Ekaterina slipped off her work sneakers and breathed a sigh of relief. After ten hours of hard work in the sewing workshop, her back ached, and her fingers tingled from constant machine work. The room was stuffy — orders for school uniforms kept pouring in one after another, and the seamstresses had to stay late. Katya, or simply Katyukha, was considered one of the best seamstresses: her neat stitches and ability to work even with the most difficult fabrics were appreciated by both clients and management. But the six-day workweek and endless overtime were gradually draining all her strength.
Home greeted her with coolness and coziness. A small two-room apartment in an old building, inherited from her grandfather, had become a real refuge. High ceilings, wooden floors she had restored herself, a cozy kitchen overlooking the courtyard, overgrown with greenery. Every detail here was familiar: curtains she had sewn herself, books on fashion design on the shelves — the dream of opening her own atelier was still just a dream. After the wedding, Pavel had moved in, and together they created a comfortable home: a soft throw on the sofa, pots with ficus plants, a small table for morning coffee.
After shedding her work clothes, Katya put on a simple T-shirt and jeans, poured herself some cold cherry compote, and put on a record of Vysotsky’s songs — that’s how she usually relaxed after a hard day. Pavel was delayed at the warehouse where he worked as a logistician — the start of the school year always brought chaos. Katya didn’t mind a few hours of silence.
She took a notebook and began sketching new dress designs — a hobby that didn’t yet bring money but gave her hope. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
Katya frowned. Pavel always used his own key to come in. Peeking through the peephole, she saw Galina Ivanovna — her mother-in-law — in a strict gray coat, with a bag slung over her shoulder. Her face was tense, as if she had come with an important mission.
“Katya, open up! It’s important!” came the confident voice from behind the door, typical of the woman.
Katya took a deep breath, fixed her hair, and opened the door. “What now?” she thought, knowing the evening would no longer be peaceful.
Galina Ivanovna confidently stepped into the apartment as if returning home, casting meaningful glances around. Katya was long accustomed to her scrutinizing gaze — sometimes the curtains were too bright, sometimes the rug was slightly crooked. But today, her mother-in-law looked particularly determined.
“Hello, Galina Ivanovna,” Katya said politely. “Pavel isn’t home yet.”
“I know,” she replied briefly, shedding her coat and heading to the kitchen. “I came to see you.”
Katya tensed inwardly. Such unexpected visits rarely ended well.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked, trying to keep a friendly tone.
“Pour it,” the mother-in-law sat at the table, placing her hands before her. “We have a problem, Katya.”
Katya put on the kettle, a growing sense of anxiety inside. She knew this tone well — now would come a request that was hard to refuse but easy to pity.
“What happened?” she asked, pouring the boiling water.
“You know that Olga divorced Vadim?” began Galina Ivanovna.
Katya nodded. Pavel’s younger sister was left alone with two children — Misha, five years old, and Liza, three. The ex-husband had disappeared without a trace, leaving the family without means of support.
“They’re living with me,” continued the mother-in-law, “in my one-room apartment. It’s cramped, the children are noisy, neighbors have started to complain.”
Katya stirred sugar into her cup silently, sensing where this was leading.
“Misha needs to go to kindergarten, Liza has nowhere to play… And you have plenty of space here, the school is nearby, the yard is good,” Galina Ivanovna spread her hands. “So I thought…”
“You’re suggesting that Olya and the children move here?” Katya asked directly.
The mother-in-law beamed:
“Exactly! At least temporarily, until Olga finds a job and gets back on her feet.”
“And where will Pavel and I live?” Katya’s voice was cautious but tense.
“With me!” Galina Ivanovna answered easily. “It’s spacious, cozy…”
Katya pictured their life in her mother-in-law’s cramped apartment — the constant smell of cabbage soup, loud television, a worn-out sofa. The thought caused revulsion.
“That’s not very convenient,” she began. “I come home exhausted from work. And with you… it’s noisy.”
“Nonsense!” the woman waved it off. “You work during the day and sleep at night — no problem. And the kids need room!”
Katya clenched her cup so tightly her knuckles whitened.
“This is my apartment,” she said quietly. “My grandfather left it to me.”
“So what?” the mother-in-law raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Isn’t family more important? Aren’t you going to help Pavel’s sister?”
Silence hung like a thick wall. Katya understood: refusal might be seen as selfishness.
“I need time to think,” she managed to say.
