Nastya and the Other “Lady of the House”
The Door That Won’t Close
Nastya was tired. Not so much from work, or the renovation, or daily routine, but from this invisible intrusion that had gone on far too long. In her own apartment she felt like a guest—and all because of one person. Or rather, two: Ivan and his mother.
When her parents left her this two-room flat, Nastya was happy to tears. She thought: now I’ll finally start living—an adult life, my own. She didn’t account for one thing: in that life there were too many “outsiders” who decided that everything around them should be theirs.
She loved Ivan. For a long time. Too long to realize in time that love leaves when it finds no support in respect.
As for Galina Petrovna… Nastya kept trying to be polite, to give way. “Let her stay with us a couple of days, they’ll fix the TV and she’ll leave.” But the TV had already been “fixed” three times, and the mother-in-law kept sitting. And sitting.
Thin Walls and Thick Skin
“You’re still a little girl, Nastenka,” Galina Petrovna almost whispered, but with an icy smile. “It’s all right—when you grow up you’ll understand that a husband is everything.”
Nastya looked at her and, for the first time in her life, wasn’t afraid to argue.
“Thank you for your concern, but you know, I’m probably grown-up enough if I can earn my own money, do my own renovations, and pay the bills myself. And Vanya—yes, he’s a big boy. Let him learn too.”
“You want to destroy everything!” Galina Petrovna cried so loudly that Nastya flinched. “You’re a family! Do you want him to leave?!”
“He can leave if he doesn’t like it. No one is keeping him here.”
It came out so calmly that the mother-in-law was actually taken aback.
“So that’s your true face…” she muttered, grabbed a bag of cutlets, and headed for the door.
Nastya pulled the door to behind her, slowly turned the key, and for the first time in many weeks allowed herself to simply sit down on the floor in the entryway and cry.
But these tears weren’t from hurt. More from a strange, almost frightening feeling of freedom that was already pounding in her temples.
“We” and “I”
Ivan came home late, as usual; the smell of beer and cheap tobacco preceded him.
“Did you mouth off to her again?” he asked from the doorway.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Mom. She called me in tears. Says you threw her out—with the cutlets!”
“I didn’t throw anyone out. I just told the truth.”
“You know what, I’m tired of this. You and your rules all the time. This is mine, that isn’t yours…”
Nastya stood up from the floor and looked him straight in the eye.
“Vanya, you’re tired? You’re free.”
He fell silent. He looked as if he had never heard those words before—though she had said them to him in her head hundreds of times.
“Are you serious?” his voice quivered.
“Serious. If you want to live—live. But my apartment stays mine. Either you pack your things, or I’ll pack them for you.”
“You’re out of your mind!” he raised his voice, but Nastya didn’t flinch. The fear had gone along with the last drop of love.
“No, Vanya. On the contrary. I’ve only just come to my senses.”
He grumbled for a long time after that, threw the keys at the wall, threatened to leave “forever.” But that night he stayed—to sleep on the couch. Nastya locked herself in the bedroom and, for the first time in a long while, slept peacefully, without anxious dreams.
A New Chapter
A week later Ivan left for good. He took his mother and her pots with him. Only a pair of old slippers in the hallway and the smell of someone else’s shampoo in the bathroom remained. Nastya scrubbed everything until it shone. She erased both smells and traces.
She woke up early, brewed coffee, and sat on the windowsill. Outside, the street buzzed, the sun struck the glass, and everything around belonged to her—every corner, every shelf.
Her phone rang. Mom.
“So, honey, how are you? Did you sort everything out?”
Nastya smiled. Now she knew for sure that she could handle anything.
“Everything’s fine, Mom. Really fine. I’ve got my own home again.”
Epilogue
Six months passed. Nastya photographed her kitchen and posted it on social media: “A nest of my own—built with my own hands.” The photo got a hundred likes and dozens of comments from friends. Some were jealous; some admired her.
And Galina Petrovna would still call sometimes. She’d try to coax her to “talk like human beings.” But Nastya no longer picked up.
She had a new renovation—and new dreams. And in those dreams there was no place for outsiders who come to “stay the night” and end up running the show.
