Did you put the cups in the wrong way again?» the sharp voice of the mother-in-law filled the small kitchen.
«Anna Vitalievna, I place them the way that makes washing them easier,» the daughter-in-law replied quietly, as she continued to carefully stack the plates in the sink.
Tuesday morning began as usual—with complaints and dissatisfaction. Outside, the city slowly woke up; the gray sky was being overcast by clouds, portending rain. In the kitchen of a typical panel block apartment, another scene of family drama—now routine—was unfolding.
The cramped kitchen, cluttered with old Soviet-era furniture, weighed on Polina more than her mother-in-law’s disapproving look. The yellowish wallpaper, reminiscent of the days when Polina’s current husband was a teenager, created a stifling atmosphere. The kitchen set, darkened by time with paint peeling off in places, seemed a symbol of the waning life in that home.
«You can’t do anything right,» the elderly woman shook her head. «My Pavlik deserves the best. A real wife knows how to run a household.»
The familiar pain twisted in Polina’s chest. She had heard these words nearly every day in various forms. The young woman took a deep breath, counted to five, and slowly exhaled before answering:
«Your son married me, not my culinary skills.»
«Exactly!» the mother-in-law exclaimed triumphantly. «And what a mistake he made!»
At that moment, Pavel entered the kitchen—a tall man with tired eyes and an unreadable expression.
«Are you fighting again?» he asked disinterestedly, opening the refrigerator.
«Your mother thinks I stack the dishes incorrectly,» Polina tried to inject some cheerfulness into her voice, though she did not feel it.
The mother-in-law flailed her hands:
«Of course! She does everything wrong! I’m trying to teach her how a real housewife should behave, but she won’t listen. Stubborn as a mule.»
Pavel took some cheese and bread out of the fridge, pretending not to hear.
«Can’t you ever take my side?» Polina asked quietly, looking at her husband.
The man shrugged as he spread butter on his bread:
«Why choose sides? You are both the closest women to me. Just learn to get along.»
Polina suppressed the urge to fling the wet sponge at her husband. How many times had she heard that phrase? Dozens, hundreds. In a year and a half of living with Pavel’s mother, those words had become the refrain of their relationship.
«I have to go to work,» she said, drying her hands with a towel. «Tell me, please, did you deposit the money for the apartment bill?»
The mother-in-law snorted and demonstratively turned to the window. Pavel pretended to be very absorbed in his sandwich.
«Pasha?» Polina repeated insistently.
«Listen, here’s the thing…» he began, not looking her in the eye. «Mother needed to replace the faucet in the bathroom—it was leaking. And also, to pay for the medicine. I took the money from that pile.»
Polina froze. Twelve thousand, which she had given her husband to pay the utilities of the apartment—almost a third of her salary.
«And how much is left in the account?» she asked, already knowing the answer.
«Well… I spent it all,» confessed Pavel. «But don’t worry! Next month, I’ll repay the debt for this month, I promise.»
Outside, a light, insistent rain began. The drops tapped on the tin windowsill, creating an unsettling accompaniment to the silence of the kitchen.
«So you spent my money repairing your mother’s apartment?» Polina said slowly. «Again?»
«Don’t start,» Pavel frowned. «This isn’t ‘your mother’s apartment,’ it’s our family home.»
«A family home where I am a stranger,» Polina bitterly smirked. «Where your mother reminds me every day that I’m here as a guest.»
The mother-in-law abruptly turned:
«How ungrateful you are! I let you into my home, and you’re still complaining? Maybe you’d do better out on the street?»
«Mom, please, no,» Pavel winced.
«No, listen to what your wife thinks of us!» the elderly woman persisted. «We’re outsiders to her! And you crawled in here when you had nowhere else to live!»
The rain intensified, turning the world outside into a blurred watercolor. Polina thought that the weather perfectly matched her mood—gray and hopeless.
«I’m leaving for work,» she said, trying to keep her tone even. «Tonight, I’ll cook dinner. And yes, Pavel, next time when you decide to spend my money on something else—warn me in advance. I’m not an ATM.»
«Did you hear that, Pavlik?» the mother-in-law bellowed, waving her arms as Polina’s door closed. «What tone! And that’s your wife!»
The man sighed wearily and looked at his watch.
«I have to go too. Don’t worry, mom. She’s just tired.»