“Think,” Galina Ivanovna nodded, “but not for long. The kids are struggling…”
At that moment, the sound of a key in the lock was heard. Pavel came home, carrying groceries and looked puzzled at his mother.
“Mom? You’re already here?”
“Yes, I came to discuss something important with Katya,” the woman smiled.
Pavel kissed his wife on the cheek and started unpacking the groceries.
“What’s the talk about?”
“About Olga and the kids,” the mother-in-law said meaningfully.
Katya felt a lump in her throat.
“He wants us to move out, and for Olya and the kids to move in here,” she said quietly.
Pavel froze, then slowly exhaled:
“It’s temporary, right?”
“You knew?” Katya asked.
“Mom called me yesterday… we discussed the situation…” He looked away.
“And you agreed without asking me?”
“Katya, don’t start…”
“Do you even realize this is my home?”
“Of course, but helping your sister is important too.”
Galina Ivanovna stood up, gathering her bag.
“All right, I’m leaving. You talk it over. Family is the most important thing!”
The door closed. The room became quiet, but the silence was heavy.
Katya sat at the table, staring into her cooling tea. Pavel silently sorted through the bags. Tension hung between them.
“This is my apartment,” she finally said.
“I know,” he sighed. “But it’s really hard for Olga. The kids…”
“And it’s easy for me?” she interrupted. “I work ten hours a day! This apartment is the only place where I can rest!”
“It’s temporary! Why are you making it complicated?”
“Because it’s my home!” Katya stood up. “And you decided everything without me!”
“I didn’t decide anything! We were just discussing options!”
“Options where I have to give in?” she said bitterly. “Do you even care what I think?”
Pavel fell silent. In that silence, Katya heard everything.
She went to the bedroom, closed the door, and leaned against it, holding back tears.
“They decided everything. Without me.”
She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The phone vibrated: a message from Pavel: “Mom’s right — family is the most important. It’s hard for Olya.”
Katya threw the phone into the corner. Her heart ached with pain. She went to the window, let in the night air. The city lived its own life — cars, laughter, music. And her world was falling apart.
The door creaked. Pavel stood in the doorway.
“Katya…”
“You decided everything,” she said without turning. “Why say anything?”
“I didn’t decide! I just wanted to help…”
“Help? Did you ask me? This is my home, Pasha!”
“No one is kicking you out! It’s temporary!”
“Temporary? Just like your mom deciding how we live?”
Pavel frowned:
“You want to fight?”
“No,” Katya’s voice trembled. “I want to be heard.”
He was silent. And in that silence between them, a gulf grew.
“All right,” Katya exhaled. “If tomorrow your mom tells you to throw out my things — will you agree too?”
“Don’t exaggerate!”
“Answer me!”
Pavel rubbed his face:
“Katya, why are you making this a tragedy? It’s just helping your sister!”
Katya realized: he didn’t see the problem. For him, it was like lending salt to a neighbor — a trifle without consequences.
“So my opinion means nothing?” she asked quietly.
“You misunderstood again.”
“No, Pasha. You misunderstood me.”
Pavel wanted to say something, but the timer rang. He went to the kitchen and returned with dumplings — Katya’s favorite dish. Today they smelled like betrayal.
“Let’s eat,” he offered. “We’ll sort it out in the morning.”
Katya took the plate but said nothing. Pavel fell asleep quickly. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
“What will I do tomorrow?”
The answer came on its own: “I will not give up my home.”
In the morning, Pavel acted strangely — nervous, frequently checking his phone. Katya noticed this as she got ready for work.
“Hiding something?” she asked.
“No…” He looked away. “Mom called. Olya is coming today to see the apartment.”
Katya froze, clutching her bag.
“So you already decided everything?”
“It’s temporary, Katya! I told you!”
She said nothing — just turned and left, slamming the door loudly. The day at the workshop passed like in a fog. She sewed uniforms, hemmed pants, but her thoughts were one: her home no longer belonged to her.
In the evening, returning, Katya stopped in the hallway. Children’s jackets hung on the rack, blocks lay on the floor. Laughter and voices came from the room.
She entered. Olga was sitting on her sofa, Liza playing nearby, Misha racing with a toy car. And Galina Ivanovna… was rummaging through her cupboard.
“Oh, Katya!” the mother-in-law smiled. “Come help Olya arrange the things.”
Katya stood as if petrified.
“You… already moved in?”
“Yep!” Olga answered cheerfully. “Pasha said you don’t mind.”
