Arina, bake a cabbage pie for dinner tomorrow,” Lyudmila Vasilievna declared, entering the kitchen and sitting down at the table. “I haven’t had a proper pastry in a long time; you’re always cooking some strange dishes.”
Arina turned away from the stove where she was frying cutlets for dinner. Her mother-in-law sat with her usual displeased expression, adjusting her familiar burgundy sweater.
“I’m allergic to cabbage, Lyudmila Vasilievna,” Arina replied calmly, flipping a cutlet. “I’m not going to make it.”
“What do you mean you’re not going to?” the mother-in-law’s voice sharpened. “I asked you, and you’re refusing me? Who do you think you are to talk back to me? In my time, daughters-in-law respected their elders!”
“This isn’t about respect,” Arina said, moving the pan to another burner. “If I cook cabbage, I’ll have an allergic attack. Make it yourself if you want it so much.”
“Make it myself?” Lyudmila Vasilievna jumped up from her chair. “I am not your servant! You’re the lady of the house, so cook what I say! And your allergy is just an excuse. You’re just too lazy to deal with dough!”
“Lyudmila Vasilievna, what does laziness have to do with this?” Arina turned toward her mother-in-law. “I cook every day, clean, do laundry. But I won’t make a cabbage pie because I physically can’t!”
“Can’t or won’t?” the mother-in-law stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. “You think just because my son married you, you can boss me around? We’ll see who’s really in charge here!”
Keys jingled in the hallway — Mikhail had come home. Lyudmila Vasilievna’s face instantly changed into a suffering expression.
“Misha, son,” she rushed to him. “Good you’re here. Your wife has gotten completely cheeky! I asked her to bake a pie, and she’s rude to me, refusing!”
Mikhail took off his jacket and gave his wife a tired look; she stood by the stove with a tense face.
“Arina, what’s going on?” he asked, hanging his jacket in the closet. “Why are you refusing your mother?”
“I’m allergic to cabbage, Misha,” Arina said quietly. “I already explained it to Lyudmila Vasilievna.”
“Allergy? What allergy?” Mikhail waved his hand. “Mom, don’t worry. Arina will bake the pie tomorrow. Right, dear?”
Arina silently looked at her husband, then at her mother-in-law, who was smiling triumphantly. Her heart clenched painfully with hurt.
“No, I won’t bake it,” she said firmly, taking off her apron and heading to the door. “You can have dinner yourselves.”
Arina went to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Voices muffled behind the wall — Mikhail and his mother were calmly having dinner, discussing some everyday matters. And she lay face down on the pillow, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Behind the wall, a steady murmur of voices could be heard — Mikhail was telling his mother about work, and she was nodding sympathetically. As if nothing had happened. As if his wife hadn’t left upset, but simply disappeared into thin air.
In the morning, Arina got up earlier than usual. Lyudmila Vasilievna was still asleep — the house was unusually quiet. Mikhail sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, scrolling through news on his phone.
“Misha, I need to talk to you,” Arina sat across from him, clasping her hands. “A serious talk.”
He looked up from the screen, frowning in confusion.
“About what?”
“About your mother,” Arina took a breath. “I’m tired of the constant nagging. Lyudmila Vasilievna criticizes everything — how I cook, how I clean, what I wear. I’m tired of obeying her in my own… in our home.”
“Arina, what are you saying?” Mikhail put down his phone. “Mom behaves fine. She just has her habits.”
“Habits?” Arina’s voice sharpened. “Is that what you call bossing around adults? Misha, maybe it’s time to find your mother a rented apartment? Let her live separately? We’re still young — we need our own space.”
Mikhail slammed his cup on the saucer.
“Are you suggesting to throw my mother out on the street?” Metal edged his voice. “She asked to live with us, and you want to kick her out?”
“I’m not saying that,” Arina reached out to him, but he pulled away. “Just a separate place. We could help with the rent…”
“Look, I don’t like this,” Mikhail stood up and began getting ready for work. “Mom doesn’t bother anyone. On the contrary, she makes our life better — cooks, helps around the house.”
“When does she cook?” Arina also stood up. “Misha, open your eyes! I work, come home, cook dinner, clean, do laundry. And your mother only criticizes!”
“Enough,” Mikhail cut her off, putting on his jacket. “I don’t want to hear this anymore. Mom stays with us. Period.”
The door slammed behind him with an unpleasant metallic sound. Arina was left alone in the kitchen, staring at her husband’s half-finished coffee. The bitterness from the conversation spread inside her like that cold drink. She slowly took the cup, washed it, and set it to dry.
Arina was irritated by this injustice. Her mother-in-law had given her apartment to her daughter. And then insisted on living with them. And Mikhail saw nothing strange in this! Arina was tired of living under his mother’s watchful eye.
Half an hour later, Lyudmila Vasilievna appeared in the kitchen. Her hair was neatly styled, her robe buttoned up to the last button. Her face expressed extreme displeasure.
