Olga lined up three yogurt cups — raspberry, peach, and blueberry. Exactly in that order. A rule is a rule. The yogurts stood close together. Proper. Neat.
The sound of a key in the lock broke the silence. Viktor came home from work earlier than usual.
“Ol, you home?” her husband peeked into the kitchen and went straight to the fridge.
“No, I’m not,” Olga was sorting grains and didn’t even turn around.
“Why so gloomy?” Vitya took the blueberry yogurt — the last in the row — and sat down at the table.
“Where are the papers from the bank? I left them on the table.”
“Oh, those,” Viktor hesitated. “In the study. I was looking through something in there.”
Olga frowned even harder. Something in his voice was off. She went to the study. A desk drawer wasn’t fully closed. Olga pulled it out and froze. Under the folder with the bank documents lay some paper with a stamp. She took it out.
Certificate of registration. Tamara Markovna Vorontsova. Registered at the address… their address. Dated three weeks ago.
“Vit!” Olga burst into the kitchen, waving the document. “What is this?!”
Viktor choked on his yogurt.
“Ol, I can explain…”
“Explain?! You registered your mother at our apartment?! Without telling me?!”
“She’s an elderly person, she needs guarantees…”
“What guarantees?” Olga slapped her palm on the table. “We bought this apartment together! Did you ask me? No!”
“Mom worries about the future…”
“And I don’t? Mom worries, but the wife doesn’t?”
Viktor was silent. Olga looked at him, boiling inside. Thirty years together! She’d scrimped on everything so they could buy this place. Thirty years! And like this, behind her back…
“How long have you been planning this?”
“Ol, it’s just a formality.”
“A formality?” her voice trembled. “Registering someone at our apartment is a formality?”
“It makes Mom feel calmer. She’s afraid she’ll end up alone, without a roof over her head…”
“And I’m supposed to be afraid that a third owner will appear in our apartment?”
Olga clenched the document in her hand. Viktor lowered his eyes guiltily.
“Does Tamara know that I found out?”
“Not yet.”
“Perfect!” Olga threw the paper onto the table. “Just perfect, Vit.”
He reached out to her.
“Ol, don’t be mad. Mom didn’t mean anything bad.”
Olga recoiled.
“This isn’t about your mom! You! You did this behind my back! You lied to me for three weeks!”
“I didn’t lie…”
“And what do you call it?” Olga flung up her hands. “Omission? A little secret? I’m just stunned, Vit!”
Olga left the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door. Her heart pounded. She hadn’t expected such a betrayal from Vitya. For the first time in thirty years of marriage she wanted to howl with hurt. The phone rang. On the screen: “Tamara Markovna.” But of course!
“Hello, Olechka! How are you?” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded overly sweet.
“Fine,” Olga answered curtly.
“And I have news! I’ll drop by tomorrow. I want to bring some of my things, free up a shelf in the closet for me, alright?”
Olga nearly choked.
“What shelf?”
“Well, you know,” a note of superiority crept into her voice. “I have rights now, too. Didn’t Vitenka tell you? I’m registered at your place.”
“I already know.”
“Wonderful!” Tamara Markovna rejoiced. “Then expect me tomorrow. And don’t forget to make soup, I love your borscht.”
Olga hung up. So that’s how it is! Not just registration — a move-in! Tamara was planning to settle there. No way!
In the morning Olga took a day off and went to the public services center (MFC). They explained to her that without the second owner’s consent, the registration was illegal.
“I need a lawyer’s consultation,” she said firmly.
An hour later Olga was already in the office of Anton Sergeyevich, showing him the apartment papers.
“Registration without your consent is invalid,” the lawyer confirmed. “I’ll prepare a petition. The procedure will take a week.”
“Prepare it,” Olga nodded.
In the evening she came home and calmly started cooking dinner. Viktor hovered nearby, casting guilty glances.
“Ol, are you still mad?”
“No,” she smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
“Really?” Viktor brightened.
“Absolutely. I’ve decided everything.”
Viktor froze.
“Decided what?”
“You’ll find out,” Olga shrugged. “Let’s have dinner.”
On Saturday she invited Tamara Markovna over for dinner. The latter showed up with a huge bag.
