“Veronica, dear! What a wonderful celebration at your dacha! I’m still impressed. Such organization, such attention to detail!” Nadezhda Petrovna’s delighted voice rang out on the phone.
Veronica froze, gripping her phone. What celebration? She and Slavik hadn’t been to the dacha for three weeks because of his urgent project.
“I’m sorry, Nadezhda Petrovna… what are you talking about?” she asked cautiously.
“What do you mean, what? Your mother-in-law’s anniversary, of course! Last weekend. Sixty-five—what a milestone! So many guests, such a spread! And the fireworks were simply magnificent!”
Something snapped inside Veronica. She hadn’t planned or hosted any celebration for her mother-in-law at their dacha—and she hadn’t even known about any upcoming event.
“Oh… yes, of course,” she muttered, thinking frantically. “So you celebrated your anniversary at my dacha, at my expense, and I’m only finding out now? Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she added sarcastically.
Her mother-in-law didn’t catch the sarcasm.
“Very much! Give my regards to Valeria Ivanovna. Such an energetic woman! She told us so many interesting things about your plans to renovate the dacha.”
After she hung up, Veronica sat for several minutes staring at a single point. Then she slowly dialed the number of the neighbor on the other side of the lot, Sergey Mikhailovich.
“Sergey Mikhailovich, hello. Sorry to bother you. Could you tell me what was going on at our dacha last weekend?”
The picture that emerged was staggering. At their family dacha—bought with a mortgage that they were still paying off—her mother-in-law had thrown a grand party. According to the neighbors, there were at least thirty guests, loud music, a lavish table, and fireworks at the end.
Veronica hurriedly opened the surveillance app installed at the dacha. The recordings confirmed her worst fears. On video, Valeria Ivanovna, her brother Nikolai Stepanovich, and a friend named Rimma were directing the preparations: setting up tables, taking dishes out of the house, and hauling out supplies from the cellar—supplies Veronica had carefully stocked with pickles and jams for the winter.
But what shook her most was how confidently her mother-in-law opened every cabinet and drawer, knowing exactly where everything was, where the keys to the shed were kept—like it was her own home.
“All right, now let’s get out the good porcelain,” Valeria Ivanovna ordered on the video. “Veronica doesn’t need it anyway—just gathers dust in the cupboard. And my guests deserve the best.”
Veronica felt a lump rise in her throat. That porcelain set had been a wedding gift from her grandmother.
Just then the front door banged, and Slavik walked into the apartment. From his carefree look it was clear he had no idea what was going on.
“Slavik,” Veronica said slowly, “is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
“About what?” he looked at her, confused.
“About your mom’s anniversary. The one she celebrated at our dacha. Last weekend.”
Slavik’s face changed; his shoulders drooped slightly. He looked away.
“Oh… that,” he said. “Mom called and said she wanted to celebrate her birthday. I told her we wouldn’t be able to come because of my project.”
“And?” Veronica pressed.
“And that’s it. I didn’t think she’d decide to celebrate at the dacha.”
“You didn’t think?” Veronica felt rage boiling inside her. “Then who gave her the keys? The alarm code? Who told her where we keep our things and our food?”
Slavik was silent, then sighed.
“Listen, she’s my mom. She just wanted to celebrate her birthday. Her apartment is too small for that many guests…”
“So you knew?” Veronica’s voice trembled. “You knew she was going to use our dacha for her party—and you didn’t tell me a word?”
“I didn’t think it was that important,” Slavik tried to justify himself. “The dacha was just standing there empty…”
“Just standing there empty?” Veronica turned on the camera footage. “Look what your mom and her guests did at our ‘just empty’ dacha!”
The next day Veronica took time off work and went to the dacha to assess the damage. What she saw exceeded her darkest expectations. The garden she had lovingly cultivated for two years was partly trampled. On the lawn were marks from tables and chairs, cigarette butts (even though smoking was strictly forbidden on the property), and even shards of broken dishes.
Inside the house things looked relatively tidy—at least the trash had been cleaned up. But soon Veronica noticed items missing. The antique porcelain set—a family heirloom from her grandmother—was gone. A collection of vintage figurines from the mantelpiece had disappeared. The expensive garden tools they’d bought just a month earlier were nowhere to be found.
