I was calmly wiping dust off the bookshelves, enjoying the silence. The renovation in the apartment still wasn’t finished—stacks of wallpaper were piled in the corner, and the kitchen smelled of fresh paint. My husband Sergei had gone to work, leaving me a list of things that had to be done by evening.
Suddenly, the phone rang. On the screen: “Mother-in-law.”
I sighed. We hadn’t spoken for a month after the last scandal, when she’d called me a “lazy fool” because I didn’t want to go to their dacha to wash windows.
I picked up.
“Hello?”
“Why are you taking so long to answer?” she started with an attack.
“I was busy. What happened?”
“We’re coming over with your sister-in-law Ira in three hours! Get two rooms ready, we’ve got suitcases!”
I froze. No warning, no “is it okay.” Just “we’re coming.”
“Excuse me… what?”
“Are you deaf? We’re already on the train! Sergei knows!”
“Sergei didn’t say anything to me.”
“Well, then he forgot. But we’re already on our way. Meet us at the station at six.”
“We’re in the middle of renovations. And anyway, no one invited you.”
My mother-in-law snorted.
“What, you afraid of a bit of work? Relatives want to stay two nights and you’re already whining! You’re a useless daughter-in-law!”
I gripped the phone so tightly my fingers turned white.
“You can’t just show up like that.”
“We can! It’s my son’s apartment, not yours!”
I abruptly hung up.
My heart was pounding. I immediately dialed Sergei.
“Did you know your mother and sister are coming over today?”
A pause.
“Well… yeah. They called yesterday, said they wanted to visit.”
“And you didn’t think to warn me?”
“Oh, come on, what’s the big deal? Let them stay a couple of days…”
“We’re in the middle of renovations! They didn’t even ask!”
“Well, they’re family… It’s awkward to refuse.”
I closed my eyes.
“Sergei, they think they can come whenever they want. And you’re backing them up.”
“You’re overreacting again…”
I slammed the call off.
One thought kept spinning in my head: “They are not setting foot in my home.”
I opened my chat with my friend and quickly typed:
“You won’t believe it. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law barged into my life without asking. They’re on their way right now. I’m not going to meet them.”
The reply came instantly:
“You’re kidding? Have they completely lost it?”
I put the phone down.
No, I wasn’t kidding.
And they would regret deciding to come.
I stood in the middle of the room, clutching the phone in my trembling fingers. My thoughts were tangled: how dare they? Why didn’t Sergei warn me? What was I supposed to do now?
The kettle hissed in the kitchen—I had absentmindedly put it on ten minutes earlier, when I still thought the day would be quiet. Now the sound annoyed me. I yanked the plug out of the socket.
I had to act.
First thing, I called Sergei again. This time I waited until he picked up.
“Do you seriously think they can just come like that?”
“Well… Mom said they have nowhere to stay in the city…”
“What are we, a hotel?”
“Oh, come on, it’s just for two days…”
I felt goosebumps race down my back.
“Two days? Last time they stayed a week! And you remember perfectly well how your sister went through my things!”
“Ira just wanted to see your dress…”
“She tore it! And said I was too fat for it anyway!”
Sergei sighed.
“You’re exaggerating again…”
It was like someone poured boiling water over me.
“Exaggerating? Fine. Then listen carefully: either you call them right now and tell them they can’t come, or I’ll handle this myself.”
“You’re going to throw my mother out?”
“If I have to—yes.”
“You’re crazy! That’s my family!”
“And I’m your wife! Or did you forget?”
There was heavy silence on the other end. Then Sergei mumbled:
“I… I’ll try to talk to them…”
“Not try, you will. I expect a call in ten minutes.”
I tossed the phone onto the couch.
My hands were shaking. Scenes from their past visits flashed through my mind: my mother-in-law criticizing my borscht; her sister “accidentally” breaking my favorite vase; their snickering behind my back.
Seven minutes later, the phone rang.
“Wel-l-l…” Sergei began.
I understood immediately.
“They didn’t change their minds.”
“Mom says the tickets are bought and they’re already on the way…”
“And you didn’t tell them anything?”
“I tried… but Mom said…”
“What?”
“That you probably have PMS and that they’re coming anyway.”
I closed my eyes. Everything was clear.
“Fine. Then you go meet them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not going to the station. And they’re not coming into the apartment.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
I hung up.
The kitchen was quiet. Even the ticking clock seemed too loud.
I walked to the window. The setting sun lit up the courtyard. Somewhere, hundreds of kilometers away, a train was rushing along with two women on board who were absolutely sure they could run my life.