Pavel came out of the bedroom carrying a box. Seeing his wife, he froze.
“Katya… I wanted to…”
But she no longer listened. In the bedroom, her wardrobe was open, half of her clothes neatly packed in suitcases.
“That’s it. The end.”
She turned around and said clearly:
“Everyone out. Right now.”
“What?” Galina Ivanovna asked in confusion.
“Out. Of my apartment.”
Silence hung in the air. Even the children stopped playing.
“Katya, what’s wrong with you?” Olga hugged Liza.
“I didn’t agree to the move.”
“But Pasha…”
“Pasha is not the boss here,” Katya said coldly, looking at her husband. “This is my apartment. So get out.”
Galina Ivanovna flushed red:
“How dare you! This is family!”
“My family is me,” Katya sharply cut off. “And my home, which you decided to take over.”
Pavel threw down the box:
“Stop throwing a tantrum!”
“Enough of your betrayal, Pasha,” she turned to Olga. “You have fifteen minutes to pack.”
“You can’t do this!” the mother-in-law shouted.
“I can,” Katya pulled out her phone. “Either you leave voluntarily, or I call the police.”
Dead silence. The children looked frightened.
“All right,” Olga said quietly. “We’re leaving.”
“Olya!” Galina Ivanovna protested.
“No, Mom,” Olga stood. “She’s right. It’s her home.”
Katya stood by the door, watching them pack. Pavel rushed to her, but she didn’t even look at him. When the door closed, she sat down on the floor and covered her face with her hands.
The apartment smelled foreign. Blocks lay scattered on the floor, forgotten toys.
She took a deep breath.
“Now I’m alone.”
But it didn’t scare her. It was… liberation.
Katya slowly walked through the living room, surveying the traces of invasion. Scattered blocks, a doll forgotten in the corner of the sofa. On the table — half-empty cups, and in the air — the suffocating scent of her mother-in-law’s perfume. She was back in her home, but it had become alien in just one evening. She needed to take it back.
First, she moved the sofa back — the very one Olga had sat on. It creaked on the parquet, but the sound was familiar, soothing. Then she gathered the toys into a bag — foreign things should not remain. The shelf with children’s books was carefully cleared, and her books on fashion design and favorite novels returned to their place.
The bedroom was the worst. The wardrobe was wide open, half of her clothes neatly packed in suitcases. On the nightstand lay a note from her mother-in-law: “Buy pillows, blankets, plates with bears.” Katya tore the note in half, then again, and threw it in the trash. Every piece of paper was a small step toward freedom.
She opened the window, letting in the evening air. The city lived its own life — somewhere a dog barked, someone laughed, cars honked in the distance. This noise was part of her world. She inhaled deeply, feeling something change inside.
She needed to put an end to this.
Katya took out her phone and dialed a familiar locksmith.
“Viktor Ivanovich, this is Katya. I urgently need new locks. Today. And a chain, please.”
An hour later, Viktor Ivanovich arrived — a kind man with calloused hands. While he worked, Katya kept cleaning: washed the cups, collected socks found under the sofa, wiped the table. Every movement was like restoring justice.
When the job was done, the locksmith handed her the keys:
“Now no one will enter without your permission. The chain is reliable.”
“Thank you,” Katya squeezed them in her hand. These were not just keys — they were a symbol of her freedom.
Then she called a lawyer.
“Hello, Oleg Sergeyevich. I need a consultation. About the prenuptial agreement and possible division of property.”
The lawyer agreed to come in the morning. Katya hung up and looked around the apartment. Now it belonged to her again. But the silence, which should have been cozy, felt too dense. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.
“Katya! Open up! It’s me!” Pavel’s voice sounded almost desperate.
She went to the peephole. He stood alone, disheveled, with red eyes. He held nothing — only himself, tired and lost.
“We need to talk,” Katya said through the door without opening it.
“Please, open!” He knocked his fist on the door, but not hard — more out of desperation.
“Tomorrow. Together with the lawyer,” she said firmly.
“Are you serious? Are you crazy?”
“No, Pasha. I finally came to my senses.”
She stepped away from the door, leaving his cries behind the wall. In the kitchen, she brewed chamomile tea — the very one Galina Ivanovna called “herbal slop.” With a cup in her hand, she went out to the balcony. The city was ablaze with lights, and the stars seemed closer than usual. She took a sip, feeling warmth spread through her body.
For the first time in a long time, she was not just home.
