Sofya adjusted the photograph on the wall—a simple wooden frame, inside which was the very first photo taken in her own apartment. Twelve years ago, right after the purchase, when there was not yet any furniture. Sofya was sitting on the window sill, happy, with the keys in her hand.
— “Are you adjusting it again?” Andrey looked up from his laptop. “Mom says it’s better to hang family photos. She has a great frame—a silver one…”
— “No, thank you. This photograph will stay here,” Sofya replied as she moved toward the window, gazing at the evening courtyard. Four years of working herself to the bone: working as an accountant by day, tutoring in the evenings. Every penny went into the savings. Her grandmother had helped with the final payment by selling her old garage.
— “Mom, why don’t you want to renovate?” came the voice of eight-year-old Katya from the children’s room. “Grandma Tamara says everything here is old.”
Sofya frowned. Lately, Tamara Nikolaevna had been visiting more frequently, each time finding new reasons to criticize.
— “Katya, go do your homework,” Sofya called as she peeked into the children’s room. “Our renovation is good, just in a different style.”
— “But Grandma said everything here needs to be redone. And anyway, since Dad lives here, he should be the owner.”
Andrey coughed loudly, hiding his eyes behind the laptop screen. Sofya froze in the doorway of the children’s room, clutching the door handle.
— “Katya, who is the owner of this apartment?”
— “You, Mommy!” Katya ran over, hugging Sofya around the waist. “But Grandma says…”
— “Grandma says a lot of things,” Sofya patted Katya’s head. “Now, why don’t you tell me how school is going?”
The evening passed quietly, but inside, Sofya was boiling. Her mother-in-law’s hints were becoming increasingly obvious. First came the advice on renovations, then conversations about how everything in the family should be shared. And now even Katya was being influenced.
The next morning, while getting her daughter ready for school, Sofya heard the doorbell. Standing on the doorstep was Tamara Nikolaevna carrying shopping bags.
— “I bought some pastries for tea,” the mother-in-law announced as she walked into the kitchen, clanging dishes in a very homely way. “And I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”
— “I have ten minutes, then I have to take Katya to school.”
— “That’s exactly what we’ll talk about,” Tamara Nikolaevna said, taking out cups and placing them on the table. “You work close to home now. Maybe it would be better to sell this apartment? We could buy you a place closer to us, with your father. We’d help out with Katya.”
— “Thank you, but no,” Sofya began gathering her daughter’s school bag, deliberately avoiding looking at her mother-in-law.
— “I’m thinking about family!” Tamara Nikolaevna’s voice took on a steely tone. “You live too far away, Andryusha has to travel across the city. And here we are, nearby, ready to help both with the renovations and with Katya. Sell the apartment—we’ll buy you a three-room apartment near us. Of course, you’d have to pay extra…”
— “Tamara Nikolaevna, that topic is closed.”
— “Why are you so stubborn?” her mother-in-law exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I don’t sleep at night thinking about how to help you. Look at Ludmila, my neighbor, who transferred her apartment to her children. Now they all live together, helping one another.”
— “We’re managing just fine.”
— “And I’m thinking,” Tamara Nikolaevna lowered her voice, “you bought the apartment before you got married, didn’t you? That means Andryusha has nothing to do with it. That’s not right. You’re a family. Why not give him at least a share?”
Sofya slowly turned toward her mother-in-law. Her temples throbbed.
— “I’m taking Katya to school. Close the door when you leave.”
— “There you go!” Tamara Nikolaevna sprang up. “You’re running away from the conversation again! And I’m worried about your future. You never know what might happen… Andryusha lives here, yet he has no rights at all.”
— “What rights?” Sofya spun around sharply. “On my apartment? The one I bought myself?”
— “Don’t shout!” Tamara Nikolaevna said in a soothing tone. “I’m talking to you kindly. But you must understand: you’ve been a family for a long time now…”
— “Mom, I’m late for school!” Katya dashed into the corridor with her school bag.
— “We’re leaving, sweetheart,” Sofya said, taking the keys. “Tamara Nikolaevna, close the door.”
— “So, that’s it?” her mother-in-law blocked the exit. “You won’t even listen? I could speak to you differently, you know. Andrey is my son, and I won’t allow…”
— “Won’t allow what?” Sofya stepped closer to her mother-in-law. “Are you threatening?”
— “I only care about you!” Tamara Nikolaevna’s voice trembled. “You’re young and foolish. You don’t understand that family is…”
— “Katya, wait in the car,” Sofya handed the keys to her daughter. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
After Katya’s door closed, Sofya slowly approached her mother-in-law.