All day, Polina worked mechanically, proofreading texts and placing commas in someone else’s articles. The editorial work required attention but did not occupy her every thought. In the breaks between paragraphs, she kept returning to the morning’s conversation, to the money that had once again gone astray, to the endless battle with her mother-in-law in which her husband always remained «neutral.»
After work, Polina stopped by the store. Passing by the meat section, she recalled that she had long wanted to cook a jellied meat pie with minced meat—a dish that Pavel once loved. «Perhaps a good dinner will soften the atmosphere?» she thought as she selected some fresh minced meat.
At home, she was met by an impeccably clean kitchen. The mother-in-law always cleaned until everything shined—and that would have been wonderful if it weren’t another reason for comparisons and reproaches.
«I decided to make a jellied meat pie,» Polina announced as she entered the kitchen. «I hope everyone will like it.»
The mother-in-law, who had been sitting with a newspaper at the table, looked up:
«A jellied pie? You never made it properly. The dough is always raw.»
«This time everything will be perfect,» Polina smiled as she took out the ingredients.
«We’ll see,» the elderly woman snorted, remaining in her seat.
Polina began preparing, trying to ignore her mother-in-law’s piercing gaze. She kneaded the dough, prepared the filling with onions and spices.
«You add too much onion,» noted the mother-in-law. «And you don’t fry the minced meat properly.»
«Everyone has their own recipe,» Polina replied softly, continuing her work.
«But there is only one right recipe—the one that Pavlik loves. And last time he barely finished your pie out of politeness.»
Polina counted silently to calm herself. One, two, three… Ten. It didn’t help.
«You know, Anna Vitalievna, I think Pavel is old enough to decide for himself what he likes and what he doesn’t,» she said, rolling out the dough.
«Don’t tell me how to think about my own son!» the mother-in-law exploded. «I raised him! I know what he loves!»
«Sure you do,» Polina agreed. «But people change. Perhaps his tastes change too.»
That was enough. The mother-in-law sprang up, her face flushing with anger:
«You! You’re trying to steal my son from me! Ever since you showed up here! Do you think I don’t see? You want to come between us!»
«I’m just cooking dinner,» Polina tried to calm her.
«No! You’re showing off like you’re the boss here!» The mother-in-law grabbed the bowl of dough and forcefully threw it on the floor.
The dough scattered across the tiled floor, and the bowl shattered. Polina stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes.
«What are you doing?» she whispered.
«I’m showing who the real boss is!» the older woman declared, seizing a bag of flour and dumping it onto the countertop. «This is my kitchen! Mine! And you are nothing here!»
At that moment, Pavel returned to the apartment. Hearing the commotion, he quickly entered the kitchen and froze in the doorway.
«What’s going on here?» he asked, shifting his gaze from his mother to his wife.
«Your wife is trying to take command in my house!» the mother-in-law shouted, beginning to throw out Polina’s groceries from the refrigerator. «She claims she knows my son better than I do!»
«You lied,» Polina said softly, looking at her husband. «I was just cooking dinner—the pie that you loved.»
Pavel looked bewilderedly at the ruined kitchen:
«Mom, please calm down. Polina, what did you say to her?»
«Why do you always think it’s my fault?» Polina’s voice trembled. «Your mother just destroyed the dinner I was preparing for us. And you ask what I said to her?»
«I know that mom can be emotional sometimes, but you could have provoked her,» Pavel said rationally, as if explaining something obvious to a child.
The mother-in-law smiled triumphantly:
«See? Pavlik knows me. He knows I won’t start a scandal just like that.»
Polina looked at her husband, and something inside her finally broke. It was like the sound of cracking ice—quiet, but unmistakable. She passed by her husband into the bedroom, grabbed her bag, and began to pack her things.
Pavel appeared in the doorway:
«What are you doing?»
«I’m leaving,» she replied simply.
«Where to?» he asked, genuinely surprised.
«Anywhere. Far away from here.»
«You can’t just leave,» protested Pavel. «We are a family. Yes, there are difficulties, but we should solve them together.»
Polina stopped and looked at him:
«A family? Where do you see a family, Pasha? There’s you and your mother here. And I’m just an appendage you both tolerate. My money goes to repair her apartment. My food is thrown on the floor. My opinion means nothing. And you have never, ever taken my side.»
«I don’t choose sides,» he repeated his usual phrase.
«And that’s the problem,» Polina fastened her bag. «When your mother insults me and ruins what I make—it isn’t a neutral situation. Your silence is equivalent to choosing her side.»
