Sveta ran her palm over the glossy surface of the table. Every object in the apartment was in its place. The two-room apartment had become more than a home to her—it was a personal space built over years.
Her memories carried her back to the university dormitory. Back then she shared a room with three other girls. By luck of the draw she got the bed by the window. Sveta fenced it off with bookcases, creating a tiny nook of calm. Even there she never allowed anyone to touch her things.
“Sveta, are you ready?” her husband’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“Yes, Andrey,” she replied, straightening her dress in front of the mirror.
The wedding had been like a fairy tale. Her mother-in-law, Galina Petrovna, behaved with pointed politeness—handing out smiles and saying all the right words.
But later Sveta noticed how the woman would size up the apartment, her gaze gliding over the furniture and lingering on the paintings.
The first months of marriage passed peacefully. Andrey worked late; Sveta did the design work she loved. The apartment breathed harmony. Every item told a story. A vase from Italy, an armchair from her grandmother, a collection of books—all of it created the atmosphere of a home.
Galina Petrovna began coming on Saturdays. At first she called ahead to warn them. Then she started showing up unannounced.
“Sveta, dear, don’t you think the sofa isn’t placed very conveniently?” the mother-in-law asked one day, looking over the living room.
Sveta tensed, but held herself in check.
“I like it,” she said, pouring tea.
“Oh, come now,” Galina Petrovna waved a hand. “It would look much better in the corner.”
The conversation moved on to other topics, but the aftertaste remained. Sveta understood—this was the beginning. Her mother-in-law was testing boundaries, checking how far she could go.
The next visit brought new remarks. The curtains hung wrong. The flowers were in the wrong place. The dishes were arranged illogically. Each word sounded like advice, but Sveta heard the demands beneath it.
“Andrey, your mother…” she began that evening.
“Mom just wants to help,” her husband cut in without looking up from his laptop. “She’s been running a household for years.”
Sveta pressed her lips together. She wanted to explain that this wasn’t about help. But the words stuck in her throat.
Galina Petrovna came more and more often. Now she didn’t just advise—she acted. She rearranged the picture frames on the dresser. Swapped the pillows around. Watered the plants on her own schedule.
“Sveta, I bought new napkins,” the mother-in-law announced, walking into the kitchen. “Yours are getting tiresome.”
“I chose those napkins on purpose,” Sveta objected. “They match the tablecloth.”
“Match, don’t match…” Galina Petrovna grimaced. “What matters is practicality.”
The tension grew day by day. Sveta found traces of interference everywhere. The books were rearranged according to some new principle. The spices in the kitchen stood in alphabetical order. The cosmetics in the bathroom were laid out differently. When did her mother-in-law even find the time?!
Friday was the last straw. Sveta came home from work and froze. The sofa had been moved to the corner. The armchair was turned toward the TV. The side table had been pushed to the window.
“Andrey!” she called to her husband.
“What happened?” he asked, coming out of the bedroom.
“Your mother rearranged all the furniture!”
Andrey looked around the room.
“Looks good,” he shrugged. “Mom understands interiors better.”
“This is my home!” Sveta exploded. “How dare she?”
“Our home,” her husband corrected. “And Mom is doing her best for us.”
Sveta understood. This was a fight over territory. Galina Petrovna was marking out her claim, showing who was mistress here. And Andrey was on his mother’s side.
The next day Sveta noticed the spare keys were gone. Andrey looked away guiltily.
“Mom asked for them,” he muttered. “She wants to tidy up sometimes.”
Sveta couldn’t believe her ears. The secret visits began at once. She would come home and find the signs: a refrigerator full of groceries she hadn’t bought, things in the closet reordered according to a new system.
“Andrey, your mother has completely lost all shame!” Sveta burst out one evening.
“Don’t talk about Mom like that,” her husband replied coldly. “She’s doing it for us.”
Sveta looked at Andrey and didn’t recognize him. The man she loved was turning into a stranger. Every day brought new proof—the home no longer belonged to her.
Galina Petrovna grew bolder. Now she showed up even when Sveta was at home, criticizing everything in sight. And Sveta couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sveta, you’re too selfish,” Andrey declared after yet another quarrel. “Mom’s right—you only think about yourself.”
The words pierced her with pain. Sveta understood—her husband had chosen a side. Now there were two of them against her.
In April, Galina Petrovna arrived with new plans. She settled into the armchair she herself had moved and smiled.
“Sveta, dear, it’s time to discuss the dacha,” the mother-in-law began in a tone that allowed no objections.
“What dacha?” Sveta tensed.
“My dacha,” Galina Petrovna sat up straight. “Andrey agreed to help me this summer.”
“He works,” Sveta protested. “He doesn’t have time for the dacha.”
“Andrey will come on weekends,” the mother-in-law explained. “And you’ll spend the entire summer with me.”