Veronica opened the cellar and gasped—every shelf of winter preserves was empty. Dozens of jars of pickles, jams, marinades—everything was gone. She had spent two weeks of her vacation making those supplies.
After checking the whole property, Veronica sat down on the porch and cried from helplessness and hurt. Her phone vibrated in her pocket—Slavik was calling.
“Well? How is it?” he asked, his voice anxious.
“How is it?” Veronica gave a bitter little laugh. “Your mother and her guests literally looted our house! My things are missing, Slavik. Grandma’s porcelain, the figurines, the new garden tools. The entire cellar is empty. The garden is trampled!”
“Maybe she just took them for a while,” Slavik suggested uncertainly. “Let’s talk to her first…”
“Talk?” Veronica felt tears sting her eyes again. “She didn’t even bother to ask permission to use our dacha! You know what? You’re right. Let’s talk. Right now. We’re going to your mother’s.”
At Valeria Ivanovna’s apartment they were greeted warmly—too warmly, it seemed to Veronica. Her mother-in-law, an elegant woman with perfectly styled hair, smiled and invited them to the table.
“Slavik, Veronica! What a pleasant surprise! Come in, I just baked a pie.”
“Valeria Ivanovna,” Veronica said, trying to stay calm, “we came to talk about your anniversary.”
“Oh, did you like it?” her mother-in-law beamed. “Too bad you couldn’t be there. It was wonderful! The guests were thrilled with the dacha.”
“That’s the point,” Veronica continued, “we didn’t know anything about a party at our dacha.”
Valeria Ivanovna looked at her with mild surprise.
“How could you not know? Slavik gave me the keys. I thought you had discussed it.”
Veronica turned to her husband. He lowered his eyes guiltily.
“Mom, I gave you the keys so you could pick up your things that were stored in the shed,” Slavik said. “I didn’t say you could throw a party there.”
“Oh, Slavik, don’t be silly!” Valeria Ivanovna waved him off. “What difference does it make? The dacha was empty anyway. And I helped you with your down payment, if you remember. So it’s partly mine.”
Veronica felt everything inside her start to boil. That “down payment” had been fifty thousand rubles—money they had repaid long ago. The three-million-ruble mortgage they’d been paying for the third year was entirely on them.
“Valeria Ivanovna,” Veronica said as calmly as she could, “it’s not just about the party. Things are missing from the dacha. My grandmother’s porcelain set, the figurines collection, the garden tools. The entire cellar was emptied.”
Her mother-in-law frowned slightly.
“The set? Oh, that old porcelain? It’s with me. I decided it would look better in my display cabinet. And I gave the figurines to Rimma Sergeyevna—she collects those. She was so happy!”
“You gave away my things?” Veronica couldn’t believe her ears.
“Well, they were just sitting there,” Valeria Ivanovna shrugged. “And the cellar—those are just regular pickles! I treated the guests, everyone loved them.”
“Mom,” Slavik cut in, “you had no right to do that without Veronica’s permission.”
“Slavik!” Valeria Ivanovna bristled. “I’m your mother! How can you talk to me like that? I only wanted to celebrate my anniversary with family and friends, and Veronica is making a scandal over some little trinkets!”
The next morning, as Veronica was getting ready for work, the doorbell rang. A courier stood on the threshold with a huge bouquet and a thick folder of documents.
“Veronica Andreyevna?” he confirmed. “A bill for catering and event organization. Please sign here.”
Confused, Veronica opened the folder. Inside was a detailed invoice for 85,000 rubles for servicing a celebration “at a country house at the address…”—their dacha address.
“Excuse me, there must be some mistake,” she started. “I didn’t order any catering.”
“Everything is correct,” the courier nodded. “The client is Valeria Ivanovna Sokolova. But the contract lists your contact details and your address for billing.”
Nausea rose in Veronica’s throat. Her mother-in-law had not only used their dacha without permission—she had put the bill on their name and address.
As soon as the courier left, Veronica called Slavik.
“Do you know your mom ordered catering for 85,000 and put our address down for payment?” she demanded without preamble.
“What? No… I—I didn’t know,” Slavik said, rattled. “That has to be a mistake.”
