“Here, look. What do you think? It’s not far, about forty minutes from the city. The place seems decent.”
Alla set down the spoon she had been using to stir the cabbage soup and walked over to her husband. Vitya turned the laptop around so she could see. On the screen were photos of a plot of land: a wooden house, an overgrown garden, a leaning fence.
“No lake, like you dreamed of,” he said with an apologetic smile, “but still…”
“Let me see.”
Alla sat down beside him and scrolled through the pictures. The house looked sturdy, though neglected. The plot was large — ten hundred square meters at least. In the far corner stood an old apple tree. They could hang a swing under it. Polinka would be thrilled.
“Mom, what are you looking at?” their daughter called from the room, clutching her plush rabbit to her chest.
“A little house outside the city, sweetheart. Maybe we’ll go there in the summer.”
“With swings?”
“We’ll see.”
The doorbell rang sharply. Vitya got up.
“I’ll get it.”
Alla heard her mother-in-law’s voice from the hallway — loud, confident, filling the entire space around her.
“Vitenka, I was passing by and thought I’d drop in! Is Alla home?”
Tamara Pavlovna entered the kitchen without waiting to be invited.
“Hello, Allochka!” She kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek and immediately noticed the open laptop. She leaned toward the screen. “What’s this? Planning to buy a dacha? And why didn’t you tell me?”
Alla felt something tighten inside her. It was always like this — her mother-in-law appeared and immediately took control of the conversation.
“We’ve only just started looking,” she said calmly. “For now, we’re just checking out options.”
“What options?” Tamara Pavlovna waved dismissively. “Listen to me. My neighbor, Maria Fyodorovna, is selling her house in Sosnovka. She’s moving to Krasnodar to live with her son. It’s a good house, solid, with a large plot. She simply hasn’t been able to keep up with it these last few years because of her bad joints.”
“We’ve already found an option…”
“What kind of option is that?” her mother-in-law said, poking a finger at the screen. “The fence is barely standing. Maria Fyodorovna’s place is all properly built. And I’ll talk to her — she’ll give it to you even cheaper. We’ve been neighbors for so many years. She won’t refuse me.”
Vitya exchanged a glance with Alla. His look said, “Well, maybe it really is a good option.”
“Mom, we’ll think about it,” he said.
“What’s there to think about? Go tomorrow before someone else buys it. I’ll call Maria Fyodorovna and arrange everything.”
Alla silently returned to the stove. The cabbage soup was already boiling; it was time to turn it off. She stared into the pot and thought that only a minute ago, this had been her and Vitya’s day, their choice, their plans. And now her mother-in-law was already calling the neighbor and making arrangements.
Tamara Pavlovna stayed for tea. She talked about Maria Fyodorovna — what a good woman she was, how hard it was for her to live alone, how her son had long been calling her to Krasnodar. Then she moved on to the plot: the soil there was excellent, black earth, it just needed some work. Alla nodded, refilled the tea, and counted the minutes.
“Well, that’s settled,” her mother-in-law said, getting up and adjusting the bag on her shoulder. “Tomorrow at ten, pick me up and we’ll go together. I’ll call Maria Fyodorovna and let her know.”
When the door closed behind her, Vitya looked at his wife.
“So, shall we go and take a look?”
“What choice do we have now?” Alla shrugged.
On Saturday, they picked up her mother-in-law and drove to Sosnovka, all four of them together. Polina bounced in the back seat the whole way, pressing her nose to the window.
“Is there a river there? Is there a dog there? Are there swings there?”
“We’ll see soon,” Alla said with a smile, though inside she felt a strange tension.
From the front seat, Tamara Pavlovna talked about the settlement, the neighbors, and what good people lived there. She spoke without stopping, as if she were conducting a tour.
The house really was good. Strong walls, an intact roof, large windows. The plot was overgrown with weeds, but beneath them you could make out old garden beds, currant bushes, and a raspberry patch by the fence. In the far corner stood a spreading apple tree with a thick trunk.
Polina immediately ran toward it.
“Mom, look! We can put swings here! And a dollhouse!”
Tamara Pavlovna was already walking around the plot like its owner.
“This weed needs to be cleared first. See how much it’s grown? And these old bushes should be cut right down to the root — no use in them at all. You’ll put the greenhouse over there; it’s the perfect spot. And the beds for carrots and beets should go here, in rows.”
Alla listened and felt herself starting to boil inside. They had not even bought anything yet, and her mother-in-law was already giving orders.
But Alla liked the house. She looked at her daughter, at her flushed face from running around, and felt something warm rising inside her. This could become their place. A real one. Their own.
