Alexandra held three-month-old Artyom close to her chest, gently rocking him in her arms. The baby had been fussy for half an hour, refusing to fall asleep after feeding. Behind her came the familiar creak of the floorboards—her mother-in-law had arrived again with another round of unsolicited advice.
“Alexandra, what are you doing?” Galina Petrovna’s voice carried its usual reproach. “You can’t hold a baby for that long! You’ll spoil him completely.”
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“Galina Petrovna, he just can’t fall asleep,” Alexandra replied without turning around, continuing to rock her son gently. “Maybe something hurts.”
“Nothing hurts!” her mother-in-law said, stepping closer, her breath hot against the back of Alexandra’s neck. “You simply don’t know how to put children to sleep. In my day, we put babies in their cribs and they fell asleep on their own. But you fuss over him like a hen with an egg.”
Alexandra held Artyom a little tighter, silently counting the seconds until Galina Petrovna would finally leave. But the woman clearly had no intention of giving up.
“And look at yourself,” her mother-in-law continued, walking around Alexandra and inspecting her critically from head to toe. “Your hair isn’t even brushed, and your robe is wrinkled. I don’t know how Petya can stand looking at a wife like that.”
“Petya understands that I have a small baby,” Alexandra finally turned toward her mother-in-law, trying to keep her voice steady. “I sleep two hours a day.”
“And Marina from the neighboring building somehow manages to look like a queen even with twins,” Galina Petrovna said, sitting down on the sofa as though preparing for a long conversation. “Her hair is always perfect, she wears makeup, her clothes are ironed. That’s what a real woman looks like!”
Artyom suddenly became quiet in his mother’s arms, his breathing becoming calm and even. Alexandra carefully placed her son in the crib, but her mother-in-law immediately jumped to her feet.
“What are you doing? Why are you putting him on his back?” Galina Petrovna leaned over the crib. “He could choke! He needs to sleep on his side, always on his side!”
“The doctor said sleeping on his back is safer,” Alexandra stepped between her mother-in-law and the crib, blocking it with her body. “The current recommendations—”
“What current recommendations?” her mother-in-law snorted. “I raised three children, and they’re all alive and healthy! With all that nonsense you read on the internet, you’re going to harm your baby!”
The front door slammed. Pyotr had returned home. Alexandra sighed with relief, hoping her husband would finally support her somehow. But when Pyotr saw his mother, he only nodded tiredly and walked into the kitchen.
“Petya,” Galina Petrovna immediately turned to her son, “talk to your wife. She’s raising the baby all wrong. She carries him around constantly, doesn’t follow a feeding schedule…”
Pyotr silently poured himself some tea without looking at his wife. Alexandra saw his shoulders tense and his lips tighten. But he continued to say nothing, pretending the conversation had nothing to do with him.
“And besides,” her mother-in-law lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper, “when are you planning to have a second child? Artyom needs a little brother or sister. Alexandra is already twenty-eight. Time isn’t standing still!”
“Mom, please,” Pyotr finally said, though his words sounded more like a request for her to stop talking than an attempt to defend his wife.
“I should move in here so I can keep an eye on your wife and my grandson!” his mother suddenly declared.
Alexandra stood beside her son’s crib and understood immediately: if that happened, it would be the end. Gathering all her strength, she walked into the kitchen. From the doorway, she said sharply:
“The apartment belongs to me. And I don’t want to see you here every day, Galina Petrovna. So there is absolutely no question of you moving in!”
Her mother-in-law glared angrily at her daughter-in-law but did not argue. Still, Alexandra noticed a strange gleam in the woman’s eyes.
Several months later, an old acquaintance from an IT company offered Alexandra a small project involving improvements to a mobile application.
“Sasha, I know you’re on maternity leave,” Maxim said over the phone, “but it’s a small project. You can work from home whenever you have free time. The pay is good.”
Alexandra agreed without hesitation. Her laptop came back to life on the kitchen table, and lines of code once again flowed across the screen in a familiar rhythm. For the first time in many months, Alexandra felt that she had control over at least one part of her life.
But the peace did not last long.
Galina Petrovna appeared in the kitchen doorway just as Alexandra was debugging a particularly complicated module.
“What is this?” her mother-in-law demanded indignantly. “The baby is crying in the room while you’re sitting here playing your little computer games!”
“Artyom is asleep,” Alexandra replied without looking away from the screen. “And these aren’t games. This is work.”
“What kind of work?” Galina Petrovna stepped closer, looming over the table. “You’re a mother! Your job is your son, your home, and your husband! Not this computer nonsense!”
Alexandra saved the file and closed the laptop. She had no desire to argue yet again, but her mother-in-law was clearly determined to have a serious conversation.
“Look at yourself,” Galina Petrovna continued, sitting down opposite her. “Your eyes are red, your hair is a mess. Instead of taking care of yourself and watching your child, you sit on the internet! It’s disgraceful!”
“I’m earning money,” Alexandra said quietly. “For our family.”
“Petya already earns perfectly well!” her mother-in-law slapped her palm against the table. “And you? You abandon your son for a few pennies! You’re a bad mother!”
The words pierced Alexandra painfully, but she remained silent. Arguing with Galina Petrovna was pointless—the woman would never change her mind.
A month passed under this constant tension. Then her mother-in-law unexpectedly began visiting less often and behaving more calmly. Alexandra even started to relax, thinking that the woman had finally accepted the situation.
