— “Mama and Lyuba have already bought the tickets,” Sergey said casually, not taking his eyes off his phone.
Nina froze, holding a cutting board. Every year it’s the same — her husband forces her into this situation.
— “And when are they coming?” she asked, trying to speak calmly.
— “On the 30th. For a week,” Sergey looked up. “Is something wrong?”
— “Sergey, can we talk?” Nina set the board aside. “For the fourth year in a row, you invite your mom and sister over for New Year’s. And for the fourth year, I’m the one who cooks, sets the table, cleans. All by myself. This year I’d just like to relax.”
— “Wait, wait,” Sergey put his phone down. “So you’re against my family coming to our place for the holidays?”
— “I’m against turning into a servant and watching the holiday pass me by. Do you remember last year? I was cleaning until five in the morning.”
— “Well, sorry that my mom isn’t good enough for your home!”
— “What does that have to do with anything?” Nina raised her eyebrows. “I’m saying I’m tired of being the servant at the celebration.”
— “Oh, right, it’s your house!” Sergey abruptly stood up. “You’re the one paying the mortgage, so you can be in charge!”
— “Sergey, you yourself refused to pay, remember?” she folded her arms across her chest. “You said, ‘What if you kick me out, and I’ve invested in this place?’”
— “Because it’s your premarital apartment!”
— “Where you’ve been living free for five years.”
Sergey blushed:
— “So you’re complaining? Fine, I understand. But Mom and Lyuba are coming anyway; the tickets are already bought.”
— “And you didn’t have to ask me?”
— “What’s there to ask? You were never against it.”
— “I just stayed silent. Do you know how many times your mom said that I cook wrong, clean wrong, live wrong?”
— “Oh, here we go!” Sergey rolled his eyes. “It’s all in your head.”
— “Sergey, last time she rearranged all the dishes in the cupboard because ‘it’s more convenient that way.’ And Lyuba criticized all the salads.”
— “So what? She rearranged the dishes! What’s the big deal?”
— “The problem is that it’s my home. And I want to feel like the mistress of it, not a servant.”
— “I’m tired of constantly having to justify and apologize in my own home,” Nina turned toward the window. “Do you remember what your mom said last time? ‘Sergey, you’re too kind; someone else would have put things in order long ago.’”
— “Nina, you’re exaggerating. Mom is just worried about me.”
— “Worried?” Nina turned to her husband. “Or maybe you can explain why you refuse to pay the mortgage? I remember that at first you were planning to.”
Sergey looked away:
— “I already said — it’s your apartment.”
— “No, Sergey. It’s our home. At least, that’s what I thought. But when your mom and sister come, I feel like a stranger.”
— “What are you even saying!” he waved his hand dismissively. “Everything’s normal, it’s just your imagination.”
Nina shook her head:
— “Remember the year before last when Lyuba declared that the salad should be cut into matchsticks instead of cubes? And she spent half an hour explaining how clumsy I am. And you stayed silent.”
— “What was I supposed to say?”
— “To support me? To tell me I’m a good hostess? That you like how I cook?”
— “Nina, these are just women’s nitpicking,” Sergey grimaced. “It’s just a salad discussion.”
— “No, Sergey. It’s disrespect. Every year I set the festive table, cook, clean — and in return, I only get criticism.”
— “Well, if you want, I can help with the cooking?”
— “It’s not about cooking!” Nina raised her voice. “It’s about the attitude. Your mom and sister act as if they’re doing me a favor by coming over. And I have to jump to greet them.”
Sergey frowned:
— “Maybe you should take it more lightly? They’re not doing it out of malice.”
— “Not out of malice?” Nina gave a bitter laugh. “How else do you call it when your mom keeps talking about ‘ungrateful daughters-in-law’? Or when Lyuba says that ‘some women really don’t know how to create a cozy home’?”
— “But they don’t say that directly to you.”
— “Of course they say it to each other. So that I can hear it.”
A heavy silence fell over the kitchen. Sergey drummed his fingers on the table; Nina gazed out the window.
— “You know,” she finally said, “I keep wondering why you won’t pay for the apartment.”
— “You’re back on your old thing again.”
— “No, really. When we got married, you suggested we split the expenses evenly. And then you suddenly changed your mind. Was it after Mom’s visit?”
Sergey flinched:
— “What does Mom have to do with it?”
— “The fact that right after the New Year’s celebrations, you declared that you wouldn’t contribute to my apartment. Exactly when your mom left.”