She remembered how, nine years earlier, her mother-in-law had helped both of her sons with money. She and Vitya had put everything into the down payment for their apartment, and Alla’s parents had contributed as well. For many years, they had paid the mortgage themselves, denying themselves everything. But Anton had spent his share on a car, which he totaled two years later. He had stayed in rented housing with Oksana and their two children ever since.
Now Alla had money from her grandmother’s apartment — her share after the sale. This was her contribution, her decision. And this house could become her place for her family.
“Are we taking it?” Vitya came up behind her and hugged her by the shoulders.
“We’re taking it.”
The deal went through quickly. The house was registered in both their names — Vitya’s and Alla’s. Tamara Pavlovna called every day, asking how things were going and giving advice. And when everything was signed, she said over the phone:
“You see how well it all worked out. I’m the one who arranged things with Maria Fyodorovna, and she gave you a discount. You could say I saved you fifty thousand. Without me, you would have overpaid.”
Alla said nothing.
A week later, they came to the plot without her mother-in-law — they wanted to walk around on their own and figure out where to start. But Tamara Pavlovna called, found out they were there, and an hour later she was already walking through the gate.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going? I would have come with you right away.”
She walked around the plot, clicking her tongue.
“You shouldn’t be planning a garden bed here. There isn’t enough sun; nothing will grow. You need to do it over there, where I showed you.”
“Tamara Pavlovna, we’ll figure it out ourselves,” Alla said, trying to stay calm. “It’s important to me to decide for myself what will go where.”
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips.
“Well, suit yourself. I only wanted to help. I do have more experience than you.”
She went inside to drink tea with Vitya, while Alla stayed by the garden bed. A dull irritation was growing inside her. Her mother-in-law seemed to have backed off, but Alla could feel it — not for long.
After that, Tamara Pavlovna pretended she was no longer interfering directly. But in every conversation, she kept returning to the plot — first talking about harvests, then about how the land was sitting unused, then about how it was a shame to let good things go to waste. Vitya listened silently, nodded, and did not argue.
A couple of weeks later, her mother-in-law came to their apartment without warning. She sat in the kitchen, accepted a cup of tea from Alla, and began the conversation from afar — about the weather, about prices in the stores, about how everything was getting more expensive. Then, as if in passing, she said:
“I was thinking, Vitenka. Maybe you could set aside a small little piece of land for me, hm? In the far corner, by the apple tree. I’d work there myself and wouldn’t bother you. I’ll put up a small greenhouse, plant some cucumbers and tomatoes. You have plenty of space there anyway; it’s just sitting empty.”
Vitya hesitated.
“Well… I don’t know, Mom. We need to think it all over.”
“What’s there to think about?” Tamara Pavlovna shrugged. “A small piece of land for your mother. I’m not asking you to give me half the dacha.”
Alla wanted to say it was a bad idea. That Polina had wanted swings there. That it was their place, their plans. But she stayed silent. After all, her mother-in-law really had helped them — both with the apartment back then and with the dacha now. She did not want to offend her. She gripped her cup and said nothing.
When her mother-in-law left, Vitya said:
“Let’s think about it, All. Maybe we really can give her a small patch. It won’t hurt us.”
“Polina wanted swings there.”
“Well, there’s plenty of space. We can hang them somewhere else.”
Alla shook her head but did not argue.
A few evenings later, the phone rang. Vitya answered and stepped out onto the balcony. Alla heard fragments: “Yes, Mom… Well, I don’t know… We need to think…”
When he came back, Alla asked:
“What did your mother want?”
Vitya hesitated.
“She says things are really hard for Anton. Rented apartment, two kids, every penny counts. Vegetables are expensive now; you can barely afford them. They already pay rent, and this way at least they could save a little.”
“What does Anton have to do with this?”
“Well… Mom says he also needs fresh vegetables, and the kids need vitamins. She says family should help each other; that’s how it’s always been in our family.”
Alla put down her book.
“Vitya, do you understand what’s happening? This isn’t about a small piece of land for your mother. This is about bringing Anton and his family onto our plot.”
“Come on,” he waved it off. “Mom just wants to help everyone.”
“Everyone, at our expense.”
Vitya did not answer. He went into the other room and turned on the television.
The following week turned out to be difficult, but pleasant. They came to the plot every day after work. They cleared the weeds, uprooted the old bushes by the fence, and marked out the garden beds. Vitya repaired the porch, replaced a rotten board on the veranda, and oiled the gate hinges — they had squeaked so loudly you could hear them from a kilometer away.
Polina ran around the plot with a little shovel, “helping” them dig. In the evenings, the three of them sat on the porch, drank tea from a thermos, and watched the sun set behind the neighbors’ roofs. Alla felt it — this was the thing she had wanted. Their own place, their own land, their own family.
Tamara Pavlovna did not call or come over. Alla even began to think her mother-in-law had backed down.
On Saturday morning, the phone rang.
