A quarrel broke out in the house, and everyone was sure that the truth was on their side. But one unexpected decision turned everything upside down.
Chapter 1. The Announcement at Dinner
The bang of a fist on the table was so loud that the plates of still-warm borscht jumped. The rich smell that just a minute ago so appetizingly filled our cramped kitchen was instantly replaced by the scent of looming trouble. Roman, my husband, was looking at me with eyes full of righteous anger, his face flushed dark red with rage.
“I said my mother will live with us,” he repeated, leaning over the table. “And your parents will have to find another place.”
I was stunned. My mother, Liza Petrovna, sat opposite me, pale as a sheet, pressing her trembling hands silently to her chest. She had never known how to stand up in conflicts, and now this…
“Roma, are you out of your mind?” My voice rang with indignation. “Where are they supposed to live? They helped us, they raised us! This isn’t fair!”
“Fair is when a son takes care of his mother!” he growled. “Not of strangers. My mother is getting old, she needs care. And here we have a mortgage, no space, and your folks still sitting here! The apartment isn’t made of rubber.”
He spoke as if my parents were some kind of uninvited guests who had just descended on us. But they had been living with us ever since we bought this two-room apartment with a mortgage. It was their decision to sell their tiny one-room place and give us the money for the down payment so we could finally move out of his mother’s place. They had only thought it would be temporary, and it ended up being forever.
“My parents are not strangers,” I stood up from the table, feeling everything inside me boiling. “They’re here for a reason. This apartment…”
I didn’t have time to finish. Roman cut me off mid-sentence, slamming the table again, this time with an open palm instead of a fist.
“Enough!” he shouted. “I’ve already decided. My mom moves in tomorrow. And your parents can… go find a room somewhere. Worst case, at your sister’s. I’ve had enough of this circus!”
I looked at my mother. She still sat, stone-still, with tears in her eyes. Then I looked at Roman. He expected me to break, to give in, like I had before. But this time I had no intention of doing that. Behind me stood not only my parents but also my self-respect.
“So you’ve made up your mind?” My voice was low and steady, without a trace of hysteria. “Fine. Then know this: I do not agree.”
Roman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his aggression weakened for a moment. He hadn’t expected this kind of pushback.
“This is our home, Roma. Ours, not yours. And in this home my parents are not going anywhere. We will all live here together.” I poked my finger into the table. “And if you don’t like it, you can pack your things yourself and go to your mother’s. There’s more room there anyway. You’ll be with her like you wanted. And no one will bother you. I think that’s fair.”
Our two-room flat in the old panel building on the outskirts froze, soaking up every second of that tense silence. Behind the thin walls, the neighbors were probably listening to every word.
Roman stood there, staring at me. He had raised his voice at me before, but like this—forcing me into such a monstrous choice? I hadn’t seen that coming. He was used to me backing down, but this time I wouldn’t.
“I’m warning you,” Roman growled, coming back to his senses. “Tomorrow we’ll settle this once and for all.”
I didn’t answer. I just silently cleared the plates from the table. I wasn’t going to surrender. And I already began thinking how to protect my family using cunning, not open war.
Chapter 2. Quarrels and Resentment
Morning came gray and gloomy, just like my mood. Roman, as if nothing had happened, was drinking his coffee and lazily scrolling through the news on his phone. His fake calm irritated me far more than last night’s outburst of anger. My mother, Liza Petrovna, sat hunched over at the table, quietly sipping tea. Her eyes were swollen from crying. I felt as if I had betrayed her.
“Mom, don’t worry,” I whispered, stroking her shoulder. “We’ll think of something.”
But what exactly? Where was I, a simple former accountant who’d been sitting at home for a long time now, supposed to find the resolve for a battle like this? All my life I’d been used to being quiet, compliant, yielding. But now there was too much at stake.
Soon Roman left for work. The door slammed so loudly it made me flinch. Heavy, oppressive silence descended on the kitchen. The smell of yesterday’s borscht, which no one had finished, still hung in the air. Our home, which had always been a safe harbor for me, had turned into a battlefield.
Just then the phone rang. It was Marina, my best friend.
“Well, how are things over there?” Her voice sounded cheerful, but I could hear tension under it. “I heard Roman yelling yesterday. Our walls are thin, you know.”
I told her everything. About Roma, his mother, how he’d decided to throw my parents out. I also told her about my firm decision.
