Alina stood in the kitchen, watching unfamiliar hands rummage through her jars of grains. Her mother-in-law, Valentina Ivanovna, pulled out a bag of buckwheat, turned it over in her palms, then set it back with a displeased look.
“What kind of buckwheat is this? Proper groats should be lighter. This one’s obviously old. Tomorrow I’ll bring you decent stuff from my place.”
Alina clenched her fists but stayed silent. It had been a week since Igor announced his mother would be staying with them “temporarily.” Valentina Ivanovna arrived with two enormous bags and a box packed with her favorite pillows, a throw blanket, and even her own set of pots.
“Mom, you said it would be for a couple of days,” Igor tried to remind her as she began arranging her things in the living room.
“So what? A couple of days have already passed. They’re still fixing things over there. The neighbor says it might drag on for another two weeks. Should I live on the street?” Valentina Ivanovna unfolded her blanket and tossed it onto the sofa. “Alinochka, do you have any nicer bedsheets? These are completely worn out.”
Alina started to speak, but Igor cut her off.
“Mom, please, don’t. The sheets are fine.”
Valentina Ivanovna only snorted and continued settling in.
Within the first three days, she had rearranged half the apartment. Alina’s cosmetics were moved from the bathroom shelf to under the sink because “that’s where they belong.” The books that had been neatly lined up on the living-room shelves were piled in a stack in the corner “so they won’t get dusty.” And the vase Alina had brought home from Italy vanished into a cabinet “before it gets broken.”
“Igor, talk to her,” Alina pleaded one evening when they were alone in the bedroom.
“Talk about what? She’s trying to help.”
“Help? She turned the whole place upside down! I can’t find half my things!”
“Alin, just put up with it a little longer. The repairs next door will be done soon, and she’ll leave.”
“And if they aren’t? What then?”
Igor sighed and turned to the wall.
“Please don’t start. My head already hurts.”
Alina bit her lip. There was no point going further.
The next morning, Valentina Ivanovna woke up before everyone and began making breakfast. Alina opened her eyes to the smell of frying onions. She threw on her robe and walked into the kitchen, where her mother-in-law stood cheerfully stirring something in a pan.
“Good morning! I decided to make you an omelet—onions and tomatoes. Igor loved it when he was little.”
“Valentina Ivanovna, thank you, but I don’t eat fried food in the morning…”
“Well, would you look at that! Igor told me you like a big breakfast. I tried so hard for both of you,” she said, still stirring without glancing at Alina.
“I usually eat cottage cheese or oatmeal with water. My stomach isn’t great…”
“That’s because you eat all wrong! You need meat and dairy. My Igoryosha was always healthy because I fed him properly.”
Alina sighed and poured herself water. She didn’t have the energy to argue. She grabbed her phone and texted her friend: I’m going to lose it. She’s not leaving.
The days dragged on. Valentina Ivanovna acted like she owned the place. She did laundry, cooked lunches, cleaned the apartment—and all the while she kept commenting on how Alina did everything “incorrectly.”
“That’s not how you wash dishes. First you soak them, then you scrub.”
“You don’t mop like that. First you vacuum, then you wipe with a damp cloth.”
“Igor, tell your wife not to blast the air conditioner so much. We’ll all catch a cold.”
Igor either stayed quiet or nodded, but he never intervened. Alina felt something tightening inside her—helplessness turning into rage. This was her apartment. She had bought it with her own money before she ever got married. Every meter had been paid for with her sweat and effort. And now a stranger was running the household, treating Alina as if she were the visitor.
One evening, Alina came home and froze. The living room looked wrong. The furniture had been moved.
“Valentina Ivanovna, what is this?” she asked from the doorway.
“Oh, you’re back already! I thought the sofa should go by the window. More light, and it feels cozier. Igor helped me. Didn’t you, son?”
Igor was sitting on the very sofa, watching TV. He glanced at his wife with a guilty look, but said nothing.
“I don’t want the sofa by the window. Put it back.”
