— And who said I gave permission to rearrange the furniture in my apartment? — Natasha finally snapped.

— And who said I gave permission to rearrange the furniture in my apartment? — Natasha finally snapped.

— And who’s going to forbid it? You? — her mother-in-law laughed.

Natasha pressed her hospital card to her chest, as if trying to hide her diagnosis from prying eyes. The clinic corridor was noisy, but she felt as if she were alone—just her, these walls, and the quiet voice inside whispering, «Everything will be fine.»

The doctors said the operation was simple, but any interference with the body was frightening. Especially when the question «When will you have children?» had become something routine to her. Natasha was thirty-two years old, and after three years of marriage, they still hadn’t managed to have children.

Marina Petrovna, Natasha’s mother-in-law, hated uncertainty. Her son Alexey had always been an open book, but since he married, he had become «closed off.» That’s how Marina Petrovna described her son.

— So what’s wrong with her this time? — she asked for the hundredth time, pouring tea for her son and placing buns on a plate. — Gastritis? Or something “female”? No wonder she can’t have a child for so long!

— Mom, I told you: everything is under control. Don’t worry. This is Natasha’s business; she’ll handle it, — Alexey was gobbling down one bun after another.

— How can I not worry? — Marina Petrovna sighed loudly. — You said yourself you want children. What if she has some women’s health issues?

Alexey clenched his teeth. He knew his mother wouldn’t calm down until she got all the information out of him. But Natasha had asked not to tell anyone—even the mother-in-law.

— We’ll figure it out.

— «You’ll figure it out,» she snorted. — I heard that Lyudochka’s niece on the third floor is about to have her third child soon. Already heavily pregnant…

— Aren’t you going to calm down? — Alexey abruptly stood up from the table. — Bring me some more buns.

At the hospital, Natasha lay staring at the ceiling. Sitting next to her was Irina Nikolaevna, her mother, gently stroking her daughter’s hand.

— Don’t worry, — she whispered. — The doctors are good. They’ll do everything perfectly, and soon you’ll be able to carry a baby.

— I know… — Natasha smiled. — It’s just… a little scary.

— I understand, dear. We’ll hope for the best! The main thing is that you believe.

Natasha closed her eyes. She didn’t want to complain, but two years ago her mother-in-law had already called everyone she knew to spread that her daughter-in-law was sickly and useless.

— The main thing is that Lesha supports you, — sighed Irina Nikolaevna, as if reading her daughter’s thoughts.

The operation was scheduled for lunchtime, and the minutes before it felt endless. Especially after Irina Nikolaevna left. Unpleasant thoughts crept in—that everything would go wrong, that the operation would be unsuccessful.

But in the end, everything went quickly and successfully. Two days later, Natasha felt good, but Lesha still hadn’t shown up at the hospital. However, Irina Nikolaevna came every evening after work. She managed to cook homemade chicken soup and Natasha’s favorite pancakes with sour cream.

Lesha didn’t call.

Natasha called him every evening, holding the phone to her ear until the nurses’ footsteps quieted in the ward.

— How are you? — she asked, trying to sound upbeat.

— Great! — she heard in response. — A client came today—bought a Mercedes with the best configuration! I served him personally, so I’ll get a nice bonus!

— Good for you, — Natasha smiled, looking at the ceiling.

He talked about cars, colleagues, a new credit specialist who «has no brains, just a pretty face.» Lesha never once asked how Natasha was feeling. She thought maybe he was embarrassed to talk about it or afraid to upset her.

On the last day before discharge, the phone call started as usual: Lesha bragged about his work successes. Natasha was about to mention her discharge the next day when he suddenly interrupted:

— By the way, my mother is moving in with us… temporarily.

— …What?

— Well, you just had surgery. Who’s going to cook your soups? I’m working. And mother is retired, she has nothing to do.

Natasha fell silent and clenched the bedsheet in her fist.

— Did you… ask me?

— What’s there to ask? — Lesha snorted. — You said you still don’t feel well. Who else can help but your mother?