“Okay, listen to me carefully, Galya.” Marina’s voice grew serious. “You can’t just go along with your emotions. Don’t charge straight into an open fight. He wants you to scream, swear, prove something. But you… pretend you agreed. Let him think you’ve given up. And act quietly. You have your ace up your sleeve; you didn’t give all that money for the apartment for nothing, did you? You must have some leverage he doesn’t know about.”
Her words made me think. “Pretend”… I had never been good at lying, but now it felt like the only way. I had to act with cunning.
I promised Marina I’d listen to her advice and hung up. My soul felt a little lighter. At least now I had some kind of plan.
I slowly walked into my mother’s room. She was sitting by the window, staring out at the gray courtyards.
“Mom, we’ll come up with something,” I said, sitting down next to her. “I promise. I won’t abandon you.”
She turned to me, and I saw not only tears in her eyes, but fear. Fear of the unknown, of being left alone. It was that very fear that had made me snap back so sharply at Roman the day before. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live in peace if my parents ended up on the street.
In the evening, Roman came back from work. He was ready to continue the conflict.
“Well? Have you thought about it?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. “What did you decide?”
I looked at him and smiled.
“Of course, Roma dear,” I said. “I’ve thought about it. And I realized that you, as always, are right.”
Roman raised his eyebrows in surprise. I saw a flicker of triumph in his eyes. He thought he’d won.
“I agree,” I went on. “Let your mother live with us. I just… I want her to have her own room. So it’s comfortable for everyone. Tomorrow I’ll call a construction company and have them calculate how much it will cost to put up a partition. We’ll put it up in our bedroom, split it in two, and you and your mother can live in one half. And we’ll be in the other half with my parents. It’ll be cramped, of course, but at least no one will feel wronged.”
Roman’s eyes went wide. He stared at me, unable to say a word. His face showed pure shock mixed with complete bewilderment.
Chapter 3. Galina’s Secret Plan
Roman was floored. He was ready for shouts, tears, hysterics—but not for such cold, calm logic.
“You… you’re serious?” His voice sounded like he had just swallowed a frog. “Split our bedroom? Where are we supposed to live?”
“I already told you: with my parents,” I answered without batting an eye. “Me, Mom, Dad—we’ll fit. The main thing for you is to have your mother with you, right? And she’ll have her own room. Look at that: we’ll even end up with three rooms—yours with your mom, ours, and the shared living room.”
I spoke as if sharing a bedroom with my parents was the most natural thing in the world. In reality, the thought made my skin crawl. But I knew that for Roman it would be utterly unbearable. He always loved space and personal comfort, and now I was stepping exactly on his sorest spot.
“You’re mocking me!” he snarled. “I’m not going to live in the same room with my mother.”
“Why not?” I smiled my most innocent smile. “You’re the one who said family should be together. And besides, it’s temporary. I told you—during the renovation. Once it’s done, then we’ll…”
I didn’t finish the sentence, leaving Roman to puzzle over it.
Right after dinner I grabbed my phone and dialed a number.
“Hi, Lyosha! It’s Galina from apartment thirteen,” I said. “Could you help me with something? I need to get an estimate for a renovation. I remember you used to work as a foreman.”
Lyosha, our young neighbor from the landing, was a real life-saver. He was always ready to help and, most importantly, knew how to keep his mouth shut. I immediately knew I could trust him.
We arranged a meeting. He came over when Roman wasn’t home. I showed him the apartment and explained my idea: knock down a partition, put up another, buy new furniture.
“Are you crazy?” Lyosha exclaimed. “Why do you need all that?”
I told him everything: about Roman, his mother, and my secret plan—to arrange such a “renovation” that Roman himself would feel sick of it. So that he would be the one to give up his idea.
“You know,” Lyosha said thoughtfully, “I think you’ve got another reason. The way you talk… it’s like there’s something more behind this apartment than just a mortgage.”
I kept quiet. He was too perceptive. Lyosha took pictures of the rooms, promised to draw up an estimate, and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Hang in there, Galina. I’m on your side.”
The next day I went back to my plan. When Roman returned home, I met him with a broad smile, as if we hadn’t argued at all.
“I’ve arranged everything with the workers!” I reported cheerfully. “They’re coming tomorrow. We need to clear out our bedroom. What shall we start with— the couch or the dresser?”
Roman froze. His triumphant smile slowly slid off his face. He stared at me, clearly unsure where exactly he had taken the wrong turn.
Chapter 4. The Revelation
Bewilderment shone in Roman’s eyes. He realized his plan was starting to fall apart.