“No mistake,” Veronica snapped. “The courier just delivered it. And I’ve had enough. I’m going to your mother right now.”
“Wait!” Slavik tried to stop her. “I’ll be free in an hour—let’s go together.”
“No, Slavik. I can’t wait anymore. This has gone way too far.”
At Valeria Ivanovna’s apartment Veronica found not only her mother-in-law but also Rimma Sergeyevna—the very friend who had received the “gifted” figurines.
“Veronica!” Valeria Ivanovna exclaimed. “Did something happen?”
“Yes,” Veronica set the folder on the table. “Explain why I’m supposed to pay for your celebration.”
Valeria Ivanovna glanced at the invoice and shrugged.
“What’s the problem? You and Slavik earn more than I do. Besides, if you’d come to the party like I invited you, things would have been different.”
“Invited?” Veronica stared at her. “You didn’t invite us. You didn’t tell us anything!”
“I told Slavik,” her mother-in-law waved her hand. “He should have passed it on.”
Veronica inhaled deeply, forcing herself to stay composed.
“Valeria Ivanovna, I want every item you took from our dacha returned. And I want you to pay this bill. It was your event—so you pay for it.”
“What items?” Valeria Ivanovna asked innocently. “Oh, the porcelain? But it looks so good in my cabinet. Besides, it’s a family heirloom of Slavik’s.”
“It’s a gift from my grandmother to me for my wedding!” Veronica shot back.
Rimma Sergeyevna, who had been silent until then, finally spoke up:
“Valerochka, maybe you should return the set… it is their property.”
“You’re against me too?” Valeria Ivanovna snapped at her friend. “Fine! Take your set. And take your figurines too!” She turned to Veronica. “But don’t expect me to pay for the party. It was a family event, for your information. Not my fault you didn’t want to come.”
At that moment Slavik walked in. From his face it was clear he’d heard the end of the conversation.
“Mom,” he said firmly, “you have to pay the catering invoice. You ordered it, so you pay.”
Valeria Ivanovna looked at her son with hurt in her eyes.
“Slavik, are you really choosing her side? I’m your mother! I raised you, I devoted my whole life to you!”
“This isn’t about sides,” Slavik replied. “It’s about the fact that you can’t use someone else’s property without permission and dump your expenses on them.”
“Someone else’s property?” Valeria Ivanovna threw up her hands. “I helped you buy that dacha! If it weren’t for my money…”
“Mom, we paid you back that fifty thousand two years ago,” Slavik said wearily. “The dacha is fully ours. And you know it perfectly well.”
That evening, after Veronica and Slavik returned home, the phone rang. It was Igor Vasilyevich—Slavik’s boss.
“Slavik, sorry to call so late,” he began. “I wanted to thank you for the invitation to your mother’s anniversary—very nice. It was just strange that Veronica didn’t show up…”
Slavik froze, not knowing what to say.
“Sofya and I thought maybe she was sick,” Igor Vasilyevich continued. “But your mom said Veronica simply didn’t want to come to a family celebration. We were a bit surprised…”
Slavik shot a helpless glance at his wife—she could hear every word.
“Igor Vasilyevich, there was a misunderstanding,” he finally said. “Veronica and I didn’t know about the party. My mom organized it without our knowledge.”
An awkward silence fell on the other end.
“I see…” his boss said slowly. “Well, in any case, it was nice meeting your mother. And Marina too, by the way. She said you’ve known each other a long time.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow. Marina? Slavik’s ex-girlfriend whom his mother-in-law always praised? The one who had recently divorced?
“Yes, we studied together,” Slavik answered flatly.
After the call, Veronica looked at him.
“Igor Vasilyevich was at the party? And Marina too?”
Slavik ran a nervous hand through his hair.
“I had no idea. Mom didn’t tell me.”
“Your mom invited your boss and your ex to a party she held in our house, at our expense, and didn’t even warn us,” Veronica said slowly. “And now your boss thinks I’m some rude woman who ignores family celebrations.”
“I’ll explain everything to him,” Slavik promised. “And I’ll call Mom too. This has gone too far.”
But he hadn’t finished speaking when the doorbell rang. Valeria Ivanovna stood there with three friends, including Rimma Sergeyevna.