— “What are you implying?”
— “I’m not implying. I’m asking directly — did your mom advise you not to pay?”
Sergey blushed and turned away:
— “That’s my decision.”
— “Really? Or did she say something like ‘son, don’t get involved, who knows what might happen’?”
— “Nina!”
— “What, Nina? I can see how she’s influencing you. And Lyuba too — ‘brother, be careful.’”
— “Stop!” Sergey slammed his palm on the table. “Don’t you dare speak of my mom like that!”
— “And what should I say? When she turns every holiday into a demonstration of my shortcomings? When she teaches you not to trust your own wife?”
— “Enough, that’s enough!” he stood up. “Mom and Lyuba are coming whether you like it or not. And let’s close this subject.”
— “No, we’re not closing it,” Nina also stood up. “Because I’m no longer going to stay silent. If you want to invite your mom — fine. But you’ll have to cook and clean yourself.”
— “What?”
— “Exactly. I’m taking the days off for all the holidays. I want to relax.”
— “In your own apartment?” Sergey asked sarcastically.
— “Yes, imagine, in my own. The very one for which I’m the only one paying the mortgage, because you’re afraid of your mom’s disapproval.”
— “The thing is, you always do what your mom says,” Nina opened the refrigerator and began pulling out groceries. “And who are you to me? An add-on to the apartment?”
— “Don’t twist my words.”
— “I’m not twisting them. For four years I’ve endured your mom and sister bossing me around in my own home. How they criticize my every move. And you stay silent.”
— “So what do you suggest?” Sergey folded his arms across his chest. “Should I call and say you don’t want to see them?”
— “I’m suggesting we talk honestly. Explain that we want to spend the holidays just the two of us.”
— “Too late. The tickets are bought.”
— “By the way, about that. Why didn’t you ask me before buying them?”
— “Was I supposed to?”
— “Of course! I’m your wife. Or does my opinion mean nothing?”
Sergey fell silent, turning toward the window. Outside, light snow was falling; in the neighboring building, New Year’s lights had already been switched on.
— “You know what’s most hurtful?” Nina asked quietly. “That you don’t notice how they humiliate me. Do you remember last year when Lyuba said, ‘Some can’t even make a simple meat jelly’? And your mom added, ‘Yes, son, you have to know how to cook.’”
— “So what? A normal conversation.”
— “Normal? They deliberately said it while I was setting the table! And you stayed silent. As always.”
— “Nina, maybe that’s enough? What are you on about?”
— “Because I’m tired! Tired of feeling like a servant. Tired of their insinuations. Tired of you always taking their side.”
The doorbell rang. They both flinched.
— “It’s the neighbor,” Nina said. “She came by for some salt.”
She opened the door. On the threshold stood Marina Lvovna with a suitcase. Behind her, Lyuba was visible.
— “Surprise!” her mother-in-law burst out in song. “We decided to come early!”
Nina froze in the doorway. Sergey peeked from the kitchen:
— “Mom? Weren’t you supposed to come on the 30th…”
— “We thought, why wait?” Marina Lvovna strolled into the apartment, brushing past Nina with her shoulder. “We’ll help the bride with the holiday preparations.”
— “Yes,” Lyuba chimed in, “because last time the table wasn’t set up festively enough.”
Nina slowly closed the door. A wave of indignation welled up inside her.
— “Mom,” Sergey began, “you should have given notice.”
— “Son, aren’t you happy?” Marina Lvovna squinted. “Or is it our Nina who’s against it?” She looked Nina in the eyes. “And don’t even ask about New Year’s cooking like last time. Of course, you’ll be cooking, since it’s your apartment.”
— “Against it? So Nina is against our visit?” Lyuba snorted. “Ordering around in someone else’s apartment? Isn’t that a bit much?”
— “This is my home,” Nina said quietly.
— “What?” Marina Lvovna turned to her. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
— “This is my home,” Nina repeated louder. “And I have the right to decide who comes over and when.”
A silence fell in the hall. Marina Lvovna paled:
— “Sergey, do you hear that? Your wife is kicking her own mother out!”
— “Nina,” Sergey warned.
— “No, let her speak,” Lyuba interrupted. “Let her say how much she hates us.”
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— “I don’t hate anyone,” Nina looked at her husband. “I just want respect. For myself and my home.”
— “Respect?” Marina Lvovna drawled. “Have you earned it? My son lives in your hovel, and you’re criticizing him!”
