“Enough! This is my apartment, not your dining room!” I shouted, wrenching the ladle out of my mother-in-law’s hands.
The wedding had been beautiful. A restaurant on the riverbank, a white dress Ekaterina had spent three months choosing, happy faces all around. Dmitry read poems he had written himself, the bride’s mother cried with emotion, and Irina Petrovna, the groom’s mother, sat at the table looking thoroughly pleased. Everything was perfect. Almost perfect.
After the honeymoon, the newlyweds returned to Ekaterina’s apartment. Spacious, right in the city center. She had bought it three years before the wedding, saving every penny from her salary. It was her little nest, her fortress. Now she and Dmitry were supposed to build a life there together.
The first two weeks flew by. Ekaterina was settling into married life. Dmitry was getting used to the new home. Everything went smoothly until one Saturday, when the doorbell rang.
“My dear children!” Irina Petrovna burst into the apartment carrying a bag of apples. “I decided to stop by and see how you’ve settled in. Dimочка, show me where everything is.”
Ekaterina smiled and let her mother-in-law in. It was only natural, after all, for a mother to want to see where her son lived. Nothing strange about that.
“Come in, Irina Petrovna. Tea? Coffee?”
“Oh no, thank you. I’m just having a look around.”
Her mother-in-law walked through the apartment, peeking into every corner. Then she stopped in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“Aha, butter, milk, cheese… good. And do you make soup?” Irina Petrovna lifted the lid of the pot on the stove. “Oh, borscht! Well done, Katya. I was afraid my Dimочка might be starving here with you.”
Ekaterina said nothing. Motherly concern, still within normal bounds.
The visit lasted half an hour. Irina Petrovna drank tea, ate three cookies, asked about work and future plans. Then she left, promising to stop by again.
And she did. A week later. Then again three days after that. Then she started showing up more often. Every time, she went straight to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and inspected what was inside. She would take sausage or cheese without asking, tear off a piece of bread.
“Irina Petrovna, would you like to have lunch with us?” Ekaterina offered one day, noticing her mother-in-law opening the refrigerator for the third time that visit.
“Oh no, really, no need. I’m just looking. Although if you happen to have something tasty…”
The woman took out a container with leftovers from last night’s dinner, opened it, and sniffed it.
“Mmm, potatoes with mushrooms. May I try some?”
“Of course,” Ekaterina said, taking out a plate and reheating the food.
Irina Petrovna ate half of it, praised the cooking, and left satisfied.
From that day on, something changed. Her mother-in-law started arriving specifically at lunchtime. Or at dinner. She would appear in the doorway with an innocent expression, say hello, walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and wait.
Ekaterina silently set the table for three. Dmitry was delighted by his mother’s presence, told her about work, laughed at her jokes. And Ekaterina started making more soup, frying more cutlets, buying more bread.
“Dima, your mother comes by very often,” Ekaterina began cautiously one evening, after Irina Petrovna had finally left following a three-hour visit.
“So what? She’s happy her son lives nearby.”
“But every day…”
“Katya, what does it cost you? Mom lives alone, she’s lonely. You don’t mind, do you?”
Ekaterina wanted to say that she did mind. That their grocery budget had gone up by a third. That her mother-in-law ate as much as both of them combined. That the refrigerator was being emptied at an alarming speed. But she kept quiet. She didn’t want to start fighting with her husband in the first months of marriage.
Time passed. Irina Petrovna’s visits became daily. She started appearing around two in the afternoon, when Ekaterina usually cooked lunch. She would sit at the table, take out her phone, scroll through the news, and wait to be fed.
“Irina Petrovna, what about food at your place?” Ekaterina finally asked one day.
“Oh, everything’s fine, don’t worry. It just tastes better here. And the company is pleasant.”
Her mother-in-law smiled, but there was something in that smile that made Ekaterina uneasy. A cold certainty that her daughter-in-law would never dare object.
Irina Petrovna stopped pretending to be modest. She would come in, head straight for the kitchen, open the cupboards and the refrigerator. She took cookies, candy, cheese. She sliced bread, spread butter on it, and ate while standing by the window.
“Katya dear, you’re out of fruit,” she would announce, shutting the refrigerator door. “Please buy some. I can’t do without fruit, you know.”
