The new apartment smelled of paint and something else—a mix of fresh tiles and cheap linoleum, even though I’d tried to choose “the more expensive, more practical kind.” The door thudded shut behind me, and silence fell. The kind of silence I’d dreamed of my whole life. No fights, no “Tanya, clear the table, Andrei will be home soon,” no accusations that I was “too independent.” Just me, my Ikea mugs, and a cat named Barsik, who was exploring the balcony with the air of a rightful owner.
I’m 30. I’ve finally bought my own place. I didn’t win it, it didn’t “come from Grandma,” I earned it honestly—mortgage, work, nervous breakdowns at night. But it’s mine. And even if the “spouse” line in my passport is empty, at least I have an apartment. I’m my own husband, wife, and construction crew.
The phone rang a little too insistently, and from the very first note of the ringtone I knew: Mom. That call had always been like an alarm signal. In childhood—it meant checking my school diary, in my teens—lectures about “your biological clock is ticking.” Now—surely, something new.
“Yeah, Mom,” I sighed, staring at the ceiling.
“Tatyana, hello. I was just thinking…” Her voice was pompously calm, which meant she had something serious in mind. “Andrei’s going to have a baby soon. They don’t have enough room. I’ve decided I’ll stay with you for a while. You’re alone anyway.” She paused, as if waiting for applause.
I choked on my tea. Barsik flicked his tail in irritation.
“Mom, are you sure you haven’t mixed anything up? I have a mortgage. The apartment is tiny.”
“So what?” she took offense. “Two rooms. You in one, me in the other. You’re not seriously going to turn your own mother out, are you?”
I stayed silent. Since childhood, this had been our favorite exercise: Mom talks, I shrink and wait for the storm to pass.
“You understand,” she went on, now in an accusatory tone, “Andrei needs support. He has a family, a baby on the way! You’re not going to be against your own grandchild, are you?”
“Mom, hang on. My grandchild? That’s not my grandchild. That’s your grandchild.”
“What difference does it make?” she snapped. “Your clock is ticking, and you’re still alone, just you and your cat… You can’t live like that.”
I looked at Barsik. He yawned, clearly on my side.
“Mom, you and Andrei have a big apartment. Live there.”
“I’m in their way!” she almost screamed. “Your darling sister-in-law, that Lena, drills me with her eyes. Thinks I’m competition for her. Can you imagine? And you—you’re my daughter! You should take in your own mother. Or do you have no conscience?”
My heart gave an unpleasant jolt. There it was, her favorite weapon—guilt. She wielded it with perfect accuracy.
“Mom, I have work tomorrow. Let’s talk about this later,” I hurriedly ended the call.
“Later” turned out to be two days later. On Saturday, just as I was about to have breakfast, the doorbell started ringing so insistently you’d think the neighbors were putting out a fire. I opened the door—and froze. Mom was standing there with two huge suitcases and a bag with her eternally green house slippers sticking out of it.
“Well, hello, dear,” she smiled, as if we’d agreed on this. “Come on, help me.”
“Mom…” I couldn’t string words together right away. “Are you… serious?”
“Of course!” She cheerfully walked inside, dragging a suitcase across the laminate. “Oh, how nice! New apartment, so spacious. Though the wallpaper’s nothing special… You should’ve chosen something lighter.”
I stood there, frozen. So that’s how this was going to be. No asking. Just show up with luggage. Just like in childhood: “Be quiet, Tanya, nobody asks your opinion anyway.”
“Mom, I don’t agree to this,” I finally said, feeling my throat tighten. “This is my apartment. Mine.”
She stopped, turned around, and stared at me over her glasses.
“Are you even thinking straight? Your own mother is asking to stay. What, are you planning to bring strangers here instead?”
“Maybe I am,” I shot back, surprising even myself. “That’s my right.”
Mom sucked in air loudly, as if I’d slapped her.
“How ungrateful! I raised you, kept you on your feet, and now you’re throwing me out on the street?”
“You raised Andrei. Me—you raised with whatever was left over,” slipped out of me.
Silence. A heavy, dead silence, so thick that even Barsik couldn’t stand it and hissed.
“How dare you say that?” Her voice trembled. “Everything I did, I did for you two! For you!”
“For him,” I jabbed a finger into the air, as if my brother were standing there. “For your golden boy.”
She flinched, her lips began to quiver.
“You’re jealous. That’s all this is. Andrei has a family, a baby on the way, and you’re alone. An old maid.”
I’d had enough.
“Mom, pack your suitcases and leave. Right now.”
She gasped as if I’d just passed a death sentence.
“You’re kicking me out? Me? Your own mother?!”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I am.”
