanovna turned her attention to the fridge, rearranging the food and throwing out everything she deemed spoiled. A jar of homemade jam that Alina had been saving since summer went straight into the trash.
“That was still good!” Alina protested.
“Dear, look at the lid. It’s bulging. You could get food poisoning.”
“The lid isn’t bulging, it’s just old.”
“Don’t argue with me, I know better.”
Igor sat in the living room, pretending to read the news on his phone. Alina shot him a speaking glance, but he turned away.
By the end of the week, the house no longer looked like itself. The photos of her grandmother were taken down and put into a box—“they just gather dust, why hang so many?” The embroidered doilies were replaced with plastic-coated cloths—“more practical, easy to wipe.” The rocking chair was shoved into a corner—“takes up space, you can’t walk past.” Alina kept silent, but the tension inside her grew. Every morning brought new changes, and with each day the house felt more and more foreign.
Her future mother-in-law behaved as though this were her territory, and Alina was just a guest tolerated out of politeness.
One evening, when Igor had gone out to meet friends, Valentina Stepanovna brewed some tea and sat down at the table opposite Alina.
“You know, dear, I wanted to talk. The house is cozy, of course, but outdated. We really ought to spruce it up for the wedding.”
Alina looked up from her cup.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, these old nightstands, the sideboard, the chests of drawers—this all should’ve been replaced ages ago. We could order modern furniture, something light and stylish. You’re living like it’s a museum.”
“This furniture belonged to my grandmother,” Alina said quietly but firmly.
“I understand, it’s sentimental. But life moves on, you can’t cling to the past. Igoryok is a young man, he needs a modern interior, not grandma’s antique trinkets.”
Alina felt the blood rush to her face. Her fists clenched under the table.
“Valentina Stepanovna, this is my house. My grandmother left it to me, and no one is going to change anything here.”
Her future mother-in-law raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by such a sharp rebuff.
“Well, well, don’t get worked up. I’m only thinking of what’s best. I just want you to live nicely.”
“I like it here as it is,” Alina said, enunciating every word. “And nothing needs to be touched.”
Valentina Stepanovna pressed her lips together but said nothing. The rest of the evening passed in strained silence. The older woman ostentatiously slammed cupboard doors, sighed loudly, and cast meaningful looks, but Alina refused to rise to the bait.
When Igor came home, his mother immediately pounced on him.
“Igoryok, talk to your fiancée. I suggested we freshen up the house a little for the wedding, and she flew at me. I only meant well, out of concern!”
“Mom, let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Igor brushed her off wearily.
“Tomorrow, the day after… You’re always like this. I do everything for you, and you don’t listen.”
Alina walked out of the room, not wanting to be part of the conversation. She lay down in bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. For the first time in her relationship with Igor, she felt a doubt—was everything really going the way it should?
Her fiancé hadn’t taken her side, hadn’t supported her, hadn’t even tried to sort the situation out. He had just dodged the conflict and left Alina alone to deal with his mother.
Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the house became oppressive. Valentina Stepanovna stopped speaking to Alina, answering questions only with nods and doing everything with exaggerated coldness. Igor hovered between his mother and his fiancée, trying to smooth things over, but it wasn’t convincing.
“Alina, just put up with it a little,” he said. “Mom will leave soon, and everything will be fine.”
“Igor, it’s not about your mother living here. It’s about how she behaves like the mistress of the house, and I feel like an extra in my own home.”
“You’re exaggerating. Mom’s just very active, she’s used to controlling everything. She’ll stay a week or two, what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that I don’t like it. And you’re not even trying to understand my point of view.”
Igor frowned and turned to the window.
“I do understand. I just don’t see the point of making a big scandal out of nothing.”
Alina fell silent. The conversation had reached a dead end.
On Thursday morning she got a call from work—urgent business trip, departure that very day. Alina packed, left Igor a shopping list and the hotel number in case something happened. She left with a sense of relief—at least a few days of peace, without his mother and all the tension.
The business trip lasted four days. Alina handled work matters, met with partners, wrote up reports. Igor called rarely and answered briefly—everything’s fine, don’t worry. Alina tried to focus on work and enjoy the short break.
On Sunday evening she returned home. She got out of the taxi, paid the driver, and walked to the gate. She took the keys from her bag, put one into the lock, and turned it.
The key spun freely.
Alina frowned in surprise and tried again. Same result—the lock wouldn’t open.