Ekaterina bought apples. And pears. And grapes. And the expensive cheese Irina Petrovna liked. The supermarket bills kept growing, and her husband’s face showed confusion.
“Katya, have we started eating more? These receipts are enormous.”
“Your mother comes here every day,” Ekaterina answered tiredly. “Every single day, Dima. She has lunch, dinner, snacks. It all costs money.”
“But she’s Mom. What’s the big deal about feeding her?”
“Dima, it’s not about whether I mind feeding her. It’s about the fact that she behaves as if this were her house. She opens cupboards, digs through the refrigerator, takes whatever she wants. Without asking. And then she makes requests.”
“Mom just missed me. She’s used to having me around. Give her time to adjust.”
Ekaterina gave up. Useless. Dmitry either didn’t see the problem or didn’t want to.
Another month passed. Irina Petrovna no longer even said hello when she came in. She opened the door with her own key—Dmitry had given her one without asking his wife—walked into the kitchen, and started cooking something for herself with their groceries. Fried eggs, brewed coffee, sliced their sausage.
“Good morning, Irina Petrovna,” Ekaterina would say, coming out of the bedroom and finding her mother-in-law at the stove.
“Good morning, good morning. Is Dimochka not home?”
“At work.”
“I see. Well then, I’ll have breakfast and go.”
Breakfast. At nine in the morning. In someone else’s apartment. Using someone else’s food.
Ekaterina silently watched her mother-in-law eat her omelet, drink her coffee, butter her bread. She wanted to scream, throw her out, lock the door with every bolt she had. But she couldn’t. This was her husband’s mother. She wasn’t supposed to cause conflict, wasn’t supposed to argue. She had to endure it.
And Irina Petrovna seemed to sense that silent permission. She grew bolder and bolder. She came early in the morning and left late at night. She ate breakfast, lunch, an afternoon snack, and dinner. By the end of the week, the refrigerator was completely empty.
“Katya dear, do you really have nothing at all?” her mother-in-law would say in disappointment, peering into the refrigerator. “Not even any sausages.”
“That’s because you ate them yesterday,” Ekaterina replied evenly.
“Oh, did I really? I don’t remember. Well, buy some more, all right? Dimochka loves sausages, and there aren’t any.”
Sure… Dimochka loves them, but somehow Irina Petrovna is the one who eats them all, the daughter-in-law thought.
On Wednesday, Dmitry left for work earlier than usual. A meeting, he said. An important one. Ekaterina had planned to finally do the laundry, sort through some things, read a book. Rest from her mother-in-law’s constant presence.
But at eleven in the morning, the doorbell rang. Irina Petrovna.
“Hello,” Ekaterina said, opening the door and struggling to hide her disappointment.
“Hello, dear. Is Dimochka home?”
“At work.”
“Oh, well then. I’ll sit here for a bit and wait.”
“He won’t be back until evening,” Ekaterina tried to hint.
“That’s all right. I won’t stay long.”
Irina Petrovna walked into the living room and settled onto the couch. She turned on the TV and took out her knitting.
Ekaterina stood in the doorway for a moment, then sighed and went to the bathroom. She might as well start the laundry, since rest clearly wasn’t happening.
“Irina Petrovna, I’ll be in the bathroom for five minutes, starting the washing machine,” she called from the hallway.
“Go ahead, go ahead, don’t mind me,” her mother-in-law said without even looking up from her knitting.
Ekaterina loaded the laundry, poured in the detergent, selected the cycle. The machine hummed as it started. She stood there for a moment, watching the drum turn. Then she shook her head and went back out.
Irina Petrovna was standing in the kitchen. A ladle in her hand. In front of her on the stove was a pot with the leftovers of yesterday’s soup. Her mother-in-law was clearly about to heat herself some lunch.
“What are you doing?” The voice came out calm, but with steel in it…
The wedding was beautiful. A restaurant by the river, a white dress that Ekaterina had spent three months choosing, happy faces all around. Dmitry read poems he had written himself, the bride’s mother cried with emotion, and Irina Petrovna, the groom’s mother, sat at the table looking pleased. Everything was perfect. Almost perfect.
After the honeymoon, the newlyweds returned to Ekaterina’s apartment. Spacious, in the city center. She had bought it three years before the wedding, saving every penny from her salary. It was her little nest, her fortress. Now she was going to live there with Dmitry.
