The notary closed the folder of documents, and the sharp snap of it landed in the silent office like a gunshot. Marina felt her husband’s hand stiffen on her shoulder. She raised her eyes and met her mother-in-law’s gaze. Galina Petrovna sat opposite them, arms folded tightly across her chest, a faint, triumphant smile flickering on her face.
“So, under your father’s will,” the notary said to Andrey, “the apartment on Tverskaya is transferred to Galina Petrovna. However, there is one condition.”
Marina’s breath caught. She and Andrey had spent three years renting a cramped one-bedroom on the outskirts, saving every spare ruble for a mortgage down payment. And now this—an inheritance: a three-room place in the very heart of the city. When Andrey’s father fell ill, they moved in to care for him during his final months. Marina left her office job and switched to remote work so she could be there. And now…
“What condition?” Andrey’s voice trembled.
“Your father specified that the apartment remains in your mother’s lifelong use,” the notary explained, “but with the right for his son and his son’s family to live there as well. After… after Galina Petrovna is gone, full ownership passes to Andrey Nikolaevich.”
Galina Petrovna let out a dry little chuckle.
“Living together,” she repeated slowly, savoring each word. “Well then. We’ll see how long your family can survive sharing a roof with me.”
Marina looked to her husband for support, but Andrey stared at the floor. She knew that look. It was the same expression he wore whenever his mother started pulling strings. Thirty-five years old—and still Mama’s boy.
That same evening, Marina sat in the Tverskaya apartment, in the room that was meant to become their bedroom. Moving boxes rose like small towers along the wall. From the kitchen came her mother-in-law’s voice—she was talking to a friend on the phone.
“Yes, can you imagine, Lyuda? They’re going to live here now. What can I do—Nikolai decided it. Though I know the real story: she pushed him into it. That… daughter-in-law. Sits at the computer all day, says she’s ‘working.’ What kind of job can you do from home? She’s probably just online watching series while my Andryusha breaks his back working two jobs.”
Marina ground her teeth. She was a project manager at an international IT company and earned twice what Andrey did. But her mother-in-law refused to accept that. In her world, the daughter-in-law was a parasite who’d stolen her precious son.
“Mom, don’t talk about Marina like that,” Andrey’s hesitant voice came from the hallway.
“Oh, Andryush, are you eavesdropping?” Galina Petrovna sang sweetly. “I’m just stating facts. Look around—normal wives take care of the house, cook, clean. And yours? Glued to a screen while you still make dinner after work.”
“She works, Mom. She has three calls with clients today.”
“Calls,” Galina Petrovna scoffed. “When I was your age, I worked double shifts at the factory—and somehow the house was spotless and my husband was fed. And this little princess…”
Marina shut the door, cutting the conversation off like a cord. She opened her laptop and tried to focus, but her thoughts scattered. How were they supposed to live under one roof with a woman who despised her?
A week went by. Marina worked from their room—Galina Petrovna had “generously” allowed them the smallest of the three.
“You only need it for sleeping,” she’d said. “I need space for my things.”
And Andrey agreed. As always.
Every morning began the same way. Marina got up at seven, cooked breakfast for everyone, then sat down to work. And that was when it started. Galina Petrovna would crank the TV to maximum volume. When Marina asked her to turn it down, her mother-in-law would reply:
“This is my home. I’m the one in charge here. I’ll watch what I want. If it bothers you, go work in an office like normal people.”
Then came the cleaning—always during Marina’s important calls. Right when she had meetings, Galina Petrovna suddenly needed to vacuum directly outside Marina’s door. Or she’d rattle pots and pans in the kitchen. Or she’d invite friends for tea and spend hours discussing what awful daughters-in-law existed these days.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Marina said yet again to her colleagues during a video conference, muting her microphone. Outside her door, the vacuum roared. Marina stepped out.
“Galina Petrovna, I’m in an important meeting. Could you please—”
“Please what?” Her mother-in-law switched the vacuum off and put her hands on her hips. “Not clean in my own home? Listen, sweetheart—if you’re living here with everything handed to you, you could at least do the cleaning yourself. Instead you sit all day staring at a computer.”
“I’m working!”
“Working,” Galina Petrovna mocked. “Sitting at home and chatting on the phone isn’t work. Work is when you go to a factory, when you do something with your hands. You’re just a lazy girl riding on my son’s back.”
A hot wave of anger rose in Marina. But she forced it down. Don’t blow up. Andrey had asked her to endure.
“Mom, stop,” Andrey said, coming out of the kitchen. He had just gotten home. “Marina really works. And she earns well.”
“Oh, what would you know!” Galina Petrovna threw up her hands. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger. A proper wife stays home and has children, not pokes at a computer. Speaking of children—you’re both over thirty, and I still don’t have grandchildren. That’s her doing, isn’t it? Career woman!”
Marina turned silently and went back into their room. Through the door she heard Andrey trying to explain, but his mother didn’t listen. She never did.
That night, when they were alone, Marina faced her husband.
“Andrey, this can’t go on. Your mother is deliberately sabotaging my work. Today I almost lost an important client because of the constant noise.”
