The phone vibrated on the kitchen table, and Marina saw her mother-in-law’s name on the screen—her heart instantly dropped, like an elevator when it jerks into motion.
“Marina, open up, I’m by the entrance with my things!” Galina Petrovna’s voice burst into the line without any greeting.
Marina froze with a half-finished mug of coffee in her hand. What things? What was she talking about? She glanced at the clock—eight a.m. on a Sunday. Anton was still asleep after yesterday’s corporate party.
“Galina Petrovna, I don’t understand… What things?”
“What do you mean, what things? Mine! Antosha told you I’m moving in with you. Open the door—standing here is heavy!”
The line went silent. Marina stood in the middle of the kitchen of their small two-room apartment and felt her world starting to collapse. Moving in? With them? For good?
She rushed into the bedroom. Anton was sprawled starfish-style across the bed. He smelled of booze and someone else’s perfume—probably danced with that secretary, Allochka, again.
“Anton! Anton, wake up right now!”
He cracked one eye open and immediately squeezed it shut from the bright light.
“Marin, what is it? My head is splitting…”
“Your mother is downstairs with her things! She says she’s moving in with us to live here! Did you promise her that?”
Anton sat up and rubbed his temples. His face took on the look of a child caught stealing candy.
“Well… I was going to talk to you first… But Mom called yesterday and said she sold her apartment. She needed the money urgently. So… where else is she supposed to go?”
Marina felt her knees go weak. She sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You… you knew she sold her apartment and would be living with us, and you didn’t tell me anything?”
“Marin, don’t dramatize. She’s my mom. She’ll stay for a while, find something…”
“For a while? She sold her apartment! With what money will she buy a new one?”
Anton got up and started pulling on his jeans.
“Listen, she’s standing out there. It’s not nice to make an elderly person wait. Let’s let her in, and then we’ll figure it out.”
He left the bedroom, leaving Marina sitting on the rumpled bed. We’ll figure it out. Like always—first drop it on her, then “we’ll figure it out.”
Ten minutes later, their tiny entryway was piled with boxes and suitcases. Galina Petrovna, a sixty-year-old woman with a perfect blowout and an expensive coat, marched into the living room with regal authority.
“Ugh, what a mess! Marina, do you not take care of the apartment at all? Antosha, sweetheart, carry my things into my room.”
“Into what room?” Marina asked quietly.
Galina Petrovna turned to her with the astonishment of someone who’d just been asked a completely idiotic question.
“What do you mean, what room? Your office, of course. You just sit there at the computer anyway—you can do that in the living room. But I need a separate room. At my age, privacy is necessary.”
Marina worked remotely as a graphic designer. Her office was her sanctuary—there was a large monitor, a graphics tablet, shelves packed with art books. She spent ten hours a day in there, earning half of the family budget.
“Galina Petrovna, I work in there. That’s my office.”
Her mother-in-law threw up her hands.
“Office! Look at you, Ms. Businesswoman! Drawing little pictures on the internet and calling it an office. Antosh, explain to your wife that the older generation deserves respect.”
Anton shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Marin, honestly… maybe you could give it up for a while? Mom’s right—you don’t really need a whole room just for a laptop…”
“Just for a laptop?” Marina’s voice trembled. “There’s equipment worth two hundred thousand in there! My projects, my archives…”
“We’ll move it into the living room,” Anton waved it off. “Mom, come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”
They left, and Marina stood in the hallway among чужие suitcases. She looked at the boxes sealed with tape, at an old floor lamp sticking out of one, and understood: her life had just ended.
By evening the office had been cleared out. Anton and his friend Kostya—called in urgently to help—carried her desk, monitors, and shelves into the living room. Now her workspace was crammed into a corner between the TV and the couch.
“Perfect!” Galina Petrovna exclaimed, admiring her new territory. “Now it’ll be cozy. Only those awful gray curtains need changing. And the wallpaper. Marina, you have absolutely no taste.”
Marina silently started plugging the computer into the outlet. Her hands were shaking with restrained rage.
“And I’ll be the one cooking,” her mother-in-law continued. “I’ve seen what you feed my son. Pasta and store-bought cutlets. A man needs real food!”
“I like how Marina cooks,” Anton unexpectedly tried to defend her.
Galina Petrovna looked at him like he’d betrayed her.
“Son, you’ve simply forgotten the taste of normal food. Don’t worry—I’ll fix that quickly.”
The first week turned into hell. Galina Petrovna got up at six a.m. and started clanging pots in the kitchen. By seven, the whole apartment smelled of fried onions and cutlets. Working in the living room was impossible—she constantly blasted the TV at full volume.
“Marina, turn down the brightness on your computer, the glare bothers me when I’m watching my show!”
“Marina, what are you clicking that mouse for? My head hurts from those sounds!”
“Marina, come help me with lunch—stop playing games!”
Marina tried to explain she had a deadline, that the client was waiting for the layout, but Galina Petrovna only waved her off.
“So what, pictures! Anton has a real job and earns money, and you’re just fooling around.”
In the evening Anton came home from work and sat at a table crowded with plates. Galina Petrovna fluttered around him like a butterfly.
