“This isn’t some all-inclusive hotel!” I exploded when my mother-in-law moved her relatives into my apartment without asking and then demanded dinner on top of it.
The doorbell caught Marina off guard. She had only just stepped into the apartment, kicked off her shoes, set her bag down on the hall table, and headed for the bathroom. The workday had been hellish—three meetings in a row, a conflict with a supplier, a mountain of reports. Her head was pounding, and all she wanted was to make it to the couch and close her eyes.
But the ringing was insistent—two short buzzes, one long one. Marina recognized Galina Sergeyevna’s style instantly. Her mother-in-law always rang exactly like that, as if announcing her arrival with a signal.
“Coming,” the woman sighed, heading for the door.
She opened it and found Galina Sergeyevna on the threshold accompanied by two people. Her husband’s brother, Anatoly, a man of about forty-five with a receding hairline and a beer belly. And Aunt Valentina, her mother-in-law’s sister, a heavyset woman in a brightly patterned dress.
“Good evening, Marina dear,” her mother-in-law said, stepping into the entryway first without even waiting to be invited in. “I’ve brought some relatives. Anatoly came from Tver on business, and Valya came along with him. So I thought—why should they run around looking for hotels when your apartment is so big?”
Marina stood in the doorway, blinking in surprise. Anatoly and Valentina were already hauling bags and packages into the hall. They were taking off their shoes, hanging their jackets on the hooks.
“Good evening, Galina Sergeyevna,” Marina said slowly. “And you… didn’t think to give us any warning?”
“What was there to warn about?” her mother-in-law waved it off. “We’re family. Anatoly is your Dima’s own brother, and Valya is my sister. They’re not strangers, are they?”
“They’re not strangers, but…” Marina began, but her mother-in-law was already heading deeper into the apartment.
“Valyusha, you’ll take the children’s room, there’s a comfortable bed there,” Galina Sergeyevna instructed. “Anatoly can settle on the couch in the living room. Marina dear, where are the bed linens? We need to make everything up with fresh sheets.”
Marina stood still, feeling a dull irritation rising inside her. The children’s room—that was where her daughter Dasha, ten years old, usually did her homework and played. The living room was a shared space for the whole family. And now her mother-in-law was assigning rooms in the apartment as if it were her own.
“Galina Sergeyevna, wait,” Marina caught up with her in the hallway. “Couldn’t you have asked first? Dasha has a test tomorrow, she needs to study.”
“Oh, that’s hardly a problem,” her mother-in-law waved a hand. “She can study in the kitchen or in your bedroom with Dima. Valya’s only staying for three days, you can put up with it.”
“Three days?” Marina repeated, feeling her fists clench.
“Well, maybe four,” Galina Sergeyevna said, opening the children’s room door. “Valyusha, go on in, make yourself at home. Marina will bring the bedding in a minute.”
Aunt Valentina walked into the room and looked around. Dasha was sitting at the desk with her schoolbooks and looked up when the uninvited guest came in.
“Mom, who’s that?” the girl asked.
“That’s Aunt Valya, your dad’s aunt,” Marina explained, trying to stay calm. “Dasha, could you do your studying in our room for now?”
“But all my books are here,” the girl said in confusion.
“Take them with you,” her mother asked.
Silently, Dasha gathered her books and notebooks and left the room. Marina looked at Aunt Valentina, who was already laying out her things on her daughter’s bed.
“Galina Sergeyevna, we really should have discussed this beforehand,” the woman said quietly as she stepped out of the room.
“Oh, stop it, Marina,” her mother-in-law turned to her daughter-in-law. “Family should help each other. Or are you against that?”
At that moment, the front door opened—Dmitry was back. Her husband worked as an engineer at a factory and usually came home at seven in the evening. It was now quarter to eight.
“Oh, Mom,” Dmitry said, hugging Galina Sergeyevna and kissing her on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Dimulya, I’m here with Tolya and Valya,” his mother explained. “They’re from Tver and need somewhere to stay for a few days.”
“Oh, well of course,” her husband nodded. “Where’s Tolya?”
“Getting settled in the living room,” Galina Sergeyevna smiled. “Go say hello to your brother.”
Dmitry went into the living room. Marina stayed standing in the hallway with her mother-in-law, feeling herself boil inside.
“Dima didn’t even ask my opinion,” the woman said quietly.
“And why would he ask?” Galina Sergeyevna said in surprise. “It’s his brother. Family comes first, Marina dear.”
Marina said nothing and went to the kitchen. She needed to make dinner—her son Yegor, seven years old, was hungry after school and football practice. And she herself hadn’t eaten since lunch.
She pulled food out of the fridge and started chopping vegetables for a salad. Her hands moved automatically while thoughts spun through her head. How had it happened that her mother-in-law was now managing the apartment? Why had Dmitry agreed immediately without consulting his wife?
Over the last two years, the situation had changed gradually. Galina Sergeyevna had started coming more and more often, staying longer each time. She used to warn them in advance, ask whether it was convenient. Now she simply rang the doorbell and walked in as if she owned the place.