“Just hold on, Marin. She’s elderly—it’s hard for her to get used to other people living in the house.”
“Hard to get used to it? Andrey, she’s doing it on purpose! She turns on the vacuum exactly when I have calls. She invites guests exactly during my work hours.”
“So what do you want me to do? Legally it’s her apartment. We’re here temporarily.”
“Temporarily? Until she… Andrey, she’s seventy, and she’s healthier than both of us. Are we going to tolerate her cruelty our whole lives?”
“Don’t talk about my mother like that!”
“And have you defended me even once? Even once told her she’s wrong?”
Andrey turned to the wall.
“I’m tired. Let’s sleep.”
In the darkness, Marina lay staring at the ceiling. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she made no sound. She didn’t want her mother-in-law to hear—and feel victorious.
The next day was the breaking point. Marina had a presentation for a major project with Japanese partners. She warned everyone ahead of time, hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, and asked for silence.
For the first thirty minutes, everything went well. Marina presented the project; the Japanese team nodded and asked questions. Then the door flew open. Her mother-in-law walked in, vacuum cleaner in hand.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were sitting here!” she said loudly, even though the sign was right there.
Marina gestured for her to leave, but Galina Petrovna pretended not to understand.
“And what’s that on your screen? Some Chinese people?” she blurted. “Are you working with the Chinese? Look what the country has come to—running around with the Chinese!”
“Excuse me,” Marina murmured in English to the stunned partners. “Technical difficulties.”
She turned off her camera and microphone and jumped up.
“Get out. Now.”
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me in my house!” her mother-in-law snapped—and switched the vacuum on at full power.
Marina yanked the cord from the socket. They stood face-to-face, hatred blazing in both pairs of eyes.
“You’re doing this on purpose. You’re trying to ruin my job.”
“And what job is that?” Galina Petrovna sneered. “Sitting at home and raking in money? I know your type. You climbed onto my son’s back, and now you want to steal my apartment too!”
“I just want to live like a normal person! To work! To be respected in my own home!”
“Your own?” Galina Petrovna burst out laughing. “Sweetheart, this is my home. You’re a guest here. An unwanted guest. And the sooner you accept that, the better for everyone.”
By the time Marina tried to return to the video call, it was too late. The Japanese team had disconnected. Marina knew she’d lost the deal—a contract worth three million rubles.
That evening she gave Andrey an ultimatum.
“Either we move out—or I leave alone.”
“Marin, you know we can’t move out. We don’t have money for rent—everything went to Dad’s treatment. And here we have a free apartment.”
“Free?” Marina’s voice shook. “Andrey, today I lost a three-million-ruble contract because of your mother. This isn’t a free apartment—this is a golden cage.”
“She didn’t do it on purpose…”
“Yes, she did! She does everything on purpose! She hates me and wants me gone!”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Marina took a deep breath.
“Talk to her. A real talk. Set rules. Tell her the house needs to be quiet from nine to six because I work. Tell her she can’t come into our room without knocking. Tell her—”
“I can’t give orders to my mother in her home!”
“It’s your home too—according to the will!”
“No, Marina. It’s her home. Mine it will be only… only later.”
Marina stared at him for a long moment.
“You’re a coward, Andrey. You’re just a coward.”
She got up and left the room. In the kitchen, her mother-in-law sat drinking tea. When she saw Marina, she smirked.
“What, you and Andryusha fighting? That’s on you. A normal wife doesn’t fight with her husband.”
Marina poured herself a glass of water and started back, but Galina Petrovna wouldn’t stop.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe you should move out. Find your own place. It’s awkward, really—grown adults living at someone else’s expense.”
Marina froze.
“At someone else’s expense? Galina Petrovna, I pay all the utilities here. I buy the groceries. I cook for everyone. So who exactly is living on whose back?”
“Oh, you ungrateful girl! I gave you a roof over your head!”
“Not you—your husband did. And by the way, he spent the last months of his life surrounded by care. My care—not yours. You came to the hospital once a week for fifteen minutes. I stayed with him day and night.”
“How dare you!” Her mother-in-law sprang up so abruptly she knocked her cup over. Tea spilled across the table. “You… you… I’ll throw you out of here! Today!”
“Go ahead and try,” Marina said, turning to her. “The will gives us the right to live here. And I know my rights.”
“Rights?” Galina Petrovna hissed. “I’ll show you rights! I’ll make your life unbearable. You’ll leave on your own—you’ll drop to your knees and beg me to let you go!”
“Mom!” Andrey appeared in the doorway, pale as chalk. “What are you saying?”
“I’m telling the truth! Your wife is a snake. She’s turning you against me. She wants the apartment. She’s just waiting for me to—”
“Mom, enough.”
For the first time in years, Marina heard steel in her husband’s voice.
“Andryusha, you’re taking her side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side, Mom. But you’re wrong. Marina is a good wife. She works, she earns, she takes care of both of us. And you… you really are interfering on purpose.”
“Andrey!” Tears flooded Galina Petrovna’s eyes. “How can you say that? I’m your mother!”
“That’s exactly why I stayed quiet for so long. But I can’t anymore. Mom, either we learn to live together with respect—or… or we really will move out.”
