Artyom placed the last box on the floor and wiped the sweat from his brow. The move was finally over. Svetlana stood by the window, taking in the view of the city center unfolding from the ninth floor.
“Can you imagine, now it really is our home,” Svetlana said as she turned to her husband, smiling. “It almost feels unreal.”
“Mom really pulled through; she chose the best option,” Artyom said as he embraced his wife. “You know, she has connections everywhere. Without her, we’d never be able to afford an apartment like this in our lives.”
Svetlana fell silent, though something stung inside her. Of course, a two-room apartment in the center was wonderful, but for some reason the very fact that her mother-in-law had insisted on this “gift” caused vague uneasiness. Yet Svetlana brushed those thoughts aside – there was work to be done, sorting out belongings and setting up their new family nest.
The first few days flew by in pleasant busyness. Svetlana delighted in arranging the dishes in the kitchen, hanging curtains, and finding the perfect spot for every little thing.
Her work as a lawyer sometimes allowed her to finish early, and on those days she hurried home in time to prepare something tasty for Artyom’s return.
“Artyom, what do you think? Should the sofa go by the window or against the wall?” Svetlana asked one evening as they planned the layout of the living room furniture.
“It makes no difference,” her husband replied dismissively, not looking away from his phone. “Put it wherever you find it more convenient.”
“No, I want us to decide together. This is our home after all.”
At that moment the doorbell rang. Standing at the threshold was Galina Petrovna carrying imposing bags.
“I thought I’d check up on the newlyweds!” the mother-in-law declared energetically as she stepped into the apartment. “Oh, I see you haven’t properly arranged the furniture yet? Svetochka, my dear, that won’t do. The sofa definitely needs to be placed against the wall – it’s obvious. And these curtains…” Galina Petrovna wrinkled her nose, “far too plain for an apartment like this.”
Svetlana felt her cheeks burn.
“Galina Petrovna, we’ll handle it ourselves…”
“Of course, of course,” the mother-in-law interrupted. “I’m only offering advice. After all, I have experience. Artyom, I brought something to eat, since I know Svetochka tends to work late…”
“I’m perfectly capable of cooking,” Svetlana whispered in protest.
But Galina Petrovna seemed not to hear. She had already taken charge in the kitchen, commenting as she arranged the dishes and appliances. Artyom simply smiled, watching his mother.
Such visits grew more frequent. Galina Petrovna could turn up at any time, sometimes even when nobody was home – she had her own set of keys.
“Mom, maybe you shouldn’t come unannounced?” Artyom suggested timidly one day.
“My dear boy, I worry about you. What if something happens? Besides, the apartment is mine, by the way.”
Those words cut painfully for Svetlana. So it turned out that this wasn’t their family nest after all, but rather a temporary refuge under the watchful eye of her mother-in-law?
One evening, Svetlana’s school friend Marina dropped by. The women hadn’t seen each other for a long time, and Svetlana decided to prepare dinner to celebrate their reunion.
“Can you believe it? I finally decided to leave my hated job!” Marina shared her news. “I’m starting my own business.”
“That’s wonderful! And I, too, have been thinking about change,” Svetlana replied, slicing vegetables for a salad. “Maybe it’s time for something different…”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. In the kitchen doorway, Galina Petrovna appeared.
“Oh, look—we have guests!” the mother-in-law said, casting a disapproving glance at the table. “Svetlana, why didn’t you give me a heads-up? I would have helped organize everything properly.”
“Galina Petrovna, I didn’t think…”
“Exactly—you didn’t think,” snapped Galina Petrovna. “In respectable families, that’s not done. Such things need to be coordinated.”
Marina quickly gathered her things and left despite her friend’s protests. As soon as she departed, a quarrel erupted.
“Your mother is right,” declared Artyom as he returned from work. “At the very least, you should have warned her.”
“What should I have warned her about?” Svetlana fired back. “That I want to see a friend in my own home?”
“Not in your own, but in the gifted apartment,” corrected Galina Petrovna. “And I, as the giver, have the right to know what’s happening within these walls.”
That evening, once the mother-in-law finally left, Svetlana tried to talk to her husband.
“Artyom, this can’t go on anymore. Your mother is controlling our every move.”