“Well, what a scene you made,” the mother-in-law started without even greeting. “So unkind! You thought my son would support you?”
Arina silently poured herself some tea, trying not to react to the provocation.
“See?” Lyudmila Vasilievna continued, sitting down at the table. “My son took my side! That means he understands who’s the boss here. And since that’s so, you have to obey me!”
Arina put the kettle down a bit more sharply than planned.
“Today you’ll clean the entire apartment until it shines,” the mother-in-law continued in a lecturing tone. “Wash the windows, mop all the floors in every room, make the bathroom sparkle. Otherwise, you walk around here like a lady, but the house is dirty!”
“The house isn’t dirty,” Arina quietly objected.
“Not dirty?” Lyudmila Vasilievna’s voice rose. “I saw dust on the dresser in the living room yesterday! And the mirror in the hallway is smudged! If you argue, I’ll complain to my son and tell him you don’t listen to me!”
Something inside Arina snapped. Like a tightly stretched string that could no longer withstand the tension. She turned sharply to her mother-in-law.
“No!” Her voice rang with tension. “I won’t do it! I’ve obeyed you for too long! I lost myself in all this! I cook what you order, clean when you say, stay silent when you yell! Enough!”
Lyudmila Vasilievna jumped up. Her face reddened with outrage. She screamed:
“How dare you? How dare you talk back to me?”
Arina raised her voice too.
“I dare! I am a living person, not your servant! And I will no longer tolerate your nitpicking!”
“If you talk back, my son will throw you out!” shouted the mother-in-law, shaking her fist.
And then something inside Arina seemed to break loose. Years of silence, months of humiliation. It all poured out in one powerful wave. She straightened to full height. Her voice sounded so strong that Lyudmila Vasilievna involuntarily stepped back.
“You forgot whose apartment this is! You forgot who let you live here! Who allowed you to live here without paying rent, utilities, groceries — nothing! Let me remind you — this is my apartment! Mine, bought before marriage. Bought before I met your son, your whole family!”
Lyudmila Vasilievna froze with her mouth open. She clearly did not expect such a turn.
But Arina didn’t stop.
“And so from this day on, you will no longer dictate terms to me! Or it won’t be me who ends up on the street — it will be you! Understand?”
For several seconds, the mother-in-law stood as if petrified, then slowly came to herself. Her face flushed, her eyes narrowed.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” she shrieked. “You have no right! I am your husband’s mother! I am older than you! You must respect me!”
“Respect should be earned, not given by age!” Arina did not give in. “And in the past months living here, you have not earned even a drop of respect!”
“How dare you…” Lyudmila Vasilievna gasped in outrage. “Who do you think you are? I’m Misha’s mother! And you’re just a temporary woman! He’ll always choose me!”
“Then you two move out together!” Arina cut in. “And I’ll stay in my apartment! The one I pay for, clean, and cook in! While you’re only bossing around!”
“I… I’ll tell my son!” the mother-in-law stammered. “He’ll find out how you treat me!”
“Go ahead and tell!” Arina crossed her arms. “Just don’t forget to mention that you live here for free!”
Lyudmila Vasilievna turned indignantly and, loudly stomping, ran to her room. The door slammed so hard the windows rattled.
A few minutes later, an agitated voice came from the room. The mother-in-law was clearly calling her son. Arina caught fragments: “Completely cheeky… insults me… threatens to kick me out…”
Arina calmly finished her tea and began getting ready for work. Let Lyudmila Vasilievna complain — today she spoke the truth for the first time in a long while.
In the evening, Mikhail returned home nearly furious. His face was flushed, his eyes blazing with anger. Barely crossing the threshold, he attacked his wife:
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. “Mom told me everything! How dare you insult her? Threaten to kick her out of the house?”
“Out of my house,” Arina corrected calmly, taking off her apron. “And I didn’t threaten. I warned.”
“Out of yours?” Mikhail’s voice grew louder. “We are husband and wife! What’s yours is mine!”
“No, dear,” Arina turned to him. “This apartment was bought by me before the marriage. And I will no longer tolerate your mother’s rudeness.”
“Mom didn’t do anything wrong!” Mikhail yelled. “She only asked for help around the house!”
“She gave orders,” Arina countered. “And insulted me. And you supported her.”
“Of course I supported her! She’s my mother!”
“Then live with her,” Arina headed for the front door and opened it wide. “But not here. Pack up and leave.”
“You’re joking?” Mikhail looked at his wife in disbelief.
“Not at all,” Arina pointed to the door. “You’ve used me enough, lived off me enough. Now decide where and how you want to live. And I choose to be happy. Without you!”
Lyudmila Vasilievna ran out of the room hearing the shouting.
“What’s going on?” she asked, but seeing the open door, understood everything.
“Pack up,” Arina repeated. “You have half an hour.”
Relief washed over Arina like a wave. She had taken the hardest step.
