I’ve always considered myself a rational person. As a child, I dreamed of becoming an architect — I was fascinated by shapes, lines, and space. In the end, I became an interior designer, which, in a way, wasn’t far from that dream.
Work brought not only money but also satisfaction — transforming dull, square meters into cozy nests turned out to be my true calling.
At thirty-four, I had already built a decent career, established a loyal client base, and even bought a small two-bedroom apartment in a residential neighborhood.
Though it came with a fifteen-year mortgage, it was still mine. Every inch of this apartment was arranged with love — light walls, minimalist furniture, thoughtful lighting.
My own little world, where everything was in its place and followed only my rules.
Over the years of living independently, I had learned to enjoy my freedom. Not that I was against relationships — they just didn’t happen often, and when they did, they were never particularly passionate.
Romance is fine, but I had long understood that fairy tales about princes exist only in books, and real relationships require work. And I approached that work cautiously.
That’s why meeting Maxim was such a surprise. Five months ago, my friend Yana literally dragged me to the birthday party of one of her colleagues. «You need to get out of your cave once in a while,» she insisted, not accepting any objections.
Of course, I resisted. After a hard workweek with demanding clients, the last thing I wanted was to be in a noisy crowd of strangers. But Yana was insistent, and in the end, I gave in, put on my black dress (the perfect all-occasion choice), and went.
There, amidst the hum of voices and clinking glasses, I met him — Maxim.
He was standing by the window in a striped shirt, holding a glass of juice (as I later found out, he was driving). Tall, with a soft smile and attentive gray eyes. Not handsome, but there was something about him…
After the introduction, we quickly started talking. It turned out he was a designer at a construction company. He knew a lot about architecture. We found many common topics to discuss. The evening flew by. And then he asked for my number.
To be honest, I didn’t expect him to call. Such encounters usually go nowhere. But he called. The very next day. He suggested we go to the Museum of Modern Art. I agreed.
Then everything started spinning. Walks, movies, exhibitions, talks until the morning… No drama, no games, no misunderstandings. Just a calm, confident man who knew exactly what he wanted. And it seemed that he wanted me.
Two months later, Maxim suggested we move in together. «For the first time, I feel something real,» he said. And I believed him.
It truly felt warm with him. And easy. We matched in the smallest things — from a love of morning coffee to the habit of reading before bed. And we rarely fought, over trivial things.
Maxim moved in with me. He didn’t have much — a couple of bags of clothes, a laptop, books. He integrated into my life so naturally that sometimes it felt like we had always lived together.
He brushed his teeth in the mornings, cooked dinner when I stayed late at work, and sometimes left sweet notes on the fridge. Not perfect, of course — he sometimes splashed the mirror in the bathroom or left his socks lying around. But small things, really.
I met his mother, Tatyana Petrovna, just once. At his birthday. We celebrated in a small restaurant — about fifteen people, mostly his friends and colleagues. I was a little nervous about meeting her — after all, she was my boyfriend’s mother, an important person. I wore a new dress, did my hair.
Tatyana Petrovna turned out to be a slender woman of medium height. A strict haircut, neat manicure, pantsuit. A typical teacher — indeed, she taught Russian at school and retired a couple of years ago.
She watched me closely, studying my hands, my clothes. She seemed to smile, asking about my work, about the apartment. But her gaze was evaluative, cold.
I thought to myself, well, it’s not her who will live with me.
Maxim said they were close. He went to see her once a week. She persistently invited me too, but I always declined — work, tiredness. In reality, I just didn’t want to be under her examining gaze.
Life went on. Work, household chores, weekends with Maxim. Sometimes I caught myself thinking — could I have really been lucky? Could I have met someone with whom I was truly comfortable?
That day came without warning. Maxim left for a friend’s dacha in the morning to help with construction. «Anton needs a porch fixed and plumbing installed, I’ll be back by Sunday evening,» he said, packing his backpack and tools.
I decided to meet Yana — we hadn’t seen each other in a while, and there was much to talk about. We agreed to have lunch at our favorite café downtown.