“Sweetheart, try the salad! And here are cutlets, just the way you like! And for dessert I baked your favorite Napoleon!”
Marina sat across from him, poking at her plate. She wasn’t hungry. In a week she’d lost three kilograms—stress killed her appetite.
“Why are you turning up your nose again?” her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes. “Don’t like my cooking?”
“Everything’s delicious, Galina Petrovna. I’m just not hungry.”
“That’s why you’re so skinny! Men like something to hold on to. Right, Antosh?”
Anton gave a vague grunt, staring into his plate.
On the tenth day the first serious blow-up happened. Marina was working on an urgent project—packaging design for a major client. Two hours before the deadline, Galina Petrovna turned off the router.
“Enough sitting on the internet! Go to the store—we’ve got no groceries!”
“Galina Petrovna, I’m submitting a project in two hours! My salary depends on this!”
“Salary! Look at you, a careerist! Family is more important than your scribbles!”
Marina sprang up. Her vision darkened with fury.
“Those aren’t scribbles! That’s my job! I earn half of our family budget!”
“Don’t yell at me!” her mother-in-law shrieked. “Antosha! Come here! Your wife is yelling at me!”
Anton appeared from the bedroom, where he’d been hiding all evening.
“What happened?”
“She turned off the internet! My project worth half a million is falling apart!”
“Half a million of what—game coins?” Galina Petrovna sneered.
“Rubles! It’s a huge order—I worked on it for a month!”
Anton scratched the back of his head.
“Mom, turn the internet back on. Let Marina finish.”
“So this is how you defend your mother?” Galina Petrovna clutched her chest dramatically. “I raised you alone, didn’t sleep nights, and you…”
“Mom, don’t…”
“It’s all clear with you! An old woman isn’t needed! Throw me out onto the street, I get it!”
She marched to her room and slammed the door. Anton looked at Marina, guilty.
“Marin, you see how she is… Maybe you really could go to the store? And finish the project later…”
“Later? The deadline is in an hour and a half!”
“Then explain to the client—force majeure…”
Marina silently turned the router back on and sat at her computer. Her hands trembled with anger. She sent the project five minutes before the deadline, but the quality suffered. The client was unhappy and cut the payment in half.
That evening she tried to talk to Anton. They sat in the kitchen while Galina Petrovna watched another talk show.
“Anton, this can’t go on. She’s destroying my work, my life…”
“Marin, just endure it. She’s old, it’s hard for her to adjust…”
“And me? Is it easy for me? I can’t work, can’t sleep, can’t eat!”
“Don’t exaggerate. Mom’s just trying to help…”
“Help? She calls my job ‘games’!”
“Well… honestly, Marin… you really do just draw pictures. It’s not exactly a serious job…”
Marina froze. She stared at her husband, at his guilty face, and couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“What did you say?”
“I… I didn’t mean it like that… Mom’s just right that family comes first…”
“My work feeds this family just as much as yours!”
“That’s a bit dramatic. I still earn more…”
Marina stood up from the table.
“More? By ten thousand. So what? That gives you the right to say my work isn’t serious?”
“Marin, don’t…”
But she was already gone. She sat at the computer in the living room and put on headphones. Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the keyboard. She opened a chat with her friend Lena.
“Len, can I stay with you for a couple of days? It’s unbearable at home.”
“Of course, sweetheart. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. Can I come right now?”
“I’m waiting.”
Marina packed her laptop, tablet, and the bare essentials. Anton tried to stop her in the hallway.
“Marin, where are you going? Don’t do this…”
“To Lena’s. For a few days. I need to think.”
“Think? About what? Marin, don’t be stupid!”
But she had already closed the door behind her.
Lena had a one-room studio in a new neighborhood. She met Marina with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.
“Talk.”
Marina told her everything. About the sudden move-in, losing her office, the ruined project, Anton’s words about her “not being serious.”
“What a bastard,” Lena exhaled. “Both the mother-in-law and the husband!”
“I don’t know what to do, Len. I love Anton, but… he’s become someone else. Like the moment his mother showed up, he turned into a little boy.”
“And the money from selling the apartment—where did it go?”
“I don’t know. Galina Petrovna said there were debts. But what debts? She’s on a pension, lives alone…”
“That’s weird. Maybe check?”
The next day Marina didn’t go home. She worked at Lena’s, trying to catch up. Anton called every hour, but she didn’t answer. Then her mother-in-law started calling. Marina ignored her too.
That evening a message came from Anton: “Mom says if you don’t come back, she’ll think you abandoned the family. That will be grounds for divorce.”
Marina showed the message to Lena.
“Blackmail—classic!”
“But what if he really files for divorce?”
“Marin, do you need a husband who lets his mother treat you like that?”
Marina didn’t know the answer. She loved the Anton from before his mother arrived. But had he ever really existed?
On the third day the neighbor, Aunt Valya, called.
“Marinochka, where are you? Such things are happening here!”
“What happened, Aunt Valya?”
“Your mother-in-law has stirred up the whole building! Telling everyone you ran off with a lover and abandoned your husband! Says she saw messages on your computer!”