Her heart dropped. She looked around, checking if she’d come to the right place. It was definitely her house: the familiar gate, the neighbor’s fence on the right, the apple tree on the left. But the keys didn’t fit.
Alina pulled out her phone and dialed Igor.
The line rang for a long time before he picked up.
“Hello?”
“Igor, I’m home. The keys don’t fit the lock.”
“What do you mean, don’t fit?”
“I don’t know! It just won’t open. Did you change something?”
A pause. Too long.
“Igor?”
“Alina, Mom decided… well, she changed the locks. For safety.”
Alina froze with the phone pressed to her ear. It felt like time stopped.
“Repeat that, please. Did I just hear you say your mother changed the locks in my house?”
“Well, yeah. You see, last week someone broke into the neighbors’ place, so Mom decided to be safe. I thought you’d understand.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. Her hands started trembling.
“Open the door. Now.”
“Alina, don’t get worked up. I’m coming.”
A minute later the door swung open. Igor stood in the doorway in sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt. His mother’s silhouette could be seen behind him.
“Here, take your keys. Mom had a set made for you.”
Alina silently took the ring. The shiny new keys gleamed in the porch light.
“Igor, come outside. Right now.”
He stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. Alina took a step closer, looking him straight in the eye.
“Explain to me how your mother decided to change the locks in my house without even telling me.”
“Alina, calm down. Nothing terrible happened.”
“Nothing terrible? Igor, this is my property. Mine! How did she even dare?”
“Mom was worried. There really was a break-in at the neighbors, you know that.”
“So what? If I want to change the locks, I’ll do it myself! Do you honestly think it’s normal to meddle in someone else’s home without permission?”
Igor lowered his eyes.
“Alina, don’t shout like that. Mom will hear.”
“Let her hear! I want her to hear this clearly: tomorrow your mother will be out of here. And she will hand over all the keys to the new locks. Every single one.”
“Alina, what are you talking about? The wedding is in three days, the guests are already on their way, everything’s paid for. Where is she supposed to go?”
“I don’t care. Home, to a friend, to a hotel. Anywhere, just not here.”
Igor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Let’s talk calmly tomorrow. You’re tired from the trip, you’re on edge.”
“I’m not on edge, Igor. I’m furious. Your mother barged into my life, rearranged my things, threw away half of what’s precious to me, and now she’s changed the locks! And you, instead of backing me up, are defending her!”
“I’m not defending her, I’m just trying to ease the situation.”
“There’s nothing to ease. She leaves tomorrow.”
Alina turned and went inside.
Valentina Stepanovna was standing in the hall, her arms folded across her chest.
“You scared the whole neighborhood with your yelling.”
“Valentina Stepanovna, you’re moving out tomorrow. Start packing.”
Her future mother-in-law smirked.
“Dear, you’re forgetting that Igor is my son. I’m only living here because he said I could.”
“And you’re forgetting that this is my house. I never gave permission for you to live here, much less to change the locks.”
“The locks were changed for your own safety. Ungrateful girl.”
Alina stepped closer. Her voice came out hard and cold:
“By noon tomorrow, I want you gone. Or I’ll call the police and throw you out myself.”
Color drained from the older woman’s face. Igor came in and tried to take Alina by the hand, but she pulled away.
“Alina, let’s not take it that far.”
“We wouldn’t have to, if your mother hadn’t taken it that far first. She leaves tomorrow, Igor. This is not up for discussion.”
Valentina Stepanovna turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her as she left the room. Igor stood in the hall, looking from the closed door to his fiancée.
“Alina, you can’t do this. The wedding is in three days, the guests are coming, everything’s booked.”
“You should’ve thought of that earlier. Before you brought your mother here and let her do whatever she pleased.”
“I didn’t let her do anything! She just wanted to help.”
“Help? Igor, your mother threw out my things, rearranged all the furniture, changed the locks in my house. That’s what you call help?”
He stayed silent, unable to find an answer.
Alina walked past him into the bedroom, pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, and began packing.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to stay with a friend. I can’t stay here.”
“Alina, wait. Let’s talk calmly.”
“What is there to talk about, Igor? Not once did you take my side. You kept defending your mother, pretending you didn’t see the problem. And when I asked for your support, you brushed me off.”
Igor sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face with both hands.
“I just didn’t want fights. I thought it would somehow sort itself out.”
“Nothing ever ‘sorts itself out.’ You have to set boundaries from the start, explain to your mother that this is my home. But you stayed silent, and here we are.”