“Oh, come on! It’s prettier this way!” Valentina Ivanovna waved her hand. “Just look at it for a while. You’ll see—you’ll like it.”
“I don’t need to ‘look at it.’ This is my apartment, and I want everything the way it was.”
A heavy silence settled in the room. Valentina Ivanovna slowly turned toward her.
“Your apartment?” she narrowed her eyes. “Oh yes, sure—yours. And my son lives here, so he’s nobody?”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“No, no, I understand perfectly. You made it crystal clear that I’m unwanted here. Fine. Sorry to bother you. Igor, pack my things. If your wife is throwing me out, I’ll have to figure out where to sleep.”
“Mom, don’t,” Igor jumped up. “Nobody’s throwing you out.”
“Oh, she is! She said it herself—this is her apartment! That means I don’t belong here!”
Alina watched the performance with anger rising in her chest. Her mother-in-law played the victim, and Igor acted as if Alina had committed a crime.
“Igor, we need to talk,” Alina said firmly.
“Not now. Tomorrow. Mom’s upset.”
“Now.”
Igor reluctantly went into the bedroom. Alina followed, closing the door behind them and leaning against it.
“How long is this going to go on?” she asked quietly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your mother. She’s been living here for two weeks. You promised it would be a couple of days.”
“Alin, the repairs are real…”
“I called the neighbor on the landing. The work finished more than a week ago. The water was turned back on the day after your mother moved in.”
Igor went pale.
“How did you get her number?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is you lied to me. You knew the repairs were over, and you kept quiet. Why?”
“Because Mom actually wants to spend time with us! She’s lonely! And anyway, what’s the big deal? She’s my mother!”
“And this is my apartment.”
Igor jerked his shoulder.
“There you go again! Everything is ‘yours’! So I’m a stranger here, is that it?!”
“I never said that…”
“You did! You said it to Mom too! Now she can’t sleep at night, she’s so worried!”
Alina covered her face with her hands. Talking was pointless. Igor didn’t hear her—he didn’t want to.
She left the bedroom and went to the kitchen. She poured herself tea and sat by the window. Outside, rain streamed down the glass. She watched the drops slide and thought about how the life she had built so carefully was collapsing right in front of her—and she felt powerless to stop it.
The next day Alina got home later than usual; a client meeting had run long. When she opened the door, the apartment was quiet. Igor wasn’t home, and Valentina Ivanovna sat in the living room watching television.
“Good evening,” Alina said, flatly.
“Evening,” her mother-in-law replied just as coldly, without looking away from the screen.
Alina went into the bedroom, changed, and began gathering laundry. She stepped into the hallway on her way to the bathroom when the front door suddenly swung open. Her mother stood there.
Alina stopped short. She hadn’t expected her. They were supposed to talk on the phone that night—not meet.
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by after work. I wanted to drop off a jar of jam,” her mother said, taking off her jacket and stepping inside. Her eyes swept the entryway, lingering on unfamiliar slippers near the door. Then she turned to Alina. “You have company?”
“It’s… Igor’s mom. She’s staying with us for a bit.”
Alina’s mother lifted an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She carried the jar into the kitchen, set it on the table, and looked around. At that moment Valentina Ivanovna walked in from the living room.
“Let me introduce you,” Alina said. “This is my mom, Olga Nikolayevna. Mom, this is Valentina Ivanovna—Igor’s mother.”
“Nice to meet you,” Olga Nikolayevna nodded.
“Likewise,” Valentina Ivanovna answered curtly.
An awkward pause stretched out. Olga Nikolayevna slowly scanned the kitchen, noticing unfamiliar pots on the stove, a mug that didn’t belong, then glanced toward the living room where a throw blanket—clearly not Alina’s—lay on the sofa.
“Alina, can I speak to you for a minute?” her mother asked quietly.
They went into the bedroom. Olga Nikolayevna closed the door and turned to her daughter.
“What is going on here?”
Alina sat down on the bed.
“Mom, please don’t start…”
“I’m not ‘starting’ anything,” her mother said. “I’m simply seeing a stranger living in my daughter’s apartment. And from what I can tell, she’s been here a while.”
