— Are you serious right now? Do you even realize what you’re saying?
Valeria was standing in the middle of the kitchen, towel in hand. Just a minute ago, she’d been washing the dishes after a quiet, uneventful dinner filled with small talk. And now this.
Dmitry sat at the table, staring into his plate, avoiding her gaze. He always did that when he knew he was in the wrong but had no intention of admitting it. He was stalling, hoping she might let it go.
— I’m just telling it like it is, he finally said. — My mom is struggling. She needs help.
— So that means she’s moving in with us? Into my apartment? Without even asking me?
— Not without asking. I’m talking it over with you now.
— Talking it over? Valeria set the towel down on the counter. — Dima, you just told me: «Mom will be here on Saturday.» You didn’t ask, you didn’t suggest we discuss it. You’ve just dropped the news like it’s decided.
Dmitry sighed. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. The pose of someone who had prepared for this conversation ahead of time, arguments ready.
— Fine. Let’s talk. I’m proposing that my mom stays with us. For a while. Until she sorts out her issues.
— What issues exactly?
— Different ones. Day-to-day stuff. She’s lonely; it’s hard for her on her own. You know, dad passed away, my sister lives far away. She’s completely alone in that apartment.
— And what’s going to change if she moves here? Valeria sat down opposite her husband. — Dima, we have a two-bedroom apartment. Fifty-four square meters. The kitchen is six meters. Where is she supposed to stay? In the living room?
— The living room is a walkthrough, I get it. But we could figure something out. Maybe put up a screen, for example.
— A screen.
— Well, why not? It would just be temporary.
Valeria studied her husband closely. She had known him for seven years, been married for four. She knew how he lied—more precisely, how he left things unsaid. How he dodged direct answers, blurred the lines. He was doing exactly that right now.
— Dima, she said slowly. — How long is your mom planning to stay with us?
— Like I said, until she sorts things out.
— What things, exactly?
— Well, I don’t know. She just needs some time.
— Time for what?
He fell silent, looking away. Valeria waited. She was good at waiting—years in accounting had taught her that sometimes it’s best to be quiet and let the other person talk. People always reveal themselves if you don’t interrupt.
— Time to recover, Dmitry said at last. — She’s exhausted. She needs to rest.
— Exhausted from what?
— Valeria, why are you interrogating me? The woman is suffering, she’s asking for help. She’s my mother. I can’t say no to her.
— And I can’t just suddenly let someone move into my apartment indefinitely. Without discussion, no timeline, no plan. That’s not normal.
— Our apartment, Dmitry corrected her.
Valeria raised her eyebrow.
— What did you say?
— Ours. We live here together. This is our shared home.
— Dima, the apartment is in my name. I inherited it from my parents. You moved in after we got married. Let’s not pretend this is joint property.
He winced, as if she had stepped on a sore spot.
— So that’s how it is. You’re throwing that in my face now.
«I’m not arguing, I’m just stating a fact. This is my apartment. That doesn’t mean I’m kicking you out or that you don’t belong here. But it does mean that we make decisions about who lives here together. It’s not okay for you to just come in and announce: ‘Mom is coming on Saturday.'»
«I’m not making an announcement. I’m just letting you know.»
«It’s the same thing.»
A heavy silence settled in the kitchen. Outside, it was already getting dark—September had been unusually warm this year, but the evenings were getting longer. Someone in the yard was walking their dog, and the barks could be heard. Just the usual sounds of an ordinary evening.
Valeria stood up and walked to the window. She looked out over the yard—the poplar trees outside had started to turn yellow, though most of their leaves were still green. Soon, autumn would take over, bringing rain, gray skies, and early evenings. Not exactly the best time for changes.
She turned back around.
«Dima, I need to know. Did you tell your mom she could come before you talked to me?»
He stayed silent.
«Dima.»
«I told her that we would discuss it.»
«So she already knows she’ll be coming.»
«She knows I’ll talk to you about it.»
«That’s not an answer.»
He got up from the table and walked over to the sink, poured himself some water and drank. He avoided looking at his wife.
«Valeria, let’s not make a scene. Mom will come and stay for a bit. It’s not a big deal. You won’t even notice she’s here.»
«I will notice.»
«Okay, fine, you’ll notice. But it’s not the end of the world. This is just how life is. Family helps each other out.»
«Family has discussions. They don’t just get hit with fait accompli.»
He turned around abruptly.
«Can you, just for once, put yourself in my shoes? My mom is alone. It’s hard for her. I’m her son. I can’t just say ‘no’ to her.»
«But you can say ‘no’ to me?»
He fell silent. Valeria watched her husband, noticing a coldness welling up inside—not anger, that would come later. Right now, it was clarity. That kind of clarity you get when you suddenly see the whole picture, not just scattered pieces.
«Dima,» she said quietly. «Answer me one question. Did your mom rent out her apartment?»