“And here we are!” her mother-in-law announced cheerfully, walking into the apartment without invitation. “We decided to continue the celebration!”
Veronica watched in horror as four women barged into their home, carrying bags of food and bottles of wine.
“Valeria Ivanovna,” Veronica began, “we didn’t agree to—”
“Oh, Veronica, don’t be so formal!” her mother-in-law brushed her off. “We’re relatives! By the way, new curtains? Not the best choice. I’d recommend something warmer—burgundy, for example.”
She went to the kitchen and started unpacking the food, criticizing the furniture arrangement and the cleanliness of the stove along the way.
“Slavik, sweetheart, you don’t help your wife around the house? Look at all that dust on the shelves!”
Veronica felt fury seething inside her. Slavik looked just as bewildered.
“Mom,” he said at last, “we weren’t expecting guests today.”
“What guests?” Valeria Ivanovna looked genuinely surprised. “I’m your mother! And besides, after such a lovely anniversary, I want to extend the celebration.”
One of the women—a friend Veronica didn’t recognize—chimed in:
“Valerochka told us what a wonderful dacha you have! She especially admired your kitchen. She says once you move out, she’ll make a real interior masterpiece there!”
Veronica and Slavik exchanged stunned looks.
“Move out?” Veronica repeated. “What are you talking about?”
The woman faltered under Valeria Ivanovna’s sharp stare.
“Oh—did I say something wrong? Valerochka, you said the dacha would soon be completely yours, and you’d renovate it…”
“Tamara!” Valeria Ivanovna snapped. “You’ve mixed everything up! I meant I help the children improve the dacha. With advice, of course.”
But it was too late. Veronica understood. Her mother-in-law wasn’t just using their dacha—she was telling people it practically belonged to her.
“Valeria Ivanovna,” Veronica said firmly, “I think you and your friends should leave. Now.”
“What?” her mother-in-law looked insulted. “How dare you? Slavik, do you hear how she’s talking to me?”
But Slavik unexpectedly stepped beside his wife.
“Mom, Veronica is right. You came without being invited. And after everything that happened at the dacha, we really need a serious conversation. But not now and not like this.”
The next day Veronica woke up with a firm decision to put an end to it. While Slavik was in the shower, she sat at the computer and made a detailed list of everything missing, with approximate prices. Then she called the catering company and explained the situation. To her surprise, the manager was understanding and agreed to reissue the invoice in Valeria Ivanovna’s name.
“We run into cases like this sometimes,” he sighed. “Unfortunately, not all clients behave honestly.”
When Slavik came out of the bathroom, Veronica showed him the list.
“This is what disappeared from the dacha. And that doesn’t even include the emotional damage and the ruined garden. I want your mother to at least compensate the value of what’s missing.”
Slavik studied the list carefully, then let out a heavy sigh.
“You’re right. Mom has gone too far. I’ll talk to her.”
“No, Slavik,” Veronica shook her head. “We’ll talk to her. Together. I’m tired of you always being stuck between us. It’s time to clear this up once and for all.”
This time they came to Valeria Ivanovna’s without warning. She clearly hadn’t expected them and looked irritated.
“What happened? Why didn’t you call ahead? I have plans today.”
“We need to talk, Mom,” Slavik said firmly. “About what happened at the dacha and yesterday at our apartment.”
Valeria Ivanovna waved a hand dismissively.
“I don’t understand why all this fuss. So I celebrated my anniversary—big deal! You weren’t using the dacha that weekend anyway.”
“It’s not only about the party,” Veronica placed the list on the table. “Here’s what went missing after your visit. Total value—almost 150,000 rubles. Not counting the catering bill and the damage to the garden.”
Valeria Ivanovna skimmed the list.
“Nonsense! No one stole anything. The set is with me—I already said so. The figurines I gave to Rimma, but I can ask for them back if you insist. And the rest… well, someone might have accidentally taken something. You know, there were a lot of people, I couldn’t keep an eye on everyone.”
“Mom,” Slavik kept his voice calm, “you had no right to use our dacha without permission. And certainly not to invite guests who ‘might have accidentally taken’ our things.”
“Oh come on, Slavik!” Valeria Ivanovna scoffed. “I just wanted to celebrate my anniversary in a nice place. What’s so terrible about that? It’s not like I was celebrating on a cruise ship like some people!”