Saturday morning was sunny. I leisurely got ready, even managed to sort out some papers for a new project. Then I put on a light dress, applied a bit of mascara, and left the house. I wanted to take a walk and breathe in the spring air.
Yana, as always, was fifteen minutes late. Redhead, loud, with a new tattoo on her wrist.
«Sorry, traffic,» she waved her hand, plopping down on the chair across from me. «So, tell me. How’s life with Maxim? When’s the wedding?»
I just waved her off:
«Life is good. But what wedding? We’ve only known each other for five months.»
«My parents got married after six months,» Yana teased, studying the menu. «And they’ve been together for forty years.»
«Times were different.»
«In my opinion, you’re just scared. As always,» she gave me a meaningful look. «Your caution. Always ‘too soon’ or ‘need to get to know him better.’ You’ll miss your man.»
«I won’t miss him,» I smiled. «If he’s the real deal and mine, he won’t go anywhere.»
But Yana’s words stung. Maybe I was too cautious? Maybe it was time to think about something more than just cohabitation?
We chatted for almost two hours. Yana complained about her new boss who overwhelmed her with urgent tasks. I talked about a capricious client who changed her mind about the design three times in one week. The usual exchange of work stories.
We said goodbye around two. I decided to walk home — the weather was wonderful, and I was in a good mood. On the way, I bought fresh bread at the bakery and some cheese — I wanted to treat myself to a nice dinner.
I reached my floor, took out my keys, opened the door, and froze. Someone was definitely in the apartment. Not just rustling or the sound of pipes — I could clearly hear footsteps.
My heart started racing. Thieves? But the door was locked, the lock intact. Maybe Maxim came back early? But he would have called.
I cautiously walked into the hallway, trying to make no noise. I listened. The sounds were definitely coming from the kitchen. Quietly, on tiptoe, I moved in that direction.
And froze at the door, unable to believe my eyes.
Standing by my fridge, with her back to me, was Tatyana Petrovna. The door was open, and she was methodically inspecting the shelves. On the table lay her glasses and a notebook, where she seemed to be making notes.
«How did you get into my apartment?» I blurted out.
She flinched and quickly turned around. Fear flashed in her eyes but was immediately replaced by feigned confidence.
«Oh, you… already… came back?» Her voice trembled.
I stood there, unable to move. My boyfriend’s mother, whom I had met only once, had snuck into my apartment and was rummaging through my things?
«What are you doing in my apartment?» I repeated, feeling a wave of anger rise within me.
«I thought you and Maxim went to the dacha together,» she closed the fridge, nervously adjusting her blouse. «He said he was going to the dacha for a couple of days — I thought you were with him.»
«And decided to use the key?»
«Well…» she hesitated, clearly choosing her words. «Maxim came to see me before he left. He left the key ring on the table. I just wanted to see how you live.»
Looking around, I noticed that the bathroom cupboard door was wide open. My towels and cleaning products were visible. My shoes were on the floor near the closet — she had obviously checked them too. There was an open jar of coffee and a pack of tea on the kitchen table. She had inspected the entire apartment!
«You went into someone’s apartment without permission?» My voice sounded almost rude.
«I’m not a stranger!» Tatyana Petrovna shifted to offense. «I’m a mother! I wanted to understand how you live. How my son is living! I have the right to know!»
She took a step toward me, squinted:
«Sorry, but your closet is a mess. Bedding with towels in one pile. Clothes stacked, not organized. All your socks mixed with Maxim’s. That’s not how you run a household. And the stove hasn’t been cleaned in a while. There are expired products in the fridge! And the trash can is overflowing. Do you ever clean?»
I slowly inhaled. And exhaled. Red spots blurred before my eyes. This woman had broken into my apartment uninvited, was rifling through my things, assessing my household, and now she was lecturing me?
«And you have so many store-bought ready meals in your fridge,» she continued, opening the freezer. «Maxim’s a healthy boy, he needs homemade food. And why do you only have three pots? That’s not enough for a normal family.»
«Are you out of your mind? You’re a stranger to me, and you dare to tell me how to feed Maxim?» «The keys, quickly, on the table, before I call the police,» I said firmly and sharply.