And in that moment, all my childhood, all the hurt, all her endless “Andrei is tired, Tanya, don’t bother your brother” burst to the surface.
She dropped the bag on the floor—pills, a glasses case, paper tissues spilled out.
“Here’s what,” she said, swallowing tears and anger. “You’ll regret this. When you’re alone, when there’s no one to bring you a glass of water, you’ll remember these words.”
I didn’t answer. I just flung the door wide open.
“Leave.”
She walked out. The suitcases thudded loudly on the stairwell. I slammed the door and leaned against it with my back.
My chest was pounding. My ears were ringing. For the first time in my life, I hadn’t swallowed her words, hadn’t kept silent. And that was terrifying and… liberating.
Barsik came over carefully and nudged my hand with his nose.
“Well, buddy,” I whispered, “looks like we really are a proper family now.”
But I knew this was only the beginning. Mom wasn’t going to give up that easily.
Only three days had passed since that conversation. I honestly hoped Mom was really offended this time and would switch her attention to Andrei. Let him taste at least a piece of my portion. But I’d rejoiced too soon.
The phone rang in the evening. I had just stepped into the shower. It was my brother’s number. Even the shampoo seemed to freeze in my hair. Well, obviously: Mom had rolled out the heavy artillery.
“Tanya,” Andrei’s voice was stretched tight, like he was at a math exam. “What’s going on with you two this time? Mom says you kicked her out.”
“Andrei,” I was drying my hair with a towel, trying not to snap. “She showed up at my place with suitcases. Without warning. Did you even know about that?”
“I knew. She said she had a nervous breakdown. Lena’s pregnant, it’s hard on her, and Mom can’t live with you guys, everything’s too tense.”
“Well, then she should rent a place,” I suggested calmly.
“Tanya!” my brother protested. “Are you serious? How could she? That’s our mom!”
“Especially yours,” I cut him off. “You’ve always been her only child.”
There was a pause on the other end. I could practically see him scratching his head.
“Listen,” he said more gently. “We’re having a hard time. Lena’s on edge. And Mom needs somewhere to stay. You’re still alone.”
“Andrei,” I chuckled. “So you’re suggesting I sacrifice the only place I have—my place, that I’m paying a mortgage on—so that you and Lena can live in peace?”
“Well, if you look at it humanely… yeah,” he mumbled.
That was when I understood: my brother—a grown man of thirty—was still Mommy’s little boy.
“Andrei,” I said coldly. “I have neither the desire nor the strength to have this conversation again. Mom is not moving in with me. That’s final.”
“You’re selfish,” he muttered and hung up.
A week later came the next act of this tragicomedy. Saturday morning, I opened the door—and there she was again: Mom. With the same suitcases, only her face was more tragic than an actress in a cheap soap opera.
“Tatyana, I’ve decided to give you a second chance,” she announced, as if I’d betrayed her. “I’ve thought it over. It’s better for both of us to be together.”
“Mom,” I sighed wearily. “We’ve already discussed this.”
“Discussed?” She widened her eyes. “You mean when you threw me out onto the staircase? Your own mother!”
“Because this is MY apartment.”
“Apartment…” she drawled contemptuously. “On mortgage! Do you even understand it’s not really yours yet? The bank could take it, and then what will be left? And I’m your family. I’ve always been there for you.”
“Always there?” I snapped. “You’ve always been there for Andrei. Me—you gave a smack on the head at best or said ‘don’t bother your brother.’”
“Don’t make things up!” she raised her voice. “I did everything for you both.”
“For him,” I jabbed into the air again. “And now it’s still about him. You’re running away from your daughter-in-law and want to turn my place into your hotel.”
Mom flushed, her eyes shone.
“You’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous! Andrei has a family, he’s having a baby, and you’re alone. Getting old all by yourself!”
“Better alone than under your control,” I said, feeling my face burning.
She flapped her hands:
“You’re so ungrateful! I didn’t sleep at night, worked, raised you alone, and this is how you repay me?”
I stepped closer and said quietly:
“Mom, I’m tired of owing you my whole life.”
She recoiled as if I’d struck her.
“You’ll regret it. I curse the day I gave birth to you,” she blurted out.
“Maybe you really did make a mistake,” slipped out of me.
The silence that followed was so heavy I’m sure the neighbors froze behind their doors.
Mom sobbed, grabbed a suitcase, and slammed it against the wall.
“I hate your coldness! You’re just like your father!” And she slammed the door so hard one of my mugs crashed off the shelf.
That evening Lena called—my only real friend and basically my chosen family.
“Tanya, what happened?” she asked. “You sound like a beaten dog.”
“Mom’s declared war,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Suitcases and curses included.”