The first two weeks flew by. Ekaterina was settling into married life. Dmitry was getting used to the new surroundings. Everything was going smoothly until one Saturday, the doorbell rang.
“My dear children!” Irina Petrovna burst into the apartment with a bag of apples. “I decided to stop by and see how you’ve settled in. Dimochka, show me where everything is.”
Ekaterina smiled and let her mother-in-law in. It was normal, after all, for a mother to want to see where her son lived. Nothing strange about that.
“Come in, Irina Petrovna. Tea, coffee?”
“Oh no, thank you. I’m just having a look around.”
Her mother-in-law walked through the apartment, peeking into every corner. Then she stopped in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“Aha, there’s butter, milk, cheese… good. And do you make soup?” Irina Petrovna lifted the lid of the pot on the stove. “Oh, borscht! Well done, Katyusha. I was afraid maybe my Dimochka was starving here with you.”
Ekaterina said nothing. Motherly concern, still within normal limits.
The visit lasted half an hour. Irina Petrovna drank tea, ate three cookies, asked about work and future plans. Then she left, promising to stop by again.
And she did. A week later. Then again three days after that. Then she started showing up more and more often. Every time, her mother-in-law went straight to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, inspected what was inside. She would take some sausage or cheese without asking, tear off a piece of bread.
“Irina Petrovna, would you like to have lunch with us?” Ekaterina offered one day after noticing her opening the fridge for the third time during the visit.
“Oh no, really, don’t bother. I’m just looking. Although if there’s something tasty…”
The woman took out a container with leftovers from yesterday’s dinner, opened it, and smelled it.
“Mmm, potatoes with mushrooms. May I try some?”
“Of course,” Ekaterina said, taking out a plate and warming up the food.
Irina Petrovna ate half of it, praised the cooking, and left satisfied.
From that day on, something changed. Her mother-in-law began coming specifically at lunchtime. Or at dinner. She would appear in the doorway with an innocent expression, say hello, go into the kitchen. Sit at the table and wait.
Ekaterina silently set the table for three. Dmitry was happy to have his mother there, telling her about work and laughing at her jokes. And Ekaterina cooked more soup, fried more cutlets, bought more bread.
“Dima, your mother comes very often,” Ekaterina began cautiously one evening after Irina Petrovna finally left following a three-hour visit.
“So what? She’s happy her son lives nearby.”
“But every day…”
“Katya, what does it cost you? Mom lives alone, she’s lonely. You don’t mind, do you?”
Ekaterina wanted to say that yes, she did mind. That the grocery budget had gone up by a third. That her mother-in-law ate as much as the two of them combined. That the fridge was emptying at an alarming speed. But she stayed silent. She didn’t want to argue with her husband in the first months of marriage.
Time passed. Irina Petrovna’s visits became daily. She would show up around two in the afternoon, when Ekaterina usually made lunch. She would sit at the table, take out her phone, scroll through the news, and wait to be fed.
“Irina Petrovna, what about food at your own home?” Ekaterina finally asked one day, unable to hold back anymore.
“Oh, everything’s fine, don’t worry. It’s just that your food tastes better. And the company is pleasant.”
Her mother-in-law smiled, but there was something in that smile that made Ekaterina uneasy. A cold certainty that the daughter-in-law would never dare object.
Irina Petrovna stopped pretending to be modest. She would come in, go straight to the kitchen, open the cabinets and the refrigerator. She took cookies, candies, cheese. She cut bread, spread butter on it, and ate standing by the window.
“Katyusha, you’re out of fruit,” her mother-in-law would announce, closing the fridge. “Please buy some. I simply can’t do without fruit, you know.”
Ekaterina bought apples. And pears. And grapes. And the expensive cheese Irina Petrovna liked. The grocery bills kept growing, while confusion appeared on her husband’s face.
“Katya, are we eating more now? These receipts are huge.”
“Your mother comes every day,” the woman replied tiredly. “Every day, Dima. She has lunch, dinner, snacks. That all costs money.”
“But she’s Mom. What’s the big deal about feeding her?”
“Dima, it’s not about being stingy. It’s about the fact that she behaves as if this were her home. She opens cabinets, digs through the refrigerator, takes whatever she wants. Without asking. And then she even makes requests.”