“You’re really going to start the renovation?” His voice was a mix of anger and confusion.
“Of course, Roma! You wanted your mom to be comfortable, didn’t you? I’ve already found a crew; they’re ready to start as early as tomorrow.” I spoke as if it were the most brilliant idea in the world.
He tried to pressure me, but I stood firm.
“Roma, this is our home. We have to make it comfortable for everyone, not just for your mother. If you want her to live here, then you’ll have to accept my conditions. If not—then she can stay in her own place. That way we don’t have to fight with anyone.”
But Roman wouldn’t give in. He was stubborn as a mule. His mother, Maya Sergeevna, came over the next day to support her son. She immediately began complaining about her life and how hard everything was.
“Everything in my apartment is old, there are drafts everywhere!” she lamented. “Son, I can’t take it anymore! I want to live here, with you!”
She talked as if my parents were nothing but an obstacle standing in her way. I just listened in silence, trying to keep my temper in check.
Finally, the moment I’d been preparing for arrived.
Roman and his mother launched into a full-blown scene. They shouted that my parents had to leave, that they were in the way.
“We’re not going to live in these horrible conditions,” declared Maya Sergeevna, looking down on me. “My son has to take care of me! And yours can just…”
She didn’t have time to finish. My mother, Liza Petrovna, walked into the room and put a worn folder down on the table.
“Here,” she said quietly. “The papers for the apartment. This is everything we have.”
Roman looked at the folder as if it were a poisonous snake. He opened it, and his face instantly went pale. Maya Sergeevna snatched the folder from his hands. She leafed through the documents and staggered back as if she had seen a ghost.
“What is this?” Her voice was full of panic. “What are these papers? It says here that the apartment belongs to…”
She fell silent. The greed and contempt that usually filled her eyes were now replaced solely by shock.
“The papers are in my mother’s name,” I said firmly. “This is her apartment. And she’s the one who runs things here.”
Roman and Maya Sergeevna were stunned. All these years they had been sure the apartment belonged to Roman. It never even crossed their minds that the money for the down payment had come from my mother. Or that she had put the apartment in her own name to protect us from possible problems.
“You mean… you knew about this?” Roman hissed through his teeth, choking with rage.
“Of course,” I smirked. “And now you know too. My parents are not going anywhere. Because this is their home. As for you… you can stay. But only on my terms.”
Chapter 5. Payback
Roman sat as if paralyzed. His mother, Maya Sergeevna, was nervously crumpling the apartment documents in her hands. Her imperious look had vanished, replaced with confusion and malice. They were both silent, unable to believe they had been cornered.
“So that means you’re not the mistress here… She is?” Roman finally forced out. “So I’m nobody here?”
“You’re my husband,” I replied, looking him straight in the eye. “And this apartment is our family’s. If you want to be part of this family, then you have to respect and accept everyone who lives here. Especially those who helped us get it.”
My mother’s tears finally stopped flowing. She sat up straight, with dignity, like someone who had just won a multimillion-dollar jackpot. It was her moment of triumph. The quiet, modest woman who had been pushed around her whole life finally got her chance at justice.
Apparently, Maya Sergeevna couldn’t handle the truth. She jumped up, threw the documents onto the table, and burst into a stream of curses.
“How dare you!” she screamed. “You tricked my son! You’re throwing us out! Ungrateful wretches!”
“No one is throwing you out,” I said calmly. “You just now know who’s in charge here. And you have to respect the people who live here. Or you can leave. No one is holding you.”
Maya Sergeevna understood that her time was up. She gathered her things and, after casting an angry look at Roman, walked out of the apartment, slamming the door so hard that the glasses in the kitchen rattled.
Roman was left standing in the middle of the room. His shoulders slumped, and all his self-confidence evaporated. He was broken—not because he had to give up his plans, but because he finally realized he had never been the master of his own life. He had been a puppet in his mother’s hands.
“So… what now?” he asked, looking at me with a lost expression.
“Now you decide for yourself where you belong,” I answered. “In our family, with my parents, who gave us everything—or somewhere else.”
Roman didn’t say a word. He just went into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and covered his face with his hands. I left him alone. He had to make this choice himself—a choice that would determine his future.
Good had won, but what would come next—time would tell. I felt that Roman and I would be able to handle this situation. For now, my parents were staying with us, and I, strong and confident at last, was ready for the new trials that, I knew, still lay ahead
