Lilya, what are you doing to those curtains?” her mother-in-law’s voice sliced through the living room’s silence. “How can you hang them like that? The pleats are coming out uneven.”
Lilia froze on the stepladder, holding the heavy drape. Valentina Petrovna circled below, critically evaluating her daughter-in-law’s every move.
“It’s easier for me this way,” Lilia answered curtly, adjusting the hooks on the rod.
“Easier!” the mother-in-law snorted. “In Matvey’s nursery I always hung the curtains beautifully. And what is this disgrace?”
“Valentina Petrovna,” Lilia carefully climbed down and turned to the woman, “this is my living room.”
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together and strode over to the sofa where Matvey was scrolling on his phone.
“Son,” she sat down beside him, “explain to your wife that a house should have order and beauty.”
Matvey looked up from the screen, shifting his gaze from his mother to his wife.
“Mom, maybe let’s not?” he said cautiously.
“What do you mean, ‘let’s not’?” Valentina Petrovna flared. “I’m only trying to help! And they won’t listen to me!”
Lilia reached for the stepladder to put it away, but her fingers trembled with a surge of anger.
“Lil,” Matvey set his phone on the side table, “Mom knows more about interiors…”
Those words cut right through her. Lilia dropped the stepladder and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” her husband called after her, bewildered.
But she had already slipped into the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her. She sank into the chair by the window and pressed her temples with her hands. Again he chose his mother. He always chooses his mother.
About twenty minutes later the door opened a crack.
“Lilia, stop sulking,” Matvey came into the room. “Mom will be going back to her place soon.”
“How soon?” his wife asked without turning.
“Well… in a couple of weeks her renovation will be done.”
“Two weeks,” Lilia repeated, finally looking at her husband. “For two weeks I’m supposed to ask permission on how to live?”
“Not ask… just listen sometimes.”
“Listen to what, Matvey?” her voice grew firmer. “She’s already criticized how I wash the dishes, my choice of bed linen, and now the curtains!”
Matvey shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“Well, she’s used to controlling everything…”
“And you’re used to backing her up!” Lilia stood and came closer. “Every time, Matvey! Every single time you take her side!”
Her husband looked away, clearly unprepared for such a conversation.
Valentina Petrovna walked into the bathroom just as Lilia was putting on mascara. In the mirror her mother-in-law’s reflection appeared behind her like a shadow from the past.
“Putting on makeup again?” the woman asked with open mockery. “As if it makes any difference.”
Lilia froze, the wand paused at her lashes. Something clenched painfully inside, but her voice was even.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s not to understand,” Valentina Petrovna leaned against the doorframe, clearly settling in for a long talk. “No matter how much you paint yourself, it won’t make you prettier. My Matvey could have found a much better girl.”
The mascara wand slipped from Lilia’s trembling fingers into the sink. The reflection in the mirror showed a pale face with wide eyes.
“Are you serious?” Lilia whispered, turning to her mother-in-law.
“More than serious, dear,” she replied with a cold smile. “Plain, unremarkable. You don’t even have your own apartment. I don’t understand what my son saw in you. He probably chose you out of pity.”
The words pelted Lilia like hail. Each strike echoed as a sharp pain in her chest. Her breathing quickened; her cheeks flamed.
“Get out of here,” Lilia hissed through clenched teeth.
“Oh, how proud,” the mother-in-law laughed. “Can’t tell the truth? I knew you had a nasty character.”
Lilia turned to face Valentina Petrovna. The fire in her eyes made the woman involuntarily take a step back.
“I said—get out! Immediately!”
“Don’t you shout at me!” the mother-in-law protested. “You’re not my equal!”
Those words were the last straw. Lilia grabbed a towel from the sink and flung it toward Valentina Petrovna.
“Out of my bathroom! Right now!”
The mother-in-law hurried out, but at the threshold she turned with a triumphant smirk.
“Now my son will see your true face,” she threw over her shoulder.
Lilia slammed the door and leaned against it. Tears streamed in hot tracks down her cheeks. Her hands shook so badly she had to clench them into fists.
From that day on, a strained silence reigned in the apartment. Lilia stopped speaking to her mother-in-law altogether. She walked past as if the woman didn’t exist. Valentina Petrovna pretended not to notice her daughter-in-law either, yet constantly complained to her son about her behavior.
Matvey dashed between the two women, trying to reconcile them, but every attempt ended in a new scandal. Lilia refused even to discuss what was happening.