But they were wrong.
I took out my phone and texted my friend:
“They’re on their way. I won’t let them in.”
The answer came instantly:
“You’re a heroine. Keep me posted.”
I put the phone away.
War had been declared.
I stood at the station exit, pulling my thin coat tighter around me. The evening wind chased candy wrappers and newspaper scraps along the platform. The board was counting down the minutes until the train arrived—five more. My fingers nervously rolled my keys in my pocket.
I ignored Sergei’s call. That was the third one in the last hour. Let him worry.
The train pulled in with a hiss of brakes. Passengers poured out of the cars. I spotted them immediately—my mother-in-law in a bright red fur coat (new, I noticed) and her sister Ira dragging two huge suitcases behind her. They looked around expectantly, obviously waiting for someone to meet them.
I stepped forward.
“Oh! Finally!” My mother-in-law saw me first. “Where’s Sergei? Where’s the taxi? Are we supposed to haul these suitcases ourselves?”
I folded my arms across my chest.
“There is no taxi. And Sergei isn’t here either.”
“What do you mean, he’s not?” Ira dropped her suitcase, and it hit the tiles with a crash. “Have you lost your mind? We still have to get to your hole!”
People walking by began to turn their heads. I spoke a bit louder than usual.
“You didn’t warn us about your visit. We’re not prepared to have you.”
My mother-in-law flushed. Her sister hissed:
“Do you know who you’re talking to? This is your husband’s mother!”
“I know perfectly well. And I also know that in decent families people ask first if they can come.”
My mother-in-law suddenly switched to a whisper, but that only made her words more poisonous:
“You’re shaming our family. We came to visit our son, not you. Let’s go. Now.”
I slowly shook my head.
“The apartment is mine. It’s registered to me. And I only accept guests when I want to.”
Ira suddenly shrieked so loudly even the porters turned to look:
“You’ve totally lost it! We came all this way in the cold and she’s acting like some princess!”
I calmly took out my phone.
“If you don’t leave, I’ll call station security. Do you want a scene with the police?”
My mother-in-law abruptly changed tactics. She put on a “hurt” face.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing… We’re family… We’re just tired from the road…”
“There’s a hotel three hundred meters from here. ‘Severnaya.’ Rooms start at two thousand. Goodbye.”
Ira lunged forward and grabbed my sleeve:
“You’ll pay for this! Sergei will find out!”
I gently freed my arm.
“Sergei already knows. And he knows my position.”
Turning around, I walked toward the exit. Behind me, a heart-rending screech followed:
“How dare you talk to your elders like that!!!”
But I didn’t look back. The wind was now at my back, pushing me toward the station gates. My heart was pounding wildly, but my face remained a mask of stone.
Only once I was on the bus did I allow myself to tremble. My hands clutched the phone—seven missed calls from Sergei were glowing on the screen. I sent him a text:
“Your relatives stayed at the station. ‘Severnaya’ Hotel is three minutes away on foot. I’m done with this.”
The reply came instantly:
“Have you completely lost it??? They’re my family!!!”
I turned off my phone. City lights flickered outside the bus windows. Somewhere out there, on a cold station platform, two furious women stood with their suitcases.
But my apartment was still my fortress. At least for today.
I had just managed to put the kettle on when there was a sharp knock at the door. Not the doorbell—a knock—insistent, irritated. Looking through the peephole, I saw my mother-in-law’s face twisted with rage. Behind her stood Ira, filming our building on her phone.
“Open up this second!” My mother-in-law pounded on the door with her fist. “We know you’re home!”
I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door on the chain.
“Did you lose something at the station?” I asked calmly.
My mother-in-law tried to shove her hand through the gap.
“Stop mocking us! We’re freezing! That dump you sent us to doesn’t even have hot water!”
Ira stepped closer, still filming:
“We already called Sergei! He’s coming over and he’ll show you what’s what!”
I leaned my shoulder against the door.
“Stop this circus. You are not coming into my home.”
My mother-in-law abruptly switched tactics again. Her voice turned sugary-sweet:
“Sweetheart, really… We’re just tired… Let’s talk like adults…”
Just then, Sergey burst out of the elevator, out of breath. His face was red from running and anger.
“What’s going on here?!” he started shouting immediately. “You threw my mother out onto the street?!”
I didn’t take the chain off.
“I didn’t invite them. They decided to come on their own.”
Sergei grabbed his head.
“So what?! She’s my mother!”
