Lyubov Ivanovna stood in front of her daughter-in-law’s apartment door, adjusting the collar of her expensive coat and putting on an expression of noble grief. Her eyes, carefully outlined with eyeliner, shone with the determination of a person used to getting her way at any cost. Sixty-three years of life had taught her many things, but the main lesson was that the whole world must revolve around her, like planets around the sun.
Just a year ago, she had found family happiness with Valentin Ivanovich — a patient and compliant man who had managed to endure her character. So many years had passed since her divorce from her first husband that she had forgotten the taste of home comfort and male attention. But that all collapsed this morning. Valentin Ivanovich dared to contradict her, and now she, proud and unyielding, was seeking a new refuge.
The door opened, and Olga appeared in the doorway — a slim woman of about thirty, with tired eyes and hair gathered in a simple bun. She wore an ordinary house robe and held a towel with which she was drying her wet hands.
“Hello, Olechka,” the mother-in-law’s voice sounded theatrical, with metallic tones honed by years of managerial work. “I’ve come to visit you. I thought I’d check in, see how you and my son live, and how the grandson is growing.”
Olga silently let Lyubov Ivanovna into the apartment. The cramped hallway smelled of borscht and children’s toys. A simple coat rack hung on the wall, and a worn rug lay on the floor. Lyubov Ivanovna glanced over everything with a disdainful look, as if assessing the belongings of a guilty subordinate.
“Hello, Lyubov Ivanovna,” Olga replied restrainedly, helping her mother-in-law take off her coat. “Come in, if it’s about something important. I only stopped by for lunch; I have about twenty minutes. Will you be eating?”
Lyubov Ivanovna was already taking off her shoes, placing her lacquered heels perfectly in line.
“Lunch is fine, but later. Right now, it’s about business,” she paused, savoring the moment. “Sweetheart, you need to free up that apartment your parents left you. Get rid of the tenants. I’ll be living there now.”
Olga froze; the towel slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. Surprise flashed in her eyes, immediately replaced by wariness.
“What are you saying?” she asked quietly.
“What you heard, dear,” Lyubov Ivanovna threw her head back, displaying the profile she once took pride in. “There’s no place for me here, in your two-room flat. And Valentin Ivanovich and I…” — she made a significant pause — “well, I left him myself.”
“So that’s it,” Olga squinted, steel notes creeping into her voice. “You left? I thought Valentin Ivanovich already kicked you out, poor guy couldn’t take it. So now you’re coming after my apartment.”
“No one kicked me out!” the mother-in-law snapped, red patches appearing on her cheeks. “Don’t twist my words! We just decided to live in different parts of the city. You know, I’m a proud woman, and humiliation isn’t for me. If I want, I leave. So I left.”
“Alright, understood,” Olga bent down and picked up the towel. “Then why don’t you go to your own apartment?”
That was a logical question, but Lyubov Ivanovna ignored it. She straightened up to her full height and spoke in a tone that brooked no objections:
“I’m telling you in plain Russian: free that apartment, I’m going to live there. No need to rent it out to strangers. I have nowhere to live now.”
Olga was silent. She knew this manner of her mother-in-law well — a voice that wouldn’t tolerate disagreement, an expression as stern as a marshal at a parade. Lyubov Ivanovna’s habit of putting everyone in their place was polished to a shine after years of managing a utility company. But Olga was not one to back down. If she had shown weakness when she and Igor first married, the mother-in-law would have gladly taken advantage and still be riding on her back.
Olga looked at her mother-in-law and suddenly smiled — that very smile that boded no good.
“Well then, Lyubov Ivanovna, here’s an interesting situation,” her voice softened, almost gentle. “The tenants paid for the apartment a year in advance. So before moving in, you’ll have to refund all their money plus a penalty. If you solve this problem, then fine — live there to your heart’s content. I’m not against it at all.”
Lyubov Ivanovna went pale. An expression of uncontrollable anxiety appeared on her face, which she vainly tried to hide.
“What money? What penalty?”
“Well, these people currently living in my apartment aren’t to blame that you suddenly decided to change your location,” Olga answered innocently, batting her eyelashes. “And they have children too. I understand it’s quite a sum. But what can I do? I’m not going to pay them out of my own pocket — we’ve already spent that money.”
“Where am I supposed to get such money now?” the mother-in-law protested, dramatically shaking her hands.
“Well, if the station it is, if you really have nowhere else to go,” Olga shrugged philosophically. “Or go back to your Valentin Ivanovich. I don’t know what happened between you, but I think there’s always a chance to reconcile. By the way, I almost forgot — there’s a third option: our balcony. But only as a last resort. It’s pretty cold there now, but I’ll even give you a sleeping bag.”
The mother-in-law, struck by such logical audacity, listened silently. The situation was clearly out of her control. Something squeezed painfully in her chest — it always did when the world refused to bend to her will.
“Tell me, are you serious about all this?” she barely managed to squeeze out.
“Absolutely,” Olga confirmed with a sweet, bright smile. “I’m not stingy and am ready for anything for you. And the sleeping bag is great — warm, down-filled. Igor took it with him on a winter fishing trip last year. It’s been in the storage ever since.”
Lyubov Ivanovna quietly sat down on the hallway sofa and pressed her hand to her chest. Everything was going very differently from how she had expected. Fragments of thoughts flickered in her head — about her own apartment she had mortgaged to go abroad, about Valentin Ivanovich who refused to understand her, about how to live from now on.
“You’re shameless! Shameless, Olga! And anyway, how dare you talk to your elders like that?”