“She’s just looking out for us,” Artyom casually dismissed. “You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?” Svetlana sat on the edge of the bed. “I can’t invite a friend over without your mother’s permission. I can’t move the furniture as I please. I can’t even prepare dinner without her commentary!”
“Your mother has more experience than both of us; she wouldn’t advise something bad.”
Svetlana had been independent for so many years, building her career and making her own decisions. And now she felt like a puppet, controlled by her mother-in-law.
The next day, Galina Petrovna appeared at the apartment again. This time she brought new curtains – ones she deemed more suitable for the interior. Svetlana watched silently as her mother-in-law removed the curtains she loved…
Once Galina Petrovna finally left, Svetlana surveyed the living room. Everything felt foreign – from the heavy velvet drapes to the furniture arranged by her mother-in-law’s decree. Not a single detail reflected the character of the young mistress of the house.
“Enough,” Svetlana whispered as she resolutely moved the sofa towards the window.
The following few hours passed in a blur. Svetlana shifted furniture, rearranged decorative pillows, and placed cherished photographs and trinkets. A handmade ceramic vase – a gift from her friend Marina – appeared on the coffee table. In one corner of the room now stood a cozy floor lamp with a soft glow, and on the wall hung a painting of a landscape that Svetlana had bought at an outdoor fair.
“What is going on here?” boomed Galina Petrovna as she suddenly appeared in the doorway. “What sort of amateur hour is this?”
“I only made a few changes,” Svetlana answered calmly, though her heart pounded faster.
“Few changes? You’ve turned a proper living room into some sort of ‘youthful madhouse’! That tasteless vase, those cheap pictures… And the sofa! I already explained why it should be against the wall!” Galina Petrovna flailed her hands.
“Galina Petrovna, this is our apartment…”
“Exactly – yours! And you didn’t even consult with Artyom!” Galina Petrovna snatched her phone. “I’m calling your son right now.”
Artyom rushed home from work within half an hour. Glancing at the transformed living room, he frowned:
“Svetlana, what are you doing? What’s with all this chaos?”
“Chaos? I merely wanted to make our apartment cozier.”
“Cozier?” Galina Petrovna scoffed. “Call things by their names – you deliberately ruined it just to spite me!”
“Mother, you’re right,” Artyom nodded. “At least you should have discussed it with us.”
“With us?” Svetlana’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Did you consult with me when you changed the curtains? When you dictated where to set the dishes? When you decided whom I could invite over?”
Galina Petrovna raised her voice:
“I’m just trying to teach you how to be a good housewife. But clearly, you’re not capable even of the simplest tasks.”
“Svetlana, stop,” Artyom said wearily. “Let’s just put everything back like it was.”
Day by day, the atmosphere in the house grew increasingly tense. Galina Petrovna began dropping by multiple times a day, under the pretext of checking whether Svetlana had once again staged a coup. Every action by the daughter-in-law was met with criticism.
“Are you still making those same salads?” the mother-in-law frowned. “Artyom loves meat.”
“Why haven’t you ironed your husband’s shirts yet?” came a voice from the bedroom.
“And are you really wearing that skirt to work? No wonder your career isn’t going anywhere…”
More and more, Artyom agreed with his mother, nodding at each remark. Svetlana began to feel like a stranger in her own home.
One evening, Galina Petrovna arrived carrying a furniture catalog.
“I’ve been thinking,” she declared, “we need to completely update the decor. This furniture no longer befits the apartment.”
“What?” Svetlana nearly dropped her cup. “But we just set everything up!”
“Exactly – you did. And I want to have a proper renovation here. And don’t argue – I’ve already called in a designer.”
“But this is our apartment!” Svetlana couldn’t contain herself. “You can’t just change everything!”
“By the way, this apartment was gifted to you by my mother,” Artyom interjected. “We must be grateful.”
“Grateful? For what? For being controlled like children? For not being able to live in peace in our own home? Was it really a gift, or was it just a temporary living arrangement—a madhouse of sorts?”
“How dare you!” Galina Petrovna exploded. “After everything I’ve done for you! Artyom, will you really allow her to talk to your mother like that?”
“Svetlana, apologize immediately,” her husband demanded.
“No,” Svetlana answered softly but firmly. “I will not apologize anymore. I won’t be silent. And I won’t allow you to treat me as if I’m nothing.”