— “Tamara Nikolaevna, I’m only saying this once. This apartment is mine. I bought it before marriage. This is where my family lives, and I’m grateful for your concern, but you have no rights over this home.”
— “Oh, darling,” her mother-in-law cooed, theatrically placing her hand over her heart. “How ungrateful you are. I only want what’s best. But you’ll regret this…”
— “Regret what?”
— “You’ll see,” Tamara Nikolaevna said, adjusting her purse. “I’ll find a way to show you what family really means. And Andrey will find out too.”
Tamara Nikolaevna left with a loud slam of the door. Sofya stood still for several seconds, then grabbed her phone. She needed to call the MFC immediately to check whether someone had tried to obtain an extract for her apartment.
At the MFC they confirmed—the documents were in order, and no one had requested any information. Sofya exhaled and drove off to the school. Katya was late for her first lesson, but that now worried her the least.
In the evening, after returning from work, Sofya found Tamara Nikolaevna in the apartment. The mother-in-law, sleeves rolled up, was rummaging through the closet.
— “What are you doing?” Sofya froze in the bedroom doorway.
— “I’m putting things in order,” Tamara Nikolaevna replied without even turning around. “Everything here is a mess. We’ll clear these shelves—you know, we have to make space for Andrey’s things.”
— “I did not allow you to touch my belongings.”
— “I’m Andrey’s mother! What do you mean, you didn’t allow?” the mother-in-law snapped, arms akimbo. “Do I now need to ask permission just to help my son get organized?”
— “Yes, you do. This is my apartment.”
— “Here we go again!” Tamara Nikolaevna flared her hands. “Mine, mine… But what about family? Andrey, tell her!”
Only then did Sofya notice her husband sitting in an armchair by the window. Andrey shifted uncomfortably.
— “Mom, let’s not start…”
— “No, I will!” Tamara Nikolaevna declared as she marched decisively into the kitchen. “Come here, both of you—we need to talk.”
On the kitchen table lay some papers. The mother-in-law fanned them out.
— “Look here. I’ve figured out how the apartment could be remodeled. Andrey, remember you said you needed an office? We’ll put up a partition here, and it will be a great workspace. And this room could be rented out—some extra income wouldn’t hurt.”
— “Which room do you mean to rent out?” Sofya asked, slowly sinking onto a chair. “What are you talking about?”
— “What am I talking about? I’m thinking of your future! Look, Artyomka is sitting here without a job. He needs a room so he can get back on his feet…”
— “Artyom?” Sofya turned to her husband. “Is your brother going to live in my apartment?”
— “I’m not…” Andrey began, but his mother interrupted:
— “Yes, Artyomka will live with you. He’s a young specialist, he needs a start. He can’t keep bouncing around rented rooms!”
— “You have a three-room apartment,” Sofya noted. “Why can’t Artyom live there?”
— “What, you’re not willing to help your husband’s brother?” Tamara Nikolaevna squinted. “I’ve always said you’re so selfish! You only think of yourself.”
At that moment, a sleepy figure—Artyom—appeared in the doorway. Tamara Nikolaevna’s younger son, a twenty-five-year-old slacker, had come with two huge suitcases.
— “Hello, everyone,” Artyom greeted as he walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator in a very homely manner. “Is there something to eat?”
— “Artyom, what are you doing here?” Sofya stood up.
— “What do you mean? I’m going to live here,” Artyom said as he pulled out a sausage and began slicing it right on the table. “Mom said you wouldn’t mind.”
— “I mind.”
— “Too late to mind!” Tamara Nikolaevna snapped. “Artyom’s already brought his things. You can’t just kick your own brother out!”
— “I will kick him out,” Sofya said, grabbing the suitcases. “Right now.”
— “Andrey!” Tamara Nikolaevna shrieked. “Tell your wife! She’s completely lost it!”
— “Sonya, maybe…” Andrey started, but his words were cut short by his wife’s piercing look.
— “Out. Everyone out of my apartment,” Sofya said quietly.
— “Yours?” Tamara Nikolaevna jumped toward her daughter-in-law. “Oh, you ungrateful woman! My son lives here, so it’s his apartment too! Andrey, don’t be a pushover, say it!”
— “Let Artyom stay for a bit,” Andrey mumbled. “It’s only temporary…”
— “You can leave too,” Sofya declared, throwing open the front door. “If you’re so sure about your rights to my apartment.”
— “Don’t you dare!” Tamara Nikolaevna grabbed Sofya’s hand. “You can’t kick out my son! He’s registered here!”
— “Let go,” Sofya shook off her mother-in-law’s grip. “Andrey can stay, if he understands where his home is. And you and Artyom, get out right now.”
— “Mom, let’s go,” Artyom tugged his mother toward the door. “I’ll stay with Dimon for now.”
