Natalya gripped the set of keys tightly—the ones her parents had just ceremoniously handed to their daughter. The October wind rustled the yellow leaves in the courtyard, and the air smelled of autumn coolness and new possibilities. A one-room apartment on the seventh floor of a panel building—the gift she had been waiting for for two years.
“Can you imagine, Denis,” Natalya said to her husband on the way home, her voice full of joy, “we’ll finally have our own space! We’ll put the sofa by the window, and in the kitchen we’ll make a little breakfast nook…”
Denis nodded, but his gaze seemed distant. She chalked it up to being tired after work and continued sharing plans for arranging the new place.
Her mother-in-law’s apartment greeted them with the familiar smell of fried onions and the sound of the television. Galina Fyodorovna was setting the table when the young couple stepped into the hallway.
“Sit down to dinner,” the mother-in-law said without looking up from the plates. “The cutlets will get cold.”
At the table, the usual homely atmosphere reigned. Denis talked about a new project at the plant where he worked as an engineer; Galina Fyodorovna complained about the neighbors who were doing renovations late into the evening. Natalya ate in silence, planning the next day in her head—she wanted to go to the new apartment and measure the room for furniture.
“By the way,” the mother-in-law suddenly said, laying down her fork, “you’re living quite well here with me, and my younger son can take your apartment.”
Natalya froze with a piece of cutlet on her fork. Denis’s eyes shot up, then quickly turned to the window as if he’d suddenly become interested in the view of the neighboring courtyard. Silence hung over the table, broken only by the ticking wall clock.
“What?” Natalya repeated quietly, hoping she had misheard.
“I said there’s no point in Pavel suffering in the dorm,” Galina Fyodorovna repeated in a calm tone, as if discussing buying bread. “The young ones there are noisy, music all night, girls traipsing around. In the apartment it’ll be family-like and quiet.”
Natalya frowned and tilted her head, watching her mother-in-law carefully. Blood rushed to her face, but she didn’t rush to speak. Galina continued eating as if nothing unusual had happened.
“Pavel is in his final year at the institute,” the mother-in-law added. “He’ll be defending his diploma—he needs peace. You can’t concentrate in a dorm.”
Denis was still staring out the window, his jaw clenched. Natalya waited for her husband to say something, to contradict his mother, but he remained silent.
“Galina Fyodorovna,” Natalya said slowly, trying to keep her voice even, “the apartment is in my name. My parents gave it to me.”
“So what?” the mother-in-law shrugged. “The deed hasn’t been finalized yet. We can redo everything. Pavel needs the apartment more—he’s a bachelor, nowhere to bring girls. And you’re young, you’ll have time to get your own place.”
Natalya slowly put her fork down on the plate. Her hands trembled slightly with contained indignation. She looked at her husband, hoping for support, but Denis continued to study something outside the window.
“Denis,” his wife called.
“Mmm?” He finally turned to her, but his eyes slid past.
“What do you think about this?”
“I…” Denis faltered. “Mom knows best. She has experience.”
Natalya blinked rapidly, unable to believe what she’d heard. The mother-in-law nodded in satisfaction and went on with dinner as if the matter were settled.
“Pavel will come on Saturday to look at the apartment,” Galina announced. “If it suits him, we can hand over the keys right away.”
Natalya rose slowly from the table. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stand straight.
“Sorry, I have a headache,” she said. “I’m going to lie down.”
In the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. Her thoughts were tangled, refusing to fit together. The apartment she had waited for for two years had suddenly become not hers. And her husband hadn’t even tried to stand up for her.
Muffled voices drifted in from the kitchen. Galina was explaining something to her son; he replied now and then, monosyllabically. Natalya strained to listen but couldn’t make out the words.
Half an hour later Denis came into the bedroom. He sat beside her but said nothing.
“Do you seriously think your mother is right?” she asked quietly.
“Nata, Mom just wants to help my brother,” Denis said, not looking at his wife. “Pavel really is miserable in the dorm.”
“And what about me—am I not miserable? I’ve lived with your mother for two years, listened to her comments about how I cook wrong, how I don’t clean properly…”
“Don’t exaggerate. Mom treats you well.”
Natalya turned to him sharply.
“Well? She just decided to give my apartment to your brother without even asking my opinion!”
“Well, not give it away…” Denis mumbled. “She just suggested an option.”
“What option? She’s already decided everything! Pavel will come on Saturday, and we’ll hand over the keys!”
Denis sighed heavily.
“Maybe we really shouldn’t rush moving out? It’s convenient here—work is close by, the shops…”
Natalya looked at her husband for a long time, trying to figure out whether he was joking or serious. But his expression left no doubt.
“I see,” she said quietly.
That night Natalya barely slept. She tossed and turned, listened to the steady breathing of her husband, and thought about what was happening. By morning the decision had formed on its own.
While everyone was still asleep, she got dressed and quietly left the apartment. The autumn air was invigorating; yellow leaves crunched underfoot. The bus took her to the right neighborhood in twenty minutes.
The entrance smelled of fresh paint—apparently they had recently done some cosmetic repairs. The elevator was working and carried her up to the seventh floor without stopping.
The apartment was exactly as her parents had described. Small but bright. One room, a combined bathroom, a six-meter kitchen. The windows faced the courtyard where old poplars grew.
Natalya walked through the empty rooms, imagining where the furniture would go. The fridge by the kitchen window, the sofa opposite the TV, the wardrobe in the corner of the room. There was enough space for everything necessary.
She took out her phone and photographed every corner. Then she paced off the room—about four by five meters. The kitchen was smaller, but perfectly fine for two.