He flinched. It was barely noticeable, but Valeria caught it.
«Why do you think that?»
«Because you won’t say where she’ll go back to. You never mention how long she’ll stay. You keep using words like ‘for now,’ ‘temporarily,’ ‘for a while.’ But there’s nothing behind that ‘temporarily.’ There’s no end date, no plan. Just emptiness.»
«She hasn’t rented it out.»
«Dima.»
«Well, she’s thinking about it. She’s considering her options.»
«What options?»
He went quiet again. Valeria waited. She felt her heart beat steadily, calmly. It was strange—people usually get anxious at moments like this. She didn’t feel anxious. She was just piecing the facts together.
On September 5th, Dmitry said his mom wanted to come visit. When asked, «For how long?» he answered, «Two weeks, maybe three.» On September 8th, Valeria noticed new things in the hallway closet—not hers, not Dmitry’s. By September 9th, unfamiliar toiletries had appeared in the bathroom. On September 10th, Marina Leonidovna arrived with two large suitcases.
Today is September 12th. And now it turns out that ‘two or three weeks’ has become ‘until she sorts things out.’
«Dima,» Valeria said, «I want an honest answer. Is your mom planning to live here permanently?»
He was silent for a long time. Then he finally said:
— She wants to try.
— Try what?
— Living together. With us.
— Permanently?
— Well, not permanently. Just… for now, it’s more convenient for her.
Valeria closed her eyes for a second. Then she opened them and looked at her husband.
— Did you know about this when you told me it was just two weeks?
— I didn’t know for sure. I suspected.
— So you lied.
— I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything right away.
— That’s a lie, Dima. Just stretched out over time.
He turned away. Walked over to the window, standing with his back to his wife. Silent.
Valeria looked at his back—broad, familiar, someone she had spent four years with. Someone she thought she knew. Now this man was standing in silence, because he had nothing to say.
— Dima,—she called out.—Turn around.
He turned around.
— I want you, right now in front of me, to call your mother and tell her she can’t live with us permanently. That she needs to go back to her place. Or that we’ll find another solution. But not like this.
— Valeria…
— Call her.
— I can’t.
— Why not?
— Because she’s already here. Because she sold everything.
Valeria froze.
— Sold what?
He realized he’d let it slip. His face twitched.
— Nothing. That’s not what I meant to say.
— Dima. What did she sell?
— Furniture. Some of her furniture. She wasn’t planning on going back, Valeria. She rented out her apartment. And she moved in with us.
The kitchen grew very quiet. The clock on the wall—round, with a white face, the one Valeria had picked out herself after much deliberation to match the walls—ticked loudly and evenly.
— She rented out her apartment,—Valeria repeated.—And she moved in.
— Yes.
— And you knew.
— I knew.
— And you stayed silent.
— I wanted everything to go smoothly. I wanted you to get used to it.
— To get used to being lied to?
He sighed. That sigh again—like he was tired, like she was the one driving him to exhaustion. Valeria felt the cold inside her grow heavier. Now, it was more than just clarity. It was a decision.
— Dima,—she said.—Go to your mom. Tell her she has to return to her place.
— Where? She rented out her apartment.
— Then she’ll break the lease. Or find another place. That’s not my problem. It’s yours. Both of you made this decision behind my back. Now you figure out how to fix it.
— Valeria, you don’t understand…
— I understand everything. I understand that you lied to me. I understand that your mother moved into my apartment without asking me. I understand that both of you thought I would just stay quiet and get used to it. Well, I won’t stay quiet. And I won’t get used to it.
He looked at her. His eyes showed confusion, anger, something else. She didn’t bother to figure it out.
— Go,—she said.—Talk to your mom. Or I’ll talk to her myself. But she can’t be here tomorrow.
— That’s cruel.
— It’s honest.
He left the kitchen. Valeria heard him walk into the living room and start talking to his mother—softly, mumbling. Then the voices grew louder. Marina Leonidovna said something, Dmitry answered. She couldn’t make out the words, but Valeria could clearly hear the tone. First—confusion. Then—indignation. Then—hurt.
She stayed in the kitchen. Sat down on the stool, folded her hands in her lap. Her gaze lingered on the table—a light wooden table, with a scratch in the corner. Dmitry made that scratch when he was fixing something and dropped a screwdriver. Just an ordinary scratch. Just an ordinary life.
But this life turned out to be nothing like she imagined.
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen door opened. Marina Leonidovna walked in, wearing a bathrobe, her hair disheveled, red patches on her cheeks. Behind her was Dmitry—silent, moody.
«Valeria,» Marina Leonidovna began. «Dima told me you’re against me living here.»
«Yes,» Valeria replied. «I am.»
«Why?»
«Because no one asked me. Because you rented out your own place and moved here without talking to me. Because this is my apartment.»
«Your apartment,» Marina Leonidovna repeated. «And what is my son here? A tenant?»