“Anton, Oksana, and I want to stop by your dacha. See how you’ve settled in, have some tea. The children haven’t seen Polina in ages.”
Alla wanted to say no, but Vitya was already nodding into the phone.
“Yes, Mom, of course. Come over.”
They arrived around noon. Anton got out of the car first and looked around. Behind him came Oksana with the children — Denis immediately ran to the fence, while Nastya held on to her mother’s hand. Tamara Pavlovna brought up the rear with bags in her hands.
“We brought treats,” she said, handing Alla a bag. “Pies with potatoes and meat, the way Vitya likes them.”
Polina ran out to meet them.
“Nastya! Denis! Come on, I’ll show you the apple tree!”
The children ran to the far corner of the plot. The adults stayed by the house.
Anton walked around the plot slowly, carefully. He looked at the cleared land, the marked-out beds, the shed. Oksana praised the house, but in a strained way, as if out of obligation. Alla could read quiet envy in their eyes — they examined the plot a little longer than was necessary for a simple visit.
“It’s nice here,” Anton finally said. “Spacious.”
“Yes, it’s a good place,” Tamara Pavlovna agreed. “I told you Maria Fyodorovna wouldn’t deceive us.”
Anton clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“We should come over sometime with meat, grill some kebabs, drink cold beer. What do you say, brother?”
Vitya nodded.
“Of course. I’m all for it.”
They went into the house. Anton and Oksana examined every corner — the kitchen, the rooms, the veranda. Alla felt as if her house were being appraised for sale.
At the table, they poured tea. Polina, Denis, and Nastya ran around the yard; their voices drifted in through the open window. Tamara Pavlovna took a sip from her cup and spoke in a tone that suggested everything had long been decided.
“You have a good house. Well done. And most importantly, the plot is big. There’s enough room for you, and more than enough for us to put up a small greenhouse.”
Anton nodded, as if they were discussing something obvious.
Alla set her cup down on the table.
“What do you mean by ‘us’?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” her mother-in-law shrugged. “We’re family. Antosha and Oksana need fresh vegetables too, and they pay rent and save on everything.”
“We would do everything ourselves,” Oksana added quietly. “We’d even help you around the plot.”
Anton said nothing, but he looked at Alla expectantly.
From outside came Nastya’s voice:
“Can you live here in the summer?”
Alla flinched. The innocent child’s question sounded like a siren to her.
“We’ll think about it,” Vitya said before Alla had a chance to open her mouth.
Her mother-in-law smiled.
That evening, after the guests had left and Polina had fallen asleep, Alla went out to her husband on the porch.
“‘We’ll think about it’? Seriously?”
“What was I supposed to say in front of everyone?”
“No. You were supposed to say no.”
Vitya rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“All, this is my family. My mother, my brother. They’re not strangers.”
“And what am I to you? What is Polina to you?”
He did not answer. He sat there, staring into the darkening garden. Alla went back inside.
After that, Tamara Pavlovna called more often. She spoke with Vitya at length, and her tone grew increasingly confident. Alla heard fragments: “Anton will do everything himself… He won’t burden anyone… A greenhouse is nothing, it will take up just a tiny bit of space…”
Vitya promised Alla that he would speak firmly to his mother. But every time, he came back with nothing. Either “it didn’t work out,” or “she got upset,” or “let’s do it later.”
Alla felt as though the ground was slipping out from under her feet. As if her opinion did not matter at all. As if the decision had already been made somewhere out there, between her mother-in-law and her sons, and she was just an annoying obstacle.
The following Saturday, they arrived at the plot in the morning. Polina had talked about the swings the entire way — Daddy had promised to hang them that week. Alla carried tomato seedlings in a box on her lap.
Vitya opened the gate — the hinges no longer squeaked — and froze.
In the far corner of the plot, under the old apple tree, two people were working. Tamara Pavlovna, wearing gardening gloves, was leveling the soil with a rake. Beside her, Anton was driving stakes into the ground, stretching a rope between them. Gardening tools, bags of soil, and metal greenhouse hoops lay on the grass.
Polina tugged at Alla’s hand.
“Mom, what is that? Where will the swings go?”
Alla did not answer. She looked at her husband.
“Vitya,” her voice was quiet but hard. “So you never said anything?”
He spread his hands.
“I… I wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t have time. I thought nothing terrible would happen yet…”
“Wouldn’t happen?” Alla pointed to the far corner. “And what is that, then?”
Tamara Pavlovna noticed them and waved.
“Ah, you’re here! We decided to start early while the weather is good. Antosha, bring more stakes!”
Alla handed the box of seedlings to Vitya and walked toward them across the plot. With every step, something boiled harder inside her.
“Tamara Pavlovna,” she said, stopping a few meters away from her mother-in-law. “We did not give you permission to do anything here yet.”
