The evening looked exactly the way November usually paints it: dark, glued together by drizzle, the windows of the apartment blocks fogged over as if every resident were hiding something of their own. Olga’s apartment smelled of cooled borscht and blood-pressure pills—the familiar scent of family dinners after fifty. A cup of tea sat on the table; she absentmindedly knocked it over while counting numbers in her notebook. The tea spread and crept toward the edge.
“Well, that’s it. A sign,” she muttered, forcing a crooked smile. “Looks like the evening’s going to be fun.”
The door slammed. Alexey came in exhausted, smelling of dampness and a construction site, wearing muddy boots.
“Could you at least wipe your feet on the mat?” Olga said evenly, without looking up.
“Oh, come on—mat or no mat,” Alexey waved her off and reached for his phone in his pocket. “Mom called…”
Those words always sounded like an alarm. “Mom called” meant either a lecture about the “ungrateful daughter-in-law,” or the next demand.
“So?” Olga raised her eyes. “This time what—tips on cooking compote? Or are we back to the eternal topic again—who the apartment belongs to?”
Alexey hesitated, and that was worse than any answer.
“She says… it would be the right thing to re-register the apartment in my name,” he mumbled. “So everything’s fair, without… surprises.”
“Uh-huh.” Olga narrowed her eyes. “Fair is me working my ass off for ten years as an accountant, dragging that mortgage on my back—and now ‘fair’ is handing everything over to you, and through you—to your mommy?”
“There you go again…” Alexey cut in раздражённо. “She’s my mother. She wants what’s best!”
Olga gave a short, humorless laugh.
“What’s best? Have you ever seen what her ‘best’ looks like? It smells like mothballs and baklava, and it comes with a shopping bag that spills not groceries onto the table, but reproaches.”
Alexey shoved his chair back noisily.
“You’re too sharp-tongued. She wanted to help, by the way—with money for the renovation.”
“Renovation?” Olga echoed with heavy sarcasm. “She didn’t even chip in for your wedding for her son’s happiness—she did it so she could later remind us in every argument: ‘I helped you.’ That isn’t help, Lyosha. It’s an investment in control.”
He fell silent. Then he sat down heavily and stared at his phone. In moments like that Olga felt not like a wife, but like a random fellow traveler: a person beside you who’s supposedly yours—yet not really.
“So what’s next?” she asked more quietly. “You want me to just sign the papers and forget that I once dreamed of my own home?”
“No one’s saying ‘forget,’” Alexey snorted, irritated. “It’s just… it’ll be calmer this way.”
“For whom? For you? Or for mommy?” she уточнила bitterly.
Silence fell like an axe.
She’s laughing at me again, Alexey flashed. Why is everything so hard? If only Mom and my wife could get along…
But it was impossible. Two women weren’t fighting for his soul—they were fighting for square meters.
And then the door slammed again.
Valentina Petrovna walked in without ringing, as always. A plastic bag in her hand, and the expression of a хозяйка inspecting her property.
“Here I am!” she announced loudly. “Bought you some pickles—Lyosha loves salted ones.”
“Mom, we agreed you’d call…” Alexey started, but he broke off under her взгляд.
Olga pressed her lips together.
“Come in, Valentina Petrovna. Sit down, make yourself at home. Want to—just take the keys to the apartment right away, so we don’t bother with ceremony?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Olechka,” the mother-in-law smiled condescendingly. “A woman should be мягкая, pliable.”
“Oh, sure,” Olga said холодно. “Pliable—so you can mold her like dough. Only I’m not a bun, sorry.”
Alexey jumped up.
“Enough! Can we be calm?!”
But it was too late. Valentina Petrovna pulled documents out of the bag.
“I’ve prepared everything,” she said triumphantly. “Tomorrow—at the MFC. We’ll sign, and you’ll sleep спокойно.”
Olga slowly rose from the table.
“If either of you so much as shoves these papers in my face,” her voice was quiet but icy, “I’ll leave. And I won’t come back.”