Alina exhaled.
“Two weeks. Igor said there was a burst pipe next door and his mom had nowhere to go. But it turns out the work finished a long time ago. She just wants to live here.”
“And you agreed to that?”
“I couldn’t not agree! Igor didn’t even ask me—he just announced it!”
Olga Nikolayevna frowned and walked to the window. She stood there a moment, looking outside, then turned back.
“Alina, this is your apartment, right?”
“Yes. I bought it before we got married.”
“Is Igor on the paperwork?”
“No. It’s all in my name.”
“Then tell me this—why is a stranger living in my daughter’s home?”
Alina flinched. Her mother’s voice was calm, almost gentle, but steel ran underneath it.
“Mom, I can’t just throw her out…”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s my husband’s mother!”
“And so what?” Olga Nikolayevna said. “Does that give her the right to run your home? To move your things? To order you around in your own place?”
Alina fell silent. Her mother sat beside her and took her hand.
“Listen carefully. I’m not against helping relatives. But helping is one thing—being used is another. That woman is not planning to leave. She feels like the owner. And your husband is backing her up.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“First, we walk out there and ask her directly why my daughter’s home has become her residence. Is she homeless? Does she not have a place of her own?”
Alina let out a small laugh through her tears.
“Mom…”
“I’m serious. Come on.”
They went back into the living room. Valentina Ivanovna was sitting in her usual spot. Olga Nikolayevna stopped in the doorway and looked at her steadily.
“Valentina Ivanovna, please tell me—why are you living here?”
Her mother-in-law startled.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m asking why you’re living in my daughter’s apartment. Don’t you have your own home?”
“I do have my own home! But there was repair work…”
“Which ended more than a week ago,” Olga Nikolayevna replied evenly. “So why are you still here?”
Valentina Ivanovna opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“I’ll tell you why,” Olga Nikolayevna continued. “Because it’s convenient. You’re fed here, the cleaning is done for you, and you don’t have to worry about anything. You decided that if your son lives here, you have the same right.”
“How dare you—”
“I dare,” Olga Nikolayevna cut in, “because this is my daughter’s apartment. Not your son’s—my daughter’s. She bought it with her own money, and she is the one in charge here. And she never gave permission for you to move in.”
Valentina Ivanovna jumped up.
“Igor!” she shouted. “Igor, where are you?!”
“Igor isn’t home,” Alina said calmly. “And it doesn’t matter. Valentina Ivanovna, tomorrow you pack your things and go back to your own apartment. You have your own place. Return to it.”
“You’re kicking me out?!”
“I’m asking you to go back to where you live,” Alina answered. “What you called ‘temporary’ has turned into permanent. And I’m done tolerating it.”
“That’s what it means to be an outsider! That’s what it means not to be family!” Valentina Ivanovna burst out. “I always knew you were cold and calculating! My Igoryosha told me you don’t know how to love family!”
Olga Nikolayevna stepped forward.
“Enough. You will leave this apartment now, or I will call the police.”
“The police?! Are you out of your mind?!”
“Completely,” Olga Nikolayevna said without blinking. “This is private property. You’re not registered here, you have no right to live here. The owner is asking you to leave. That is a lawful demand.”
Valentina Ivanovna grabbed her chest dramatically.
“My blood pressure— I feel sick!”
“Should I call an ambulance?” Olga Nikolayevna asked, unmoved.
Valentina Ivanovna fell silent. She stood in the middle of the room breathing hard, staring from Alina to her mother. Finally, she turned and marched toward her things.
“I’ll tell Igor everything. Everything! You’ll regret this!”
“Tell him,” Alina said quietly.
Valentina Ivanovna began packing. She shoved items into bags, slammed cabinet doors, muttering under her breath. Twenty minutes later she stood in the entryway with her two bags and the box.
“You’ll lose your husband,” she threw over her shoulder.
“If my husband is willing to lose his wife because she defended her right to her own home,” Alina replied, “then there’s nothing to lose.”