Dmitry did not object. More than that, he had started supporting his mother in everything. If Marina voiced any dissatisfaction, her husband would say she was exaggerating, that his mother meant well.
“Marina dear, are you making dinner?” Galina Sergeyevna peeked into the kitchen.
“Yes, I’m making a salad now and warming up the soup,” the woman replied without turning around.
“Soup?” her mother-in-law grimaced. “Soup for dinner? No, that won’t do. Make something proper—cutlets with mashed potatoes, for example. Or a roast. We have guests in the house.”
Marina froze with the knife in her hand. Slowly, she turned to face her mother-in-law.
“Galina Sergeyevna, I just got home from work. I’m tired. I was planning a light dinner.”
“Well then, make an effort,” her mother-in-law shrugged. “You can’t leave guests half-starved. That’s impolite.”
“Guests usually warn people before they come,” Marina snapped at last. “So the hosts can prepare.”
“Why do you keep going on about warning people?” Galina Sergeyevna frowned. “Same old song again. Family shouldn’t stand on ceremony.”
“But this is my apartment,” Marina said quietly. “My personal space.”
“Yours?” her mother-in-law raised her eyebrows. “And who is Dima? Doesn’t he live here too? Then it’s his apartment too. And if it’s his, then I have every right to come whenever I want.”
Marina gripped the knife so hard her knuckles turned white. It became hard to breathe—a dull rage was swelling in her chest.
“So are you going to cook or do I have to do everything myself?” Galina Sergeyevna asked impatiently.
“I’ll cook what I planned,” Marina hissed through clenched teeth. “Salad and soup. If someone doesn’t like it, they can order delivery.”
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth to object, but Dmitry entered the kitchen.
“Mom, Tolya’s asking for you,” he said.
Galina Sergeyevna left the kitchen.
Dmitry lingered and looked at his wife.
“Marina, is everything okay?”
“No,” the woman answered shortly, continuing to chop vegetables. “It’s not okay.”
“What happened?” her husband stepped closer.
“What happened is that your mother brought guests over without warning, settled them into our apartment, and is demanding that I cook dinner for them,” Marina looked at Dmitry. “Does that seem normal to you?”
“Marina, come on, it’s Tolya, my brother,” her husband said, spreading his hands. “And Aunt Valya. They’re family.”
“Family usually warns people before visiting,” the woman repeated. “They ask if it’s convenient.”
“What difference does it make?” Dmitry grimaced. “They’re only here for a few days.”
“The difference is that this is our home,” Marina set the knife down. “Our personal space. And we should decide together who gets to come here.”
“You’re exaggerating,” her husband sighed. “Mom just wanted to help the relatives. Hotels are expensive.”
“Help them at my expense?” Marina crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m supposed to cook, clean, and do laundry for guests I never asked for? …
The doorbell caught Marina off guard. She had only just stepped into the apartment, slipped off her shoes, set her bag on the hall table, and headed to the bathroom. The workday had been hellish—three meetings in a row, a conflict with a supplier, a mountain of reports. Her head was pounding, and all she wanted was to reach the couch and close her eyes.
But the ringing persisted—two short rings, one long one. Marina recognized Galina Sergeyevna’s way of ringing instantly. Her mother-in-law always did it like that, as if announcing her arrival with a signal.
“Coming,” the woman sighed, heading for the door.
She opened it to find Galina Sergeyevna standing on the threshold accompanied by two people. Her husband’s brother, Anatoly, a man of about forty-five with a receding hairline and a beer belly. And Aunt Valentina, her mother-in-law’s sister, a heavyset woman in a bright floral dress.
“Good evening, Marinochka,” her mother-in-law said, stepping into the hallway first without even waiting for an invitation. “I brought some relatives. Anatoly came from Tver on business, and Valya came along with him. So I thought, why should they waste money on hotels when you have such a big apartment?”
Marina stood in the doorway, blinking in surprise. Anatoly and Valentina were already carrying bags and packages into the hall. They took off their shoes and hung their coats on the hooks.
“Good evening, Galina Sergeyevna,” Marina said slowly. “And you… didn’t think to warn us?”
“What was there to warn about?” her mother-in-law waved it off. “We’re family. Anatoly is your Dima’s own brother, and Valya is my sister. They’re not strangers, are they?”
“Not strangers, but…” Marina began, but her mother-in-law was already heading deeper into the apartment.
“Valyusha, you’ll stay in the children’s room, there’s a comfortable bed there,” Galina Sergeyevna instructed. “Anatoly can settle on the couch in the living room. Marinochka, where’s the bed linen? We need to make up the beds with fresh sheets.”
Marina stood there, feeling a dull irritation building inside her. The children’s room—that was where her ten-year-old daughter Dasha usually did her homework and played. The living room was a shared family space. And now her mother-in-law was assigning rooms in the apartment as if it were her own.
