Marina’s kitchen was exactly the kind every woman over thirty dreams of: spacious, spotless, the tiles gleaming, a tablecloth on the table—not stained with borscht—and food in the fridge that you wouldn’t be ashamed to serve even your mother-in-law. Though, of course, for Tatyana Petrovna you could serve it on a golden tray and she’d still find something “dirty” and “not done properly.”
Marina sat with her laptop, checking work reports. Alexey had just come home, kicked off his shoes so hard his sneakers flew under the cupboard. She rolled her eyes out of habit.
“Did you throw your shoes around like that when you were a kid too?” she tossed out dryly.
“My mom used to say a man should enter the house big and loud, so everyone can see who’s the boss,” Alexey smirked and headed for the bathroom.
Marina snorted: the boss, sure—when his wife’s salary was three times higher… right, right.
She hadn’t even managed to return to her spreadsheet when the doorbell rang. Long, insistent, with that familiar rattling buzz that always meant one thing: Tatyana Petrovna had come “to visit.”
“Oh, Mom!” Alexey brightened, as if it were a pizza delivery knocking.
Marina clenched her teeth. Again, no warning… she could at least text: “On my way to ruin your evening.”
Tatyana Petrovna walked in like this wasn’t Marina’s apartment—bought by Marina before the wedding—but her own nest. She took off her boots without looking and plopped her bag прямо on the sofa.
“Well hello, my unhappy children,” she declared in a tragic voice, like she’d come not for tea but for a funeral.
“Mom, what’s with you?” Alexey grew wary.
“How am I supposed to be cheerful when my son has nothing? No apartment, no car, not even a garage!” Tatyana Petrovna announced, wringing her hands.
Marina looked up from the laptop.
“Sorry, do you work at the property registry?” she asked calmly. “Where are you getting such precise information?”
Tatyana Petrovna narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t be smart. I’m his mother—I can see. There you sit, all business, in your apartment… and who is my son to you? A lodger?”
“Mom, why are you like this…” Alexey mumbled, scratching the back of his head.
Marina closed the laptop and placed her hands on the table like a teacher about to address a difficult student.
“Tatyana Petrovna, let’s be honest. The apartment is mine, bought by me before marriage. Alexey is registered here, everything’s official. What exactly are your complaints?”
Her mother-in-law rolled her eyes.
“People’s tongues are sore already! Valentina Ivanovna from next door asked: ‘So why is your Lyosha living off his wife? What’s that supposed to mean?’ What am I supposed to say—that he has neither a stake nor a yard of his own?”
“Tell her Valentina Ivanovna’s personal life is so boring she lives off other people’s apartments,” Marina smirked.
Alexey gave a nervous little snort but stayed silent.
“See, son,” his mother raised her voice, “she humiliates you right in front of me! And what did I tell you? You should’ve made her put half the apartment in your name before the wedding! Then you’d feel like a real man.”
Marina straightened sharply.
“Excuse me—so a ‘real man’ is now defined by square meters and a registry extract?”
“Don’t you talk back!” Tatyana Petrovna screeched. “You ruined everything! Now my son has no apartment and no advantage!”
Alexey stepped between them, hands raised like he was breaking up a fight.
“Mom, that’s enough, seriously…”
“No, Lyosha, it’s not enough!” she cut him off. “You live like a tenant and you’re even happy about it! And your wife—she only thinks about herself!”
“About myself?” Marina scoffed. “Sorry, but who paid the mortgage on your ‘beloved three-room’ while Lyosha was looking for a job? Wasn’t it me?”
Tatyana Petrovna leaned forward.
“That was temporary! And now…”
“And now I’m supposed to sign over part of my apartment to your son—is that it?” Marina interrupted.
“Of course! That’s only fair. A man needs something to stand on.”
“You know what ‘something to stand on’ is? It’s when a person works and buys their own apartment—rather than Mommy marching into someone else’s home demanding a share,” Marina replied coldly.
Alexey dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“I’ll pour some tea,” he said thickly, trying to steer the conversation away.
“Tea!” his mother snorted. “You should be pouring yourself a cup of bitter truth!”
Marina picked up a mug, but her hands shook so much the spoon clinked against the rim.