“What? What messages? That’s a lie!”
“I know, dear. But she lies so convincingly… and she’s showing screenshots…”
Marina hung up and rushed home. The apartment was quiet. Anton sat in the kitchen with a stony face. Printouts lay in front of him.
“Anton, what is this?”
“Mom found your messages.”
Marina grabbed the papers. They were screenshots of her work chat with a client named Pavel. Plain business correspondence, but some phrases were ripped out of context and underlined in red marker.
“Thank you, Marina, you saved me!”
“I wouldn’t have managed without you.”
“Maybe we can meet and discuss it?”
“Anton, that’s work! Pavel is my client—he’s fifty, he has three grandkids!”
“Mom says…”
“Your mom is lying! She deliberately pulled lines out of context! Look at the full chat!”
She opened her laptop and showed him the entire conversation. It was obvious they were discussing the project, meeting at an office, business details.
Anton was silent, staring at the screen.
“You don’t believe me?” Marina asked quietly.
“I… I don’t know. Mom has never lied…”
“Never lied? She told the neighbors I ran off with a lover!”
“She was worried… she thought you wouldn’t come back…”
At that moment Galina Petrovna walked into the kitchen, a triumphant smile on her face.
“Ah, the harlot is back! Antosha, I told you she’d come running when she heard we’d exposed her!”
“I’m not a harlot!” Marina exploded. “You slandered me on purpose!”
“Don’t shout at me! I’m protecting my son from someone like you!”
“Someone like me? I’ve been a good wife for five years! I work, I take care of the house, I love your son!”
“Love him? Then why don’t I have grandchildren yet? A normal woman would have given birth long ago!”
Marina felt the ground drop away beneath her. She and Anton had been trying for a year. The problem was Anton—low sperm motility. They’d been getting treatment, but without results so far.
“Mom!” Anton cried. “Stop!”
“Stop what? It’s time to tell the truth! If a woman can’t give birth, she’s defective!”
“Defective?” Marina’s voice trembled. “It’s your son… but it doesn’t matter.”
“What about my son? Finish that sentence!”
Marina looked at Anton. He sat with his head down, fists clenched. He wasn’t going to tell his mother the truth. He wasn’t going to defend his wife.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Marina walked into the living room and started packing her things. Her monitor, tablet, hard drives with her work archives.
“Where are you going?” Anton stood in the doorway.
“I’m leaving. For good.”
“Marin, don’t… Mom just got carried away…”
“Got carried away? She called me defective. And you stayed silent.”
“But I couldn’t tell Mom about… about my problem.”
“You couldn’t. Of course. It was easier to let her think the problem was me.”
“Marin, please…”
“No, Anton. Enough. I’m tired of fighting for a place in my own home. Tired of proving my work has value. Tired of being the scapegoat for everything.”
Galina Petrovna appeared in the living room.
“Good! Leave! We’ll find Antosha a normal wife who will give me grandchildren!”
Marina stopped at the door and turned back.
“You will. You’ll definitely find one. But here’s what I’ll tell you, Galina Petrovna: the problem with children isn’t me. Your son has health issues. We’ve been treating it for a year. Or rather—we were. Now it’s your problem.”
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Anton turned pale as chalk.
“Marina!” he shouted.
But she was already gone.
Two months later, Marina was renting a small studio not far from the center. Work was going great—without constant stress she became more productive. Several major clients offered her ongoing contracts.
Anton wrote every day for the first few weeks. He begged her to come back, promised everything would change. Then he wrote that his mother had moved in with his sister in another city. Then that he wanted to meet and talk.
Marina agreed to meet at a café. Anton looked awful—thinner, dark circles under his eyes.
“Marin, forgive me. I was an idiot.”
“You were. And now what?”
“Mom left. It turned out she never sold her apartment. She just decided it was time for me to take care of her. She told my sister she was going to her, and told her she was going to me.”
“Clever.”
“Marin, let’s start over. No Mom. Just the two of us.”
Marina shook her head.
“Anton, it’s not about your mom. It’s about the fact you let her treat me that way. You didn’t defend me once. More than that—you agreed with her that my work wasn’t serious.”
“I was wrong…”
“Yes. You were. And you know what? Thanks to your mom. If it weren’t for her, I never would’ve seen who you really are. Weak. Unable to protect your family.”
“Marin…”
“I filed for divorce, Anton. The papers are with my lawyer.”
He lowered his head.
“I understand. I ruined everything.”
“You did. But you know what? I’m grateful for the experience. I learned what I want from life. And what I definitely don’t want. I don’t want to be with a man for whom his mother matters more than his wife. I don’t want to prove my work has value. I don’t want to sacrifice myself for someone else’s comfort.”
She stood up from the table.
“Good luck, Anton. And tell Galina Petrovna—I finally found my office. And it’s beautiful.”
Walking out of the café, Marina smiled. For the first time in a long while, she felt free. Free from a toxic mother-in-law, from a weak husband, from the need to meet other people’s expectations.
Her phone pinged—a message from a major client offering a collaboration. Fee: two million for the project.
“Agreed,” she typed, and kept walking along the spring street.
A new life was just beginning