Galina Petrovna stood in the middle of the living room, running her finger along the mantelpiece. Katya watched her in silence, still not understanding where this was going. Her mother-in-law had arrived an hour earlier—without warning, with two suitcases and her daughter Irina.
“Dust,” Galina Petrovna stated. “And these curtains are awful. We’ll take them down tomorrow.”
“I like these curtains,” Katya replied evenly.
Galina Petrovna turned around as though she had just heard something impossible. Irina, sitting on the sofa with her phone, snorted.
“No one asked for your opinion,” her mother-in-law said. “I’m the mistress of this house. You’re a guest. Remember that.”
Katya slowly lowered her hands.
This was her apartment. Hers. Bought with the money from the sale of her grandfather’s house in Tula. Registered in her name. Viktor hadn’t contributed a single penny toward it.
“Galina Petrovna,” she began calmly, “you are currently in my home.”
“In my son’s home,” her mother-in-law snapped. “Which means it’s mine too. Viktor is my own flesh and blood. You’re an outsider.”
Irina looked up from her screen and smiled. Katya had seen that smile many times during her two years of marriage. Condescending. Contemptuous.
“Irochka needs a room,” Galina Petrovna continued in a businesslike tone. “Temporarily. For a couple of months. Maybe three. Her apartment is being renovated.”
“We only have one bedroom,” Katya reminded her.
“Then you can sleep on the sofa. Or on a folding bed in the kitchen. Irochka is a guest, so she needs to be comfortable.”
Katya looked at her mother-in-law for a long moment. Then she shifted her gaze to Irina. Irina didn’t even look up.
“Where’s Viktor?” Katya asked.
“Parking the car. We brought the rest of our things on his roof rack.”
Viktor came in ten minutes later. Katya was waiting for him in the kitchen. She poured herself some water and took a sip before speaking.
“Your mother said she’s the mistress of this house.”
Viktor took off his jacket and hung it on a hook. His movements were slow and cautious. He avoided her eyes.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you.”
“And?”
“Katya, what do you want me to say?” Viktor opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of mineral water. “It’s temporary. Ira really is having renovations done. The upstairs neighbors flooded her place, so everything has to be redone.”
“This is my apartment, Viktor.”
“Ours,” he corrected her.
“No. Mine. And you know that perfectly well.”
Viktor closed the refrigerator and finally looked at her. There was neither guilt nor sympathy in his eyes. Only tired condescension.
“Katya, don’t start. They’re my family. Where else are they supposed to go?”
“To Irina’s apartment. It’s being renovated, not burned down. She can still live there.”
“She can’t. There’s dust and the smell of paint. Galina Petrovna can’t breathe that in. She has asthma.”
“What asthma?” Katya almost laughed. “She smokes half a pack a day.”
“That’s different.”
Katya placed her glass on the table. Slowly. Carefully.
“Viktor, I’m giving you one chance. One. Tell them right now that they’re leaving. Tell them this is our home and there are rules here. Tell them your wife is not a guest in her own apartment.”
“Katya…”
“One chance. I’m not going to repeat myself. I’m not going to beg. I’m not going to cry or complain. Just decide right now whose side you’re on.”
Viktor sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Katya knew that gesture. He did it every time he wanted to avoid a difficult conversation.
“You’re exaggerating. Give it a week and they’ll leave on their own.”
“You said two or three months.”
“Well, maybe a month. I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”
“No,” Katya said. “We won’t.”
She left the kitchen. Viktor didn’t follow her.
In the living room, Galina Petrovna was already unpacking the suitcases. Clothes were scattered across the sofa, the armchair, and the floor. Irina was trying on Katya’s earrings—she had simply taken them out of the jewelry box on the dresser.
“Those are mine,” Katya said.
“I know,” Irina replied without removing them. “I’m just trying them on.”
Galina Petrovna walked over to Katya and peered into her face. Up close. Without the slightest respect for personal space.
“Talked to my son? Calmed down now?”
“Yes, I talked to him.”
“Good. Now go to the kitchen and make us something to eat. Irochka likes fish. Just don’t fry it—stew it with vegetables. And no onions.”
Katya said nothing. She went into the bedroom, closed the door, and took out her phone. She dialed a number.
“Hello. Yes, I need a new lock installed. Today. Can you come in an hour? I’ll give you the address.”
Forty minutes later, the locksmith arrived. Katya opened the door and led him into the hallway. Galina Petrovna came out of the living room with a puzzled expression.
“Who is this?”
“A specialist,” Katya replied. “I’m changing the lock.”
“Why?”
“Because I am.”
The locksmith worked quickly. Katya stood nearby and watched. Viktor came out of the kitchen with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand.
“Katya, what’s going on?”
“I’m changing the lock on my apartment.”
“Why?”
“You got your chance, Viktor. You didn’t use it.”
Galina Petrovna stepped toward her. Something new appeared in her eyes—anxiety.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that in twenty minutes, you’ll pack your things and leave. All three of you.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Irina came out of the living room, still wearing Katya’s earrings.