He spoke as if he were offering to buy dumplings for dinner.

— Lesh…

— Okay, my client is calling. I’ll meet you at the hospital at five tomorrow.

Irina Nikolaevna came early to help pack. Natasha completed the paperwork, and they started down the stairs.

— Mom, — Natasha suddenly grabbed her hand. — Lesha… invited Marina Petrovna to live with us. He said she’ll take care of me…

Irina Nikolaevna froze. Then slowly exhaled:

— And who prevented this dear lady from taking care of you while you were lying in the hospital for a week?

— Her legs hurt.

— And mine are healthy? — Irina Nikolaevna snapped sharply. — If she wanted, she would have come. Something’s definitely wrong here.

Her mother abruptly turned to the window, but Natasha noticed her lips tremble.

— You can always kick them both out. Don’t forget whose apartment this is. And if anything, call me immediately. Don’t let anyone offend you. Now you’re fully healthy!

Lesha met them at the exit and patted his wife on the shoulder:

— You’ve lost some weight, — he took the bag from his mother. — Thanks, Irina Nikolaevna. Now we’re on our own.

In the car, he turned on music and talked all the way about weekend plans. Natasha looked out the window, occasionally listening to her husband’s stories.

When Natasha entered the apartment, she smelled fried potatoes. From the kitchen came the clinking of a fork against a plate.

— Oh, you’re back! — Marina Petrovna appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on her apron. — So, sick one, how do you feel?

— Thanks, all is well, — Natasha whispered.

— I left you buckwheat and cutlets. Just heat them up; Lesha and I will eat the potatoes.

Lesha went to the shower, tossing the keys on the sofa. He didn’t even think to offer the bathroom to his wife first. Marina Petrovna glanced at Natasha’s belly:

— What did the doctors say? Maybe… it’ll happen later?

Natasha suddenly realized: he had told her everything she asked to keep secret.

— I’ll lie down, — she abruptly cut off the conversation.

In the bedroom, she closed the door and sat on the bed, clutching a pillow. Behind the wall, dishes clattered—her mother-in-law was washing plates Natasha had never even seen.

Natasha closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached into the wardrobe for a housecoat. The whole wardrobe smelled of laundry detergent—sharp and cheap. She grimaced but put on the housecoat.

In the bathroom, she found another surprise: her favorite liquid lavender soap was gone, replaced by a half-melted bar of ordinary soap in the dish.

— Finally! — Marina Petrovna’s voice rang out when Natasha came to the kitchen.

She and Lesha were sitting at the table, finishing the potatoes and cutlets. On the table was a new dinner set—pure white plates with a golden rim and some flowers. Natasha’s ceramic mugs, which she and Lesha had chosen at the fair on their engagement day, had mysteriously disappeared.

— Sit down, — her mother-in-law grunted without looking up from her plate.

Natasha silently took her old plate from the shelf—the only one left from the set—and served herself potatoes from the shared pan.

— What are you doing?! — Marina Petrovna sharply lifted her head. — You can’t have fried food!

— I can, — Natasha said quietly but firmly. — I don’t need a diet.

Her mother-in-law snorted and deliberately pushed the pan aside:

— Well, if you want complications…

Lesha, seemingly unaware of the tension, eagerly ate a second helping.

— By the way, — Marina Petrovna suddenly said, poking her fork in her plate, — I was shocked by how dirty the apartment was. Seven days passed, and I just cleaned and washed everything. I put your stupid plates in the far drawer—they’re too heavy and ugly besides.

Natasha froze with the fork in the air.

— A week? — her voice trembled. — But I was discharged only today…

— Yeah, — her mother-in-law smiled smugly. — Leshenka was bored alone. And the apartment needed to be cleaned up before your return.

Natasha looked at her husband. He was carefully picking a piece of meat from his teeth. Her head was ringing. She mechanically chewed the over-fried potatoes, which suddenly tasted bland.