“And how do the elders talk to me?” the daughter-in-law immediately retorted. “They, you see, have no shame.”
Just then, the front door opened, and Igor appeared in the doorway — a tall man of about thirty-five with kind eyes and a tired face. Seeing his mother in mild shock and his wife on the defensive, he was slightly surprised.
“Mom, why are you here? You usually can’t be dragged here with a stick.”
“Well, sonny,” the mother-in-law immediately found an ally and tried to win him over. “I came to you with a problem, and your shameless wife is just kicking me out.”
Igor looked at Olga in surprise:
“Olya, is that true?”
“Yes, of course it’s true. Unfortunately, a bitter and confusing truth,” Olga calmly answered. “Your mother is insisting on moving into the apartment my parents left me. Since it’s currently occupied and mom doesn’t have money to evict the tenants, I offered her your old sleeping bag and the balcony. Doesn’t suit her — then the station. Or, finally, Valentin Ivanovich. By the way, mom stubbornly refuses to go back to her own apartment and won’t say why.”
Igor blinked in bewilderment, then muttered:
“Mom, this all sounds really strange…”
“Whose side are you on, son?” the mother-in-law suddenly perked up.
“I just came home to eat. Problems are easier to solve on a full stomach,” Igor replied with a shrug.
Lyubov Ivanovna sighed loudly and exclaimed:
“Suit yourselves! But I’m not leaving so easily. You have to help me solve my problem.”
“Your right,” Olga answered good-naturedly. “I can even pour you some tea. And, by the way, my lunch offer still stands.”
Half an hour later, Lyubov Ivanovna sat in the kitchen, staring into a cup of tea and gloomily pondering life. The small kitchen was cozy despite its simplicity — a vinyl tablecloth with a small floral print, an old refrigerator decorated with children’s drawings, a pot of geranium on the windowsill. All this was strikingly different from her own apartment with expensive furniture and crystal chandeliers.
She understood that her plan to take over her daughter-in-law’s apartment had spectacularly failed. But Lyubov Ivanovna wouldn’t be herself if she gave up so easily. She stubbornly stayed in the kitchen until evening, waiting for Igor and Olga to return from work. In the meantime, she drank all their tea supplies — black, green, and even herbal, which she usually didn’t like.
Finally, the whole family was together again. Joining the company was Lyubov Ivanovna’s grandson — Sashka, an eight-year-old boy with lively eyes and perpetually tousled hair. He was the only one genuinely happy to see his grandmother.
“Grandma!” he shouted joyfully, throwing himself around her neck. “What are you doing here? Are you moving in with us?”
While Lyubov Ivanovna chatted with her grandson, telling him stories and playing with toys, Olga called Igor into another room.
“Igor, I don’t like this story,” Olga began, lowering her voice. “Do you happen to have Valentin Ivanovich’s phone number?”
“I do. Why?”
“Well then, call him. We have to finally solve this problem. We’re not going to kick your mother out to the station. And about the balcony — I said that in the heat of the moment.”
Igor then called Valentin Ivanovich.
“Hello, Valentin Ivanovich. Have you by any chance lost your wife?”
“Yes, something like that. She got a bit lost,” the man’s voice sounded tired. “We had a big fight this morning. She mortgaged her apartment to go on vacation abroad. I, of course, didn’t agree. It’s too late to fix now — she’s racking up serious interest, and she thought I’d pay off the loan. Naturally, I refused. So she ran away. Is she with you?”
“Yes, Valentin Ivanovich, she’s with us looking for a place to live.”
“All right, all right. I’m coming.”
When Valentin Ivanovich appeared at the door — a short gray-haired man in a simple coat and worn boots — Lyubov Ivanovna met him with an angry look.
“Valentin! What are you doing here?”
“Lyuba, let’s go home. Enough of the concerts,” he tried to take her hand, but she pulled away.
“No! I thought you’d do anything for me, but you backed down even in such a small thing!”
Lyubov Ivanovna, realizing she would be persuaded by everyone now, was preparing for a new tragic scene. But then her son ruined all her plans.
“I’ve already called a taxi,” Igor said firmly. “Valentin Ivanovich, take her home. Otherwise, she really will run off to the station.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Lyubov Ivanovna tried to perform the first act of her planned scene.
“Well, if she won’t go home, then you, Valentin Ivanovich, will have to drop her off at the station,” Igor said. “I guess that’s what she wants.”
At that moment, Lyubov Ivanovna realized the jokes were over. No one was going to joke, persuade, or indulge her whims anymore. In her son’s eyes, she saw a determination she hadn’t noticed before, and Valentin Ivanovich looked at her with sadness but without his former gentleness.
“All right, all right, take me wherever, shameless ones,” she said, feeling something break inside.
“Valentin Ivanovich, don’t ever let her go again,” Olga asked, seeing them off to the door. “She’s just like a child.”
When the door closed behind them, the apartment fell silent. Igor hugged his wife by the shoulders, and they stood silently in the hallway. Behind the wall came the sound of children’s laughter — Sashka was playing in his room, unaware of the adult dramas.
“Do you think we did the right thing?” Igor asked quietly.
“How else?” Olga answered. “Sometimes you have to be tough for people to understand boundaries.”
Outside, the taxi door slammed, and Igor went to the window. Below, Valentin Ivanovich was gently helping Lyubov Ivanovna into the car. She was still talking heatedly, waving her hands, but he patiently listened, nodding occasionally.
“Hopefully she’ll come to her senses,” Igor said, stepping away from the window. “And if not — so be it. Everyone chooses their own path.”