“Mom just misses me. She’s used to having me nearby. Give her time to adjust.”
Ekaterina gave up. Useless. Dmitry didn’t see the problem. Or didn’t want to.
Another month passed. Now Irina Petrovna didn’t even greet anyone when she came in. She opened the door with her own key—Dmitry had given her one without asking his wife—went into the kitchen, and started cooking something for herself from their groceries. She fried eggs, made coffee, sliced their sausage.
“Good morning, Irina Petrovna,” Ekaterina would say, coming out of the bedroom and finding her mother-in-law at the stove.
“Good morning, good morning. Is Dimochka not home?”
“He’s at work.”
“I see. Then I’ll have breakfast and go.”
Have breakfast. At nine in the morning. In someone else’s apartment. With someone else’s food.
Ekaterina silently watched her mother-in-law eat her omelet, drink her coffee, butter her bread. She wanted to scream, throw her out, lock the door with every bolt. But she couldn’t. This was her husband’s mother. You weren’t supposed to argue, not supposed to fight. You had to endure it.
And Irina Petrovna seemed to sense that silent consent. She became bolder and bolder. She came early in the morning and left late in the evening. She ate breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner. By the end of the week, the refrigerator was completely empty.
“Katyusha, do you really have nothing at all?” her mother-in-law remarked in disappointment, peering into the fridge. “Not even sausages.”
“Because you ate them yesterday,” Ekaterina answered evenly.
“Oh, did I really? I don’t remember. Well, buy some more, all right? Dimochka likes sausages, and there aren’t any.”
Sure… Dimochka likes them, but somehow Irina Petrovna is the one who eats everything, the daughter-in-law thought.
On Wednesday, Dmitry left for work early. A meeting, he said, an important one. Ekaterina had finally planned to do the laundry, sort through some things, read a book. To rest from the constant presence of her mother-in-law.
But at eleven in the morning, the bell rang. Irina Petrovna.
“Hello,” Ekaterina said as she opened the door, barely hiding her disappointment.
“Hi, dear. Is Dimochka home?”
“At work.”
“Oh, well then. I’ll sit for a little while and wait.”
“He won’t be back until evening,” the woman tried to hint.
“That’s all right, I won’t stay long.”
Irina Petrovna walked into the living room, made herself comfortable on the couch, turned on the television, and took out her knitting.
Ekaterina stood in the doorway for a moment, then sighed and went to the bathroom. At least she could start the laundry, since rest was clearly out of the question.
“Irina Petrovna, I’ll just be in the bathroom for five minutes starting the washing machine,” the woman called from the hallway.
“Go ahead, go ahead, don’t mind me,” her mother-in-law didn’t even look up from her knitting.
Ekaterina loaded the laundry, poured in the detergent, and set the cycle. The machine hummed as it began to run. She stood there for a moment, watching the drum spin. Then she shook her head and came back out.
Irina Petrovna was standing in the kitchen. A ladle in her hand. In front of her on the stove was a pot with the leftovers of yesterday’s soup. Her mother-in-law was clearly about to heat herself some lunch.
“What are you doing?” The voice sounded calm, but there was steel in it.
Irina Petrovna turned around and raised her brows in surprise.
“I’m heating up some soup. I got hungry.”
“Without asking.”
“Oh, Katyusha, don’t be silly. What asking is there between family?”
“Put the ladle back.”
“What?” her mother-in-law frowned.
“I said, put the ladle back. And leave the kitchen.”
Irina Petrovna straightened up. The ladle remained in her hand.
“What, have you completely lost your mind? I’m your husband’s mother! I have the right to eat in my son’s home!”
“This is not my son’s home. It’s my apartment.”
“The apartment where my son lives!”
“And the one I bought with my own money before the marriage!”
Their voices rose. Irina Petrovna stepped forward, still gripping the ladle.
“How dare you tell me what to do! I’m here every day, helping, taking care of Dimochka! And you turn up your nose at me!”
“Taking care of him?” Ekaterina felt her hands clench into fists. “You’re devouring my groceries! Every single day! Three times a day! I can barely fill the refrigerator before you empty it again!”
“I’m not devouring anything! I’m eating! In my son’s home!”
