“Artem, can you grab two more bags from the car? And take the gray one too, it has shoes in it.”
Larisa froze in the entryway, her coat still on.
A large dark blue suitcase stood by the wall. Next to it, another one, a bit smaller. On the console by the mirror, there was a set of unfamiliar keys with a wooden house keychain. From the bathroom, Valentina Stepanovna’s voice floated out.
“Be careful with the white bag! There are bottles in there!”
That morning, Larisa had left for work before her husband. Artem was still in bed when he sleepily asked what time she’d be home. He hadn’t mentioned visitors, his mother, or any suitcases at all.
So, for a few seconds, Larisa assumed her mother-in-law had just dropped by on her way somewhere else.
Then she spotted three shopping bags, a box with a hairdryer, and a rolled-up blanket near the stairs.
No one shows up with that much stuff just for a couple of hours.
Artem came in carrying two more bags.
He saw his wife and immediately realized, from her expression, that the moment he’d hoped to avoid had arrived.
“You’re home already?”
“As you can see.”
He set the bags down next to the suitcase.
“My mom’s apartment got damaged after a leak. She needs somewhere to stay until everything’s fixed.”
Larisa slowly unbuttoned her coat.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long is she planning to stay here?”
Artem looked away towards the kitchen.
“Well… about two months, give or take.”
Larisa took off her boots and placed them neatly on the mat.
“Two months.”
“Maybe less.”
Valentina Stepanovna emerged from the bathroom in a loungewear set she had clearly brought with her.
“Hello, Larisochka. I couldn’t find your towels, so I asked Artem to grab mine. I’m not comfortable using someone else’s things.”
“Hello.”
Larisa glanced at her husband.
“Kitchen. Now.”
Artem sighed heavily but followed her.
His mother stayed in the hallway, unpacking bags.
Larisa closed the kitchen door.
“When were you planning on telling me?”
“Today.”
“Before she got here, or after?”
He didn’t answer right away.
That was all she needed to know.
“Artem.”
“Fine. After.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew you’d object.”
Larisa just stared at him for a few moments.
She didn’t raise her voice or interrupt him.
Apparently, Artem decided to keep talking:
“I figured that if Mom showed up with her stuff, you wouldn’t cause a scene and send her back.”
Larisa even tilted her head slightly.
“So you planned this out in advance.”
“Don’t make this a conspiracy.”
“I’m not. You just explained the plan yourself.”
“She really has nowhere else to go.”
“That’s a separate issue. Right now, I’m not asking about your mother.”
Artem wearily rubbed his forehead.
“Lar, what do you want from me? To tell her, ‘Sorry, Mom, my wife’s against it, figure it out yourself’?”
“I wanted you to call me before bringing someone here for two months.”
“And you would’ve said no.”
“Maybe.”
“Exactly.”
Larisa let out a brief, dry laugh.
“So you decided you didn’t need my approval.”
Artem shoved his chair back in annoyance.
“Let’s not start.”
“It’s already started. And it wasn’t me.”
Two years ago, Valentina Stepanovna had already lived with them.
That time, it started harmlessly, too: her house was having the plumbing replaced, and she’d asked to stay for a few days.
A few days ended up stretching into almost three weeks.
On the fourth morning, at half past seven, she turned on the TV downstairs so loud that Larisa woke up in her bedroom upstairs.
On a Saturday, no less.
When asked why so early, Valentina Stepanovna replied, «Normal people are already having breakfast at this time.»
Then she started checking the fridge.
At first, she just wondered why there was no cottage cheese.
A couple of days later, she began to announce which foods «Artyom has eaten every day since childhood.»
Another week passed and she asked why Larisa didn’t pack food for her husband, knowing he’d be out all day on site visits.
Larisa kept silent the first time.
The second time, she replied.
The third time, she said straight out:
«Artyom is an adult. If he wants a lunchbox, he knows how to use the fridge.»
Valentina Stepanovna took offense.
That evening, Artyom asked his wife to «stop picking on mom.»
After she left, the conversation was brief.
Larisa told her husband:
«For a few hours, for dinner, for the weekend—fine. But someone will be living here for weeks only if we both agree together.»
Artyom immediately agreed.
«Okay. I get it.»
And for two years, they never brought it up again.
Until tonight.
The house, where Valentina Stepanovna’s suitcases now stood, actually had nothing to do with Artyom before they met.