Veronica frowned, not understanding.
“What does a cruise ship have to do with anything?”
“Oh, you don’t know?” Valeria Ivanovna smiled sweetly. “Marinka’s neighbor—the same Marina your Slavik dated before you—celebrated her anniversary on a ship. Very fancy. Marina showed the photos at the party.”
Veronica silently counted to ten.
“Valeria Ivanovna, I’m not interested in Marina or her neighbor. I’m interested in when you’re going to return our things and pay the catering bill.”
“Ooh, Veronica,” Valeria Ivanovna crossed her arms. “You always turn everything into money! Don’t you want to think about feelings? How hurt a mother was that her son and daughter-in-law didn’t come to her anniversary!”
“Mom, stop,” Slavik cut her off firmly. “We couldn’t come to a party we weren’t told about. And this isn’t about feelings right now—it’s about actions. You took our things without asking, and you have to return them.”
Valeria Ivanovna pursed her lips and turned away. She wasn’t used to her son contradicting her.
“Fine,” she finally spat out. “I’ll return the set. And I’ll call Rimma about the figurines. But I didn’t take anything else! And as for that bill…” she nodded at the papers, “I simply don’t have that kind of money.”
“You do, Mom,” Slavik objected. “You recently sold Grandpa’s dacha for good money. And I know you put part of it in a deposit.”
Valeria Ivanovna flushed.
“You’re monitoring my finances? That’s outrageous!”
“No, Mom. You told Aunt Lyuba yourself, and she mentioned it in front of me. So you do have the money, and you will pay this bill.”
Valeria Ivanovna looked at them with grievance but realized—this time her son wouldn’t back down.
“All right,” she muttered. “I’ll pay your stupid bill. But know that you’ve broken an old woman’s heart. Lyudmila and Nikolai Stepanovich will be shocked when they find out how you treat a mother!”
“Let them find out,” Veronica replied calmly. “And at the same time, let them find out how you treat other people’s property. And one more thing, Valeria Ivanovna—we changed the locks at the dacha and installed a new alarm system. So no more surprises.”
Valeria Ivanovna choked with outrage.
“You… you don’t trust me? Your own mother?”
“Exactly,” Slavik nodded. “After everything that happened—we don’t. And until you understand you were wrong, that’s how it will be.”
The next two weeks passed in tense ожидание. Valeria Ivanovna did return the set and persuaded Rimma to give back the figurines, though not without resentment. She paid the catering bill as well, but not before sending Slavik a dozen messages about how she had to “tighten her belt” and give up buying a new fur coat.
As she had predicted, she immediately went to all the relatives and presented the situation in the most favorable light for herself. Lyudmila, Slavik’s sister, called and started a full-blown scandal, accusing Veronica of “turning her brother against their mother.”
“Lyudmila,” Slavik explained patiently, “Veronica isn’t turning anyone against anyone. Mom used our dacha without permission, took our things, and billed us. Be honest—would you like someone treating your property that way?”
Lyudmila cooled off a little, but still sounded unhappy.
“Well, Mom isn’t a stranger! You could’ve forgiven her that little weakness.”
“A little weakness?” Veronica, who could hear the call, couldn’t hold back. “She billed us 85,000 rubles! And she was telling everyone the dacha belonged to her!”
Lyudmila paused, then reluctantly admitted:
“Yeah… that’s too much. But still—she’s Mom…”
That phrase became a kind of refrain from Slavik’s relatives: “Yes, she was wrong, but she’s Mom…”
Veronica felt the gap growing between her and her husband’s family. And to top it all off, Slavik came home from work with unexpected news.
“Igor Vasilyevich offered me a promotion,” he said without looking at his wife.
“That’s wonderful!” Veronica brightened. “You’ve deserved it for a long time.”
“Yeah, but…” Slavik hesitated. “He said the deciding factor was Mom’s recommendation at that awful anniversary. She praised me so much that Igor Vasilyevich decided to give me a chance.”
Veronica went still. So the very party that caused them so much trouble had helped Slavik’s career?
“That’s… unexpected,” she managed.
“I don’t know how to feel about it,” Slavik admitted. “On the one hand, I’m happy. On the other, it’s unpleasant that it’s tied to Mom’s stunt.”