“Galina Sergeyevna, wait,” the woman caught up with her mother-in-law in the hallway. “Couldn’t you have asked first? Dasha has a test tomorrow, she needs to study.”
“Oh, that’s hardly a problem,” her mother-in-law waved a hand. “She can study in the kitchen or in your bedroom with Dima. Valya is only staying three days, you can put up with it.”
“Three days?” Marina repeated, feeling her fists clench.
“Well, maybe four,” Galina Sergeyevna opened the children’s room door. “Valyusha, go on in, make yourself at home. Marinochka will bring the bedding in a minute.”
Aunt Valentina walked into the room and looked around. Dasha was sitting at her desk with her textbooks and lifted her head when the uninvited guest entered.
“Mom, who is that?” the girl asked.
“That’s Aunt Valya, Daddy’s aunt,” Marina explained, trying to stay calm. “Dasha, can you study in our room for now?”
“But all my books are here,” Dasha said in confusion.
“Take them with you,” her mother asked.
The girl silently gathered her books and notebooks and walked out. Marina looked at Aunt Valentina, who was already laying out her things on her daughter’s bed.
“Galina Sergeyevna, we really should have discussed this in advance,” the woman said quietly as she stepped out of the children’s room.
“Oh, stop it, Marinka,” her mother-in-law turned to her daughter-in-law. “Family should help each other. Or are you against that?”
At that moment the front door opened—Dmitry had come home. Her husband worked as an engineer at a factory and usually came home at seven in the evening. It was now a quarter to eight.
“Oh, Mom,” Dmitry hugged Galina Sergeyevna and kissed her on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Dimulya, I’m here with Tolya and Valya,” his mother explained. “They’re from Tver and need a place to stay for a few days.”
“Oh, sure,” her husband nodded. “Where’s Tolya?”
“Settling into the living room,” Galina Sergeyevna smiled. “Go say hello to your brother.”
Dmitry walked into the living room. Marina remained standing in the hallway with her mother-in-law, feeling herself begin to boil inside.
“Dima didn’t even ask my opinion,” the woman said quietly.
“Why would he need to ask?” Galina Sergeyevna said in surprise. “It’s his brother. Family comes first, Marinochka.”
Marina said nothing and went into the kitchen. She needed to make dinner—her seven-year-old son Yegor was hungry after school and football practice. And she herself hadn’t eaten since lunch.
She took food out of the fridge and began chopping vegetables for a salad. Her hands moved automatically while thoughts spun through her head. How had it come to this, that her mother-in-law was running her apartment? Why had Dmitry agreed right away without consulting his wife?
Over the last two years, the situation had changed gradually. Galina Sergeyevna came more and more often, stayed longer and longer. Before, she used to warn them in advance and ask whether it was convenient. Now she simply rang the bell and walked in as if it were her own home.
Dmitry did not object. More than that, he had begun supporting his mother in everything. If Marina expressed dissatisfaction, her husband would say she was exaggerating and that his mother meant well.
“Marinochka, are you making dinner?” Galina Sergeyevna peeked into the kitchen.
“Yes, I’m making a salad now and heating up the soup,” the woman answered without turning around.
“Soup?” her mother-in-law grimaced. “Soup for dinner? No, that won’t do. Make something proper—cutlets and mashed potatoes, for example. Or a roast. There are guests in the house.”
Marina froze with the knife in her hand. Slowly she turned to face her mother-in-law.
“Galina Sergeyevna, I just got home from work. I’m tired. I was planning a light dinner.”
“Well, make an effort,” her mother-in-law shrugged. “You can’t leave guests half-starved. It’s improper.”
“Guests usually warn people before they come,” Marina snapped. “So the hosts can prepare.”
“Why do you keep going on about warning?” Galina Sergeyevna grimaced. “Same old thing again. Family shouldn’t stand on ceremony.”
“But this is my apartment,” Marina said quietly. “My personal space.”
“Yours?” her mother-in-law raised her eyebrows. “And who is Dima? Doesn’t he live here? Then it’s his apartment too. And if it’s his, then I have the right to come whenever I want.”
Marina gripped the knife so tightly that her knuckles turned white. It became hard to breathe—the dull rage in her chest kept growing.
“So are you going to cook, or do I have to do everything myself?” Galina Sergeyevna asked impatiently.
“I’ll make what I planned,” Marina ground out through clenched teeth. “Salad and soup. Whoever doesn’t like it can order delivery.”
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth to object, but Dmitry walked into the kitchen.
“Mom, Tolya is asking for you,” he said.
Galina Sergeyevna left the kitchen.
Dmitry lingered and looked at his wife.
“Marina, is everything okay?”
“No,” the woman answered shortly, continuing to cut the vegetables. “It’s not okay.”
“What happened?” her husband stepped closer.
“What happened is that your mother brought guests without warning, settled them into our apartment, and is demanding that I cook dinner for them,” Marina looked at Dmitry. “Does that seem normal to you?”
“Marin, but it’s Tolya, my brother,” her husband spread his hands. “And Aunt Valya. They’re family.”