“Enough!” Ekaterina shouted, stepping toward her mother-in-law. “This is my apartment, not your dining room!”
She snatched the ladle out of Irina Petrovna’s hands and threw it into the sink. The metal clanged against the stainless steel.
“You come here every single day! You eat my food, drink my milk, gobble up my apples! I buy the groceries, I cook, and you just come in and take whatever you want! Without asking, without shame, without the slightest respect!”
“How dare you speak to me like that?!” Irina Petrovna’s face turned red. “I’m older than you! I’m a mother!”
“You are not my mother! And this is not your house! Do you understand? Not yours!”
“My son lives here!”
“Your son is just registered here! But the apartment is mine! I pay the mortgage, I pay the utilities, I buy the food! Not you, not Dmitry—me!”
Her mother-in-law stepped back, gasping for air.
“Dima will find out how you’re treating me! He’ll show you!”
“Excellent! Let him find out! Tell him how you came here today without an invitation! How you went into the kitchen to heat up your lunch! Out of my pot, with my ladle, on my stove!”
“I only want what’s best for you! I help! I keep an eye on the house!”
“I don’t need your help!” Ekaterina felt tears running down her cheeks, but her voice did not tremble. “I don’t need you keeping an eye on anything! If I needed help, I would ask for it! You’re just living it up at my expense!”
“Living it up?!” Irina Petrovna screeched.
“Yes! You come, stuff yourself with everything in sight, and then leave! And I go back to the store again, spend money again, cook again! Every single day!”
“Well, excuse me for being a single mother who lets herself eat at her son’s place!”
“You are not eating at your son’s place! You are eating at mine! I earn this money! I stand at the stove! I wash these dishes after your visits!”
Irina Petrovna opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her face went from crimson to pale.
“You… you’re throwing me out?”
“I’m asking you to respect my boundaries! Come when you’re invited! Don’t go through the refrigerator without asking! Don’t cook in my kitchen when I’m not around!”
“This is my son’s house!”
“This is my apartment!” Ekaterina screamed. “Mine! Bought before the marriage! With my money! Dmitry is a resident here, not the owner! And you even more so!”
The lock clicked in the hallway. The door opened, and Dmitry appeared on the threshold.
“What is going on here? I could hear shouting in the stairwell!”
Both women turned toward him. Irina Petrovna recovered first.
“Dimochka! Your wife is insulting me! Driving me out of the house! Saying I’m living off her!”
“I’m telling the truth!” Ekaterina cut in. “Your mother comes here every day! She eats everything in the fridge, even when we’re not home! Today she even tried to heat up her lunch while I was in the bathroom!”
Dmitry looked at his mother, then at his wife. He frowned.
“Mom, is that true?”
“Well… I just wanted a snack. I got hungry.”
“Every day?” his voice grew harder. “You come here every day?”
Irina Petrovna hesitated.
“Well, not every day… almost every day. But I don’t mean anything by it! I just miss you!”
“And every day you eat our food? Even when we’re not here?”
“What’s the big deal? You cook for yourselves anyway! One portion won’t matter.”
Dmitry ran a hand over his face. He stood silently for a moment. Then slowly walked over to his mother.
“Mom, this is wrong.”
“What?” Irina Petrovna could not believe her ears.
“You can’t just come here and eat our food. This is Katya’s apartment. Our home. You are a guest. And guests are invited—they don’t just show up on their own.”
“Dimochka, what are you saying? I’m your mother!”
“Exactly. Which is why you should respect my family. And my wife. Katya is right, Mom. You’re crossing boundaries. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, but I thought I’d let you get used to the fact that I have my own family now.”
Her mother-in-law staggered backward, clutching the back of a chair.
“You’re taking her side? Against your own mother?”
“I’m taking the side of common sense. Mom, you really do come too often. And you behave as if this apartment were yours. It isn’t. This is Katya’s home, the home where I live. And we are both asking you to follow our rules.”
“What rules exactly?!”
“Come when you’re invited. Don’t touch food without asking. Respect our space.”
Irina Petrovna looked at her son as if she were seeing him for the first time. Then she suddenly turned, grabbed her bag.
“Fine then! I won’t come anymore! Live here by yourselves! So I’m an outsider now!”