Sveta straightened. Her mother-in-law’s audacity surpassed all expectations.
“I’m not going to your dacha,” she said firmly.
“What do you mean, you’re not going?” Galina Petrovna frowned. “I’ve already planned everything.”
“Plan it without me,” Sveta cut her off. “I have a job.”
“Work, work…” the mother-in-law waved a hand. “A young wife should help the family.”
Sveta rose from the sofa. Her patience was gone. Years of humiliation and interference had filled the cup to overflowing.
“Galina Petrovna,” she said slowly. “Leave my apartment.”
“What did you say?” the mother-in-law was taken aback.
“Out,” Sveta repeated, walking to the door. “Now.”
Galina Petrovna stood up slowly. Her eyes flashed with rage.
“You’ll regret this,” she hissed as she headed for the exit.
Sveta closed the door and leaned against it. Her hands were shaking with tension. But for the first time in a long while, she had defended her territory.
Andrey came home late. His mother had already told her version of events. He burst into the apartment, furious.
“How dare you throw my mother out?” he shouted.
“She went too far,” Sveta answered calmly.
“Mom wanted help!”
“Your mother wanted to turn me into a maid.”
For the first time, Andrey openly took a stand against his wife. His words were merciless. Sveta understood completely—she was alone against the two of them.
A week later, Sveta came home from work and froze in the hallway. There was a light on in the second room. She heard footsteps.
Galina Petrovna was standing by the wardrobe, hanging up her clothes. The suitcase in the corner spoke to the seriousness of her intentions.
“What’s going on?” Sveta asked.
“I’m moving in with you,” the mother-in-law replied calmly. “Andrey agreed.”
Sveta realized this was revenge for the refusal and the humiliation. Her mother-in-law’s brazenness knew no bounds.
“Galina Petrovna, get out of my apartment immediately.”
The older woman kept hanging up dresses, her movements deliberately slow and provocative.
“It’s my apartment now too,” Galina Petrovna said evenly. “Andrey gave his consent.”
Blood pounded in Sveta’s temples. She clenched her fists, struggling to master her rage. This woman had turned her life into a nightmare and now wanted to seize the home outright.
“You have no right to live here!” Sveta shouted. “This is my property!”
“Now it’s shared,” the mother-in-law objected, turning to face her. “And family must help their elders.”
She spoke in the tone of a teacher explaining a lesson to a slow child. Every word was saturated with superiority.
The door banged. Andrey walked in and stopped short when he saw their faces.
“What’s happening?” he asked warily.
“Your wife is throwing me out,” his mother complained in a plaintive voice. “She won’t help a sick old woman.”
Sveta couldn’t believe her ears. In a second, Galina Petrovna had turned into a helpless victim.
“Andrey, she moved in here without my consent!” Sveta exclaimed.
“Mom is ill,” her husband replied, not meeting his wife’s eyes. “She needs help.”
“Ill?” Sveta looked the mother-in-law over, who was briskly arranging linens. “She looks perfectly healthy!”
“Mom has heart problems,” Andrey insisted. “The doctor advised her not to be alone.”
Sveta realized—her husband was lying. Galina Petrovna had never complained about her heart. On the contrary, she boasted of her excellent health.
“Stop lying!” Sveta exploded. “She has no illnesses!”
“Sveta, calm down,” her husband tried to placate her. “You’re being too harsh.”
“Harsh?” Sveta turned to Andrey. “I’m harsh?”
The last remnants of patience evaporated. Sveta grasped the full depth of the betrayal. Her husband had chosen a side long ago, and now he was openly supporting his mother.
“Andrey, my patience has snapped. Choose,” Sveta said, steel in her voice. “Either your mother leaves, or you both do.”
Silence fell over the room. Galina Petrovna froze with a dress in her hands. Andrey stared at his wife in disbelief.
“You can’t demand that,” he whispered.
“I can. This is my home. Choose,” Sveta said, looking him in the eye. “Mother or wife.”
Andrey lowered his head. The silence lasted an eternity. Then he lifted his gaze and looked at his mother.
“Mom, pack your things,” he said quietly.
Galina Petrovna gasped. Sveta let out a breath of relief.
“I’ll leave too,” Andrey said suddenly. “I can’t abandon Mom.”
Those words sounded like a final verdict. Sveta understood—her husband had made his choice. Not in her favor.
An hour later, the apartment was empty. Sveta stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the mess. Things were strewn everywhere. The furniture stood out of place.
Tears ran down her cheeks. Not from grief—from shock. People could be so selfish, so brazen, so ungrateful.
Sveta walked over to the sofa. She slowly moved it back to where it had been. Then the armchair. The side table by the window.
Order returned gradually. With it came calm. The apartment became a home again. Her home. Hers alone.
Sveta sat down in her favorite armchair and looked around. Everything was as it should be. Every object in its place. The silence was healing.
The home belonged to her again.