The small two-story cottage had been left to Larisa by her grandmother.
It wasn’t luxurious, but it was solid: three bedrooms upstairs, a living room and kitchen downstairs, a small yard, a carport, and a warm pantry.
After receiving her inheritance, Larisa gradually fixed up the house. She didn’t renovate everything at once, but made improvements as needed: replaced old wiring on the first floor, updated the plumbing, insulated the attic, and later installed new windows.
When she met Artyom, he was renting a one-bedroom apartment.
They dated for eight months before he moved in with her.
Almost a year and a half later, they got married.
For Larisa, the house had always been a place where decisions were made not because someone shouted louder, ‘This is how it should be.’
And Artyom knew that perfectly well.
She opened the kitchen door.
«I understand.»
«Understand what?»
«Everything.»
Larisa headed upstairs.
Artyom didn’t follow her immediately.
She reached up to the top shelf for her travel bag and started packing her things.
Two pairs of pants.
Three sweaters.
Loungewear.
Underwear.
Makeup bag.
Work laptop.
Chargers.
A folder with documents.
When Artyom finally appeared in the doorway, his face looked noticeably calmer.
He assumed his wife was packing things for his mother.
«Mom can have the room by the stairs. That closet is pretty empty.»
Larisa zipped up her bag.
«She can.»
«Great, then.»
She picked up her laptop.
«But you’ll be the one to give it to her.»
His smile faded.
«What do you mean?»
«I’m leaving.»
«Where to?»
«To Aunt Tamara’s.»
«But she’s at the dacha.»
«Exactly.»
Aunt Tamara’s apartment would be empty until mid-autumn. Larisa would stop by sometimes to check the plumbing and pick up the mail. The keys were already in her purse.
Artyom frowned.
«Are you serious?»
«Absolutely.»
«Because of my mom?»
«Because of you.»
«Here we go again.»
Larisa went downstairs.
Valentina Stepanovna was just then unpacking the contents of one of her bags onto the cabinet.
«And where are you off to?» she asked.
«I’m going to stay somewhere else for a few days.»
Her mother-in-law looked at her son in surprise.
Artem let out a snort.
«She’ll go for a walk and be back by evening.»
Larisa put on her coat.
«Since you brought your mother here without asking me, you can live with her on your own.»
«Lar, don’t make a scene.»
She zipped up her bag.
«There’s no scene.»
Artem leaned his shoulder against the wall.
«And what exactly are you trying to prove with this?»
«Nothing.»
«You’re really going to leave your own home?»
«For a few days—yes. I want to see how much you’ll like the decision you made without me.»
Valentina Stepanovna frowned with irritation.
«I don’t understand why my visit has to be turned into a problem.»
Larisa turned to her.
«Your visit isn’t the main issue here.»
She didn’t explain anything further.
Before leaving, she looked at Artem.
«I’ll pay the utility bills myself. The house is mine, that’s only fair.»
«Thank you very much.»
«Everything else is on you.»
«What exactly do you mean?»
«Groceries. Cleaning. Cooking. Trips. Everything two grown adults might need.»
Artem laughed.
«As if I can’t survive without you.»
«Perfect, then.»
She walked out.
Her aunt’s apartment was twenty minutes away by car.
It was small, but clean and warm, with everything needed: a bed, a fridge, a work desk, and steady internet.
Larisa set her bag next to the wardrobe, opened the windows for a few minutes, turned the heat up, and ordered herself dinner.
Her phone was lying nearby.
She didn’t turn off notifications or block Artem.
She just didn’t want to be the first to talk.
Meanwhile, at home, Artem began to realize that his mom hadn’t come as just any ordinary guest.
«Son, these things need to go upstairs.»
He looked at the two suitcases.
«Mom, we’ll unpack tomorrow.»
«Why wait for tomorrow? I want everything sorted out today.»
«I’m tired.»
«And I spent the whole day packing.»
Twenty minutes later, he was hauling suitcases up the stairs.
Ten minutes after that, Valentina Stepanovna called out to him from another room.
«Larisa’s things are in the closet.»
«So?»
«Where am I supposed to hang my clothes?»
«On the free side.»
«There isn’t a free side.»
Without a word, Artem started moving boxes from the top shelf.
Then his mother remembered she left a bag of shoes in the car.
When he brought it in, it turned out she meant another bag.
Next, Valentina Stepanovna asked him to run to the store.