“Family usually warns you before visiting,” the woman repeated. “They ask whether it’s convenient.”
“What difference does it make?” Dmitry grimaced. “They’re only staying a few days.”
“The difference is that this is our home,” Marina set the knife down. “Our personal space. And decisions about who comes here should be made together.”
“You’re exaggerating,” her husband sighed. “Mom just wanted to help the family. Hotels are expensive.”
“Help them at my expense?” Marina crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m supposed to cook, clean, and do laundry for guests I never asked for?”
“Well, you can’t exactly refuse relatives,” Dmitry shrugged.
“You can,” Marina said firmly. “When they don’t respect your boundaries. Since you’re so generous, you can sleep in the living room, and I’ll stay in the bedroom with the kids.”
Her husband said nothing, turned around, and left the kitchen. Marina remained standing by the cutting board, feeling her hands tremble. The conversation had led nowhere—Dmitry, as always, had taken his mother’s side.
That was how it had been in recent years. If a conflict arose between his wife and his mother, the husband chose his mother. He justified her, defended her, and asked Marina to be understanding. But he never thought about his wife’s position.
The woman finished the salad, heated the soup, and set the table. She called everyone to dinner. Galina Sergeyevna, Anatoly, and Valentina sat down at the table and looked over the dishes.
“That’s all?” Anatoly asked in surprise. “Soup and salad?”
“Yes,” Marina answered shortly, ladling soup into bowls.
“That’s rather little,” Aunt Valentina remarked. “I thought there would be something substantial—first course, second course.”
“The soup is the substantial dish,” Marina said calmly.
“You know what I mean,” Valentina pursed her lips. “Meat, a side dish. Proper food.”
Marina set the soup bowl down in front of the aunt a little harder than she intended. The broth splashed over the edges.
“Careful,” Valentina grimaced.
“Sorry,” Marina threw back dryly.
Dinner passed in tense silence. Galina Sergeyevna periodically sighed to demonstrate her displeasure with the menu. Anatoly chewed silently, staring at his phone. Valentina gave advice on how the soup should have been made—more herbs, less salt.
Dmitry tried to ease the tension—he talked about work and asked his brother about his business in town. Marina stayed silent, eating her salad and dreaming of the day finally ending.
After dinner, the woman cleared the table and washed the dishes. Galina Sergeyevna made herself comfortable in the living room in front of the television, and Anatoly joined her. Valentina locked herself in the children’s room—judging by the sounds, she was talking on the phone.
Marina took Dasha and Yegor and sent the children to get ready for bed. Then she went into the bedroom, closed the door, and lay down on the bed. Her head was splitting, her temples pounding. She wanted to scream, throw everyone out of the apartment, take back her space.
But instead the woman simply lay there, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about how it had come to this. At what point had she lost control over her own life? When had she allowed her mother-in-law to run the apartment and her husband to ignore her opinion?
The next day the situation did not improve. Marina woke up early and got ready for work. In the bathroom she ran into Anatoly, who had occupied it for half an hour. She had to wait in the hallway, nervously glancing at the clock.
She made breakfast for everyone—Galina Sergeyevna was demanding pancakes. Marina stood at the stove frying them while the guests leisurely drank coffee in the living room. Dmitry left for work early, citing an urgent meeting.
“Marinochka, can we have the pancakes with sour cream?” Aunt Valentina called from the living room.
“The sour cream is in the fridge,” the woman answered, flipping another pancake.
“Bring it, please,” Valentina asked.
Marina wiped her hands, took the sour cream from the fridge, and brought it into the living room. She returned to the stove—the pancake had burned. She threw it away and poured another ladle of batter.
That was how the morning passed—cooking, cleaning, fulfilling the guests’ requests. Marina arrived at work twenty minutes late and got a reprimand from her boss. The day passed in emergency mode, and she had to stay late to catch up. She came home around nine in the evening. She opened the door—voices and laughter were coming from the kitchen. She went in—Galina Sergeyevna, Anatoly, Valentina, and Dmitry were sitting at the table. In front of them stood empty plates and mugs of tea.
“Oh, Marina’s here,” her mother-in-law looked at her daughter-in-law. “We already ate, sorry. We didn’t wait for you—you’re always late.”
“I see,” the woman walked to the fridge and took out the leftover soup from the day before.
“Marinochka, what are you making for dinner tomorrow?” Galina Sergeyevna asked. “Maybe a casserole? Tolya likes meat casserole.”
Marina froze, holding the container of soup. Slowly she turned to face her mother-in-law.
“Galina Sergeyevna, I’m working late tomorrow. I may not get home until nine.”
“Then make it in advance,” her mother-in-law shrugged. “Get up earlier in the morning and do it.”
“In the morning I get the children ready for school,” Marina felt her jaw tighten. “I make breakfast and see them off.”
“Then make it tonight,” Galina Sergeyevna persisted. “Or run home during lunch tomorrow and do it quickly.”