“What do you mean you didn’t give permission?” her mother-in-law said, taking off her gloves and shaking out her hands. “Vitya approved it a long time ago. Isn’t that right, Antosha?”
Anton nodded.
“Yeah. What’s the problem, anyway?”
Alla turned to her husband. He stood by the gate with the box in his hands, staring at the ground.
“Vitya?”
“I didn’t say I agreed,” he said, lifting his eyes. “I said we’d think about it.”
“Well, we thought about it,” Tamara Pavlovna shrugged. “Why drag it out? I’m the one who found you this house and arranged with Maria Fyodorovna to sell it cheaper. And now what — I’m not even allowed to set foot here?”
Anton came closer, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“All, what’s wrong with you? We just wanted to help. A greenhouse is nothing; it will take up just a little space. Are you really so stingy that you won’t spare a bit of land for family with children?”
Polina stood nearby, looking from her mother to her grandmother. She did not understand what was happening, but she felt that something was wrong.
Tamara Pavlovna waved her hand.
“Allochka, you don’t even need this corner. You have so much land — make garden beds, plant potatoes, whatever you want. And besides, I looked — you planned those beds wrong. There’s not enough sun there; nothing will grow…”
Something clicked inside Alla. She straightened up.
“Enough,” she said firmly. “Enough trying to run our dacha. I know perfectly well what’s best. This is our house and our land. Not a backup family resource for the entire extended family.”
Tamara Pavlovna opened her mouth, but Alla did not let her get a word in.
“There will be no greenhouse here. This is where Polina’s swings will be. And the garden beds we marked out ourselves. And the apple tree under which we will sit in the evenings. Us. Not you.”
“Alla, have you completely lost your conscience?” her mother-in-law flushed red. “I’ve done so much for you!”
“You helped us find the house, and we’re grateful. But that does not give you the right to decide what will happen here.”
Alla turned and walked closer to her husband.
“Vitya, I’m telling you for the last time. Either you deal with your relatives right now, or I’m leaving altogether, and I will never set foot here again.”
Silence fell. Tamara Pavlovna stared at her son. Anton folded his arms across his chest. Polina pressed herself against her mother.
Vitya set the box of seedlings on the ground. He walked over to Alla and stood beside her.
“Mom,” he said quietly but firmly. “Pack up your things. There will be no greenhouse here. This is Alla’s and my house, and we decide what to do here ourselves. I should have said this earlier, but I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s my fault.”
Tamara Pavlovna turned pale.
“Vitenka, what are you saying? You’re taking sides against your own mother?”
“I’m not against you, Mom. I’m for my family.”
Anton snorted and started gathering the tools.
“Fine, then. Come on, Mom. You see, we’re not wanted here.”
They left fifteen minutes later. Tamara Pavlovna did not say goodbye; she only slammed the car door. Anton threw one last remark over his shoulder:
“So much for relatives. Didn’t expect that from you…”
When the car disappeared around the bend, Alla exhaled. Vitya came over and hugged her by the shoulders.
“I’m sorry I dragged it out for so long.”
“The important thing is that you said it.”
Polina tugged at both their hands.
“Are we going to plant tomatoes now?”
Alla smiled.
“Yes, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
Later, rumors started spreading through the family. Vitya’s cousin called and said that Tamara Pavlovna was crying and complaining to everyone about how ungrateful they were. Some uncle wrote in the family chat that young people had completely lost all shame. It was unpleasant for Alla, but with each passing day, it bothered her less and less.
They came to the plot every weekend. Vitya hung the swings under the apple tree — sturdy ones, with a wide seat. Polina swung on them until dark. Alla planted the seedlings and made a flower bed by the porch. Together, they painted the fence, repaired the shed roof, and laid a path from the gate to the house.
One evening, they sat on the porch. It had been a hard day — they had planted currant bushes along the fence, their backs ached, their hands were covered in soil. Polina had fallen asleep in the room after running around all day. The scent of fresh earth drifted from the plot, and from the neighbors’ yard came the smell of blooming lilacs.
Vitya put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“Listen, maybe we should move here altogether? Rent out the apartment and live here ourselves. Polina’s school isn’t far from here, and I can drive to work…”
Alla smiled.
“Why not? I like it here.”
Alla rested her head on his shoulder. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and crickets chirped in the grass.
“It’s a shame things turned out this way with Mom,” Vitya said. “But otherwise, they wouldn’t have understood.”
Alla nodded. Maybe, with time, their relationship would improve. Or maybe it wouldn’t. But that was no longer so important. They had not done anything bad to anyone — they had simply refused to let others take away what they had dreamed of for so long.
Their own house, their own plot of land, their own quiet life away from the city.
And now, at last, it was truly theirs.
