Lena was folding tiny baby onesies when the key rattled in the lock. Her heart dropped—Andrei was at work, and the spare key was with her mother-in-law “for emergencies.” Only for Galina Petrovna, any day of the week counted as an emergency.
“Lenochka! Where are you?”
She stepped into the hallway, tugging her sweater down over her belly. Her mother-in-law stood there with bags from a hardware store, already shrugging off her coat.
“Good afternoon, Galina Petrovna.”
“What afternoon, it’s practically evening already,” her mother-in-law said, walking into the living room and critically scanning every corner. “Sitting at home all day again? In my day we worked right up to the end.”
In three years Lena had learned: it was easier to agree than to argue. They lived separately—so what difference did it make what her mother-in-law thought?
“I brought paint,” Galina Petrovna said, dumping the cans onto the couch. “Blue. Proper paint, not that yellow nonsense of yours.”
Lena looked at the cans. She and Andrei had spent two weeks choosing paint for the nursery, dreaming…
“But we’ve already painted it…”
“So what? You’ll repaint it,” her mother-in-law was already heading toward the nursery. “A boy needs a masculine color, not this wishy-washy in-between.”
In the nursery, Galina Petrovna stopped in the middle of the room with her arms folded.
“What a nightmare. The crib is in the wrong place—you can’t put it by the window. And these curtains with bunnies… What are they for, a newborn?”
“We like it…”
“Well I don’t. And my grandson won’t either.” She touched the curtains with distaste. “We’ll redo everything tomorrow.”
Lena kept silent. As always. The baby kicked in her belly—as if protesting against someone else’s plans for his room.
Andrei came home late. Lena met him in the kitchen, where the paint cans his mother had forgotten were still on display.
“Mom was here?”
“She brought paint. She wants to repaint the nursery.”
Andrei rubbed the bridge of his nose—a sure sign that any conversation about his mother irritated him.
“Maybe blue really is better…”
“We chose yellow. Together.”
“Well, yes, but…” He avoided her eyes. “She’s just trying to do what’s best.”
“And what about me?”
The question hung in the air. Andrei opened the fridge, pretending to look for something important.
In the morning her mother-in-law showed up with a painter—a skinny guy who clearly regretted having agreed to this.
“This is Maksim. He’ll get everything done quickly,” Galina Petrovna said, giving orders as naturally as if she were the owner. “Start with the ceiling.”
“Galina Petrovna, maybe we should wait? Andrei hasn’t even seen it yet…”
“Why bother him? Men don’t understand anything about design.” She was already carrying the toys out of the nursery. “That’s women’s work.”
Funny—when it came to paying for the renovation, it somehow became exclusively men’s business.
Lena went to the kitchen. She listened to the sounds of someone else’s renovation in her own home and stroked her belly. The baby tossed restlessly.
“Thicker with the paint! See, the yellow is showing through!” Galina Petrovna barked from the nursery.
By evening the room was blue. Cold. Alien.
“Well, how is it?” her mother-in-law admired the result. “Now you can see a man is growing up here.”
Lena stood in the doorway and didn’t recognize the room she had arranged with such love.
A week later her mother-in-law arrived with curtains—dark blue, striped.
“The bunnies don’t work. A boy needs a serious environment.”
She was already taking down the old curtains—the very ones she and Andrei had bought on that happy day when they found out she was pregnant.
“Galina Petrovna, they’re brand new…”
“New doesn’t mean right.”
Something snapped inside. Quietly, but irreversibly.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Put the curtains down. Right now.”
Galina Petrovna slowly turned around, the curtains in her hands.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“This is my home. And my nursery.”
Her mother-in-law stared at her as if Lena had suddenly started speaking Swahili.
“Yours? This is my son’s house!”
“Your son is registered here. But I’m the owner.”
“How dare you?!” Galina Petrovna turned pale, the curtains slipping from her hands. “I’m doing this for you, I’m thinking about my grandson!”
“You only think about yourself. About how to redo everything to your own liking.”
Lena went over to the wardrobe and took out a folder with documents. Her hands were steady—amazingly steady.