“I work,” the woman ground out. “I don’t have the option of running home to cook lunches and dinners for guests.”
“What guests?” her mother-in-law grimaced. “We’re family. And besides, you’re the lady of the house, you should take care of the household.”
“Of the household members who actually live here,” Marina clarified. “Not random visitors.”
“Random?” Valentina bristled. “We’re Dima’s relatives!”
“Relatives who arrived without warning,” Marina set the soup container on the table. “Moved into the apartment and demand service. You’re adults—take care of yourselves.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Anatoly frowned. “We’re only here for a couple of days.”
“A couple of days turns into a week,” the woman crossed her arms over her chest. “And I’m not the hired help. If you want food, cook it yourselves or order delivery.”
Galina Sergeyevna rose from her chair and straightened to her full height.
“Marinochka, you’re forgetting yourself. I am Dima’s mother. I have the right to come here whenever I want. And to bring relatives too.”
“No,” Marina said firmly. “You do not. This is my apartment, and I pay the mortgage on it. Dmitry contributes too, but that does not give you the right to run our home.”
“Ours?” her mother-in-law smirked. “Which means it’s Dima’s too. And if it’s Dima’s, then I have every right to be here.”
“Dima didn’t object,” Anatoly added. “He himself invited us to stay.”
Marina looked at her husband. Dmitry sat staring at his phone, pretending not to hear the conversation.
“Dima,” the woman called.
Her husband raised his head and looked at his wife guiltily.
“Well… they’re only here for a little while, Marina.”
“Did you ask my opinion before inviting them?” the woman asked.
“Mom brought them herself, I thought…” Dmitry began, but Marina cut him off:
“You thought for me. Decided that I’d be happy to have uninvited guests I’d have to feed and serve.”
“Oh, stop being dramatic,” her husband grimaced. “Nothing terrible is happening.”
“For you, nothing terrible,” Marina felt her voice begin to tremble with anger. “You go to work and come back to a ready-made dinner. And me? I cook, clean, and do laundry for everyone. And I work full-time too!”
“Well, nobody asked you to play the hero,” Galina Sergeyevna shrugged. “If you want, I’ll cook myself.”
“No need,” Marina snapped. “It would be better if you all left. Today.”
Silence fell. Galina Sergeyevna stared at her daughter-in-law, unable to believe what she had heard.
“What did you say?” her mother-in-law asked slowly.
“I said leave,” Marina repeated, looking straight into Galina Sergeyevna’s eyes. “You, Anatoly, Valentina. All of you. Right now.”
“You’ve lost your mind!” her mother-in-law cried. “You can’t throw us out!”
“I can,” Marina answered calmly. “This is my apartment. And I have the right to decide who lives here.”
“Dima!” Galina Sergeyevna turned to her son. “Do you hear what your wife is saying?!”
Dmitry got up from the table and walked over to Marina.
“Marina, let’s calm down and talk normally…”
“Normally?” the woman recoiled from her husband. “Normally would have been asking me before bringing a crowd of relatives here! Normally would have been respecting my opinion!”
“I do respect it,” Dmitry started, but Marina cut him off.
“No, you don’t! You always take your mother’s side! Whatever she does, you justify her!”
“She’s my mother,” her husband said quietly.
“And I’m your wife!” Marina shouted. “Or does that mean nothing?”
“It does, but…”
“No buts!” the woman felt tears of rage rising. “Either I’m your family, or she is! Choose!”
Dmitry stood there with his head lowered. Galina Sergeyevna came over to her son and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Dimulya, don’t listen to her. It’s just hysteria, it will pass.”
“It’ll pass,” Marina smirked through her tears. “Just like it passed all those years when I stayed silent, endured, and gave in. But it won’t pass anymore. Enough.”
The woman turned and headed for the kitchen door. At the threshold she stopped and turned back.
“This isn’t an all-inclusive hotel!” Marina shouted, looking at the stunned group. “This is my home! And if you don’t respect that—get out!”
She walked out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. She went into the bedroom and locked herself in. She lay on the bed and gave in to tears. She cried for a long time, until she was exhausted, until she had a headache.
An hour later there was a knock at the door. Dmitry entered and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Marina, they left.”
The woman wiped her face and looked at her husband.
“All of them?”
“All of them,” Dmitry nodded. “Mom is very offended. She said you’re ungrateful, that you don’t value family.”
“Let her say what she wants,” Marina sat up in bed. “I don’t care.”
“Marina, maybe we shouldn’t have done this…” her husband began, but the woman interrupted him.
“No, it was necessary. I can’t live like this anymore. Your mother runs my apartment, and you support her. No one asks me anything, no one respects me.”
“I do respect you,” Dmitry objected weakly.
“Prove it,” Marina looked him in the eyes. “Set boundaries with your mother. Tell her she can’t come without warning, can’t bring guests without discussing it with us.”
Her husband said nothing and turned toward the window. Marina understood everything from that silence.
“You can’t,” the woman stated. “For you, your mother matters more than your wife.”