“Mom, don’t do this…”
“No, no! It’s all clear now! You got married and forgot your mother! Your wife comes first now!”
Her mother-in-law rushed to the door, pulling on her coat as she went. Dmitry tried to stop her, but Irina Petrovna shook him off.
“Don’t touch me! I’ll manage perfectly well on my own!”
The door slammed. Silence hung in the apartment.
Ekaterina stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wall. Her hands were trembling, and there was a lump in her throat. Dmitry slowly came up to her and embraced her.
“I’m sorry. I truly didn’t realize how serious it was.”
“Two months, Dima. I put up with this for two months.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I thought she was just lonely. I didn’t understand it was this… intrusive.”
Ekaterina buried her face in her husband’s shoulder. The tears finally came—out of relief, exhaustion, all the stress that had built up.
“I don’t want to fight with your mother. I really don’t. But I can’t live like this anymore.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll talk to her. I’ll explain that there need to be boundaries. That she can come visit, but as a guest. By invitation. Not every day and not for every meal.”
“Are you really on my side?”
Dmitry pulled back and looked his wife in the eyes.
“I’m on the side of our family. You and I are a family. Mom is our relative. But the family is us. And it’s my duty to protect our home, our space, your peace.”
Ekaterina nodded, wiping away her tears.
“Thank you.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. It’s my responsibility. I’m sorry it took me so long to see the problem.”
That evening, Dmitry called his mother. The conversation was long and difficult. He explained that he loved her, that she was always a welcome guest, but there had to be rules. She could not come every day. She could not take food without asking. She had to respect other people’s space.
Irina Petrovna was hurt, cried, accused her daughter-in-law of ruining their relationship. But Dmitry stood his ground. Gently, but firmly, he explained that boundaries were necessary for a healthy relationship.
A week passed. Irina Petrovna did not show up. The refrigerator stayed full. Ekaterina cooked for two, not three. The grocery bills returned to their usual size.
“Don’t you miss your mother?” his wife asked one day.
“I do,” Dmitry answered honestly. “But I understand that this is right. We can’t live by her rules. We have our own family, our own laws.”
On the eighth day, Dmitry called his mother himself. He invited her to dinner on Saturday. In advance, clearly stating the time.
Irina Petrovna arrived at exactly seven. With flowers and a box of chocolates. She behaved a little stiffly, but with restraint. She didn’t go into the kitchen without being invited. She didn’t open the refrigerator. She sat at the table, ate what was served, and thanked them.
She left two hours later, saying goodbye at the door.
“Thank you for dinner, Katyusha. It was delicious.”
“We’re always happy to see you, Irina Petrovna,” Ekaterina answered sincerely.
When the door closed, her husband hugged her.
“You see? Everything’s fine. We just needed rules.”
“Yes. We did.”
A month later, Irina Petrovna came once a week. By invitation. Sometimes she called ahead to ask whether a visit would be inconvenient. She no longer rummaged through the fridge, no longer cooked in someone else’s kitchen, no longer came for every meal.
The relationship evened out. Mother-in-law an
d daughter-in-law learned to respect each other’s boundaries. Irina Petrovna understood that pushiness destroys relationships, while respect strengthens them. Ekaterina stopped feeling irritated at the sight of her mother-in-law, because now she was truly a guest, not an uninvited freeloader.
One evening, while Dmitry was in the shower, Irina Petrovna cautiously approached her daughter-in-law in the kitchen.
“Katyusha, I wanted to… apologize. For the way I behaved before. I truly didn’t understand that I was causing inconvenience. I thought that since I was part of your family, my son’s home was my home too. But I went too far. Forgive me.”
Ekaterina turned and looked at her mother-in-law. There was sincerity in the older woman’s eyes.
“Thank you, Irina Petrovna. And I apologize for shouting. It had all built up, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I understand. In your place, I would have exploded much sooner.”
The women smiled at each other. The first real, warm smile in all the months they had known each other.
From that day on, the atmosphere in the home truly became peaceful. Boundaries had been set, rules were being followed, and respect was mutual. Ekaterina realized that family is not only about love, but also about knowing how to build healthy relationships. And Dmitry learned to protect not only his mother, but also his wife. To find a balance between the two important women in his life.
And at last, the refrigerator stopped emptying at such an alarming speed.