Two weeks of tension and silence dragged on in an endless procession of gray days. The apartment turned into a battlefield where the opponents avoided direct clashes but were ready to explode at any careless word. But at last, the mother-in-law left.
And then something unexpected happened. A call came early in the morning as Lilia was getting ready for work. The notary’s voice sounded official, but the words struck like lightning.
“Lilia Viktorovna? You are the heir to your grandmother’s dacha plot. When can you come to process the documents?”
Lilia slowly sank into a chair. Her grandmother had left her a dacha. A small house outside the city where she had spent her school holidays. Suddenly, something like hope stirred in her chest.
That weekend Lilia went to inspect the dacha. The small house turned out to be in decent condition—the roof intact, the foundation solid, the windows unbroken. The plot was overgrown with grass, but that could be fixed. The realtor she invited to appraise it walked the grounds carefully and delivered his verdict.
“For such a dacha you could get three and a half, maybe four million,” he said, jotting something down in his notebook. “Good plot, electricity connected, the city is a stone’s throw away.”
Lilia nodded, mentally totaling the sums. Together with her savings, it would be enough for her own apartment. A real home where no one would tell her how to live.
At home, Matvey met his wife with a suspicious look.
“So how did it go?” he asked carefully. “What are you going to do with the dacha?”
“Sell it,” Lilia answered shortly, hanging her coat in the hallway.
Matvey frowned as if he’d heard something unpleasant.
“Sell it? Why rush? Maybe it’s better to think about it?”
Lilia turned to her husband in surprise. The disapproval in his voice grated on her nerves.
“I don’t like nature, mosquitoes, or digging in garden beds,” Lilia explained patiently. “And the money would be more useful. It’ll be enough for an apartment if we add our savings.”
Matvey pressed his lips together; something unpleasant flickered in his eyes.
“Shouldn’t we ask Mom?” he suddenly said quietly.
Lilia froze. A bitter smirk twisted her lips.
“Your mother’s opinion doesn’t interest me at all,” Lilia ground out. “It’s my dacha, my inheritance.”
Matvey turned away, but Lilia saw his shoulders tense. Silence hung heavy between them.
Two weeks flew by in busy work. Lilia posted listings online and called agencies. Calls from potential buyers came quickly.
The doorbell rang sharply just as Lilia was on the phone with another realtor. On the threshold stood Valentina Petrovna, her face flushed with outrage.
“What is this outrage?” the mother-in-law shouted from the doorway. “How dare you sell the dacha without my consent?”
Lilia slowly set down the receiver. Inside, everything went cold with fury.
“What consent are you talking about?” Lilia asked in an icy tone. “The dacha belongs to me under the will.”
“Under the will!” Valentina Petrovna mimicked, walking into the living room uninvited. “And the fact that my son is your husband means nothing to you? This is family property!”
Lilia followed her, her fists clenching involuntarily.
“This is my personal property, inherited,” Lilia said slowly. “And you have nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing to do with it?” Valentina Petrovna squealed. “I’ve dreamed of a dacha all my life! And you’ve decided to squander it on your whims!”
“My whims?” Lilia’s voice rang with restrained anger. “This is my house! And with the money I want to buy an apartment!”
At that moment Matvey came into the apartment. Seeing his mother and wife in the living room, he stopped dead.
“What’s going on?” he asked carefully, looking from one woman to the other.
“Your wife is selling off the family assets!” Valentina Petrovna complained, sniffling. “She wants to sell the dacha without asking anyone!”
Lilia looked at her husband, silently pleading with him at last to take her side. But Matvey lowered his eyes.
“Lil, Mom really has always dreamed of a dacha,” he muttered in a guilty tone.
Those words were enough for something inside Lilia to finally snap. Her last hope crashed down with a bang.
“And I dreamed of a home,” Lilia whispered, looking at her husband. “A real home where no one humiliates me.”
“Lil…”
“No, Matvey,” Lilia cut him off, heading for the bedroom. “Enough. I’m tired.”
An hour later, Lilia left the apartment with a suitcase in hand. Matvey tried to stop her, said something about making peace, but his words reached her as if through cotton wool.
Six months later Lilia received her share of their joint savings through the court. The dacha was sold for four million. With that money plus her savings, she bought a two-room apartment in a residential district.
Standing on the threshold of her new home, Lilia smiled for the first time in a long while. Here no one would tell her how to cook, what to wear, or whom to be friends with. Here there would be only her—and the long-awaited silence.