“That’s not true,” Dmitry turned back. “It’s just… she’s alone, it’s hard for her. I can’t abandon her.”
“No one is asking you to abandon her,” Marina said tiredly. “I’m asking you to respect my boundaries. Our boundaries. Is that so hard?”
“For Mom—yes,” her husband admitted. “She’s used to controlling things, to being involved in everything.”
“Then let her get used to something else,” Marina said firmly. “Or I won’t last. Sooner or later I’ll completely snap.”
Dmitry stood up and paced around the room. He stopped by the window, looking out at the night city.
“I need to think,” her husband finally said.
“Think,” Marina nodded. “But remember—if you choose your mother, I won’t stay. I won’t live in an apartment run by my mother-in-law.”
Her husband did not answer and left the bedroom. Marina remained alone, feeling empty. But at the same time relieved—she had finally said everything that had built up over the years.
The following days passed in tense silence. Dmitry came home late from work and barely spoke. Galina Sergeyevna called every day, complaining about her daughter-in-law’s ingratitude. Her husband listened, sighed, and promised he would sort it out.
A week later Dmitry packed his things and left. He said he couldn’t live in such an atmosphere, that he needed time to think. Marina did not stop him—she understood that her husband had made his choice. And that choice was not in her favor.
The rest of the month was spent arranging paperwork. Dmitry moved in with his mother, while Marina stayed in the apartment with the children. She continued paying the mortgage herself—her salary was enough, though she had to economize.
Galina Sergeyevna called a few more times, accusing her daughter-in-law of destroying the family. Marina listened calmly and did not defend herself. Then she simply stopped answering the phone.
Dmitry saw the children on weekends. He took them for the whole day and brought them back in the evening. They only spoke about the children and household matters. They did not discuss personal topics.
Three months after her husband left, Marina felt truly free. The apartment had become her space again—no one barged in without warning, demanded service, or criticized her. The woman set new rules—if anyone wanted to visit, they had to give at least one day’s notice. If they planned to stay overnight, a week’s notice. The children accepted the new rules calmly, even with relief—Dasha admitted she was tired of their grandmother’s constant visits.
Marina signed up for yoga and began spending more time with her friends. Work was no longer the only place where she could escape the chaos at home. Now home had become a place of peace as well.
One evening, when the children were already asleep, Marina sat on the couch with a book. Rain was falling outside, and a floor lamp cast a cozy dim light in the apartment. Quiet, peaceful. No demands, no complaints, no intrusive advice.
The woman thought about Dmitry and Galina Sergeyevna. Did she regret what had happened? No. She only regretted the wasted years, the fact that she had not set boundaries earlier. But better late than never.
The phone rang—Dmitry’s number flashed on the screen. Marina answered.
“Yes?”
“Marina, hi,” her husband’s voice sounded tired. “Can we meet? Talk?”
“About what?” the woman asked calmly.
“About us. About the family. I… I’ve thought a lot. Maybe we could try again?”
Marina was silent for a moment, looking out the window at the rain.
“Dima, are you ready to set boundaries with your mother? To forbid her from coming without warning and interfering in our lives?”
Her husband fell silent. A long pause.
“I… it’s complicated, Marina. She’s my mother.”
“You see,” the woman sighed. “You haven’t changed. Which means nothing will change in the relationship either.”
“But we can try,” Dmitry insisted.
“No,” Marina said firmly. “We can’t. I don’t want to go back to that life. I’m sorry.”
The woman hung up and silenced the phone. She returned to her book, to her quiet evening. Without scandals, without unwanted guests, without the need to please other people.
Free. In her own apartment, in her own life. And that feeling was worth every loss.
In the morning, Roman started up again over breakfast. This time it was about the bonus he had been promised for New Year’s. Ten thousand, maybe even fifteen. Ekaterina nodded as she stirred her tea, picturing a small one-room apartment. Quiet. A place where she would be alone. A place where she would not have to listen to those endless reminders about who earned how much.
She had fifty thousand saved. Enough for the first and last month’s rent. She could look for something not far from work. Furniture… well, she could buy only the essentials at first. The main thing was to leave. Just get up and go before it was too late. Before she became completely alien to herself.
“Are you even listening to me?” Roman frowned.
“Yes, of course,” Ekaterina lied. “I’m listening.”
But her thoughts were far away. She was thinking about divorce constantly now. At work, on the metro, before falling asleep. She ran through the options in her head, searched online for information about how to arrange everything. They were renting the apartment, had no joint property, and no children either. They could separate quickly and without unnecessary drama.
All that remained was to gather the courage to say it out loud.
A week later, everything changed. Roman came home around six in the evening, earlier than usual. His face was gray, drawn, somehow shrunken. He went into the kitchen, poured himself some water, and drank for a long time while staring at the floor.
“The company shut down,” her husband said without lifting his eyes. “That’s it. Everyone was laid off. They’ll pay me for two months, and that’s all. I don’t have a job anymore.”