“Brought my things,” the mother-in-law explained. “And my own bed linen. I don’t like sleeping on other people’s.”
“How thoughtful,” Olga smiled.
Over dinner Tamara let herself go:
“Now we’ll live as one family! I’ve already picked out a room — the one you call a study.”
“Mom, we didn’t discuss this,” Viktor grew uneasy.
“What’s there to discuss? I’m registered here, I have every right!”
Olga stood up and took a folder from her bag.
“Tamara Markovna, here is the decision recognizing your registration as invalid. As of tomorrow you are no longer registered here.”
“What?!” the mother-in-law flushed purple. “Vitya, what does this mean?!”
“Ol, what have you done?” Viktor looked helplessly from his wife to his mother.
“Restored justice,” Olga replied calmly. “Without my consent the registration is illegal. I didn’t give that consent.”
“How dare you?!” Tamara Markovna pounded her fist on the table. “Vitya, tell her!”
Viktor was silent, staring at his plate.
“Please take your things, Tamara Markovna,” Olga nodded toward the bag. “The move is canceled.”
“Vitya!” Tamara Markovna jumped up. “Are you going to let her treat me like this? I’m your mother!”
Viktor sat with his head bowed. Olga looked at him steadily.
“Mom, Olya’s right. I should have consulted her.”
“Consult your wife? About your own mother?” Tamara clutched at her heart. “My blood pressure! My pills! Where are my pills?”
She began rummaging in her purse. Viktor sprang up.
“Mom, calm down. I’ll get you some water.”
“No water!” the mother-in-law snapped. “Take my things and drive me home! I won’t stay here another minute!”
Olga folded her arms across her chest.
“Excellent idea.”
When the door closed behind Viktor and his mother, Olga sat in an armchair and exhaled. Her hands trembled, but she had done it. She wouldn’t be fooled. She had worked her whole life, bent her back for this apartment. No one would take her home from her.
Viktor returned two hours later. He came in quietly, as if he were afraid.
“Ol…”
“How’s your mother?” Olga cut him off. “Did she calm down?”
“Not really. Says I’m a traitor.”
“And you?”
“And I…” Viktor rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know, Ol. She’s my mother. She’s getting old.”
“And that’s why you secretly registered her in our apartment?” Olga shook her head. “You know what hurt me the most? Not that you did it. That you hid it from me.”
Viktor sat down beside her.
“I was afraid you’d be against it.”
“Of course I would!” Olga threw up her hands. “So what then? To deceive me is the best solution?”
“I didn’t want to deceive you. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“And now do you know?”
He shook his head.
“Now I’ve ruined everything.”
They sat in silence. Then Olga asked quietly:
“Why didn’t you tell her the truth? That it was me who got the registration canceled?”
“Wasn’t it you?”
“No, Vit. The law did. Because it’s invalid without my consent. You broke the law, not me.”
Viktor sighed.
“Mom says she’ll end up alone. That nobody needs her.”
“And that’s why she decided to move in here?”
“I didn’t think she’d actually move!”
“Seriously?” Olga smirked. “Then what was the registration for?”
“For the future…” he faltered. “In case something happens to me.”
“Vit,” Olga took his hand. “Your mom was testing us. Registration is the first step. Then moving in. Then control over everything. I’m not against helping her. But living with her — no.”
Viktor was silent for a long time, then nodded.
“You’re right. I chickened out. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll forgive the cowardice. Not the deceit.”
“So what now?”
Olga stood up.
“Now, rules. First: no secrets. Second: your mother lives in her own place. We help, we visit, but she lives separately. Third: all important decisions — together.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
“Then choose: either me or your mother in this apartment.”
He looked up at her.
“Ol, are you giving me an ultimatum?”
“I’m putting a period on this, Vit. Thirty years of marriage and suddenly a stunt like this. How am I supposed to trust you now?”
Viktor’s phone rang. The screen said: “Mom.”
“Not going to answer?” Olga asked.
Viktor looked at the phone, then tapped “decline.”
“I’ll call her back later,” he said. “First we need to come to an agreement.”
Olga nodded.
“Right. We’re a family. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us.”
The next day Viktor went to see his mother. He came back three hours later, eyes red.