Silence covered the kitchen. Even the raindrops outside seemed to freeze. Alexey opened his mouth, but said nothing.
Valentina Petrovna narrowed her eyes.
“Are you blackmailing my son?”
“No,” Olga answered calmly. “I’m just telling the truth for the first time.”
She took her notebook from the table, closed it neatly, and went into the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Alexey stayed sitting, feeling the air in the apartment turn heavier than concrete.
Valentina Petrovna slid the bag of pickles closer to him.
“Don’t worry, Lyoshenka,” she said softly, but her eyes glittered. “Women come and go. But you only have one mother.”
And in that moment Alexey understood for the first time: he wasn’t standing between two women—he was standing between his own weakness and someone else’s will.
The night passed without sleep. Olga tossed and turned, counted cracks in the ceiling, listened for sounds from the kitchen. Alexey had gone in there that evening and never came back—probably sitting with mommy, drinking tea and listening to her “kind” advice.
In the morning, the kitchen looked suspiciously orderly. The cups were washed, not a crumb in sight, and on the table—papers laid out neatly.
“Well hello, ‘new day,’” Olga muttered, sitting down.
Alexey came out of the bathroom, irritably drying his hands.
“Can we talk calmly?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.
“Calmly? Of course. Only for some reason that word always means ‘be quiet and agree,’” she smirked acidly.
“I’m asking you… just look at the papers.”
Olga picked up the top sheet, glanced over it—and immediately tossed it back onto the table.
“A gift deed to you. Predictable.”
Alexey spread his hands.
“So what? I’m your husband! It’s ours anyway!”
“Ours?” Olga’s eyes flashed. “Lyosha, I know perfectly well that ‘ours’ in your world means ‘Mom’s.’ Tomorrow she’ll say so—and you’ll sign the reverse paper. And I’ll be left as a tenant.”
“Oh, stop it!” he flared. “You’re making things up.”
“Making things up?” She leaned closer. “Yesterday your mother walked into my apartment without ringing. With a bag of pickles and a ready-made contract. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”
Alexey didn’t answer.
And then the door slammed again.
“Good morning, children!” Valentina Petrovna’s бодрый voice rang out. “I brought pies!”
Olga snorted with laughter.
“Lord, how perfectly timed! We’re having breakfast in the style of ‘eat the document.’”
Valentina Petrovna froze, frowned.
“You’re being язвительная again, Olechka. Not good for a woman your age.”
“At my age, at least my teeth are my own,” Olga snapped. “Unlike some people’s.”
Alexey grabbed his head in panic.
“Enough! Both of you!”
But Valentina Petrovna had already pulled a thick folder from her bag.
“Here. I’ve thought it all through. We need to do it properly, before you do something stupid.”
Olga looked at her husband.
“Are you aware your mother carries around half a notary’s office?”
Alexey’s lips tightened.
And then Olga noticed something odd: the documents looked too neat, too official. She took one, skimmed it—and went cold.
“And what is this?” Her voice cracked. “This is a sale contract, not a gift deed!”
“Well…” the mother-in-law hesitated. “This way it’ll be more reliable.”
“More reliable for whom?!” Olga shouted. “It says in black and white: the apartment is being sold for a million! A million, Karl! The market price is at least five!”
Alexey snatched the paper, turned pale.
“Mom… what is this?”
Valentina Petrovna calmly adjusted her hair.
“So what? I already arranged it with the buyer. Our people. You’ll still have housing afterward… We’ll move in with me.”
“With… you?!” Olga slammed her palm on the table so hard the cups jumped. “So you wanted to sell my apartment for pennies and shove us into your two-room place where you can’t even open the closets because the couch blocks them?!”
“Olya, don’t twist it!” the mother-in-law raised her voice. “It’s warm there, cozy, decent neighbors. And here—mortgage, bills, problems.”
Olga laughed—bitter, jittery.
“You know, Valentina Petrovna, you’ve got a gift. You can even package a scam as забота.”