«Actually, he’s going to propose to you,» she suddenly blurted out. «You’re almost family — no police! Don’t I have the right to see where he moved to? What kind of housekeeper are you? Can I trust you with my son?»
What? A proposal? Maxim had never mentioned this. And since when does a proposal give his mother the right to invade my apartment? Assessing me like a commodity at a market?
«Keys, on the table! Quickly! I’m not joking — I’ll call!»
She stared at me for a second, then sharply jerked her shoulder, pulled a set of keys from her sweater pocket, and threw them on the table.
«He’ll regret choosing someone like you,» she hissed, grabbing her handbag and notebook. «And you too. You could’ve been a bit more polite.»
«Goodbye,» I said, walking to the door and flinging it open.
When the door slammed shut behind her, I slowly sank to the floor right in the hallway. My hands were shaking, my throat dry. A slight tremor ran through me, as if from a strong fright.
The rest of the day felt like a fog. I mechanically did the household chores — washed all the dishes, wiped down the tables, picked up the things that Tatyana Petrovna had scattered. It was like trying to erase the traces of her intrusion.
Thoughts were racing in my head. Maybe I was too harsh? Maybe I set too hard an ultimatum? But on the other hand, this was a blatant violation of my personal space. She actually broke into MY home! You can’t be soft with people like that — they’ll sit on your neck and wipe their feet on you.
By evening, I calmed down a bit. I made mint tea, turned on a show. Tried to work on a new project, but my thoughts kept straying. I hadn’t decided yet what to say to Maxim. And what to do with our relationship. If his mother was so… rude and intrusive, this could become a real problem.
Maxim called around eight in the evening.
«Hi,» his voice sounded tense. «How are you?»
«Fine,» I answered, knowing his mom had already told him everything. In her own way, of course. «And you?»
«The dacha is almost ready,» he paused. «Listen, my mom called me…»
«And?»
«She said you kicked her out. What happened? She just came by to get to know you better…»
I froze inside. Of course, now I was the villain.
«Get to know me better?» I asked. «Maxim, she came in without asking, using your keys. She rummaged through the bathroom, checked the fridge, inspected my closets. She even commented on how my sheets are stacked. And she slipped that you were planning to propose. But for some reason, she told me that — not you, caught red-handed with a full-blown inspection!»
There was a heavy pause on the other end.
«I wanted… a surprise…» he finally blurted out.
«And the surprise worked. Now we have a new game: ‘Either her — or the keys.’»
«What?»
«Either you set clear boundaries, or… we have problems.»
«Irin,» his voice cracked. «She’s still my mom.»
«And I’m your girlfriend, and this is my apartment. What’s so hard to understand?»
«I need… to think,» he exhaled.
«Think,» I said and hung up.
I didn’t cry. Inside, there was emptiness and a strange calmness. If he chooses his mother, who barges into my life without asking, then he’s not the one for me. Better to realize it now than later when it hurts even more.
Maxim didn’t come on Sunday. Or Monday either. I went to work, drew sketches for a new project, talked to clients. Smiled, nodded, pretended everything was fine. But inside, there was emptiness. The phone was silent.
In the evenings, I sat at home, mindlessly flipping through TV channels. My thoughts kept returning to our conversation. Maybe I overdid it? Maybe I set too hard an ultimatum? But how else?
On Wednesday evening, there was a knock at the door. Maxim was standing on the doorstep. We looked at each other silently.
«I talked to her,» he finally said. «The surprise… still stands. But now, without my mom. Can I come in?»
I looked into his eyes, trying to figure out how sincere his words were. How much he truly believed that he could set boundaries with his mother.
Maxim smiled faintly.
«You know, when she heard, ‘The keys, quickly, on the table, before I call the police,’ she was in shock. No one had ever set her straight like that.»
«She’ll get used to it,» I said, turning the lock. Silently. But a smile was already creeping at the corners of my lips.
I didn’t know how everything would unfold from here. But I knew for sure — if he truly fought for his right to his own life against his possessive mother, maybe we actually do have a chance to become a real family. And the proposal… it’ll come.
