Yulia looked up from her laptop screen when her phone vibrated. Kirill usually didn’t call from work.
— “Yul, I have news,” her husband’s voice sounded tense. “Not very good ones.”
— “What happened?” Yulia pushed the reports aside.
— “Mom called an hour ago in a panic,” Kirill sighed heavily. “Her landlord decided to sell the apartment. Gave her two weeks to move out.”
Yulia closed her eyes. She knew that Galina Petrovna had been renting a one-bedroom on the outskirts for five years. In that time, the elderly woman had settled in and considered the place almost her own.
— “Two weeks is impossible,” Yulia said. “Especially for someone her age.”
— “Exactly what I’m thinking,” Kirill paused. “Listen, can we invite her to stay with us? Just temporarily, of course. Until she finds something suitable.”
Yulia stood and walked to the window. Her two-bedroom apartment in the city center was the result of seven years of saving and hard work. Every square meter had been hard-won. But she couldn’t refuse help to an elderly person.
— “All right,” Yulia agreed. “Let her come. But really, only temporarily.”
— “Thanks, sweetheart,” Kirill’s relief was obvious. “She’s already looking at listings. Two months at most, I promise.”
Galina Petrovna arrived on the weekend with two worn suitcases. A former school administrator, she was used to keeping everything under control. She neatly arranged her things in the guest room wardrobe, thanking them for every little thing.
— “Yulechka, I can’t imagine what I would have done without your help,” Galina Petrovna said as she cleared the table after dinner. “I’ll find a place and move out right away, don’t worry.”
The first weeks went smoothly. The mother-in-law got up early, made breakfast, washed the dishes. In the evenings, she browsed online listings and wrote down landlords’ phone numbers. Yulia even helped her make calls and schedule viewings.
— “Tomorrow I’ll see a one-bedroom on Leninsky,” Galina Petrovna said over dinner. “The landlady seems reasonable, the price is fine.”
But after a month, her enthusiasm began to fade. She returned from viewings more and more upset.
— “They have such outrageous requirements!” she fumed, taking off her coat. “Three months’ rent upfront, plus a deposit, plus proof of income. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?”
— “What about that place on Sadovaya?” Yulia reminded her. “You said the conditions were fine.”
— “Ground floor, windows into a courtyard-well,” she waved it off. “Terrible dampness, mold in the corners. At my age, that’s dangerous for my health.”
By the end of the second month, her stories of failed viewings grew longer. She complained about intrusive landlords, inflated prices, and crazy neighbors.
— “You know, Yulechka,” her mother-in-law said thoughtfully, eyeing the apartment’s interior, “at my age you start realizing how pointless renting is. The money just disappears, and you never have a place of your own.”
Yulia tensed but stayed silent.
— “You’ve got such coziness here, such a homely atmosphere,” Galina Petrovna went on. “That’s what real owners create, not temporary tenants.”
Yulia froze, holding a cup of cold tea. Something in her tone made her chest tighten.
By the third month, new topics entered the conversation. Her mother-in-law often recalled her friends’ advice.
— “Svetka from the school next door says grown children are obliged to take care of their mothers,” she remarked at breakfast. “Otherwise what? You spend your whole life on them, and in old age you suffer in someone else’s apartment.”
Kirill kept eating in silence, avoiding his wife’s eyes. Yulia saw his shoulders tense.
— “Mom, we are helping you look for a place,” Kirill said carefully.
— “Yes, yes, we’re looking,” Galina Petrovna waved it off. “Been looking for four months already. And my friends say—why bother? Just live peacefully.”
Yulia set her cup down too sharply. The porcelain rang.
— “What do you mean by that?” she asked quietly.
— “What’s not to understand?” Her mother-in-law looked at her intently. “I raised Kirill my whole life, sacrificed everything for his future. Paid for university, extra courses, tutors. And where’s the gratitude? Nowhere!”
By the fifth month, the hints turned into open demands. Galina Petrovna no longer spoke of her stay as temporary.
— “Stop pretending I’m just passing through,” she announced one evening. “Kirill, you owe your mother decent living conditions, not shuffling her between rentals.”
Kirill looked up from his phone, confusion in his eyes.
— “Mom, but this is Yulia’s apartment…”
— “A loving wife should think of her husband’s family as her own,” Galina Petrovna cut him off. “Yulechka’s young, she’ll have time to earn another place. But for me, it’s too late to start from scratch.”