Galina Petrovna let out a theatrical sob and rushed into her room. Andrey turned to Marina.
“I’m sorry. I should have done it sooner.”
Marina wrapped her arms around him.
“Better late than never.”
The next morning Galina Petrovna didn’t come out for breakfast. Marina worked in silence—for the first time in a long while she could actually concentrate. Around lunchtime, the doorbell rang. On the doorstep stood the notary—the same one who had read the will.
“Good afternoon. Galina Petrovna called for me.”
Marina let him in and called for her mother-in-law. Galina Petrovna emerged wearing a black dress, chin lifted proudly. Andrey returned from work just in time.
“I invited you,” Galina Petrovna began, “because I want to make changes to my will.”
Andrey went white.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
“What I should have done a long time ago. Mr. Notary, I want to leave the apartment to my niece, Larisa. The entire apartment. No conditions.”
Marina felt the floor tilt beneath her. They were going to lose the roof over their heads. Every plan, every hope—
“Mom, you can’t!” Andrey blurted, jumping up. “Dad wanted the apartment to go to me!”
“Your father was too soft,” Galina Petrovna snapped. “He didn’t see that your wife is a predator. I do. And I won’t let her get her hands on my property.”
“Galina Petrovna,” the notary interrupted gently, “I must remind you that under your husband’s will, you hold a lifelong right of residence, but not ownership. The apartment is already registered to Andrey Nikolaevich—he simply cannot dispose of it until… until a certain moment.”
Galina Petrovna froze with her mouth slightly open.
“What? But… they told me… I thought…”
“You thought the apartment was yours?” The notary shook his head. “No. Your husband laid everything out very clearly. It seems he anticipated possible conflict.”
Galina Petrovna sank into a chair. Her face turned ashen.
“He… he didn’t trust me?”
“He loved you,” the notary said softly. “But he also loved his son and wanted him to have a home. Your right to live here is protected for life, but the apartment belongs to Andrey.”
Galina Petrovna looked from her son to her daughter-in-law. In her eyes there was resentment, anger—and something else. Fear? Loneliness?
“Everyone is against me,” she whispered. “Even Nikolai. Even my husband.”
She stood and, swaying slightly, walked back to her room. The notary took his leave and left. Marina and Andrey remained alone in the living room.
“I didn’t know,” Andrey said quietly. “Dad never told me the details.”
“He was a wise man—your father,” Marina said, stroking Andrey’s hand. “He knew your mother better than anyone.”
That evening Galina Petrovna came out of her room again. She looked as if she’d aged ten years overnight.
“I want to talk,” she said, sitting at the kitchen table.
Marina and Andrey sat opposite her.
“All my life I thought that apartment was my achievement,” Galina Petrovna began. “Nikolai and I saved for it for twenty years. Every penny. And then you came along, and I… I thought you wanted to take the last thing I had.”
“Mom, we never wanted to throw you out,” Andrey said, taking her hand.
“I know. Now I know.” Her voice wavered. “But the fear—the fear of being left alone, an unwanted old woman—it ate me alive from the inside. And I behaved terribly. Forgive me. Especially you, Marina.”
Marina stayed silent. She wasn’t ready to erase months of humiliation so easily.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me right away,” Galina Petrovna continued. “But maybe… maybe we could start over? Set rules, like you said. I’ll keep quiet when you work. And… maybe I should leave the house more. Join a club, find something. I’ve been trapped inside these four walls too long.”
“That would be good,” Marina nodded.
From that day on, life in the Tverskaya apartment changed. Galina Petrovna kept her word. She joined a theater club, started going to performances, meeting friends outside the home. During Marina’s work hours, the apartment stayed quiet.
Of course, not everything was perfect. Sometimes Galina Petrovna slipped and made a sharp remark. But now Andrey didn’t stay silent. Calmly but firmly, he stopped his mother. And Marina learned not to take the occasional jab to heart.
A year later, at a family dinner, Galina Petrovna raised her glass of wine.
“I want to make a toast. To family. Real family—the kind that survives trials and comes out stronger. And…” she looked at Marina, “…to my daughter-in-law. Who turned out to be stronger and wiser than I was. Forgive me, my dear. Truly forgive me.”
Marina felt tears sting her eyes. She stood, walked around the table, and hugged her mother-in-law.
“I’ve already forgiven you, Mom.”
It was the first time she’d called her “Mom.” Galina Petrovna began to cry.
And six months later Marina announced she was pregnant. Her mother-in-law was over the moon.
“Just promise me one thing,” she said. “Promise you won’t let me become the same kind of awful grandmother I was as a mother-in-law.”
“I promise,” Marina smiled. “We all learn from our mistakes.”
The apartment on Tverskaya—so close to becoming a battlefield—turned into a real family home. A home with space for everyone. A home where boundaries were respected, but people still remained family. Real family.
Somewhere, Nikolai Petrovich was probably watching and smiling. His plan worked. Not quickly, not easily—but it worked. The family passed the test and became stronger. And the apartment… the apartment was only brick and concrete. A home is made by people—people who learn to live together, with respect and love.