“Was it hard?” Olga asked, brewing tea.
“That doesn’t begin to cover it,” Viktor sat at the table. “She cried. Said I betrayed her. That she spent her whole life for me… And I…” he waved his hand.
“And you what?”
“I told the truth. That you and I are husband and wife. That the apartment is ours together. And that I was wrong to do everything behind your back.”
Olga set a cup in front of him.
“And how did she take it?”
“She was offended. Said I’m whipped. That I chose you over my own mother.”
“And did you choose?”
Viktor looked her in the eyes.
“I chose fairness, Ol. We’ve been together thirty years. Everything is half-and-half. I was wrong.”
Olga smiled.
“You know, I was afraid of a different answer.”
“Which one?”
“That you’d say: ‘I chose you, not Mom.’ That would have been wrong. You don’t need to choose between us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We can help your mother. Visit her. Even take her to the dacha for the summer. But we have to live separately.”
Viktor nodded.
“That’s what I told her. But she thinks you turned me against her.”
“She’ll get over it,” Olga shrugged. “The important thing is that you understood.”
They lived on edge for a week. Tamara Markovna didn’t call. Viktor was nervous, but held it together.
On Saturday morning the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood the mother-in-law with a cake.
“Hello,” she said stiffly. “May I come in?”
Olga stepped aside.
“Of course, Tamara Markovna. Vitia’s home.”
She went into the kitchen. Viktor jumped up.
“Mom? What happened?”
“Nothing,” she put the cake on the table. “I’ve been thinking and…” she faltered. “In short, I was wrong.”
Olga and Viktor exchanged glances.
“Sit down, Mom,” Viktor pulled out a chair.
Tamara Markovna sat, smoothing the folds of her skirt.
“I got carried away. You’re right, son. You and Olga have been together so many years. It’s your apartment. And I… I got scared of old age. Of loneliness.”
“Mom, we’re always here,” Viktor took her hand.
“I know,” she sighed. “But sometimes it feels like I’m a burden to everyone.”
“Don’t say that, Tamara Markovna,” Olga sat across from her. “No one thinks you’re a burden. It’s just that everyone needs their own space.”
“Yes, you’re right, Olya,” the mother-in-law smiled unexpectedly. “I’m too used to being in charge. I raised Vitia alone all my life, made every decision myself. And now…” she spread her hands. “Now I have to learn to live differently.”
They drank tea with cake. Tamara Markovna talked about a neighbor who helps her with cleaning.
Suddenly Olga said:
“Vit and I have long wanted to renovate your apartment. The wallpaper is old, the plumbing leaks.”
“Why?” the mother-in-law tensed.
“So you’re comfortable and at ease. So you won’t think of moving anywhere.”
Tamara Markovna thought it over.
“I don’t have money for renovations.”
“We’ll help,” Viktor said. “Olya’s right. We’ll do a proper job. And we’ll visit more often.”
When she left, Olga hugged her husband.
“Good job. You handled it.”
“We handled it,” he corrected. “You know, I’ve learned a lot these days.”
“Like what?”
“That you can’t build one person’s happiness on another’s unhappiness. I wanted what was best for Mom, but I went about it the wrong way.”
“And I realized that sometimes you have to fight for what’s yours,” Olga said. “Even if you’re afraid of hurting loved ones.”
A month later they finished renovating Tamara Markovna’s apartment. They put up light wallpaper, installed new plumbing, and bought a comfortable sofa. The mother-in-law blossomed, became calmer. Now they visited her often. And she visited them — but only as a guest.
One evening, sorting through papers, Olga came across the very registration document that had started the whole commotion.
“Look,” she showed it to Viktor. “Where it all began.”
He glanced at the paper and tore it up.
“And here’s how it ended. No more secrets.”
Olga smiled.
“None. And no one will take our home from us.”
“You know what’s most amazing?” Viktor asked. “Mom really is better now. She’s stopped being afraid of everything.”
“Because she understood: we’re close by. But each in our own home.”
They sat on the sofa holding hands. Rain fell outside the window. Their home remained their fortress. And in that fortress, the rules were set by both of them — husband and wife. The way it should be in a real family.