“Listen,” Veronica took his hand. “Your mom can praise you all she wants, but if you didn’t truly deserve the promotion, Igor Vasilyevich wouldn’t have offered it. So be proud of your achievement.”
Slavik smiled gratefully.
“Thanks. You know, I called my boss and explained everything—how we didn’t know about the party and the whole situation. He understood and said a lot suddenly made sense. Turns out he’d been surprised you weren’t there.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a phone call. It was Nadezhda Petrovna, the neighbor from the dacha.
“Veronica, dear! I’m so glad I reached you. Can you imagine—your mother-in-law came to the dacha again! Yesterday. With some man and a whole group. They walked around the fence but couldn’t get in—the lock wouldn’t give. Valeria Ivanovna was furious, yelling that it was her dacha. And the man was taking photos of the property through the fence for a long time.”
Veronica felt everything inside her turn cold.
“Thank you, Nadezhda Petrovna. We’ll handle it.”
When she hung up, she turned to Slavik.
“Your mom tried to get into the dacha again. With some man who was photographing the property.”
Slavik frowned.
“That’s weird. I’ll call her.”
The conversation with his mother was tense. Valeria Ivanovna first denied coming to the dacha, then admitted it—claiming she “just wanted to show the property to an old friend.” And when Slavik asked why they were taking photos, she suddenly burst into tears and accusations.
“You don’t trust me at all! Your own son! And it’s all because of her—because of Veronica! She turned you against me!”
“Mom, stop,” Slavik said tiredly. “No one turned anyone against anyone. Just explain—why were you photographing the dacha?”
“We weren’t photographing anything!” Valeria Ivanovna cried. “Grigory Petrovich just wanted to look at the property. He… he’s a landscape designer! Yes—that’s it. I wanted to surprise you: a new garden design to make up for the one that got ruined.”
Slavik and Veronica exchanged a look. The story sounded implausible, but they had no direct proof otherwise.
“All right, Mom. But in the future, please warn us if you want to come to the dacha.”
After the call, Veronica hugged her husband.
“She’s lying—you know that, right?”
“I know,” Slavik sighed heavily. “I just don’t know what to do with it. She’s my mother. I can’t just erase her from my life.”
“And you don’t have to,” Veronica said gently. “But we do need clear boundaries. Otherwise this will happen again and again.”
A few days later Slavik got a strange call from the neighbor, Sergey Mikhailovich.
“Slavik, some people are walking around your lot, measuring things with a tape measure. They say they’re from the BTI, doing a routine inspection. But they have no official papers and they look suspicious.”
“What nonsense?” Slavik was stunned. “There shouldn’t be any inspections. I’m coming right now.”
When they arrived at the dacha, they found no one, but Sergey Mikhailovich showed them photos of the “inspectors.” In one photo, a car with the logo of a private real estate company was clearly visible.
“Realtors?” Veronica went pale. “Is your mother trying to sell our dacha?”
“This is insane,” Slavik muttered. “Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. She doesn’t have the documents.”
“Are you sure she doesn’t?” Veronica looked at him carefully. “Remember—you said the initial documents were handled with her help because you were on a business trip?”
Slavik turned white.
“No, that’s impossible. We registered everything to both of us when we took the mortgage.”
“Yes—but what if she kept copies? Or some old paperwork? Maybe she’s trying to pull something with her ‘friend’ Grigory Petrovich.”
They decided to act immediately. Slavik called the real estate company whose logo was on the photo, pretending to be a potential buyer interested in dachas in that area. After a few minutes, it became clear that no one from the agency had gone out to assess their property.
“Strange,” Slavik said, hanging up. “Maybe it was another company with a similar logo?”
“Or your mom arranged something unofficially,” Veronica suggested. “Either way, we need to be on our guard.”
That same evening they received an unexpected invitation from Valeria Ivanovna to a family dinner.
“I want to apologize,” she said in an unusually humble tone. “I was wrong. Please come on Saturday. Only the closest people—Lyudmila with her husband, Nikolai Stepanovich, and you two.”
Slavik was touched.
“See? Mom understood. She wants peace.”
Veronica was more skeptical, but agreed for her husband’s sake.