My mother-in-law jumped in at once:
“See, son? This is how she treats me! I could catch my death of cold out here!”
Ira added:
“And she also shoved us into some three-thousand-ruble hole of a hotel!”
Sergei took a step toward me.
“Open the door. Now!”
I met his gaze.
“Are you sure you want to have a huge scene in front of the entire building?”
At that moment, our nosy neighbor Aunt Lyuba peeked out of her apartment. Her curious gaze flicked from us to my furious in-laws.
Sergei lowered his voice:
“Let us in. We’ll sort this out calmly.”
I slowly closed the door, took off the chain, and opened it again. The three of them tumbled into the hallway. My mother-in-law immediately started looking around:
“What a mess… And you call this ‘renovation’?” She jabbed a finger at the unpapered corners of the walls.
Ira dropped her suitcase right on top of my slippers:
“So where’s the food? We’ve been traveling forever!”
I blocked her way to the kitchen.
“You can make yourselves sandwiches. The fridge is empty.”
Sergei grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me into the bedroom. Closing the door, he hissed:
“Have you lost your mind? How could you do this?!”
I yanked my arm free.
“They came without warning! Just barged into our lives!”
“She’s my mother!” He slammed his fist against the wardrobe. “You should have picked them up, fed them…”
“I’m not a maid!” My voice shook with rage. “Either you tell them to leave right now, or I will.”
There was a crash outside the door. We ran into the hallway—Ira had knocked over my favorite vase, the one my mother had given me.
“Oh, oops! Sorry!” she said with a fake smile. “I’m so clumsy…”
I turned to Sergei.
“You see? This is just the beginning. They’re doing it on purpose.”
Meanwhile, my mother-in-law was already opening the wardrobe in the living room:
“Oh, where’s your bedding? We need to sleep somewhere!”
I slammed the wardrobe door shut right in front of her.
“You’re not sleeping here. The hotel is there.”
Sergei grabbed my shoulders.
“Enough! They’re staying! And that’s final!”
At that moment, my phone rang. My mom. I answered without moving away.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” Her voice was anxious. “Your neighbor Lyubov Semenovna called, said there’s some kind of scandal…”
I looked at Sergei, at his furious mother, at giggling Ira.
“Everything’s fine, Mom. We just have uninvited guests. We’ll sort it out.”
Hanging up, I said firmly:
“You have one hour. Then I’m calling the police for unlawful entry.”
My mother-in-law snorted:
“Who’s going to believe you! It’s my son’s apartment!”
I took the ownership documents out of a drawer.
“Here’s the deed. The apartment is in my name. Either you leave voluntarily, or you’ll be escorted out.”
Sergei turned pale.
“You… you wouldn’t dare…”
I was already dialing the local officer when there was another knock at the door. Everyone froze.
Aunt Lyuba stood there with a cake in her hands.
“I, um… thought maybe we could have some tea together?” Her eyes were greedily drinking in every detail of the scene.
My mother-in-law burst into tears:
“Do you see how this daughter-in-law treats me? She wants to throw me out onto the street!”
I slowly closed the door in front of our nosy neighbor, not letting her step in. Turning to my “guests,” I said firmly:
“Your hour starts now.”
Silence in the apartment grew thick, like jelly. My mother-in-law and Ira stood frozen in the middle of the living room, glancing at each other. Sergei nervously fiddled with his phone. I put mine down on the table so everyone could see—the district officer’s number was already dialed, I just had to press “call.”
“You’re bluffing,” Ira hissed, but her eyes darted around.
My mother-in-law flopped down on the sofa, pretending to feel unwell:
“Oh, my head is spinning… After that long trip… Sergei, some water…”
I stopped my husband when he headed to the kitchen.
“She can drink tap water in the bathroom. Or bottled at the hotel.”
Sergei clenched his fists.
“Enough! They’re staying the night! Mom doesn’t feel well!”
I slowly picked up my phone.
“Then I’ll call the police and an ambulance. Let the doctors confirm how ‘unwell’ she is.”
My mother-in-law instantly “recovered”:
“I’m fine! It’s just that the daughter-in-law has driven me to this…”
The doorbell rang again. We all jumped. Through the peephole I saw the district officer—apparently Aunt Lyuba had decided to be “vigilant.”
I opened the door.
“Good evening, Lieutenant.”
“We got a report about a disturbance,” the officer said, peering into the apartment. He noticed my stunned mother-in-law. “Something going on here?”