«Now?»
«Of course. There’s nothing for breakfast.»
«The fridge is full of food.»
She opened the fridge door.
«I don’t eat any of that.»
«What exactly?»
«I don’t like those yogurts. The cheese is too salty. And the bread is rye.»
Artem pulled out his phone.
«Mom, just tell me what to get.»
After half an hour, the list nearly filled the whole screen.
A specific brand of milk.
A different kind of bread.
Cottage cheese.
Butter.
Mineral water.
Coffee, the brand Valentina Stepanovna always bought herself.
«Tomorrow, we also need to stop by the dry cleaner,» she added.
«Why?»
«To drop off my coat. I brought it along on purpose.»
«Mom, you’re only planning to stay here for two months, not move in forever.»
«So I’m not supposed to wear a coat in the meantime?»
Artem had no reply.
He went to the store anyway.
He got back closer to nine.
Valentina Stepanovna was sitting in the kitchen.
«What about dinner?»
«What about it?»
«Are we going to cook something?»
«Mom, I just got back from the store.»
«I can see that.»
She glanced at the grocery bags.
«Then make something quick. I’ll go take a shower.»
Artyom froze, holding the carton of milk in his hand.
«Why me?»
His mother looked at him as if his question was strange.
«Who else?»
He couldn’t help glancing at the empty spot at the table where Larisa used to sit.
His phone vibrated.
Artyom almost felt happy.
But it was just a text from a coworker.
There were no messages from his wife.
The morning was a bit brighter.
Valentina Stepanovna got up before he did.
At half past six, she knocked on his bedroom door.
«Artyom, get up.»
«Mom…»
«We need to get to the hardware store before the traffic starts.»
He pushed himself up on his elbow.
«What hardware store?»
«I need to look at tiles and a new faucet.»
«What about the contractor?»
«Later.»
«Why later?»
«Because he’s busy right now.»
Artyom sat up.
«Wait. When is he even starting the renovation?»
«In three weeks.»
His sleepiness disappeared instantly.
«Three weeks?»
«Just regular three weeks.»
«You said your renovation was happening.»
«It will be.»
«So nothing’s being done right now?»
«Everything’s still damp after the leak.»
«But you could still stay there?»
«In theory, yes. But why would I stay there with everything in that condition?»
Artyom ran a hand over his face.
«You mentioned two months.»
«I said about two months.»
«What does ‘about’ mean?»
«If they finish quickly, two months. If not, I’ll stay longer.»
He looked at his mother.
«How much longer?»
«How should I know?»
Twenty minutes later, he was already calling Larisa.
She didn’t answer right away.
«Yes?»
«Are you at work?»
«I’m getting ready.»
«Maybe you could come back this evening?»
«Why?»
«Come on, that’s enough. I get it.»
Larisa was buckling her watch.
«Get what, exactly?»
«That I should’ve talked to you first.»
«Alright.»
«I’ll take care of Mom myself. You won’t have to do anything.»
Larisa walked over to the window.
Down in the yard, a woman in a light jacket was helping a child into a car.
«Artyom, I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to buy groceries for your mom.»
«I know.»
«You hid her move from me on purpose, hoping I’d feel awkward about saying something once she was already at the house.»
He stayed silent.
«You need to deal with that.»
«How long are you going to stay there?»
«Until I feel like I’m coming home, not checking into a hotel where people can move in behind my back.»
«Lar…»
«I have to go.»
She ended the conversation.
Not with annoyance.
It was just that the conversation was over.
That same day, Artyom had his first serious talk with his mother.
Without Larisa.
Without trying to make Larisa do the talking for him.
At first, Valentina Stepanovna didn’t even understand what he was suggesting.
«Where am I supposed to go?»
«You said Zoya Mikhailovna offered for you to stay at her place.»
His mother gave him a sharp look.
«What does Zoya have to do with this?»
«She has a spare room.»
«I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.»
Artyom couldn’t help himself.
«But it’s fine to inconvenience us?»
«You’re my son.»
«And?»
«Zoya is a stranger.»
«She offered herself.»
Valentina Stepanovna irritably fixed her hair.
«Her kitchen is cramped. And her bathroom is old.»
Artyom nodded slowly.
Now it was all finally clear.
«So it’s not that you have absolutely nowhere else to stay.»
«Did I ever say I’d end up on the street?»
«You made it sound that way.»
«Don’t exaggerate.»