Dinner began in a friendly atmosphere. Valeria Ivanovna was sweetness itself—serving Slavik’s favorite dishes and even giving Veronica a few compliments. But gradually the conversation turned to the dacha.
“I keep thinking, children,” Valeria Ivanovna said thoughtfully, “why do you need this dacha? So much hassle, a mortgage, and you hardly go there because of work.”
“We do go,” Veronica countered. “Just not lately.”
“What if you sold it?” Nikolai Stepanovich suddenly suggested. “Country property is selling well now. You’d pay off the mortgage and still have money left for a good car.”
“Or a bigger apartment in the city,” Lyudmila added. “You might need more space soon.”
Veronica tensed. Where was this going?
“We like our dacha,” she said firmly. “We’re not selling it.”
“Of course, it’s your decision,” Valeria Ivanovna smiled. “I just thought… Grigory Petrovich—remember I told you about him, Slavik?—he’s a realtor, and he says a plot like yours could bring in very good money. Especially if you spruce it up, renovate the house.”
So that was it. Veronica and Slavik exchanged a look. Everything suddenly clicked—the visit with the “landscape designer,” the suspicious people with tape measures.
“Mom,” Slavik’s voice was unusually cold, “we are not selling the dacha. Not now, not in the foreseeable future. And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t discuss our property with strangers.”
Valeria Ivanovna’s face changed instantly.
“There you go again! I’m just trying to help! You’re young, inexperienced—I’m thinking about your future!”
“No, Mom,” Slavik shook his head. “You’re thinking about your own future. We saw a realtor with a tape measure near our property. And Grigory Petrovich isn’t a landscape designer—he’s a realtor, by your own words.”
Valeria Ivanovna faltered for a moment, then recovered quickly.
“Well, yes, he’s both. A versatile specialist! And anyway, I already apologized for that anniversary incident. Why are you starting again?”
“Because you won’t stop trying to control our property,” Veronica cut in. “First the anniversary, now the sale. What’s next?”
“Veronica!” Valeria Ivanovna cried. “How can you speak to me like that? Slavik, are you really letting her talk to your mother this way?”
But Slavik didn’t budge.
“Mom, let’s be honest. You tried to arrange the sale of our dacha behind our backs. That’s a fact. And we want you to stop interfering in our life like this.”
“My God, what ingratitude!” Valeria Ivanovna flung her hands up theatrically. “After everything I’ve done for you!”
Dinner was hopelessly ruined. On the way home they drove in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
“You know,” Slavik finally said, “I keep thinking Mom will never change. She’ll always try to control my life. Our life.”
“Maybe,” Veronica nodded. “But now we know what to expect—and we can protect ourselves.”
Three months passed. During that time Valeria Ivanovna made several more attempts to “reconcile” Slavik and Veronica with the idea of selling the dacha. She sent realtors who “accidentally” called them with great offers. She arranged a visit from a local inspector who hinted at “serious violations” in the property layout. She even tried to convince the bank that issued their mortgage that they were behind on payments.
But every attempt failed, meeting the couple’s firm resistance. They checked all their paperwork, made sure the dacha legally belonged only to them, and hired a security firm for periodic patrols.
After another failed maneuver, Valeria Ivanovna changed tactics. She began pointedly ignoring Veronica and complaining to everyone about a “hard-hearted daughter-in-law” who had “destroyed their family.”
Some relatives fell for the manipulation. Lyudmila openly sided with her mother and stopped speaking to Slavik. Others, however, began to understand what was really going on—especially after Valeria Ivanovna tried to pull a similar scheme with the apartment of Slavik’s cousin.
One weekend Veronica and Slavik finally made it to the dacha. The day was clear and warm. They walked around the property, assessing winter damage and planning spring work.
“We’ll have to completely restore this corner of the garden,” Veronica sighed, looking at the trampled lawn. “And think about a new fence.”
“But imagine how beautiful it’ll be by summer,” Slavik put an arm around her shoulders. “And no more surprises.”
They were sitting on the porch, enjoying the quiet, when a car pulled up to the gate. It was Nikolai Stepanovich, Valeria Ivanovna’s brother.
“You won’t chase an old man away, will you?” he asked awkwardly. “I wanted to talk.”