— And tomorrow, — her mother-in-law continued, — I want to rearrange the furniture in the living room. That sofa of yours is just awful! But what can you do? Furniture is an expensive thing nowadays.

Lesha finally raised his eyes:

— Mom, maybe Natasha just got out of the hospital… And I just got off work. I’m tired of this women’s talk.

— What did you say! — Marina Petrovna slammed her palm on the table. — Tomorrow morning we’ll start moving the furniture. And tonight, go to sleep! — she was about to leave but Natasha stopped her.

— I won’t move the furniture—I’m not allowed to exert myself now.

— Yeah, sure! You can gobble up fried potatoes but as soon as it’s about helping around the house—she’s suddenly sick. Look at her, Lesh!

— Mom’s right, Natash. It’s been a week already. And mom wants to live comfortably too.

— And who said I gave permission to rearrange the furniture in my apartment? — Natasha finally flared up.

— And who’s going to forbid it? You? — the mother-in-law laughed.

— Yes! I said it because the apartment is mine, — Natasha snapped.

— You should be kissing my son’s hands for putting up with you, such a sickly woman, — Marina Petrovna said, then covered her mouth with her hand.

— Oh, sickly?! Then both of you get out of here! And take your awful plates! The whole house smells of your stinky detergent! — Natasha was unlike herself.

Her mother-in-law was first stunned, then laughed.

— Who are you trying to scare? I’ll find a way to deal with you quickly!

— And I’ll deal with you, — Natasha didn’t even realize how she dialed the number of a police officer she knew. She thought the police wouldn’t come for nothing.

Andrey arrived in fifteen minutes. He introduced himself and asked for Marina Petrovna’s and Alexey’s documents. Natasha explained the whole situation to him as a stranger. She said she was divorcing her husband, who not only refused to move out but also brought his mother to live with them.

In the end, both Alexey and Marina Petrovna had to pack up and leave the apartment. Natasha closed the door and finally was able to exhale.

Natasha immediately called her mother. Her fingers trembled as she dialed.

— Mom, you won’t believe what just happened here… — her voice broke as she began telling about the new plates, the missing things, and the mother-in-law’s plans to rearrange furniture.

— I’m coming right now! — Irina Nikolaevna grabbed her keys.

— No, — Natasha shook her head firmly, though she knew her mother couldn’t see it. — I already kicked them out with Andrey’s help. Now I need to be alone.

She hung up and looked around the apartment.

The next few days Natasha spent quietly cleaning. She threw out Lesha’s old sneakers he had long avoided throwing away, discarded jars of strange bolts and nuts that «might come in handy someday.» In the far drawer, she found her plates—luckily, Marina Petrovna hadn’t thrown them out.

In the kitchen, she cooked pasta with seafood—the very dish Lesha hated. The aroma of garlic and white wine filled the apartment, and Natasha felt happy for the first time in a long while.

Then she sat at her laptop and filed for divorce.

Natasha knew she should have done it a long time ago. Lesha was not the person she wanted to spend her life with. He wasn’t there when she was scared, didn’t support her when she needed it. Instead, he brought his mother into their home, who immediately started setting her own rules.

A few days later, the phone rang.

— Natasha, hi. It’s Andrey. — His voice on the phone was warm and caring. — How are you? Have the relatives come back?

— No, — Natasha smiled. — So far, quiet.

— Good. — He paused. — Listen, maybe we can meet? At a cafe, for example. Just to chat.

Natasha was surprised. She hadn’t expected such an offer from an old classmate.

— Sure, — she finally answered.

Their meeting at the cafe became the beginning of a new romantic relationship. Andrey turned out to be attentive and an interesting conversationalist. He didn’t interrupt, brag about his achievements, or try to lecture her.

At first, they talked as friends, but then grew closer.

Two years later, Natasha became a mother.

She moved in with Andrey and rented out her apartment. Sometimes, passing by it, she remembered the days when she lived there with Lesha. But now those were just memories—distant and no longer so painful.

She was happy. Next to a person who truly valued her.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha felt that everything in life was exactly as it should be.