“Classic,” Lena snorted. “You did great not caving. And don’t you dare. This isn’t help, it’s blackmail.”
“And Andrei?” I asked. “He thinks I’m obligated.”
“Andrei can first learn to live without hiding under Mama’s skirt,” she said sharply. “And you need to put a full stop to this.”
I kept quiet. But inside, a thought was taking shape: she’s right, it’s time. Because this wasn’t a family conversation anymore. This was a siege.
Two days later, Mom pulled a new trick. Some “very important” lawyer called me—turns out she’d already consulted him. She wanted to know if she could legally get herself registered at my address.
“Look, miss,” he said into the phone. “Your mother insists she has the right.”
“She has no such right,” I replied calmly. “The apartment is mine, it’s registered to me. She’s not registered here. That’s it.”
“Well, maybe you could work something out amicably,” he mumbled.
I laughed. But the laugh came out harsh.
That evening my brother called again. This time, he came in swinging.
“Tanya, are you completely out of your mind? Mom is crying all day. Her blood pressure’s up, her heart’s bad. She has nowhere to live!”
“She has somewhere to live—with you,” I replied calmly.
“Lena doesn’t want Mom living with us!” he yelled.
“Then talk to your wife,” I said and hung up.
My hands were shaking. I could feel it: something big was coming.
And it did.
Friday evening, I came home and saw two suitcases by the entrance to my building. Mom was sitting on them. Eyes red, hands trembling, but her expression was triumphant.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she declared. “I’ll sit right here. Let the neighbors see what kind of daughter you are.”
And that was what broke me.
“Perfect, Mom. Sit!” I said. “Call the TV stations, reality shows, whoever you want! But you’re not coming into my home.”
She jumped up and grabbed my arm.
“You’re killing me!” she screamed.
I pulled my arm free.
“No, Mom. For the first time in my life, I’m trying to save myself.”
And I shut the door in her face.
Inside, it was empty and frighteningly quiet. But I knew: this step was almost irreversible.
For three days, Mom kept vigil at the entrance, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening. The neighbors were already giving me looks; one even asked:
“Is everything okay, Tatyana? Should we call the police?”
I laughed and said, “No, no, just family stuff.” But inside, I was boiling. “Family stuff,” right. When you’re publicly shamed, when your mother sits on the bench by the door telling everyone that “her daughter kicked her own mother out”—that’s not family stuff. That’s war.
On the evening of the fourth day, I came into the apartment and collapsed onto the couch. The phone rang immediately. My brother. I already knew what was coming.
“Tanya,” he started, his voice cracking. “You’re a murderer. Mom is with us now, she’s in crisis, her blood pressure is two hundred. Lena’s crying, she says it’s all your fault.”
“Is it not yours?” I asked calmly. “Because you expect me to fix your problems?”
“You’re a monster!” he roared and hung up.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. I opened it—and there they were: Mom and Andrei. Lena, apparently, stayed home to “protect her nerves.” Mom was pale, her lips pressed tight, but her eyes were like steel.
“This can’t go on,” she said, walking in without an invitation. “We’ve come to you for good. Either you register me here, or I’ll go through the courts.”
“Court?” I smirked. “Mom, you even found a lawyer. And what then? Did he tell you that you have no rights?”
“You’re ungrateful!” she screamed. “I gave my life for you, and you throw me out into the street!”
“No,” I answered quietly but firmly. “You gave your life to Andrei. I got the scraps. And now you want to take the only thing I’ve managed to build on my own.”
My brother jumped in, waving his hands:
“Tanya, enough! Stop this circus. Just give Mom a room. What’s it to you?”
“It’s a lot,” I said. “It’s my life, my freedom, my future.”
Mom grabbed the vase off the coffee table and hurled it to the floor. It shattered into pieces that flew across the room.
“You’re a devil’s daughter!” she screamed. “I curse you!”
I went to the door and flung it wide open.
“Out. Both of you. Right now.”
“Tanya, you…” My brother stepped toward me and grabbed my arm.
I yanked my arm away and shoved him toward the exit. He stumbled, almost knocking Mom over.
“Out!” I repeated. “Before I call the police.”
They left. The door slammed shut, and this time I didn’t shake.
That evening, Lena called.
“Well? How did it go?” she asked carefully.
“I did it,” I said. “I put a full stop to it.”
“I’m proud of you,” she replied. “You’re free now.”
I sat in the quiet. Barsik purred on my lap. And for the first time in my life, I felt not guilt, not fear, but lightness.
Mom would probably move in with Andrei. Let them sort it out now. And me? I was finally living my own life. A real one.
And I knew one thing: there was no way back