«Mom, let’s make it simple. Tomorrow, I’ll drive you to Zoya Mikhailovna’s.»
Valentina Stepanovna froze.
— Was this Larisa’s demand?
— No.
— Don’t lie.
— She doesn’t even know we’re talking right now.
— So it was her leaving that pushed you to this.
Artyom sat down across from her.
— I’m the one who pushed her to leave.
His mother pursed her…
He stopped himself, because Valentina Stepanovna just leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
— Perfect. Now it’s all the mother’s fault.
— I didn’t say that.
— What did you say then?
— That I’ll take you tomorrow.
That was the end of their conversation.
Zoya Mikhailovna was really ready to take her friend in.
In fact, she was surprised her friend hadn’t agreed right away.
— I told you back on Thursday: the room is free, stay as long as you like—even until winter.
Valentina Stepanovna mumbled something vague about her son.
Artyom silently carried in the suitcases.
On the way back, for the first time in two days, the car was silent.
No requests.
No lists.
No instructions on where to drive next.
He stopped outside the house, went in, and stood in the entryway for a long moment.
There were no more other people’s keys on the console.
The suitcases were gone.
No bags on the stairs.
The house looked just as it used to.
Except now, Larisa was missing.
He typed a message:
“I brought Mom to Zoya Mikhailovna’s. If you want, come by this evening.”
Larisa saw the message after work.
She didn’t reply right away.
She finished up, shut down her laptop, packed her things, and only then did she answer:
“I’ll come.”
Artyom waited for her at home.
Not by the door and not by the window.
He was sitting in the kitchen.
Larisa walked in, put her bag in the entryway, and made her way through the first floor.
No suitcases anywhere.
No other people’s things.
Valentina Stepanovna wasn’t there either.
Artyom stood up.
— She’s at her friend’s.
— Got it.
Larisa took off her coat.
— I was wrong.
She looked at him.
He’d clearly prepared an explanation, but she stopped him:
— Don’t make it long.
Artyom nodded.
— Okay.
Larisa walked into the kitchen.
— Then I’ll say it once, and I’ll be brief. If you ever decide to let someone move in here again without my say, I won’t just disappear for a few days.
He frowned.
— What do you mean?
— Next time, it won’t be about guests anymore.
Artyom understood.
Larisa didn’t elaborate.
Neither did he.
The next day, Valentina Stepanovna called her son in the morning.
Artyom went outside to take the call.
He came back about five minutes later.
— Mom wants to pick up her charger. She left it by the bed.
— Take it to her.
— Already found it.
Larisa poured herself a cup of coffee.
Artyom slipped the charger into his jacket pocket.
— And she says Zoya’s couch is really uncomfortable.
— That happens.
— And that Zoya’s TV is really loud in the evenings.
Larisa looked at her husband.
— Why are you telling me this?
He paused for a moment.
Then he smirked.
— Good point. No reason.
And he left.
After a few days, life returned to its usual rhythm.
Larisa was back to work.
Artyom kept busy with his own things.
Valentina Stepanovna didn’t try to come by.
Sometimes she’d call her son and update him about the handyman.
At first, he’d promised to come in two weeks.
Then an earlier time slot opened up.
A few days later, they found out that most of the work could actually be finished faster than she’d thought.
One evening, Artyom walked into the kitchen holding his phone.
— Mom’s coming home on Saturday.
Larisa looked up.
— Okay.
— The renovation’s almost done.
— Perfect.
He stood there for a moment.
— She also said she regretted bringing so many things.
Larisa looked at him.
— She realized that just now?
Artem laughed.
— Looks like it.
On Saturday, they ran into Valentina Stepanovna by chance at the store.
She was pushing a cart and picking out cleaning products.
When she saw Larisa, she paused for a brief moment.
— Well, the renovations are almost done.
— That’s good.
— I’m spending the night at my place today.
— Congratulations.
Her mother-in-law clearly expected something more.
Excuses.
Explanations.
Maybe even a conversation about who was right in that situation.
Larisa grabbed a pack of sponges from the shelf and put them in the cart.
— Artem, we also need dishwasher detergent.
— I’ll get it.
They kept moving.
At the checkout, her husband quietly asked:
— You really don’t want to talk about this?
— No.
— Why not?
Larisa looked at him.
— Because we already talked about it.
And they never brought up that story again.
Artem remembered everything without the need to repeat it.