She was wrong.
That evening, Galina Petrovna came over for dinner as usual. She played with Artyom, helped set the table, and behaved surprisingly peacefully. After dinner, when Artyom was already asleep in his crib, her mother-in-law lingered in the kitchen.
“Sasha,” Galina Petrovna began in a soft, almost caring voice, “haven’t you thought about the future?”
“What future?” Alexandra asked cautiously while putting away the last of the dishes.
“About situations where important decisions will have to be made. You can barely leave the baby’s side. And you’re on maternity leave anyway,” her mother-in-law leaned back in her chair. “Transfer the apartment into your husband’s name. It’ll be safer that way.”
Alexandra froze with a plate in her hands. Blood slowly rushed to her face, but her voice remained steady.
“Safer for whom?” Alexandra asked.
“For the family, of course,” Galina Petrovna replied with a sugary smile. “Petya is the man, the head of the family. It makes sense for the property to be registered in his name.”
At that moment, Pyotr entered the kitchen. Alexandra turned toward her husband, hoping for support, but the expression on his face immediately made everything clear.
“Mom is right,” Pyotr said, avoiding his wife’s eyes. “It’ll be easier to handle contracts and paperwork if the apartment is in my name.”
In that instant, Alexandra understood: this was all revenge for refusing to let Galina Petrovna move in. Her mother-in-law had never forgiven her. Now she was simply trying a different approach—using Pyotr.
Something snapped inside Alexandra. All the anger that had been building for months rose in a wave.
“Are you serious?” Alexandra’s voice was quieter than usual, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “You want me to give you my apartment?”
“Sasha, don’t react like that,” Pyotr said, trying to step closer, but his wife moved back toward the sink. “We’re a family. What difference does it make whose name it’s in?”
“What difference does it make?” Alexandra spun around to face her husband, and Pyotr instinctively recoiled from the fury in her eyes. “The difference is that it’s my apartment! I inherited it from my grandmother!”
Galina Petrovna rose from her chair, preparing to intervene, but Alexandra raised a hand to stop her.
“And do you remember, Petya, how I managed everything alone?” Alexandra continued, her voice growing louder. “How you disappeared for three days after I gave birth because you had ‘business’ to deal with your friends? How I got up with the baby every night because you had an important meeting the next morning?”
“I was working!” Pyotr tried to defend himself. “I was working for the family!”
“For the family?” Alexandra laughed bitterly. “And when Artyom was sick, who stayed with him at the hospital? Me! Who buys the diapers? Me! Who is working while on maternity leave because we don’t have enough money? Me again!”
Pyotr remained silent, lowering his eyes. Alexandra could see the muscle twitching in his jaw—a sure sign that he was angry but had nothing to say in response.
“And now you want my apartment in exchange for what?” Alexandra swept her gaze around the kitchen. “For occasionally playing with your son? For washing the dishes once in a while?”
“Sasha, calm down,” Galina Petrovna tried to intervene, but Alexandra spun sharply toward her mother-in-law.
“And you stay out of this!” Alexandra exploded. “You came up with all of it! For months you’ve humiliated me and criticized every single thing I do, and now you’ve decided to take my home away from me!”
“We only wanted what was best,” her mother-in-law began, but Alexandra cut her off.
“What was best? Best for whom?” Alexandra lifted her chin. “You know what? Pack up. Both of you. And get out of my house.”
“What?” Pyotr stared at his wife. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying get out. If you don’t want to live in my apartment on my terms, then live wherever you want. With Mommy, for example.”
Alexandra walked into the bedroom and began packing her husband’s belongings.
“Sasha, have you lost your mind?” Pyotr tried to take the clothes from her hands. “We have a child!”
“I have a child,” Alexandra corrected him, continuing to pack his clothes. “And I’ll manage without you. I’ve been managing on my own all this time anyway.”
Galina Petrovna clutched her chest, pretending to have an attack. She sobbed dramatically.
“What are you doing, girl? You’re destroying your family!”
Alexandra handed Pyotr the bag and replied calmly:
“I’m not destroying anything. I’m protecting what matters to me. My son and my home.”
“Sasha, think about what you’re doing!” Pyotr gripped the handles of the bag until his knuckles turned white. “We can discuss this. We can find a compromise!”
“A compromise?” Alexandra shook her head. “For three years, I’ve been the one making compromises. I listened to your mother, tolerated humiliation, and kept quiet. Where was the compromise when I needed your support?”
“Petya, say something to her!” Galina Petrovna pleaded, grabbing her son by the sleeve. “Explain that we only wanted what was best!”
“Best for yourselves,” Alexandra cut in. “You wanted to get my apartment and keep controlling my life.”
Pyotr stood there with the bag in his hands, unable to make himself move. His mother nervously tugged at the edge of his shirt, clearly trying to come up with another argument.
“Go, Petya,” Alexandra said quietly. “And don’t come back until you understand that a family isn’t about a wife giving her husband everything she owns. It’s about two people protecting each other.”
The door slammed shut.
The house became quiet.
Alexandra leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor. Her chest burned with pain, but at the same time, she felt a strange sense of relief.
A soft cry came from the nursery—Artyom had woken up.
Alexandra got to her feet and went to her son.
She knew she would manage.
She had a profession, a growing son, and ahead of her—freedom.