She wasn’t afraid anymore. She knew her own worth—and the worth of her home.
Silence in Which You Can Hear Your Heart
The first weeks after Ivan and his mother left felt strange to Nastya. She caught herself listening to the emptiness: would the door slam? Would the bed creak under someone else’s weight? Would the mother-in-law’s heavy sigh sound behind her back?
But no one came. The apartment finally became her real fortress. Even the draft moved the way only she liked.
Nastya bought herself a new kettle—bright yellow, silly, completely out of step with the old kitchen. She could now allow herself anything that pleased the eye. A green orchid took up residence on the shelf in the entryway—the first in many years. It blossomed almost at once, as if it sensed its mistress.
New Rules of the Game
Her job had wanted to promote her a year earlier, but she kept putting it off: no time, the renovation, Ivan, his “let’s do it later.” Now “later” had left along with him.
“Nastya, are you sure you can handle it?” the department head asked, handing her a folder with a new project.
“More than sure,” she smiled. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Now she came home not exhausted and drained but elated—and with each passing day she felt that life was just beginning.
The First Party Without Unwanted Guests
A month later, Nastya hosted a small get-together in her apartment for the first time—she invited her old girlfriends over. White wine, strawberries, music—and not a single disapproving look from a mother-in-law or a sulky Ivan in the corner of the couch.
“Girl, you look amazing,” Lena said with a wink. “You can tell right away—free woman!”
“Maybe it’s time to refresh your life in the men department?” Katya added, nodding slyly at Nastya’s shelf of relationship psychology books.
Nastya laughed and waved them off.
“Girls, first I want to learn to live alone. With myself. For myself.”
That night no one banged on her door or got on her nerves. And in the morning Nastya woke with a clear head—and for the first time didn’t regret a single word she had said to Ivan and his mother.
An Unexpected Letter
Three months later there was a letter in her mailbox. At first Nastya wanted to throw it away—the handwriting on the envelope was Ivan’s clumsy scrawl.
“Nastya. I’m sorry. I understand everything. Can we meet?”
She stood there with that scrap of paper in her hand for about ten minutes. Her heart quivered at first—habits don’t disappear in a day. But then she carefully folded the letter, dropped it into the trash, and closed the lid.
Her life was no longer about “I’m sorry.” Her life was about “thank you,” “I can,” “I want,” and “it will be the way I decide.”
When the Past Returns
But the past didn’t give up so easily. A week later Ivan called anyway.
“Nastya, I’m begging you…” he spoke quietly, guilty, unlike his old self. “I understand it all now. I want to get it back.”
Nastya listened to that voice and thought only about how unbearably dull she had been before, next to him. How she had been afraid to say too much, how she had tried to please everyone around her.
“I’m sorry, Vanya,” her voice was calm. “I don’t go back anymore.”
“You’re not made of iron! You loved me!”
“I did. When you were a decent man. But you haven’t been one for a long time. Goodbye.”
She hung up and blocked the number. Her hand shook for exactly one minute. Then the trembling stopped.
First New Steps
A year later, Nastya did let someone new into her life. But not as the owner of the apartment—rather, as a friend, a partner, an equal.
It was Sasha—a colleague she used to laugh with on lunch breaks. He turned out to be as free as she was. He didn’t have a mother who would sit on their couch with a plate of cutlets. He had only his own life—and room in it for Nastya.
They traveled around Russia, visited her parents in Sochi, sunbathed on the roof of the new dacha. The panel-block apartment was still her fortress—but now she let in fun, music, and laughter that no longer weighed on her chest like a heavy burden.
The House That Nastya Built
Five years later, Nastya sold that very two-room flat—not because she was running from memories, but because she had outgrown it. Together with Sasha they bought a light-filled house on the edge of the city, with a garden and a small terrace.
“Well, mistress of the house?” Sasha said when they first moved in. “Let’s call it home.”
“Home,” Nastya squeezed his hand. “And no one will dare say that it’s ‘joint only on paper.’ Everything here is ours—because we are real.”
That evening they sat on the terrace steps, drank wine, and listened to the summer rain drum on the roof.