«He’s my husband. But that doesn’t give him the right to let anyone move in without my consent.»
«I’m not just anyone. I’m his mother.»
«I know. But that doesn’t change anything.»
Marina Leonidovna sat heavily on a chair. She looked at Valeria with hurt, with reproach.
«I don’t understand you,» she said. «I’ve never done you any harm. I’m quiet, I don’t bother anyone. I help out around the house. I can see you’re tired, I can cook, clean…»
«Marina Leonidovna, that’s not the point.»
«Then what is? That you don’t like me? That I’m a stranger to you?»
«The point is that I was deceived. By you and Dima. You made this decision behind my back and cornered me with a fait accompli.»
«We just wanted the best.»
«For whom?»
Marina Leonidovna fell silent. She looked at her son. Dmitry stood by the door, eyes downcast.
«Dima,» his mother said. «Say something.»
He raised his head. Looked at his wife, then at his mother. Then at his wife again.
«Valeria, let’s find a compromise.»
«What kind?»
«Mom will stay with us for a month. In that time, she’ll find another place to live. I’ll help her.»
«A month.»
«Yes. A month. It’s not forever.»
Valeria looked at her husband. Then at her mother-in-law. Then back at her husband.
«Dima,» she said. «Do you understand what you’re doing right now?»
«What?»
«You’re asking me to be patient again. Asking me to wait again. Asking me to understand—again. Even though I just found out you’ve been lying to me. For weeks. Every day. Looking into my eyes and lying.»
«I wasn’t lying…»
«You were. You knew your mom was moving here for good. You knew she’d rented out her apartment. You knew she wasn’t going back. And you kept quiet. Because you were afraid I’d say ‘no.’»
He didn’t answer. There was nothing he could say.
«I’m tired,» Valeria said. «I’m tired of you making decisions for me. Of you thinking you have the right to decide for me. That my opinion is just something you can ignore if it doesn’t suit you.»
She stood up.
«I’m going to bed. In the morning, Marina Leonidovna, I ask you to pack your things. Dima will help you find a temporary place. Or you can return to your own flat—whatever you choose. But you won’t be living here.»
«That’s cruel,» Marina Leonidovna said. «I’m an old woman…»
«You’re not an old woman. You’re someone who made a decision for me. And now you don’t want to face the consequences.»
Valeria left the kitchen, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her. She sat down on the bed and gazed out the window at the dark sky and the yellow poplar leaves glowing under the streetlamp.
Inside, she felt empty. And quiet. And, strangely, calm.
She lay down and closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly, as if her body decided that was enough for today.
Valeria woke up early the next morning. Dmitry was sleeping nearby—on the far edge of the bed, turned toward the wall. She quietly got up and made her way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on.
Soft sounds floated in from the living room—faint rustling noises. Marina Leonidovna was packing her things. Valeria didn’t check in. She just sat drinking coffee, staring out the window.
At nine in the morning, Dmitry came out of the bedroom. He saw his wife in the kitchen and paused.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re kicking my mother out.”
“I’m asking her to leave. That’s not the same thing.”
“She has nowhere to go. She isn’t leaving.”
“That’s not my problem.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then said:
“If she goes, I’m leaving with her.”
Valeria set down her cup.
“That’s your decision?”
“Yes.”
“Alright.”
He flinched, as if he expected a different reaction. As if she would be scared, plead with him, or back down.
“Alright?” he repeated.
“Yes. If you choose your mother, that’s your choice. I’m not going to stop you.”
“Are you… are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
He stood there for another second. Then he turned and walked into the living room.
An hour later, they left. Marina Leonidovna with the bags she had brought, and Dmitry with a backpack and suitcase. Valeria watched from the window as they loaded the car. Dmitry got behind the wheel, his mother beside him. The car started and drove out of the courtyard.
Valeria stepped away from the window.
The apartment was quiet. And empty. And hers.
She walked through the rooms. In the living room, the beige-and-brown throw blanket Marina Leonidovna had brought was still there—a foreign thing. Valeria folded it, put it in a bag, and placed it on a shelf in the hallway—she’d throw it out later.
She took down the shelves in the bathroom. Cleared space in the closet from other people’s stuff. In the kitchen, she moved the big mug with the writing on it that was sticking out in front—she put it away in a cupboard, further back.
Then she sat on the couch and looked out the window.
The September morning was gray, but bright. The poplars outside the windows were yellow, but hadn’t lost their leaves yet. Someone was walking a dog in the yard. Just regular life.
Valeria picked up her phone and wrote a message: “Dima, let me know when you want to get your things. I won’t be in the way.” She sent it, then set her phone down.
Then she got up and opened the window. Cool, autumn air filled the room—the scent of falling leaves drifting in.
She stood there, looking out over the yard, and felt a sense of relief inside. Slowly, bit by bit. But lighter.
Everything finally felt in its right place.