My mother-in-law rushed toward him:
“Oh, young man, it’s all the daughter-in-law! She wants to throw us out onto the street!”
The officer raised an eyebrow.
“Is this your apartment?” he asked me.
I handed him the documents.
“Mine. These people came in without my permission and refuse to leave. Here’s the deed.”
Sergei stepped forward.
“She’s my mother! She has a right—”
“By law,” the officer cut him off, “even an owner can’t move in without the consent of the other residents. And as for guests…” He looked at the suitcases. “Planning a long stay?”
Ira started recording again.
“See, everyone? The police are against ordinary people! We’re relatives!”
The officer sighed.
“Ma’am, put the phone away. Or I’ll write you up for interfering with a police officer.”
There was a pause. My mother-in-law understood her show had failed.
“All right,” she straightened up suddenly. “We’ll go. But remember this—” she turned to me, “you’re no longer part of our family.”
Sergei gasped.
“Mom! What are you saying!”
I silently opened the door wider. Ira started picking up the suitcases, deliberately scraping them across the floor.
The officer promised to make sure they actually left. When the door closed behind them, Sergei collapsed onto a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“How could you… She’s my mother…”
I sat down opposite him.
“You brought this on yourself. I told you a hundred times—there have to be boundaries.”
He jerked his head up.
“You humiliated me! In front of a police officer!”
“And they didn’t humiliate me?” My voice shook. “When your sister called me fat? When your mother criticized my every move?”
Sergei jumped up and started pacing the room.
“They’re family! You have to put up with things!”
“No.” I stood as well. “You don’t. Either you finally understand that we are your new family, or…”
“Or what?” He stopped dead.
“Or I’ll file for divorce. I’m not living in this nightmare anymore.”
His face twisted. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the phone rang. Sergei looked at the screen and turned pale.
“Mom…”
I silently stepped out onto the balcony. The cold air burned my lungs. From the parking lot below, I could hear shouting—my mother-in-law was yelling at Ira, who was dragging the suitcases to a taxi.
My phone vibrated. A message from my friend:
“So, how’s the war?”
I replied:
“Stalemate for now. But the battle’s just beginning.”
The balcony door slammed behind me—Sergei came out. We stood there in silence, staring into the night. Somewhere in the distance a taxi door slammed, taking my “dear relatives” away.
“I… I’ll talk to them,” he finally said. “Explain that they can’t do this.”
I didn’t answer. For the first time that evening, I felt not anger, but pity. For him. For us. For this broken family story.
But pity is a bad advisor. I knew—tomorrow would be a new day. And a new battle.
For now… for now I just closed the balcony door and went to make tea. For one.
I woke up to someone gently touching my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I saw Sergei sitting on the edge of the bed. In the gray morning light his face looked drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.
“I didn’t sleep all night,” he whispered. “We need to talk.”
I sat up, leaning against the pillow. Dawn was barely breaking outside, the clock showed five in the morning.
“Talk.”
He fidgeted with the edge of the blanket for a long time before he began:
“I called Mom… They’re at the hotel. She said…” His voice broke. “She said I’m not her son anymore.”
I felt my heart clench, but I didn’t show it.
“And what did you say?”
“I… I tried to explain that you also have rights…” He suddenly jumped up and started pacing the room. “Damn it! Why is everything so complicated? They’re family!”
I watched him pace. The early morning chill seeped through my thin pajamas, but I didn’t move.
“Sergei,” I finally said quietly. “You have to choose.”
He stopped as if rooted to the floor.
“What do you mean, choose?”
“Either you keep living for your mother’s approval, or you start living your own life. Our life.”
His face twisted.
“That’s not a choice! That’s an ultimatum!”
I got out of bed and walked to the window. Outside, a street cleaner sleepily swept the sidewalk. An ordinary morning. Only in our apartment everything had been turned upside down.
“Fine,” I turned to him. “Let’s put it differently. What do you feel? Not what you ‘should’ feel—what do you actually feel?”
He sank into the armchair and started twisting the corner of a cushion again:
“I… I’m angry. At Mom—for barging in uninvited. At you—for not putting up with it. At myself…” His voice cracked. “For not knowing how to fix this.”
I sat down opposite him and gently took his hand.
“And what do you want? Not what you ‘must’ want, what you want?”
He looked up at me—and for the first time in a long while, I saw not anger, but confusion in his eyes.
“I want… things to be like they were. For Mom… for you…”
I shook my head.
“That’s not going to happen. Either you set boundaries, or this will keep happening again and again.”