Ekaterina stood at the stove, stirring the soup. Something inside her turned cold. Not because Roman had lost his job — that could happen to anyone. But because a thought flashed through her mind so quickly: now he will become dependent on me. And suddenly his bragging about his salary seemed so pathetic and absurd that she wanted to laugh. But she held herself back.
“I see,” was all Ekaterina said. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll send out my résumé. Look for something.”
Roman sat down on the couch and turned on the television. Ekaterina finished making dinner and called him. They ate in silence. Her husband immediately went back into the room and did not appear again that evening.
For the first two weeks, he hardly got off the couch at all. He said he was resting after the stress, that he needed time to recover. They had savings — about one hundred and fifty thousand between the two of them. Enough for three or four months if they were careful. Ekaterina kept going to work, came home tired in the evenings, and Roman was still sitting in front of the TV in the same position she had left him in that morning.
“Did you send out your résumé?” Ekaterina would ask, taking off her coat.
“Yes, a few,” Roman would answer without looking away from the screen. “No one’s replied yet. It’s a crisis, you know. Layoffs everywhere.”
But she could see that his laptop was not even turned on. His phone lay beside him untouched. Roman was simply watching some series, flipping from one channel to another.
After a month, things got worse. Her husband had practically moved onto the couch for good. He only got up to eat or go to the bathroom. He started playing some online game — sitting for hours with headphones on, shouting into the microphone, arguing with his teammates. The apartment turned into a pigsty.
Ekaterina would come home from work and see piles of unwashed dishes. Clothes scattered across the floor. Empty plates, crumbs, spilled tea on the table. She tried not to pay attention, cleaning up only after herself. But it was impossible — the mess was closing in from every side.
“Roman, can you at least wash the dishes?” Ekaterina stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the sink piled high.
“Later,” her husband answered without turning his head. “I’m in a raid right now.”
“What raid? You’ve been playing for three hours already!”
“I said later!”
Ekaterina turned around and went to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and looked at her reflection. A tired face, dark circles under her eyes. She was thirty-two years old, but looked all of forty. Because she worked all day and then came home to clean up after a grown man who did not care about anything around him.
They started fighting every day. Ekaterina asked him to clean, and Roman brushed her off. She reminded him that he needed to look for work, and he snapped that she did not understand how hard the labor market was right now. She said she was tired of carrying everything on her shoulders, and he shouted that she was not supporting him in a difficult moment.
“That’s not a man’s job!” Roman declared one evening when Ekaterina once again asked him to at least vacuum.
“And what is a man’s job then? Lying on the couch?” she finally snapped.
“I’m looking for work!”
“You’ve been looking for three months! And not a single interview!”
“Because everyone rejects me! The market is overcrowded!”
Ekaterina closed her eyes and counted to ten. Pointless. Talking to him was pointless. He did not hear her, did not want to hear her. He was simply waiting for her to get tired of arguing and do everything herself.
Their savings were melting away. At first slowly, then faster and faster. Ekaterina took her half — forty thousand — and opened a separate account. She told Roman that she would no longer contribute to the common fund. Let him spend his money, and she would spend hers.
Roman exploded. He shouted that she was abandoning him in a difficult moment, that a real wife should support her husband. Ekaterina silently gathered her things from the shared wardrobe and moved them into another room. From then on, they slept separately.
In the third month of unemployment, something strange happened. Ekaterina woke in the morning because someone was hugging her from behind. She flinched and turned around — it was Roman. Her husband was lying next to her, pressed against her back, breathing softly at the nape of her neck.
“Good morning,” he whispered. “Did you sleep well?”
Ekaterina froze. They had not hugged in six months. They had not talked in the mornings. And now suddenly… She carefully pulled away and sat up in bed.
“Fine. What are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” Roman smiled. “Can I stay with you?”
There was something wrong with his smile. Too wide, too strained. As if he had rehearsed it in front of a mirror.
Over the next few days, Roman transformed. He started helping with the bags when Ekaterina came home from the store. He gave her compliments — said she had beautiful eyes, that this blouse suited her. He asked how her day had gone and listened attentively to the answers. He even washed the dishes a couple of times.
Ekaterina stayed on guard. It was so unlike him that she kept waiting for the catch. Roman could not change in a single day. He was definitely planning something. One evening she came home from work and froze in the doorway. Candles were burning on the table. Plates of food had been set out — clearly not store-bought, something cooked. Soft music was playing. Roman came out of the kitchen in a clean white shirt, holding a bouquet of roses.
“Hi,” he said gently. “Tired? I made dinner.”
Ekaterina slowly took off her coat. She looked at the candles, the flowers, the set table. It was supposed to look romantic. But inside, she turned cold. She knew there was about to be some kind of request. Something for which he had staged this whole performance.
“Thank you,” Ekaterina said carefully, taking the bouquet.
The dinner was not bad. Roman had clearly tried — pasta with seafood, salad, even wine from somewhere. He gallantly pulled out her chair, poured her a glass, told stories from their past. About how they met, how they had gone on their first vacation. Ekaterina listened and felt her anxiety growing. Any moment now. He was about to say it.