And Nastya knew for certain: there would be no more of those who come “just because.” Now her home was a place of strength. And if one day she had to defend it again—she already knew how.
⸻
The End?
Or maybe just the beginning. Because every day of Nastya’s is a new chapter. And she knows for sure: if she once defended her square meters, she’ll defend her happiness all the more.
An Unexpected Call
Six years had passed since the evening Nastya last heard Ivan’s voice on the phone. In all those years she hadn’t regretted her decision once. The house with Sasha, the small vegetable garden, the cozy workshop out back—all of it proved that you can grow beyond yourself once you’ve learned to say a firm “no” to the past.
But the past sometimes finds cracks even in the strongest walls.
It was a rainy evening. Nastya sat in the kitchen sorting fresh photos for her country-life blog. Sasha was in the shed—fixing an old garden bench. Suddenly the phone, forgotten on the windowsill, rang.
An unknown number.
“Hello?” Nastya was still smiling, expecting a business voice.
“Hello… Nastya.”
She recognized the voice at once. But she didn’t believe it right away.
“Ivan?”
“Don’t hang up. Please.”
The room grew so quiet that Nastya could hear the rain on the roof.
“What do you want?”
“I… You were right back then. I lost everything. My mother, my job… Nastya, I don’t know where to go.”
Nastya looked at her reflection in the window—a completely different woman from the one who once trembled before him and his mother.
“And what do you want from me, Ivan?”
“I’m not asking to come back. Just… can I come over? For a couple of days. I have nowhere else to stay.”
Nastya closed her eyes. Inside, everything argued: pity for someone who had once been close—and the cold certainty that compassion should be for herself, not the past.
“I’m sorry, Ivan. There’s no room for you here anymore.”
“You’ve changed, Nastya,” he said wearily. “You’ve become strong.”
“Yes. Thank God.”
She ended the call. Her heart was pounding fast, but not from fear—from pride.
Sasha came into the kitchen and saw her face.
“Who was it?”
Nastya looked at her husband and smiled.
“No one important. Not anymore.”
New Horizons
After that conversation, Nastya felt something close inside for good—the last little door in her soul through which regret or guilt could still seep in.
Together, she and Sasha took a big step: they started building a small guesthouse on their property. Sasha dreamed of running woodworking workshops; Nastya wanted a small space for yoga and retreats. They did it together—without loans, without other people’s promises.
Every day she woke to a morning that was truly her own—not someone else’s couch, not a kitchen where someone barked orders, but her own morning filled with the aroma of coffee and the clink of dishes.
A Face-to-Face with the Past
One day Nastya went into the city—to meet friends, see a notary about paperwork, and simply walk streets she knew well.
At the notary’s entrance she saw a woman with dull eyes in an old coat. It was Galina Petrovna.
The mother-in-law recognized her first.
“Nastya?.. Oh, my God… Dear!”
Nastya felt a slight jab under her ribs. But she smiled.
“Hello.”
“How are you… You’ve changed so much! I’ve heard things are good for you?”
“Yes, everything’s wonderful.”
“Forgive us…” Galina Petrovna almost burst into tears. “We were foolish back then. I only wanted what was best!”
Nastya felt neither anger nor resentment. Only an even calm.
“It’s all right. Live in peace. I have my own life now.”
She hugged the woman goodbye—just to finally lay that burden down from her soul. And then she walked on—steady, confident, light-hearted.
A Distant Shore
Two years later, Nastya and Sasha stood on the deck of a small river boat watching the sun slip behind the horizon.
“Are you happy?” Sasha asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Nastya nodded. Once she had been afraid to be alone. Then she learned how to be alone. And now she knew: happiness isn’t about who stands beside you, but about who you are inside.
“Very,” she said, and added quietly, “Thank you for not demanding that I be the housekeeper under you. Thank you that we are together—as equals.”
The boat rocked gently on the water, and Nastya knew: whatever shore lay ahead—she was ready for any wind now.
⸻
The Real Ending
This is Nastya’s story about how a whole new life can begin with one firm “this is mine.” Honest, difficult, but her own—to the very last breath and all the way to sunset.