“Get out of here!” her mother-in-law shrieked. “This is my son’s house and I have every right—”
“No.” Lena laid the contract on the dresser. “Here are the papers. The apartment was bought with my money before the marriage.”
She spoke softly, but every word sliced through the silence.
“So the one who’ll be leaving is you. Right now.”
Galina Petrovna grabbed the papers with trembling hands and ran her eyes over the lines. Her face turned ashen.
“Andrei!” she screeched. “Andrei, get in here right now!”
“Andrei is at work. And when he comes home, we’ll discuss everything with him.”
“You… you’re destroying this family! Turning my son against his mother!”
“I’m protecting my family from someone who has spent three years treating our home like her private estate.”
Galina Petrovna paced around the room between the blue walls—the monument to her “care.”
“Andrei won’t abandon me! I’m his mother!”
“And I’m his wife. And the mother of his child.” Lena stood up and walked to the window. “We’ll see whom he chooses.”
“Who do you think you are?!”
“No one. I just finally realized that silence is taken as consent.”
Lena turned to her mother-in-law.
“For three years I kept thinking: I’ll put up with it, she’ll get used to me. But you don’t get used to things—you conquer them.”
“I wanted what was best!”
“You wanted power. And you had it, as long as I stayed silent.”
Andrei came back an hour later. Galina Petrovna was sitting in the kitchen with red eyes; Lena was in the living room with the documents in her hands.
“What is this circus?” he asked, looking helplessly first at his mother, then at his wife.
“Your wife has gone crazy!” his mother jumped to her feet. “She’s throwing me out! Threatening me!”
“Lena?”
“I explained who runs this house,” Lena said calmly. “And I set some boundaries.”
“What boundaries?”
“Elementary ones. Don’t come over without an invitation. Don’t boss people around in someone else’s home. Don’t redo the nursery without the parents’ consent.”
Andrei was silent, his gaze shifting from one to the other.
“Andryusha, tell her!” Galina Petrovna grabbed her son’s hand. “I’m your mother! I have the right to—”
“To what?” Lena handed him the documents. “What right do you have in my apartment?”
Andrei took the papers and read them carefully. His face grew thoughtful.
“Mom,” he said at last without looking up. “Lena is right.”
“What?!”
“You really are… going too far.” He looked at his mother. “This is her home. Our family.”
Galina Petrovna swayed as if she had been struck.
“So you’re choosing her?”
“I’m choosing my wife and child.”
“Perfect,” his mother grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “When she leaves you, don’t crawl back to me.”
“If you learn to respect other people’s boundaries, you’re welcome here,” Lena said quietly. “If not—goodbye.”
The door slammed. The apartment fell quiet.
“Maybe that was too harsh?” Andrei put his arms around his wife. “She’s just…”
“Seizing territory. Slowly but surely.” Lena leaned into him. “Give it another year and she’d be deciding how to feed the baby. Two more and which school to send him to.”
“And what if she never comes again?”
“She will. When she understands the rules of the game.”
Galina Petrovna called a month later. Her voice sounded unusually meek.
“May I… come by? See how you’re doing?”
“Of course. Is tomorrow afternoon good?”
“And… may I bring something for my grandson?”
“You may. But I’ll be the one to decide what stays.”
“Understood.”
The next day his mother came with a small stuffed toy and a little bouquet. She politely took off her shoes and asked permission to go into the nursery.
“You painted it back,” she noted, standing on the threshold of the yellow room.
“Yes. In our color.”
“It’s nice,” Galina Petrovna said after a pause. “Cozy.”
Over tea they barely talked. But the atmosphere was calm—for the first time in three years.
“May I come by sometimes?” his mother-in-law asked before leaving. “When the baby is born?”
“Of course. By invitation.”
“By invitation,” she nodded.
Lena closed the door behind her and leaned her back against the frame. The baby kicked hard—joyfully, triumphantly. She stroked her belly and said softly:
“Now we’re home, baby. In a real home, where Mom knows how to protect what matters.”
In the yellow nursery, the bunny curtains swayed gently—the very ones they had bought the day they found out about you