Valentina Ivanovna slammed the door behind her.
Silence flooded the apartment. Alina sank onto the sofa and covered her face. Her mother sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“You did the right thing.”
“I’m scared,” Alina whispered. “Igor will be furious.”
“Let him be furious. You did nothing wrong. You protected your space.”
Alina nodded. She was still trembling, but underneath it she felt an unfamiliar relief. For the first time in two weeks the apartment was quiet. For the first time she could simply sit and breathe without waiting for another comment, another complaint.
Igor came home late that night. He opened the door and immediately sensed the change. The apartment felt empty. He walked into the living room—and saw that everything was back where it used to be. The blanket was gone. The pillows were gone.
“Alina?” he called out.
“I’m here.”
She sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea. Igor stepped in and stopped in the doorway.
“Where’s my mother?”
“She went back home.”
“What do you mean—home?!”
“She packed and left. She has her own apartment.”
“You threw her out?!”
“I asked her to return to where she actually lives. Igor, she lied. The repairs were finished ages ago. She simply didn’t want to leave.”
“So what?! She’s my mother! She needs support!”
“Support is one thing. Living here permanently is another. I never agreed to that.”
Igor’s fists tightened.
“Do you even understand what you’ve done? You humiliated my mother! You tossed her out on the street!”
“I didn’t toss her out on the street. She has a home—and she returned to it.”
“This is our apartment!”
“No, Igor. It’s mine. I bought it with my own money before we married. You’re not registered here. You have no rights to this property.”
Igor went pale.
“So that’s it… You’re going to use that against me now? That it’s yours and I’m nobody here?”
“I’m stating facts,” Alina said. “If you had asked my opinion before moving your mother in, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“You’re choosing, then! Me or my mom!”
Alina set her cup down slowly.
“I’m not making you choose. Your mother can visit. But she will not live here permanently. That’s my final decision.”
Igor stood there breathing hard, then turned and walked out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, the front door slammed.
Alina was alone again. She sat in silence, knowing difficult conversations were still ahead. Maybe even divorce. But she no longer felt powerless. She had stopped swallowing her words.
An hour later, her mother called.
“How is it there? Did Igor come back?”
“He did. He caused a scene and left.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. Probably to his mother. Mom… what if I ruined everything? What if he never comes back?”
“Alina, listen to me,” Olga Nikolayevna said. “If a man is ready to leave his wife because she defended her boundaries, then he isn’t ready to be a husband. Family isn’t only about giving in. It’s also about limits. About respect. If Igor can’t understand that, time will show what choice he makes.”
Alina wiped her eyes.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Always, sweetheart. Always.”
They said goodbye, and Alina was left alone with her thoughts. She stood and walked through the apartment. Everything was in its place again. Her books were back on the shelf. The Italian vase stood on the dresser. Her cosmetics were where they belonged.
She stopped in front of the mirror and studied her reflection. Her face was pale, her eyes red from tears—but there was determination in her gaze. She wasn’t going to endure it anymore.
Igor didn’t return that night, or the next day. He ignored her calls and messages. Alina went to work, handled daily life, and tried not to think about what came next. On the third evening, he finally showed up.
He entered quietly—no shouting this time. He looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes. He walked into the kitchen where Alina was preparing dinner.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
They stood facing each other, unsure where to begin. Finally Igor spoke first.
“Mom is really hurt.”
“I understand.”
“She says you insulted her. That you humiliated her in front of your mother.”
Alina set the knife down on the cutting board.
“Igor, your mother lived in my apartment for two weeks without my consent. She moved my things, changed the order I created, commanded me in my own home. And you stayed silent the entire time. You didn’t stand on my side once.”
“She’s my mother…”
“And I’m your wife,” Alina said. “Does that mean nothing?”
Igor dropped his gaze.
“I just wanted everyone to be okay.”
“Everyone except me. Igor, I’m not against your mother visiting. I’m not against helping her if she truly needs it. But she stayed here not because she had nowhere to go—she stayed because it suited her. And you knew that.”