— “Mom!” Sergey cried.
— “And what, Mom? I’m telling the truth!” Marina Lvovna threw off her coat. “I told you from the start — don’t get involved. You bought an apartment on a mortgage and now think you’re special.”
— “So that’s it,” Nina turned to her husband. “Now it’s clear where your loyalties lie. You advised your son not to contribute, didn’t you?”
— “What’s wrong with that?” Lyuba interjected. “Right, Mom said it! Otherwise, he’d have taken on the crown — the mistress!”
— “Sergey,” Nina looked at him, “say something.”
Sergey shifted his bewildered gaze from his mother to his wife:
— “Let’s not fight. It’s the holidays.”
— “There!” Marina Lvovna triumphantly exclaimed. “Hear that? Your son doesn’t want a scandal! And you’re provoking him.”
— “Am I provoking?” Nina clenched her fists. “You showed up unannounced, insulting me in my own home, and I’m the one to blame?”
— “In your own home?” Lyuba laughed. “Brother, do you hear? It’s in her home! And who are you?”
— “Yes, Sergey,” Marina Lvovna added, “who are you in this house? A tenant? That’s why I told you — don’t pay a single penny. Who knows what she’s planning.”
— “What do you mean by ‘planning’?” Nina raised her voice. “I care about my family! A normal family where husband and wife are partners. Where there is respect and trust. And what have you done? Turned our son against his wife!”
— “How dare you!” Marina Lvovna advanced. “I care about my son! And who do you think you are? I told him, ‘Don’t pay for her apartment, she might kick you out.’ Are you trying to swindle him, dear?”
— “Swindle?” Nina gave a bitter smile. “I’ve been carrying the mortgage alone for five years. I’m the only one cooking, cleaning, washing. And you come over and start inspecting everything.”
— “Because you do everything wrong!” Lyuba shouted. “You can neither cook properly nor keep things in order!”
— “And are you a specialist?” Nina snapped at her sister-in-law. “Maybe you’d show me how it’s done? Or do you only know how to criticize?”
— “Don’t you dare speak to my daughter like that!” Marina Lvovna clutched her chest. “Sergey, do you see? She’s insulting us!”
— “Nina, stop,” Sergey finally intervened. “Why did you put on this show?”
— “A show?” Nina looked at her husband as if seeing him for the first time. “So, I put on a show? And what about your mother admitting how she turned you against me — is that normal?”
— “I was defending my son!” Marina Lvovna shouted. “From people like you!”
— “From people like me?” Nina straightened up. “From women who work, pay the mortgage, and want a normal relationship?”
— “From mercenary types who only think about money!” Lyuba snapped.
— “Right, dear,” Marina Lvovna supported her. “I knew from the start she wasn’t right for our Sergey.”
Nina silently went to the kitchen and returned with a bag:
— “Here are your groceries. Take them.”
— “What?” Marina Lvovna gasped.
— “Take your groceries and leave. Now.”
— “You’re kicking us out?” Lyuba exclaimed.
— “Yes. I’m kicking you out. Because this is my home. And I will no longer allow myself to be humiliated.”
— “Sergey!” Marina Lvovna protested. “Tell her!”
— “Nina, you can’t do this,” Sergey stepped toward his wife. “It’s snowing outside.”
— “I can,” she handed the bag to Marina Lvovna. “And I am. I’m done tolerating this in my own home.”
— “In your own home!” Lyuba mimicked. “Hear that, brother? For her it’s only her home!”
— “And for you?” Nina turned to her husband. “What does this home mean to you, Sergey? A place to live for free? A stage for your mom’s inspections?”
— “Stop,” he shook his head. “You’re exaggerating.”
— “Exaggerating? Fine, let’s ask your mom — why did she advise you not to pay for the apartment?”
— “I cared about my son!” Marina Lvovna cried. “What do you have on your mind!”
— “On your mind?” Nina laughed. “And what about you? All this circus of inspections, nitpicking, insinuations. For what? So that your son will be disappointed in his wife?”
— “Don’t you dare!” Marina Lvovna swung her bag. “Don’t you dare accuse me!”
— “What’s wrong?” Nina stood her ground. “Aren’t your eyes burning? For three years you’ve been coming here and putting on your little shows. And I endured it. Endured it for my husband. I thought maybe you’d get used to it, maybe you’d accept it.”