— “You’re not going anywhere!” Tamara Nikolaevna insisted. “Andrey, will you really allow her to treat us this way? She’s kicking out your family!”
Andrey’s confused gaze shifted from his mother to his wife.
— “Sonya, maybe we should let Artyom stay? It wouldn’t be too difficult, would it? He could quietly live in that small room…”
— “There!” Tamara Nikolaevna triumphantly exclaimed. “Even Andrey understands that a family should help one another! And you…”
— “That’s it,” Sofya crossed her arms. “Artyom, you have five minutes to collect your things. Tamara Nikolaevna, you leave with him. And you, Andrey, decide—either you live here as a husband, or over there as a son. There’s no third option.”
— “Are you giving him an ultimatum?” her mother-in-law gasped in outrage. “Forcing him to choose between his mother and his wife?”
— “No, Tamara Nikolaevna. I’m simply showing where the boundaries lie. This apartment is my home. I earned it, I’m responsible for it. And I won’t let anyone dictate terms to me.”
— “Sonya is right,” Andrey suddenly said quietly. “Mom, that’s enough. Artyom, pack your things.”
— “Traitor!” Tamara Nikolaevna flailed her arms. “I raised you—I lost sleep over you—and you…”
— “Exactly, Mom. You raised me. Now I’m an adult; I have my own family. And it’s me and Sonya who make the decisions here.”
Tamara Nikolaevna stared at her son silently for a moment, then abruptly turned and stormed out of the apartment. Artyom, hoisting his suitcases, followed after her.
In the evening, after putting Katya to bed, Sofya sat at the kitchen table, staring at a cup of tea that had grown cold. Andrey settled beside her.
“You know, I only just realized what my mother is doing,” Andrey said, pulling his chair closer. “She wasn’t just trying to find a room for Artyom. She was testing whether she could control you.”
“I’ve known that for a long time,” Sofya replied with a wry smile. “First the advice on renovations, then talk about shared property. And now she’s decided to settle your brother in.”
“Forgive me. I was caught between a rock and a hard place—I was afraid to hurt Mom and didn’t want to lose you.”
Then the doorbell rang. Standing on the doorstep was Tamara Nikolaevna, crying, carrying a bag of containers.
“I’ve made some salads… Maybe we can make up?” the mother-in-law said as she stepped into the entryway. “I thought maybe you were right. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. Artyomka moved in with us; Dad freed up a room…”
— “Tamara Nikolaevna,” Sofya interjected, blocking her way, “I’m glad you found a solution. But let’s agree: no more talk about my apartment.”
— “What are you blabbering about—yours, yours!” Tamara Nikolaevna’s tone turned icy. “You’re such a proprietor! I came in peace, and you…”
— “Mom,” Andrey said, standing beside his wife, “either you accept our terms, or we’ll only speak during the holidays.”
— “So that’s how it is?” Tamara Nikolaevna set her bag on a side table. “Alright, I understand. If you don’t want to see me, then don’t. But don’t complain later that I don’t get along with my granddaughter!”
— “That’s blackmail, Mom,” Andrey shook his head. “It won’t work.”
— “We’ll see!” Tamara Nikolaevna retorted as she dashed out to the staircase. “You’ll regret choosing this… selfish woman!”
When the door slammed, Sofya leaned against the wall.
“Things are always like this with my mother,” Andrey said, embracing his wife. “First she oppresses, then she gets offended, and then she resorts to blackmail. I’ve only just realized how she’s been manipulating me all my life.”
A week passed. Tamara Nikolaevna neither called nor visited. Sofya went about her business, trying not to dwell on the situation. On Friday evening, Andrey returned from work unusually pensive.
“Imagine,” he said as he slipped off his shoes, “Mom eventually found a room for Artyom. In her own place. Turns out, that was another way to solve the issue.”
“She did say so… Of course, it’s possible,” Sofya smiled. “It just needed the willingness.”
“And she also asked me to pass on that she won’t interfere in our affairs anymore,” Andrey pulled his wife close. “It seems she finally realized that her usual tactics don’t work on me.”
“Do you really think she’s understood?”
“I’m sure. You know, when I saw how calmly and firmly you set your boundaries, I realized a lot. Mom isn’t bad; she’s just used to commanding everyone. And I always bowed, just to avoid conflict.”
At that moment, the phone rang. It was Tamara Nikolaevna.
“Don’t pick up,” Andrey said. “Let her get used to the new rules.”
Sofya nodded. The phone rang and rang, but the couple didn’t answer. The evening belonged only to them—without advice, reproaches, or manipulations. It seemed they had finally learned to be a family where everyone respects each other’s boundaries.