“Don’t you dare!” the mother-in-law screeched. “I’m Alexey’s mother! Everything he has is mine by right!”
“Then return his childhood socks,” Olga sneered. “We bought everything else together.”
Alexey snapped.
“Shut up! Both of you!”
He crushed the paper into a ball and hurled it into the sink.
“No one is selling anything! Got it?!”
Olga looked at him intently.
“Are you sure, Lyosha? Or tomorrow you’ll say again, ‘Mom just wanted what was best’?”
He stayed silent.
And in that silence the doorbell rang—loud, insistent.
Olga went to open it. A man in a strict suit stood on the threshold.
“Good morning. I’m from a real estate agency,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m here to view the apartment before the deal.”
Olga froze as if she’d been struck.
“What deal?..”
The man held out a business card.
“Here’s the request. From Valentina Petrovna.”
Olga slowly turned to her mother-in-law.
“Well then,” her voice trembled, but fire burned in her eyes. “Now the real war begins.”
And in that moment she understood: it wasn’t about the apartment anymore. It was about who would remain the mistress of her own life.
Olga stood in the entryway, squeezing the realtor’s business card so hard the paper tore. The man in the suit looked from her to Valentina Petrovna, confused.
“Excuse me,” he said осторожно, “I came by request. If something changed, could you уточнить…”
“Clarify?” Olga burst out. “Clarify it with this woman who decided to sell someone else’s apartment for a million and move us into a коммуналка!”
“Not a коммуналка—at my place!” Valentina Petrovna screamed. “It’s orderly, warm, good neighbors!”
Alexey rushed to the realtor.
“Please leave. It’s not the right time.”
“As you wish…” the man spread his hands and hurried away beyond the door.
Olga turned to her husband and mother-in-law. Her voice shook—but not from fear. From rage.
“That’s it. Enough. I’m not going to play your games anymore. Either this apartment stays with us, or…”
“Or what?” Valentina Petrovna cut in. “You’ll leave? You think my son will stop you?”
“And you think you’ll keep him all by yourself?” Olga stared her down. “Wrong.”
Alexey went pale.
“Olya, don’t…”
“We have to, Lyosha!” she snapped, turning on him. “You’re always hiding behind her skirt! I’m tired. Are you a husband—or a translator for your mother’s whims?”
“Don’t you talk like that!” the mother-in-law shrieked and grabbed Olga’s руку.
Olga yanked free and shoved her back toward the table. Valentina Petrovna stumbled but stayed upright.
“You bitch!” the mother-in-law spat.
Alexey lunged between them in panic.
“Stop it! Have you both lost your minds?!”
Olga looked at him—icy, exhausted.
“Lyosha. Say it plainly. Are you with me or with her?”
A tomb-like silence hung in the room. Only the clock on the wall ticked like a bomb.
Alexey covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled. He looked like a boy forced to choose between his mother and his life.
“I…” he choked out. “I don’t want to lose either of you.”
“Too late,” Olga said sharply. “That doesn’t happen.”
She pulled an envelope from her bag and put it on the table.
“Here. My share in the apartment. I’m taking the documents and going to the MFC. I’m filing for division.”
Alexey turned white.
“Olya, wait…”
“No,” her voice was firm. “No more waiting. You stayed silent for too long.”
She threw on her coat and went to the door.
Valentina Petrovna darted after her, but Alexey grabbed his mother by the arm.
“Mom!” For the first time, he shouted. “Enough!”
His mother froze. Pain flashed in her eyes—not from losing, but from the fact that her son had chosen, for the first time, not her.
Olga turned back.
“I’ll come back only when the third wheel stops running this house.”
The door slammed shut.
Alexey sank into a chair. His mother stood beside him, angry and lost.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
He looked at her with tired eyes.
“Because I’m tired of living someone else’s life.”
The words sounded like a sentence.
And at that moment Olga, standing by the elevator, felt it for the first time in many years: yes, she had lost a family. But for the first time, she had found herself