Alina zipped the suitcase and headed for the door. Igor tried to stop her, but she pulled away.
“Don’t touch me. We’ll deal with everything tomorrow. Tonight I need to be alone.”
She went outside, hailed a taxi, and left for her friend Svetlana’s place.
Svetlana opened the door, took one look at Alina’s face, and, without asking any questions, led her inside. She made tea, sat her at the table, and waited silently.
Alina told her everything—from the day her mother-in-law arrived to the changing of the locks. Svetlana listened carefully, occasionally shaking her head.
“Alina, you do realize this is just the beginning? If you swallow this now, it’ll only get worse.”
“I know. That’s why I left. I don’t know what to do next.”
“What’s there to think about? Cancel the wedding, full stop. A man who doesn’t protect his fiancée from his own mother will always be like that. Valentina will live with you, boss you around, meddle in everything. Is that the life you want?”
Alina shook her head. Of course she didn’t. But everything seemed so complicated—everything was already arranged, the guests invited, the money spent.
“You can get some of the money back, you can warn the guests. In return, you’ll get rid of problems that are only just starting to snowball,” Svetlana said firmly.
Alina went to sleep in the guest room, but she couldn’t drift off. Her thoughts kept spinning, refusing to let her rest. Igor called several times and sent messages, but she didn’t feel like answering.
In the morning Alina woke up with a clear understanding—she couldn’t put up with this anymore. She needed to go home and put an end to it.
She called Igor.
“I’m going home. I expect your mother not to be there when I arrive.”
“Alina, let’s meet and talk properly.”
“No. First, Valentina leaves. Then we can talk.”
She got ready, said goodbye to Svetlana, and went back. On the way, her phone rang—first Igor, then his mother. Alina declined both calls.
She reached the house around noon. She put the new key in the lock and turned it. The door opened.
She stepped inside. Silence. No one.
Alina walked through the rooms—her future mother-in-law’s things were gone, the rocking chair was back in its old place, her grandmother’s photos were hanging on the walls again. Igor had clearly tried to put everything back the way it was.
Alina sat down on the sofa and exhaled. The house looked like itself again. But she didn’t feel joy—only exhaustion and disappointment.
An hour later Igor showed up. He looked worn out—dark circles under his eyes, rumpled clothes, a lost expression.
“Mom went home,” he said. “I put everything back like you asked.”
“Thank you.”
They sat at the table. They were silent for a long time, not knowing where to start.
“Alina, I was wrong,” Igor said at last. “I should’ve set boundaries right away, told Mom this is your house. I’m sorry.”
“Igor, it’s not just about your mother. It’s about the fact that you didn’t support me. Not once. You kept trying to smooth things over, to avoid conflict. And I was left alone against your mother.”
“I get that. It’s just hard for me to speak harshly to her. I’m her son, I was raised to respect her.”
“Respect is good. But when it comes to your future wife, you have to be able to choose. And that choice should be in my favor. Do you understand?”
Igor nodded.
“Yes, I understand. It won’t happen again.”
Alina looked him in the eyes. She wanted to believe him, but doubts lingered.
“Igor, I need time to think. The wedding is in three days, and I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“Alina, don’t say that. We’ve already planned everything.”
“Plans can be changed. I don’t want to get married like this. Not when there’s so much resentment and so many things unsaid between us.”
Igor turned pale.
“You want to cancel the wedding?”
“I want time. A few weeks, maybe a month. To figure out what I feel, to understand if I’m ready to tie my life to a man who doesn’t protect me.”
“Alina, that’s not fair. I’ve admitted my mistake and apologized.”
“An apology is just words. I need actions. I need proof that you’re capable of standing by me, even if it means a conflict with your mother.”
Igor got up and started pacing the room.
“So we’re postponing the wedding?”
“Yes. I’ll call the restaurant and cancel the booking. I’ll let the guests know it’s being postponed indefinitely.”
“And what am I supposed to tell Mom? Our relatives?”
“The truth. That we’re not ready.”
Igor stopped at the window, staring at the snowy yard.
“Fine. Whatever you say.”
He left without saying goodbye.
Alina stayed alone in the quiet house. She picked up her phone and started making the necessary calls—to the restaurant, the photographer, the musicians. Everywhere she explained the same thing—the wedding was being postponed for personal reasons. Some of the money would be refunded, some kept as a penalty. Alina didn’t care—the main thing was that the decision had been made.