The doorbell rang. We exchanged looks—who could it be so early? Sergei went to answer. A minute later he came back with a box in his hands.
“The concierge gave me this… It’s for you.”
I opened the box. Inside was our wedding album—the one that usually stood on the living room shelf. Only now, all the photos with me in them had been carefully cut out. On one of the pages lay a note: “You’re no longer family to us.”
Sergei, looking over my shoulder, went as white as a sheet.
“This… this is too much…” He grabbed the back of a chair.
I closed the album gently. Strangely, I didn’t feel like crying. Just emptiness.
“Well,” I said evenly. “There’s your answer.”
Sergei suddenly straightened up.
“No. This is not okay.” He grabbed his phone. “This is crossing every line.”
I watched in surprise as he dialed.
“Mom? It’s me. We just got your ‘gift.’” His voice was shaking, but not with fear—with anger. “No, you listen! If you ever do anything like this again… Just shut up for a second! This is my wife! And if you don’t apologize to her, then yeah—you’re no longer my mother!”
He threw the phone onto the couch. His hands were shaking. We stood there in silence, staring at each other.
“I’m sorry…” he finally whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand sooner.”
I couldn’t hold back—I ran to him and hugged him tightly. His heart was pounding wildly under my cheek.
“We… we’ll fix the album,” he murmured into my hair. “We’ll print new photos. Better ones.”
I nodded, not letting go. Outside, the sun rose, lighting up our broken and slowly pieced-back-together world.
But I knew—this was only the beginning of a long journey. Somewhere in a hotel a new scandal was already brewing. Somewhere Aunt Lyuba was calling all the neighbors with the latest gossip. And in our home… we had this fragile morning. And a choice we had finally made.
Together.
A week passed. Seven days of strange, shaky silence. Sergei’s phone stayed quiet—no calls from his mother, no messages from Ira. It was as if they had disappeared from our lives. But the calm was deceptive—I could feel it in every cell of my body.
On Saturday morning we were having breakfast in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Not that harsh, demanding ring from before, but a timid, short buzz.
“Who’d come this early?” Sergei muttered, going to open the door.
I stayed to finish my coffee but heard his surprised:
“Dad?..”
Peeking into the hallway, I saw my father-in-law. Nikolai Ivanovich stood there clutching his hat in both hands; his usually straight, solid figure seemed hunched and shrunken.
“May I come in?” he asked quietly, without raising his eyes.
I nodded, inviting him to the kitchen. He shuffled in and stopped by the table, still not sitting down.
“Would you like some coffee?” I offered.
“No, thank you…” He took a deep breath. “I came to… talk.”
Sergei poured his father a glass of water. His hand was shaking, and the water spilled onto the table.
“Did Mom send you?” he asked tensely.
Nikolai Ivanovich shook his head.
“Your mother…” He hesitated, choosing his words. “She’s not herself right now. Hasn’t left her room all week. And Ira just keeps stirring her up… But I came on my own.”
He suddenly lifted his eyes to me, and I saw unexpected understanding there.
“I’m sorry, daughter… We raised Sergei wrong. Spoiled him too much. Now she thinks the whole world should crawl on its knees for her.”
Sergei gasped:
“Dad… You’re serious?”
The old man lowered himself heavily into a chair.
“Son, I’ve lived with her for forty years. Forty years walking a tightrope. But what she did…” He pointed at the wedding album we still hadn’t fixed. “That’s too much.”
Silence fell. I watched Sergei look at his father as if seeing him for the first time. His lips trembled.
“Why… why didn’t you say anything before?”
His father gave a bitter smile.
“Who would’ve listened? You were her golden boy. She decided everything for everyone. But now…” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Now I’ve decided something myself.”
Sergei took the envelope with shaking hands. Inside was divorce paperwork, already signed by his mother.
“She… she wants a divorce?” he whispered.
“No,” the old man shook his head. “I filed. Yesterday. I’ve had enough.”
I quietly sat down next to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“Nikolai Ivanovich… do you have somewhere to go?”
He gave a faint smile.
“I’m renting a little room. Still have a job for now. After that… we’ll see.”
Sergei suddenly jumped up, nearly knocking his chair over.
“No! That’s not right! You’re staying here! We’ve got two rooms!”
I backed him up:
“Of course. As long as you need.”
My father-in-law stared at us, eyes wide. Tears slowly rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.
“You… you’re sure? After everything…”
Sergei hugged him.
“You’re my dad. You’re not going anywhere.”