After dinner, Roman took her hand. He looked into her eyes so earnestly that she wanted to look away.
“Katya,” he began, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us. About what happened between us. And I realized I was wrong. Forgive me. For everything. For acting like a selfish fool. For not appreciating you.”
Ekaterina said nothing. She waited for the rest.
“Let’s start over,” Roman squeezed her hand tighter. “Let’s give our relationship one more chance. A real one. Without this stupid separate budget, without splitting every bill in half. We’re a family. We should be together in everything. In finances too.”
There it was. Ekaterina leaned back in her chair. Everything fell into place — the sudden tenderness, the compliments, this romantic dinner. The savings had run out. Roman had no money left. And now he remembered that she was his wife.
“So, the money ran out and suddenly you remembered that I’m your wife?” Ekaterina smirked. “Convenient.”
Roman jerked as if struck. His face flushed red.
“What do money have to do with it? I’m talking about feelings!”
“What feelings?” Ekaterina got up from the table. “For three months you lay on the couch while I worked. You did not look for a job, did not clean, did not even wash your own dishes. And now, when your savings are gone, suddenly you’ve decided that we should combine budgets. What a coincidence.”
“You’re misunderstanding everything!”
“I understand everything perfectly well. You need my money. That’s the whole reason for this sudden impulse.”
Roman jumped up, knocking over the chair.
“You’re completely heartless! I’m trying to save our marriage, and you—”
“Save the marriage?” Ekaterina laughed. “You destroyed it with your own hands! When you compared our salaries and shoved pay slips in my face — were you thinking about the marriage then? When you divided the groceries in the fridge into yours and mine — was that caring for the family?”
“That was your demand! You were the one who wanted a separate budget!”
“Because you interrogated me after every purchase! You counted how much I spent on cosmetics, on clothes! You said it was pointless spending!”
Now they were shouting openly, no longer holding back. Everything that had built up over the years was pouring out — resentment, accusations, unspoken pain.
“I just wanted us to live within our means!”
“You wanted control! Control over every penny I spent! And meanwhile you bought whatever you wanted for yourself!”
“I earned more!”
“Only lately! By five thousand! Five pathetic thousand! And you rubbed it in my face every single day!”
Roman fell silent. He lowered his head and clenched his fists.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I was an idiot. But now I understand… Katya, don’t leave. Please. I’ll change. I’ll find a job. I’ll help around the house. Everything will be different.”
Ekaterina looked at her husband. He stood before her with slumped shoulders, confused and pitiful. And she felt nothing. No pity, no anger, no love. Emptiness. As if someone had switched off the light inside her.
“Too late,” Ekaterina said calmly. “It’s already too late, Roma.”
She went into the bedroom. Pulled a large bag from the closet and began packing her things. Roman stood in the doorway, watching her gather everything.
“Where are you going?”
“To a friend’s place. Until I find another apartment.”
“Katya, don’t…”
“I have to. I’m tired. Tired of being your servant. Tired of supporting a grown man who does not even want to look for work.”
“I told you — I’ll find one!”
“You’ve been saying that for three months. And what then?” Ekaterina zipped the bag and looked at Roman. “Do you know what your problem is? You were always waiting for someone else to solve everything for you. Your parents, me, anyone. But I’m not going to be that someone anymore.”
She lifted the bag and put on her coat. Roman tried to block the door, but Ekaterina went around him.
“Wait at least until morning!”
“No.”
“Katya!”
But she was already walking down the stairs. Roman ran out onto the landing and shouted after her, but Ekaterina did not look back. She went outside, hailed a taxi, got into the back seat, and only then exhaled.
Freedom. For the first time in many years, she felt free.
A week later, Ekaterina filed for divorce. Roman called, texted, begged to meet and talk. She did not answer.
The divorce went quickly — no jointly owned property, no children. Just two people who no longer wanted to be together. Roman agreed to all the terms without even arguing.
Ekaterina rented a small apartment. A one-room place with minimal furniture. But it was hers. Her space alone. No one made a mess. No one counted how much she spent on food. No one compared salaries. No one bragged about their successes in a way that humiliated her.
In the evenings, she sat by the window and looked out at the city. She thought about how many years she had wasted on a man who had seen her only as convenience. A source of money, a free housekeeper, an object for his self-affirmation.
But now it was over. And life lay ahead. A new life. Without Roman.
One day, a month after the divorce, a mutual acquaintance texted her. She said that Roman had found a job. Правда, the salary was lower than before — only thirty thousand. And that he had rented a room in a communal apartment because he could not afford a place of his own.
Ekaterina read the message and set the phone down. She felt no gloating. In fact, she felt nothing at all. Roman had simply become part of the past. Someone she had once been with, but no longer was.
She stood up and walked to the mirror. Looked at her reflection. The dark circles under her eyes had faded. Her face looked fresher. She had started smiling again — genuinely, not with strain.
Life went on. And that was a good thing.