“Take off the earrings,” Katya said evenly. “That’s not a request.”
Irina looked at her brother. Viktor remained silent. His face showed complete confusion.
“Vitya, say something to her!”
“Katya, you’re going too far…”
“No, Viktor. You went too far. Two years ago, when you allowed your relatives to treat my home as their own. A year ago, when they came ‘for a week’ and stayed for a month. And today, when you kept silent.”
The locksmith finished his work and handed Katya the new keys. She paid him and closed the door behind him. She placed one new key on the dresser. There were no others.
“Viktor, this key is yours. If you want to talk, come back tomorrow. Alone. Without them. Right now, all of you leave.”
“You can’t throw us out!” Galina Petrovna raised her voice.
“I can. This is my property. The documents are all in order. If you want to check, go ahead.”
The next hour was loud.
Galina Petrovna screamed about ingratitude, about how she had raised her son, about how Katya was a nobody and had no right to behave this way. Irina cried theatrically, complete with loud sobs. Viktor rushed back and forth between them and Katya, trying to explain something to one side and then the other.
Katya sat in the kitchen drinking tea.
She didn’t come out. She didn’t argue. She didn’t justify herself.
When the shouting finally stopped, she heard the front door slam.
Silence.
Katya got up and walked through the apartment.
Empty.
The key was lying on the dresser. Viktor hadn’t taken it.
Beside it was a note scribbled on a napkin:
“You’ll regret this.”
Katya crumpled the napkin and threw it into the trash.
Her phone rang an hour later.
Viktor.
“Katya, do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Yes.”
“You threw my family out!”
“I threw out people who don’t respect me in my own home.”
“They’re my relatives! My own flesh and blood!”
“And that was your choice, Viktor. You made it.”
“What choice? You didn’t even give me any time!”
“I gave you two years,” Katya replied. “For two years I stayed quiet, endured it, and hoped things would change. Today I gave you one more chance. You said, ‘We’ll figure it out.’ So I figured it out.”
“I’m coming over. We’ll talk properly.”
“Come tomorrow. Alone.”
“Katya…”
“Good night, Viktor.”
She ended the call.
Viktor came the next day.
Without his mother. Without his sister.
Katya opened the door and let him in.
“Can we?” he asked, nodding toward the kitchen.
“Yes.”
They sat down at the table. Viktor looked exhausted. Katya looked calm.
“They’re staying at a hotel,” he said. “I’m paying for it.”
“Good.”
“No, Katya, it’s not good. It’s expensive. It’s humiliating. It’s…”
“It’s the consequence,” she finished for him. “Of your decisions. Not mine.”
“I didn’t make any decisions!”
“Exactly.”
Viktor fell silent. Katya waited.
“What do you want?” he finally asked.
“Respect. In my home. From everyone.”
“They’re my family, Katya.”
“And I’m not?”
He opened his mouth, but no answer came.
“I see,” Katya said. “Actually, that’s all I needed to know.”
“Wait…”
“Viktor, I’m not going to beg you to love me. I’m not going to fight for your attention. I’m not going to prove that I deserve a place in your life. If you don’t understand that on your own, then there’s no reason for me to stay in this marriage.”
“Are you saying you want a divorce?”
“I want to live with a husband. A partner. A man who will stand by me when his relatives call me a guest in my own home. You are not that man.”
Viktor stood up. He paced around the kitchen and stopped by the window.
“You’re backing me into a corner.”
“No. I’m setting you free. Go to your family. The one you chose.”
“Katya, that’s cruel.”
“What was cruel was your mother deciding yesterday that my bedroom should belong to her daughter. What was cruel was your sister trying on my jewelry without permission. What was cruel was you standing there and saying nothing.”
Viktor turned around. There were tears in his eyes.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then act like a man. Just once.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Call your mother. Right now. In front of me. Tell her she was wrong. Tell her she will apologize to me. In person. Tell her that if she ever behaves like that again, you’ll stop speaking to her.”
“Katya, she’s my mother…”
“This is your choice, Viktor. You’re making it right now.”
He stood motionless.
One second.
Two.
Five.
Then he took out his phone and dialed the number.
Katya heard everything.
Galina Petrovna shouting.
Irina having a hysterical fit in the background.
And Viktor’s quiet but firm voice repeating the same words:
“You will apologize. You were wrong. Katya is my wife.”
When he ended the call, his hands were cold.
Katya covered them with her own.
“That was the right thing to do,” she said.
“It hurt.”
“I know. But you did it.”
Viktor looked at her—and for the first time in two years, there was genuine respect in his eyes.
“They’ll come tomorrow,” he said. “To apologize.”
“Good. I’ll accept their apology. Once. If this happens again, they will never cross this threshold again.”
“I understand.”
Katya stood up and poured him some tea. Hot and strong, just the way he liked it.
“Sit down,” she said. “Now we can talk properly. About us.”
Viktor sat down.
For the first time in a long while, he looked like her husband.
Not someone’s son.