How much longer could she take this? Every time it was the same. Some woman thought it was her duty to decide what Marina should do with her property. And the worst part—Lyosha stayed quiet. Standing there like a schoolboy at recess while his mother argues with the teacher.
“Mom,” Alexey finally breathed out, “let’s do this without scandals. Marina is right: it’s her apartment. Everything’s fair.”
Tatyana Petrovna froze like she’d been hit.
“So you’re against me? Against your mother?”
“I’m with my wife.” Alexey’s voice was quiet, but firm.
His mother-in-law went pale.
“Oh, I see. So I gave birth to you, raised you, dragged you up alone, and now you throw me out for some stranger…”
Marina shoved her chair back abruptly.
“A stranger?” her voice trembled. “I’m his wife. And you… you’re a guest. An uninvited one.”
Silence hung so thick that even the kettle on the stove whistled awkwardly—like a kid who’d wandered into the wrong crowd.
Tatyana Petrovna grabbed her bag and marched to the door.
“Remember this, both of you!” she shouted from the hallway. “You, Lyosha—you’ll regret it! And you, Marina… you ruined everything!”
The door slammed so hard a cup fell off the shelf.
Marina stood in the kitchen, trying to catch her breath. Alexey came up and awkwardly put an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t expect her to be like that.”
“Expected it or not—what difference does it make,” Marina said tiredly. “The real question is: whose side are you on?”
Alexey looked into her eyes and, for the first time in years, didn’t look away.
“Yours. Always.”
Marina sat back down at the table and gave a crooked half-smile.
“Then brace yourself, Lyosha. The war has only just begun.”
After that scandal, a strange quiet settled over the apartment. For a whole week Tatyana Petrovna didn’t call, didn’t come by—so much so that even the neighbor upstairs complained:
“Listen, Marinochka, how come your husband’s mom stopped walking through our stairwell? I got used to it—every evening by the elevator: a rally, news, advice. Now it’s boring…”
Marina just smirked. This isn’t the end. It’s the calm before the storm, she thought. And she wasn’t wrong.
On Saturday morning, when she and Alexey were getting ready to go to the market for vegetables, the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood her mother-in-law—fully done up: hair lacquered into place, amber earrings, and a folder of papers in her hands.
“Good morning, kids,” she sang sweetly. “I’ve come to discuss something.”
Marina tensed immediately. Alexey tried to smile.
“Mom, we were just—”
“No problem, the market can wait,” Tatyana Petrovna said confidently, and strode into the kitchen.
She opened the folder and spread the documents on the table.
“Here, take a look. I got advice. By law, if an apartment is purchased during marriage, it’s joint property.”
Marina squinted.
“Except my apartment was bought before marriage. Want me to bring you the registry extract?”
Without batting an eye, Tatyana Petrovna went on:
“What difference does it make when! You live with my son—so you have to share.”
Alexey tried to cut in timidly:
“Mom, come on, enough already…”
“Quiet!” his mother snapped. “You’re always quiet—that’s why you live like a lodger. I’ll speak for you.”
Marina raised an eyebrow.
“So you’ve decided to become his lawyer? Pro bono, I hope?”
“Very funny,” Tatyana Petrovna hissed. “I’m his mother. And I won’t let my son be humiliated.”
“And I won’t let random papers be waved around in my home,” Marina shot back.
Tatyana Petrovna slapped her palm on the table.
“So you refuse?”
“Yes.”
“Then know this: you’ll destroy the family!”
Marina laughed—dry, sharp.
“Families aren’t destroyed by apartments. They’re destroyed when third parties stick their noses where they weren’t invited.”
Alexey exhaled heavily and stood.
“Mom, seriously, stop. This is crossing every line…”
Tatyana Petrovna grabbed his hand.
“Lyosha, wake up! Are you blind? She’s using you! She only needs your hands to move furniture and your salary for utilities. Everything else—she keeps for herself.”
Marina smiled coldly.
“Right, very convenient—‘using’ a man who bought himself new sneakers with my money a week ago. Alexey, go on—confirm I paid.”
Alexey flushed like a kid at a school assembly.
“Well… yeah. That happened.”
“There!” his mother howled triumphantly. “She even counts your sneakers!”
Marina stood, stepped closer, and looked her mother-in-law straight in the eyes.
“No, Tatyana Petrovna. I’m not counting sneakers. I’m counting respect. And there’s zero of it.”