— “Accept you?” Lyuba snorted. “You’re not even worthy of my brother!”
— “Lyuba!” Sergey scolded his sister.
— “And what, Lyuba? I’m just speaking the truth!” she turned to her brother. “Remember how we used to live. Mom cooked, cleaned. And this one can’t even cut a salad properly!”
— “You know what?” Nina approached the door and flung it open. “Scram. All of you.”
— “How dare you!” Marina Lvovna choked.
— “I dare, because I no longer want to be the punching bag. I don’t want to listen to your mockery. I don’t want you to destroy my family.”
— “You’re the one destroying the family!” Lyuba shouted. “You!”
— “No,” Nina shook her head. “It’s you. With your intrigues, your advice, your jealousy of my husband and brother.”
— “Come on, Mom,” Lyuba grabbed her mother’s hand. “They’re not welcome here.”
— “Sergey!” Marina Lvovna looked at her son with tears. “Tell her!”
Sergey remained silent, lowering his head.
— “Sergey,” Nina said softly, “choose. Now. Either we start living as our own family, free from Mom’s control, or you go with them.”
— “You’re giving me an ultimatum?” he raised his eyes.
— “No. I’m asking you to be a man. Stop being your mommy’s son and start being a husband.”
— “What are you!” Marina Lvovna sputtered. “How can you—”
— “I can,” Nina snapped. “Because I’m tired. Tired of being a bad daughter-in-law. Tired of proving that I’m worthy of your son. Tired of the endless inspections.”
Sergey slowly raised his head:
— “Mom, she’s right.”
— “What?” Marina Lvovna gasped.
— “Nina’s right. You’re hurting her. You’ve been doing it all this time.”
— “Don’t talk nonsense!” Marina Lvovna grabbed her son’s hand. “She’s the one turning you against your own mother!”
— “No, Mom,” Sergey gently freed his hand. “You were the one turning me against my wife. All this time. And I let you.”
— “You just don’t see it!” Lyuba exclaimed. “She’s manipulating you!”
— “Manipulating? Who told me not to invest in the apartment? Who said that Nina was using me?” Sergey smiled sadly.
— “I was protecting you!” Marina Lvovna pressed her hand to her chest. “You’re my only son!”
— “I’m your son, Mom. But I’m also a husband. And you haven’t allowed me to be both.”
— “What are you saying?” Marina Lvovna whispered.
— “The truth, Mom. You won’t let me go. You control, advise, and teach me how to live. And I, like a child, obey. And that destroys my family.”
— “You’ll break Mom’s heart!” Lyuba shouted.
— “No, sister. It’s you who has been breaking our lives with Nina, piece by piece. Every holiday, every visit. I stayed silent and watched you mock my wife.”
— “We weren’t mocking!” Lyuba retorted.
— “Really? And what about your comments on the salads? Mom’s advice on cleaning? The constant insinuations that Nina isn’t good enough?”
— “Son,” Marina Lvovna stepped toward Sergey. “We’re loving.”
— “No, Mom. Not loving. With anger. With jealousy. With a need to control everything.”
Nina stood by the door, hardly believing her ears. For the first time in five years, her husband stood by her side.
— “Get out,” Sergey said firmly. “Nina’s right. We need some time alone.”
— “You’re choosing her?” Marina Lvovna gasped.
— “I choose my family, Mom. My home. My future.”
— “Come on, Mom,” Lyuba pulled her mother toward the exit. “They’ll feel sorry later.”
— “No, we won’t feel sorry,” Sergey shook his head. “I already regret letting you treat Nina like this. Regret not being a real husband.”
Marina Lvovna silently took her bag. At the door she turned:
— “You’re making a mistake, son.”
— “No, Mom. The mistake was letting you destroy my marriage.”
When the door closed behind the guests, silence fell in the apartment. Nina and Sergey stood facing each other, not knowing what to say.
— “Forgive me,” Sergey finally said. “For everything, I’m sorry.”
— “For what exactly?” Nina asked softly.
— “For being a coward. For letting them hurt you. For not being a man.”
— “And now?”
— “Now I want to fix everything. If you’ll let me.”
Nina looked at her husband intently:
— “And how do you plan to do that?”
— “For starters,” Sergey took out his wallet, “here’s my card. Half the mortgage is now mine. And also…”
— “What?”
— “Let’s spend New Year’s together, just you and me. In our home.”
Nina smiled:
— “In our…?”
— “Yes. In our home together.”