By evening, her phone was ringing nonstop. Igor’s relatives, mutual friends, her bridesmaids—everyone wanted the details. Alina answered briefly and coolly: the wedding was postponed, she’d let them know when it would happen. After the tenth call she turned her phone off altogether.
The next day, Valentina Stepanovna came herself. She rang the doorbell, and Alina opened it, already bracing for an unpleasant conversation.
“We need to talk,” the older woman said, walking into the house without being invited.
“You don’t live here anymore, Valentina Stepanovna. Why did you come?”
“Igor didn’t sleep at all last night, he’s worried. Because of you, I might add.”
“Because of me? Or because you decided you could run someone else’s home as you pleased?”
Her future mother-in-law pursed her lips.
“I was trying to help. To tidy up, to make everything nice for the wedding.”
“Help is what you give when you’re asked. Not when you shove your rules into a place where no one wants them.”
“You’re ungrateful. Igor is a good man, hardworking, caring. You won’t find another like him.”
“Maybe he is a good man. But not for me. Because in a critical moment he defended you, not me.”
“I’m his mother! Of course he defends me.”
“And that’s exactly why the wedding is off. I don’t need a husband who will constantly choose between me and his mother—and always choose you.”
Valentina shot to her feet, her face flushed.
“How dare you talk like that! I gave my whole life to that boy!”
“That’s your choice. But my life is mine. And I’m not going to tolerate interference.”
“You’ll regret this! Igor will find another, a normal girl who values family.”
“I wish him luck. And now, please leave. I have nothing more to say to you.”
Her future mother-in-law stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.
Alina locked the door and leaned against the frame. It was hard, but it was right.
Igor called that evening.
“Mom came to see you. She said you threw her out.”
“Yes, she came. And yes, I asked her to leave.”
“Alina, can’t we at least try again? I’ll talk to Mom, I’ll explain everything.”
“Igor, you’ve promised to talk to her a hundred times already. Nothing ever changes.”
“It will this time, I swear.”
“No, it won’t. Because change takes real work, and you just want everything to calm down on its own.”
“So that’s it? We’re breaking up?”
Alina paused, choosing her words.
“Yes, Igor. That’s it. I’m sorry, but I don’t want a life where I constantly have to fight for my own space and defend my opinion. I need someone who will stand beside me, not between me and his mother.”
Igor exhaled heavily.
“I understand. Good luck, Alina.”
“You too.”
She hung up and sat down in the rocking chair by the window. Outside, snow was falling, covering the yard in a white blanket. Quiet and peaceful. For the first time in many weeks, Alina felt relief.
The next day she called a locksmith and ordered new locks. The technician arrived quickly, installed modern, secure mechanisms, and handed her several sets of keys. Alina hid a spare set in a secret spot—just in case.
Then she started cleaning. She washed the floors, wiped the dust, laundered the linens. She put everything back where it belonged—her grandmother’s embroidered doilies on the chests of drawers, the photographs on the walls, the dishes in the sideboard in the way she liked. The house felt alive again, cozy and familiar.
Svetlana visited a few days later.
“Well, how are you?” she asked.
“Fine. It was hard, but I got through it.”
“Any regrets?”
Alina thought for a moment.
“No. I only regret not doing it sooner. So much time wasted, so many nerves.”
“At least now you’re free. Your house is yours, your life is yours.”
“Yes. And that’s what matters.”
The friends sat in the kitchen, drinking tea and talking about everything under the sun. Outside, a snowstorm was whirling, but inside it was warm and calm.
The next morning Alina woke up with a light heart. For the first time in many weeks, there was no tight knot of anxiety in her chest, no tension, no dread of the next conflict. Just a quiet, clear morning in her own home.
She made coffee, took her favorite mug from the sideboard—the very one Valentina had hidden away as “impractical.” She sat by the window and gazed at the snowy garden. The apple tree stood bare, its branches frosted with ice, but in spring it would bloom again. Just like life—after a cold spell, the thaw always comes.
Alina picked up her phone and texted Svetlana: “Thank you for being there. I’m okay. Finally truly at home.”
The reply came almost immediately: “I’m happy for you. Come over tonight, we’ll celebrate your freedom!”
Alina smiled. Yes, things would be different now. No imposed rules, no outsiders deciding what happened in her space. The house belonged to her again, and that was how it should be.
That evening, locking the door with the new keys, Alina glanced back at the lit windows. Warmth, coziness, peace. Her fortress, her refuge, her own world. And no one would ever dare to break into it again without her permission.
Life went on. And ahead there was something new, real, and truly hers