Alexey’s mother flinched, but recovered quickly.
“You’re going to lecture me about respect? Why, you… you’re a crow in peacock feathers! You think because you work, because you have money, you’re better than everyone? And you don’t have children. But I have a son. That’s my blood!”
Marina went pale, but didn’t look away.
“So what—are we holding a contest now? Whose blood is thicker?”
Alexey finally snapped:
“Mom, stop! I’m asking you!”
“I gave birth to you, Lyosha!” Tatyana Petrovna screamed. “And you’re going to ask me?”
Marina took the “documents” from the table and shoved them back into the folder.
“Take these. Your papers mean nothing. By law, it’s my property. If you want—go to court. But keep in mind: in court people speak in facts, not in neighbors’ gossip.”
Tatyana Petrovna pressed her lips tight, snatched the folder, and left without saying goodbye. The door slammed; a bit of plaster crumbled.
Marina sank onto the couch and covered her face with her hands.
“God… when will this end?”
Alexey came over quietly and sat beside her.
“I’m sorry. She… she’s just afraid she’ll lose me.”
“Alexey,” Marina looked at him closely, “I’m not against your mother. I’m against her dictating how we live. We’re a family. We need to be a team.”
He nodded.
“I know. It’s just… hard. She is my mother.”
Marina gave a bitter little smile.
“And who am I? An enemy of the state?”
He said nothing.
That evening, while they were eating dinner, the phone rang. It was the neighbor, Valentina Ivanovna—her voice practically buzzing with curiosity:
“Marinochka, is it true you had a scandal? People say you want to kick Alexey out of the apartment!”
Marina almost choked on her cutlet.
“What?!”
“Oh yes! Tatyana Petrovna was telling everyone by the entrance. Said you’re an evil person and you’re preparing divorce papers!”
Alexey clenched his fists.
“That’s it. Enough. I’ll talk to her myself.”
Marina laid a hand on his shoulder.
“No. Now I’m the one who’ll talk.”
There wasn’t a drop of doubt in her voice.
Sunday. The apartment smelled of fresh coffee and syrniki. For the first time in a week, Marina felt calm: the window cracked open, a light rain outside, and quiet indoors. Alexey sat with a newspaper, but his eyes gave him away—his thoughts weren’t on the weather or pensions.
And then again—the doorbell. Loud. Long.
“Well then,” Marina said, “the final act begins.”
Tatyana Petrovna burst in like a storm—coat unbuttoned, a bag of pies in her hands.
“I came to make peace!” she announced, setting the bag on the table like a bribe. “Let’s do it the human way: the apartment—half and half. Period.”
Marina sat down and folded her arms over her chest.
“That’s how you make peace? Interesting.”
“Marina, don’t push it!” her mother-in-law raised her voice. “Either you sign half over to my son, or I’m going to court!”
Alexey stood up.
“Mom, stop it!”
“Shut up!” Tatyana Petrovna barked. “You’re under her heel—I can see it!”
Marina rose too.
“Tatyana Petrovna, you’re crossing lines. Go to court—fine. But there they’ll explain to you that the apartment is mine and your son isn’t entitled to any share.”
Her mother-in-law turned crimson.
“So now you’re laughing at me?!”
She yanked the bag, and the pies scattered across the floor. Alexey stepped toward her, trying to stop her, but Marina got there first.
“That’s it. Enough. This is my home. And there will be no more scandals in it. Leave.”
“You’re throwing me out?” Tatyana Petrovna hissed.
Alexey walked up and said firmly:
“Yes, Mom. Leave. And don’t come back here without an apology.”
Silence. Tatyana Petrovna looked from her son to Marina. Her lips trembled like a child being punished—rightly—for the first time.
“You… you chose her?” she whispered, barely audible.
“I chose myself, Mom. And the family Marina and I are building,” Alexey replied, steady.
She silently took her coat and left. The door closed softly—too softly, almost.
Marina sank into a chair.
“Well. Now the war of rumors will definitely start.”
Alexey took her hand.
“Let it. The main thing is—we’re together.”
They sat in the kitchen among the scattered pies. And suddenly Marina laughed.
“Symbolic, you know? Everything fell apart… but we stayed.”
For the first time in a long while, Alexey smiled too.
“Then we’ll start picking it up. But this time—our own.