“Maybe…”
“No ‘maybe.’ You knew the repairs were finished. You knew she was lying. And you kept quiet because it was easier not to get involved.”
Igor’s hands curled into fists.
“What was I supposed to do—throw my mother out on the street?”
“Tell her the truth,” Alina said. “Tell her she has a home and it’s time to go back. Igor, you chose your mother’s comfort over my peace.”
“I didn’t think it was that serious…”
“It was,” Alina answered. “This is my apartment—my home. And I have the right to decide who lives here.”
Igor fell silent. Alina watched him wrestle with himself, reaching for arguments that wouldn’t come.
“If you want this marriage to continue, you need to make a choice,” she said. “Either you respect my boundaries, or we split.”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum?”
“I’m telling you what matters to me. I refuse to live in a home where I’m not respected—where my opinion means nothing. If you’re not ready to stand with me, if you’re not ready to protect our marriage, then we’re not going the same way.”
Igor stood with his head lowered, shoulders tense, fingers opening and closing. Finally he looked up.
“I don’t want a divorce.”
“Then we need rules,” Alina said. “Your mother can visit—but only as a guest. Weekends, holidays. Not to live here. And she doesn’t get to change anything without my permission.”
“She won’t accept that.”
“That’s not her decision,” Alina replied. “Either you talk to her, or I will. Choose.”
He exhaled.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll go to her place tomorrow and explain.”
Alina nodded. She wasn’t sure he would keep his word, but it was a first step—at least one step.
The next day Igor really did go to his mother. He returned late, drained and worn out.
“Well?” Alina asked.
“It was hard. She cried. Said I was betraying her. Said you turned me against her.”
“And what did you say?”
“That it was my decision. That I understand she’s hurt—but you and I have our own family. And that your opinion matters to me.”
Something warmed inside Alina. Simple words—but they meant everything.
“Thank you.”
“She’s still upset. Says she’ll never forgive it.”
“Igor, your mother is an adult,” Alina said. “She chooses her reaction. You can’t control her feelings. You can only do what you believe is right.”
He nodded. Standing there in the kitchen, Alina realized it was the first honest conversation they’d had in a long time—no half-truths, no smoothing corners.
Over the following weeks life slowly settled. Valentina Ivanovna stayed offended and didn’t call. Igor visited her alone, but didn’t bring her back home. Alina didn’t push for meetings. She understood her mother-in-law needed time to accept the new rules.
One evening Igor said:
“Mom wants to apologize.”
Alina looked up from her book.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. She said she understands she went too far. That she behaved wrongly.”
“And what did you say?”
“That it’s up to you. If you’re willing to see her, she’ll come—only for a couple of hours. Tea, then she leaves.”
Alina thought about it. Part of her didn’t want to see Valentina Ivanovna at all—didn’t want to step back into that tense atmosphere. But another part knew that if she wanted her marriage to survive, she had to give the woman a chance.
“Okay. Let her come. But I’m not promising things will go back to the way they were.”
“I understand.”
A week later Valentina Ivanovna came. She sat at the kitchen table, holding her tea, looking at Alina with an unfamiliar uncertainty.
“I want to apologize,” she finally said. “I acted wrong. I thought I was doing good, but I didn’t think about how you felt.”
Alina nodded.
“I accept your apology. But it’s important you understand this: this is my home. I’m the one in charge here. And any decisions about this apartment are mine.”
Valentina Ivanovna pressed her lips together, then nodded.
“I understand.”
They finished their tea in silence. Then the mother-in-law stood, said goodbye, and left. When the door clicked shut, Alina let out a breath. It was a small step—but still a step forward.
Months passed. Valentina Ivanovna never tried to move in again. She came for holidays, called Igor, sometimes stopped by for tea—but she no longer crossed the line. Alina could tell it wasn’t easy for her. She could see the impulse to correct, to advise—but Valentina Ivanovna held back.
And Alina finally felt her home was hers again. That she could breathe freely. That her voice mattered.
The apartment was her home again—and that mattered more than anything.