Yulia stood in the kitchen doorway, listening. Anger was rising inside her, but speaking seemed pointless.
Every morning now began with more examples of maternal sacrifice. Her mother-in-law recalled how she’d denied herself vacations, purchases, entertainment for her son’s sake.
— “Vasya’s son bought his mother an apartment right after the wedding,” she said over dinner. “And Petya’s bride insisted her mother-in-law move in with them.”
— “That’s their choice,” Kirill replied quietly.
— “Of course it is,” she nodded. “They care for their parents, not let them suffer in old age.”
Daily scenes became routine. The mother-in-law wept, complained about uncertainty, spoke of shame before acquaintances.
— “My colleagues already ask me: where are you living?” she sobbed. “What should I say? That at thirty-five my son can’t give his mother stability?”
Kirill flitted between the two women, trying to calm everyone. Yulia saw how torn he was.
— “Mom, please, let’s discuss this calmly,” he begged.
— “There’s nothing to discuss,” Galina Petrovna cut him off. “Either you be a real son and support your mother in old age, or I know I raised you for nothing.”
A heavy silence fell. Yulia clenched her fists, bracing for the inevitable conversation.
The next morning, Kirill wandered the house with bloodshot eyes from a sleepless night. His mother was already crying in the kitchen, sobbing into her handkerchief.
— “Yul, listen,” Kirill began, avoiding her gaze. “I already promised Mom you’ll sign the apartment over to her.”
Yulia stopped in the hallway. His words crashed down on her—but strangely, she wasn’t surprised. Only a bitter clarity settled in.
— “You made that decision without my consent?” she asked quietly.
— “Mom deserves a peaceful old age after all she’s sacrificed,” Kirill said, looking at the floor. “We’re young, we’ll earn another place.”
Yulia leaned against the wall. Suddenly everything fit together—the rejected apartments with trivial flaws, the quick settling into their home, the rearranging of things to her mother-in-law’s taste.
— “Galina Petrovna never intended to find another place,” Yulia said slowly. “This was planned from the start.”
— “What are you talking about?” Kirill looked up.
— “That I was deceived,” she replied calmly. “And you either knew, or chose not to see the obvious.”
Kirill stepped toward her, but Yulia moved away.
— “You betrayed my trust,” Yulia said. “You put your mother’s interests above honesty with me.”
— “But Mom really does need help! I just wanted to settle this peacefully,” he protested.
Yulia shook her head.
— “You made a decision about my apartment without my agreement. That’s what I don’t like.”
Galina Petrovna appeared in the kitchen doorway, her face streaked with tears.
— “Yulechka, can’t you pity an old woman?” she began plaintively.
— “Enough,” Yulia cut her off sharply. “The performance is over.”
Kirill darted between his wife and mother, confusion in every movement.
— “Yul, let’s talk calmly,” he pleaded. “Mom deserves care in her old age.”
— “And I deserve honesty from my husband,” Yulia replied with a bitter smile. “But that’s gone from our marriage. So I’m filing for divorce.”
Her chest burned with resentment. Three years of a relationship, shared plans, dreams of the future—all revealed as a sham. Her love had been nothing but a tool for someone else’s goals.
Kirill turned pale.
— “What? You’re joking!”
— “I’m not,” Yulia said coldly. “I won’t live with someone who puts others’ interests above being honest with me.”
— “But we can work this out!” Kirill tried to plead. “Find a compromise.”
— “The time for compromise was months ago,” Yulia shook her head with a cynical smile. “Not now, when you’ve already decided for me. Looks like I was just a convenient source of housing.”
Galina Petrovna sobbed louder, but Yulia ignored her. The act no longer worked.
— “If I give in now, I’ll be a target for manipulation my whole life,” Yulia told her husband with icy calm. “My feelings were too high a price for the lesson that trust can’t be bought with apartments.”
Two months later, the divorce papers were finalized. Galina Petrovna had to move out of the apartment she’d grown to love. Kirill rented them a one-bedroom on the outskirts.
Sometimes Yulia received messages from her ex-husband, asking to meet and talk. He wrote about how sorry he was, how his mother now blamed him for everything. Yulia read these messages with cold curiosity and deleted them without replying. Her pity for Kirill had evaporated the moment he chose his mother’s tears over honesty with his wife.
Yulia stayed in her home. Now she knew exactly the value of her boundaries. Kindness should never become weakness. And the desire to help should never mean sacrificing your own interests for someone else’s plans.