“Well, that’s the nature of your wife,” Galina Petrovna shook her head. “I told you she wasn’t right for you…”
In that moment, something inside Svetlana broke. Years of patience, attempts to please, and the desire to keep peace in the family all seemed in vain.
“You know what,” Svetlana said quietly, locking eyes with Artyom, “I’m not going to dance to someone else’s tune any longer. You forced this apartment on me—so take it and leave it!”
Galina Petrovna stood frozen, mouth agape, as Svetlana swiftly retreated to the bedroom. Her hands trembled, but she methodically began packing her things into a suitcase.
“Svetlana, what are you doing?” Artyom appeared in the doorway. “Stop this hysterics!”
“This isn’t a hysterical outburst,” Svetlana replied calmly as she carefully folded her favorite sweater. “This is a decision I should have made a long time ago.”
Within an hour, a taxi was whisking Svetlana away to her parental home. Her mind felt blank, with only a faint dizziness reminding her of the stress she had endured. Her mother opened the door and, without asking any questions, hugged her tightly.
“I’ve ruined everything,” Svetlana whispered as they sat in the kitchen, sharing a cup of tea.
“No, sweetheart,” her mother soothed, gently stroking her hand. “You just stopped ruining your life.”
The first few days at her parents’ house passed in a haze. Svetlana slept, read a lot, and tried not to dwell on what had happened. Her phone rang incessantly with calls from Artyom, but she didn’t pick up.
“Darling, perhaps you should talk to him?” her mother gently suggested on the fourth day.
“No, Mom. I need time to think.”
A week later, Artyom appeared at her parents’ doorstep. Svetlana had just stepped out of a store and encountered him by the entrance.
“Svetlana, let’s talk,” Artyom said softly. “I understand everything now. I promise, your mother won’t interfere anymore.”
“Really?” Svetlana replied with a sad smile. “And how did you explain it to her?”
“Well… we talked. She agreed to visit less often.”
“Less often?” Svetlana shook her head. “Artyom, it’s not about how often she comes. It’s about you letting your mother control our lives. No, excuse me—it’s controlling your life now.”
“Svetlana, I love you! Please come back.”
“You love me? Where was that love when your mother dictated how I should live? When she criticized my every step? When she tried to reshape me to suit her taste?”
Artyom fell silent, lowering his gaze. Svetlana turned and walked toward the entrance.
“I’m filing for divorce,” she declared over her shoulder.
The next day, Svetlana went to a law office. As a family law specialist, she knew all the divorce procedures, but now she found herself on the other side of the table.
“If you’ve decided, then just file the papers,” said Marina, that same school friend Svetlana had turned to for help.
“Thank you. You know, I thought it would be worse.”
“The worst is behind you,” Marina smiled. “By the way, a position for a lead lawyer has opened up at our firm. Would you like to try?”
A month later, Svetlana was already working at the new company. The salary turned out to be higher than before, and the team was friendlier. In her free time, the young woman began searching for a new apartment.
“Look at this option,” Marina said, showing photographs of a small one-bedroom. “The neighborhood is quiet and not far from downtown.”
“It looks cozy,” Svetlana observed. “And best of all – no one will tell me where to put the sofa.”
The friends laughed. Svetlana caught her reflection in the window and noticed how her face had changed – the tension had melted away, replaced by a sparkle in her eyes.
The move to the new apartment took only a couple of days. Svetlana deliberately chose bright curtains, reminiscent of those her mother-in-law once removed. On the windowsill, her favorite flowers found a home, and on the walls hung paintings that once irritated Galina Petrovna.
“Now it feels cozy here,” Svetlana said with pleasure as she surveyed the result. “Now I feel truly at home.”
The divorce was swift – Artyom did not put up any obstacles. Svetlana later heard from mutual acquaintances that her ex-husband had moved back in with his mother, and that Galina Petrovna had started renting out the apartment.
“Don’t you regret it?” Marina asked once as they sat in Svetlana’s new kitchen.
“Regret what? That I’m no longer someone’s puppet?” Svetlana shook her head. “You know, I finally feel like myself. Remember when you talked about change? It seems I found the courage to change everything. And I’m happy.”
Now, every decision, every little purchase was entirely her own choice.