Pavel ran his hand through his hair:
«You’re being dramatic. Mom will calm down soon, and we’ll clean up the kitchen together and…»
«No,» Polina said firmly. «It’s over. I’m not going back to this kitchen. I’m not going to cook again only for it to be thrown out. I’m not going to tolerate humiliation. I’m not going to give money to repair an apartment where I’m considered a stranger.»
She took her bag and moved toward the exit. The mother-in-law stood in the corridor with a triumphant expression.
«Running away?» she sneered. «And where do you think you’re going to?»
«Away from you,» Polina replied. «And it is the best decision I’ve made in the last two years.»
«Mom, please, be quiet,» Pavel said irritably as he turned to his wife. «Polina, you can’t just leave. Let’s talk when everyone has calmed down.»
«I am perfectly calm,» Polina said as she put on her coat. «For the first time in a long while.»
The door slammed behind her. She walked down the stairs, expecting to hear her husband’s footsteps, his voice pleading for her to stay. But all she heard was the sound of her own heels on the steps.
The phone rang the next morning when Polina was drinking tea in the kitchen at a friend’s place who had taken her in for the night.
«So, did you lose it and have enough?» Pavel began without preamble. «Mother said you can come back if you apologize for your behavior. She’s even willing not to mention your hysterical exit yesterday.»
Polina listened, feeling not anger but a strange calm growing inside.
«No, Pasha. I’m not coming back.»
«Come on, stop this nonsense,» he interrupted irritably. «Where will you go? You don’t even have your own apartment.»
«That’s none of your business anymore,» she replied. «I’m filing for divorce.»
There was a pause, then Pavel exploded:
«Divorce? Over a pie? Are you out of your mind! Normal wives don’t just run from home when they’re criticized!»
«This isn’t just criticism, Pasha. It’s years of humiliation. And your spinelessness,» Polina sighed. «You were never a husband. You’ve always remained your mother’s son—the one who just brought a convenient woman into the house.»
«How dare you!» he shouted. «After everything I’ve done for you!»
«And what have you done, Pasha?» she asked quietly. «Name one thing you’ve done for me, not for yourself or your mother.»
He fell silent, and in that silence, Polina heard the answer more clearly than any words.
«Goodbye, Pavel,» she said, and ended the call.
The divorce went quickly and almost without pain—there was nothing to divide except memories that no one needed. The mother-in-law celebrated, telling the neighbors that she had kicked out the ungrateful daughter-in-law. Pavel walked around gloomy and resentful—in his view, the wife was supposed to return contritely, but instead she had rebuilt her life.
Polina rented a small apartment, found a second part-time job, and gradually felt that breathing had become easier. Without the daily humiliations, without having to account for every cup placed incorrectly.
Two years passed. The phone rang while Polina was cooking dinner—the very jellied meat pie she once couldn’t finish. An unknown number.
«Polina, it’s me,» Pavel’s voice sounded tired and broken. «I need to talk to you.»
«Speak,» she replied, continuing to roll out the dough.
«Mother is ill. She struggles being alone, and I can’t manage work and caring for her. I need your help.»
Polina paused and involuntarily smirked:
«My help? Why would you need help from a woman who ‘can’t do anything right’?»
«Polina, I understand that I was wrong,» his voice carried desperation. «I was weak—I couldn’t stand up to my mother. But now things are different. We could start anew…»
«I’ve already started anew, Pasha. Without you.»
«But mom needs care!» His voice took on a familiar accusatory tone. «You’re not heartless!»
Polina looked around her cozy kitchen where everything was exactly where she wanted it. At the dough that no one would throw on the floor. In a life where she had finally become the mistress of her own domain, not a guest.
«This isn’t my kitchen, Pavel,» she said firmly. «And it’s not my concern.»
She ended the call and blocked the number. Then she carefully placed the dough in the baking tin, added the filling, and put the pie into the oven. The kitchen filled with the scent of cinnamon and coziness. Outside, the rain was falling, but this time it seemed not gloomy but soothing.
Polina smiled as she watched the raindrops streaming down the window. In someone else’s home, it will always feel cold—even if the stove is blazing. A home can only be the place where you are loved and respected. Where you aren’t a stranger. And where no one throws away what you create with love.
» A man who remains a boy in his relationship with his mother will never be able to become a husband to his wife.» —Carl Jung