They invited him inside. Nikolai Stepanovich hesitated for a long time before getting to the point.
“I came to apologize,” he finally forced out. “For that anniversary and everything else. Valeria has always been… persistent. But lately she’s crossed every line.”
He told them Valeria Ivanovna had manipulated relatives for years, using guilt and family ties. And her plan with the dacha was bigger than they’d realized.
“She made an agreement with Grigory Petrovich,” Nikolai Stepanovich said, shaking his head, “that if the deal went through, he’d pay her a percentage of the sale. A sizable percentage. And she would have told you it was all for your own good.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Veronica asked quietly.
“Because I’m tired of being an accomplice,” the old man answered simply. “And because I see how she’s destroying your family. Slavik, you’re a good man. And Veronica, you are too. You don’t deserve this.”
After Nikolai Stepanovich left, Slavik sat in silence for a long time, staring out the window.
“What do we do?” Veronica finally asked.
“What we should have done a long time ago,” he said decisively. “We set clear boundaries. Mom stays in my life—but on our terms. No interference, no manipulation, no turning relatives against us.”
“And if she won’t agree?”
“Then we limit contact to the bare minimum,” Slavik took Veronica’s hand. “I love my mother, but I won’t let her destroy our family.”
The next day they called Valeria Ivanovna and invited her to talk—but not at their home or hers. Neutral territory: a café in the city center.
Valeria Ivanovna arrived with a look of offended dignity.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked coldly, sitting down.
“Yes, Mom,” Slavik said, serious and composed. “We want to settle this once and for all. We know about your plan to sell our dacha through Grigory Petrovich. We know about the percentage you were supposed to get.”
Valeria Ivanovna went pale.
“Who told you that lie?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Slavik shook his head. “What matters is that it’s true. And that it’s not the first or last time you’ve tried to interfere in our life.”
“I only wanted to help!” Valeria Ivanovna cried. “Can’t a mother take care of her son?”
“She can,” Slavik agreed. “But not like this. Not through deception and manipulation. Mom, I love you. You’re my mother, and that will never change. But if you want to be part of my life—our life,” he gestured to Veronica, “you have to respect our decisions and our boundaries.”
“What boundaries?” Valeria Ivanovna snorted. “You’re my son! There can’t be boundaries between a mother and a son!”
“There can and there must be,” Veronica said gently. “Especially when the son has his own family.”
They laid out their conditions: no visits without warning, no discussing their property with strangers, no turning relatives against them. In return they promised regular meetings, shared holidays, and genuine care.
Valeria Ivanovna listened with a stony face. When they finished, she paused, then said:
“You’re giving me an ultimatum? Me—your mother?”
“No, Mom,” Slavik sighed. “We’re offering healthy relationships instead of what’s happening now.”
“Healthy relationships?” Valeria Ivanovna gave a bitter little laugh. “It’s all her,” she jerked her chin toward Veronica. “She turned you against me. Before her, you never—”
“Mom, stop,” Slavik cut in firmly. “This is my decision. Our decision. And if you can’t respect it, then yes—we’d be better off limiting contact for a while.”
Valeria Ivanovna stood up, shoulders straight with pride.
“Fine. I see I’m no longer needed by my son. I won’t interfere.”
She left without looking back. Slavik watched her go, pain and resolve both visible in his eyes.
“Do you think she understood?” Veronica asked when they were alone.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I did everything I could. Now it’s her choice.”
In the following weeks Valeria Ivanovna demonstratively avoided them. She didn’t call, didn’t visit, didn’t even send messages through relatives. Some in the family said Slavik and Veronica were too harsh. Others supported them, understanding that continuing to tolerate manipulation and intrusion was impossible.
Slowly, Slavik and Veronica restored the dacha—planting new greenery where the lawn had been trampled, repairing the fence, changing every lock. They didn’t know whether they would ever reconcile with Valeria Ivanovna. They didn’t know whether she could change and accept their terms. But they knew one thing for certain: they would no longer allow anyone—even the closest people—to cross the boundaries of their family.
And Valeria Ivanovna… well. She would have to choose. And that choice would decide whether she remained part of her son’s and daughter-in-law’s life—or ended up alone with her manipulations and grievances.
But that is a completely different story.