I went to the bedroom to give them some space. Half an hour later Sergei came in to me. His eyes were shining.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I didn’t expect…”
I pressed his hand to my cheek.
“Family isn’t just about blood. It’s about who stays when things are hard.”
He nodded, then suddenly asked:
“And if… if Mom changes her mind? Asks for forgiveness?”
I looked out the window, where the first autumn leaves were swirling in the air.
“Then… we’ll decide together. But the boundaries stay.”
Sergei hugged me tightly. Through the wall we could hear his father carefully moving chairs in the living room—settling into his new place.
Just then, the phone rang. An unknown number. Sergei picked up, and his face twisted in pain.
“What?.. When?.. We’re coming right now.”
He lowered the phone, his lips white.
“Mom… She had a hypertensive crisis. She’s in the hospital.”
I was already grabbing my bag and keys.
“Let’s go. Quickly.”
As we ran out of the building, I suddenly realized something strange: despite everything that had happened, I was running to her. Because somewhere deep under all the hurt and fights, something important remained. Something even war hadn’t completely destroyed.
The hospital corridor felt endless. We hurried after the doctor leading us to my mother-in-law’s room. Sergei was breathing hard, squeezing my hand so tightly my bones ached.
“Her condition is stable, but serious,” the doctor said, walking briskly. “Severe stress provoked a sharp spike in blood pressure.”
“Will she be okay?” Sergei’s voice shook.
“As long as she doesn’t get worked up—yes.”
We stopped at the door to the ward. Through the glass I saw her. Maria Ivanovna lay there pale, an IV in her arm, her usually neat hair disheveled on the pillow. Ira sat beside her. When she saw us she jumped up and came into the corridor.
“Well? Happy now?” she hissed. “You’ve driven your mother into the hospital!”
Sergei stepped forward.
“We didn’t drive anyone anywhere. You’re the one who turned it into a circus!”
Ira twisted her lips.
“She hasn’t eaten for three days after your little scandal! She’s been crying the whole time!”
I looked into the room—my mother-in-law lay with her eyes closed, but from the tension in her eyelids I could tell she was listening.
“Let’s talk to her,” I said quietly.
Ira blocked the door.
“No way! You’ll finish her off!”
At that moment a weak voice came from behind her:
“Let them in…”
We entered.
Maria Ivanovna slowly opened her eyes. They were puffy and red, as if she really had been crying a lot. She looked at Sergei, then at me—and there was no usual malice in her gaze. Only exhaustion.
“Did you… take your father?” she asked her son.
Sergei nodded.
“He’s with us. It’s been hard for him too.”
She closed her eyes again, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“All my life… all my life I thought I was doing everything right…” Her voice broke. “Turns out…”
I surprised even myself—I sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand. It was cold, with a bruise from the IV.
“Maria Ivanovna… Let’s be honest. Do you hate me?”
She opened her eyes, startled by the blunt question.
“Hate you? No…” She shook her head. “I’m jealous.”
We froze. Even Ira stopped rustling her plastic bags.
“Jealous?” Sergei repeated.
“You’ve always been my boy…” She lifted her hand with difficulty and touched his cheek. “And then she showed up… and you became hers.”
Suddenly, I understood. All those attempts to barge into our home, the tantrums, the spite—it wasn’t hatred. It was fear. Fear of being left alone.
“Mom…” Sergei sat down beside her, hugging her. “I’m your son. Always. But I’m also her husband.”
She stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then she said quietly:
“I… I’ll try. Try to do things differently.”
Ira snorted:
“Mom, seriously? After what they did? They humiliated you!”
Maria Ivanovna turned to her sharply:
“Shut up! This is your fault too! You kept pouring oil on the fire!”
Ira recoiled as if slapped.
“I… so I’m the only one to blame?”
“No,” my mother-in-law said firmly. “I’m to blame. But that’s enough.”
She looked at us again:
“I… won’t be able to change right away. But I’ll try.”
Sergei nodded. So did I. That was all we could ask for now—to try.
When we left the hospital, the autumn sun was shining. Sergei took my hand.
“Do you think it’ll work?”
I looked up at the sky. It was clear and bright after yesterday’s rain.
“I don’t know. But at least they’ve started.”
We walked to the car in silence. Ahead of us was the road home. To my father-in-law, now living with us. To all the conversations we still had to have. To the boundaries that still needed to be set.
But for the first time in a long while, I felt that not everything was lost. The war was over. Ahead lay a fragile, complicated truce.
And that was already a victory