She was the mistress of her life.
But inside, fear still remained. What would happen tomorrow? Would Pavel agree to her terms or go back to his mother, as always? Katya looked at the stars and thought: “I can handle it. Whatever comes.” This simple thought gave her strength. She closed the balcony, lay down, and for the first time in many months, fell asleep without anxiety.
Morning crept into the apartment through the curtains — thin linen fabric sewn by her last summer. Katya woke up with an unusual feeling of lightness. No nightmares, no oppressive feeling that someone decided for her. The house was quiet — not the kind that weighs you down, but the kind that surrounds you like an old blanket.
She stretched, hearing her joints crack after the tense day, and headed to the kitchen. Breakfast was simple — scrambled eggs with tomatoes and herbs, a pinch of salt, a cup of coffee with cinnamon. The aroma filled the room. No one commented that she was “wasting time,” as Galina Ivanovna liked to say. No one grumbled about the dishes. Katya sat by the window, watching the green courtyard where children chased a ball, and enjoyed every sip.
At ten, the lawyer, Oleg Sergeyevich, was supposed to come. Katya prepared: apartment documents, correspondence with Pavel, list of questions. She wanted to be ready for anything — from changing marriage terms to divorce. But instead of a call, there was a knock on the door.
Katya looked through the peephole and froze. Pavel stood at the doorstep. He looked exhausted — disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes, in a crumpled shirt. There was something new in his gaze — not anger, but regret and confusion.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Katya slowly opened the door but left it ajar — a sign that this was not their conversation, but a conversation with a guest.
Pavel entered, looking around. His gaze stopped at the bookshelf, where her fashion design albums now stood. He ran his finger over the spine of one.
“I didn’t understand…” he began, clenching his hands. “I thought we were helping Olya. That it was no big deal.”
Katya sat at the table.
“You thought? Or did your mom decide everything for you?”
Pavel lowered his head.
“Yesterday we were at mom’s. I saw how they live — creaky bed, things everywhere, kids screaming, mom bossing around… And suddenly I realized. You knew what would happen to our home if we agreed.”
Katya was silent, watching him. Her heart clenched, but it was not pity. It was realization — maybe he was beginning to understand. But that was not enough.
“Olya is looking for housing,” he continued. “Mom isn’t talking to me. She says I betrayed the family. But worst of all… I betrayed you. Our family.”
Katya nodded. At that moment, the lawyer arrived. The three sat at the table.
The conversation lasted three hours. The lawyer explained everything clearly: the apartment would remain Katya’s, even if Pavel tried to contest it. They discussed possible options — prenuptial agreement, property division, divorce. Pavel asked questions, listened attentively.
When the lawyer left, the apartment was quiet again.
“What now?” Pavel asked.
Katya approached the window, looking at the playground.
“Now you choose, Pasha. Once and for all. Either you become an independent person, or you remain your mom’s son. Then we have nothing in common.”
Pavel came closer, not touching her.
“Give me two weeks,” he said quietly. “I have to prove it. First of all, to myself.”
Katya nodded. Not because she immediately believed him, but because she knew: you can only trust those who change themselves.
After he left, she took the notebook with sketches. The lines formed a dress with an asymmetrical hem. It was the first step toward her dream — her own atelier. And for the first time, she felt it was real.
Three months later. Katya sat in a café opposite her new atelier — “Katya’s Style.” The first clients were already leaving reviews, orders were growing. She worked late, but this was her job.
On the table lay a letter from Pavel. Inside — documents in which he renounced claims to the apartment. And a note:
“Katya, I was blind. I thought family was mom, Olya, the kids. But you were my family, and I didn’t appreciate it. I changed jobs, rented an apartment. Learning to be an adult. If I ever deserve your trust again — I will be glad. If not — I understand. Forgive me.”
Katya carefully folded the letter. She didn’t cry but felt warmth in her chest. Not from forgiveness, but from realization — she no longer depended on him.
Her friend Lena sent a message: new clients had signed up. Katya smiled, took out the notebook, and began to draw — a dress with lace sleeves, light as her mood.
Ahead were meetings with suppliers, atelier expansion, maybe design courses. And maybe a talk with Pavel. But now — on her terms.
Katya finished her latte, left a tip, and stepped outside. The autumn wind played with her scarf, the sun warmed her face. She walked through the city, confident in every step.
The future no longer scared her. It was like a blank piece of fabric.
And Katya would choose the pattern herself.