You could put flowers on the kitchen windowsill. Natalya pictured what mornings would be like here—the sun shining through the windows, coffee simmering on the stove, and no one making comments about the salt being in the wrong place.
A phone call interrupted her daydream. It was Denis.
“Where are you?” her husband’s voice sounded anxious.
“At the apartment,” she answered calmly.
“Which apartment?”
“Mine. I’m looking around, planning what goes where.”
Denis was silent for a moment.
“Nata, let’s talk at home. Mom is worried.”
“Alright. But first I’m going to the furniture store to see prices.”
“Why do you need a furniture store?”
“To furnish the apartment. My apartment.”
“But we discussed yesterday…”
“We didn’t discuss anything,” Natalya cut him off. “Your mother made a decision, and you agreed with her. I wasn’t part of that discussion.”
“Nata…”
“Goodbye, Denis.”
She hung up and slipped the phone into her pocket. The apartment grew quiet again; only the poplars rustled outside. Natalya walked to the window and looked out into the yard. Children played in the sandbox, mothers sat on benches, an elderly man walked a small dog.
An ordinary yard, ordinary people. None of them knew about the family squabbles, about a mother-in-law deciding someone else’s fate, about a husband who couldn’t stand up for his wife.
The phone rang again. This time it was Galina.
“Natalya, get home this instant!” the mother-in-law demanded. “What nonsense is this? Running around who knows where—Denis is beside himself!”
“Galina Fyodorovna, I’m in my own apartment,” she answered evenly.
“In what ‘own’ apartment? That apartment will be Pavel’s!”
“No. The apartment is mine. The deed is in my name.”
“We’ll fix that! Pavel will be there on Saturday!”
“Pavel can come, but he won’t be getting the keys to my apartment.”
Galina faltered for a second.
“Have you completely lost your shame?” she hissed. “How dare you speak to me like that?”
“The same way you dare to dispose of my property,” Natalya replied calmly and ended the call.
Her hands were shaking, but from agitation, not fear. For the first time in two years of married life, she had said to her mother-in-law what she actually thought.
Natalya took out her phone and dialed her parents. Her father answered on the third ring.
“Dad, can you help me move my things? I’m moving into the apartment tomorrow.”
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll take the car—your mother and I will come by around lunchtime.”
“Thank you. There aren’t many things; we’ll manage in a couple of trips.”
Her parents didn’t ask unnecessary questions. Nikolai Ivanovich only clarified the address and time, and her mother promised to bring groceries for the first dinner in the new home.
After the call, Natalya walked around the empty rooms once more. The walls were bare, the floor creaked underfoot, and the kitchen faucet dripped. But a smile flickered across her face—this really was her place. No one would tell her when to get up, what to cook for breakfast, whom to see.
That evening, the atmosphere at her mother-in-law’s felt like a funeral. Galina ostentatiously refused to speak to her daughter-in-law, clattered the dishes, and sighed loudly. Denis pretended to read the newspaper, flipping pages without looking at the text.
“Will you eat dinner?” the mother-in-law asked coldly.
“No, thank you. I have no appetite.”
“Of course not. Your conscience is bothering you.”
Natalya kept silent. She went up to the bedroom and took an old suitcase from the closet. There weren’t that many belongings—two suitcases of clothes, a box of books, and a few personal items.
In the morning her parents arrived exactly on time. Nikolai parked his old but reliable car by the entrance. Her mother brought a bag of groceries and a thermos of soup.
“Got everything packed?” her father asked.
“Yes. The suitcases are in the bedroom, and the box is in the kitchen.”
Denis came out of the bathroom, saw his wife’s parents, and was taken aback.
“Hello,” he greeted them uncertainly.
“Hi,” the father-in-law replied curtly.
Natalya picked up the first suitcase and headed to the door.
“I’m moving,” she told her husband calmly.
“Mom said…” Denis muttered.
Natalya stopped and looked at him in such a way that he immediately fell silent. The disappointment in her eyes was so clear that he turned away.
“Your mother says a lot,” she said quietly. “But she won’t be making decisions for me.”
Galina burst out of the kitchen when she heard them.
“Natalya, stop this spectacle immediately!” she shouted. “Put those suitcases back!”
“Goodbye, Galina Fyodorovna.”
She walked out of the apartment without looking back. Her parents quietly took the remaining things. Nikolai merely shook his head as he looked at his son-in-law standing in the hallway with his arms hanging limply.
A surprise awaited them at the entrance to the new building. Galina was standing there with a tall young man of about twenty-three—her younger son, Pavel. Apparently, she’d had time to warn him and bring him to the scene.
“Natalya!” the mother-in-law shouted. “This is unfair! Pavel spent the whole day getting here from the institute!”
The young man looked embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot, clearly not understanding what he’d been dragged into.
“Auntie Natash,” Pavel began hesitantly, “maybe we really shouldn’t rush? I can live in the dorm one more semester…”
“Pavel,” Natalya replied calmly, “the apartment is registered to me. You’ll only live there in your dreams.”
Galina flushed with outrage.
“How dare you! I welcomed you into the family like a daughter! And you—”
“And what about me? For two years I cooked, cleaned, and listened to your remarks. Now I want to live in my own apartment.”
“But Pavel—”
“Pavel is a grown man. He can sort out his housing problems himself.”
Natalya’s father set the suitcase down on the asphalt and looked at Galina.
“Let’s not make a scene in the street, Galina Fyodorovna. Our daughter has the right to live where she wants.”
“But the apartment should go to Pavel! Natalya is young—she’ll earn another!”
“The apartment was gifted to my daughter. Period.”
Nikolai picked up the suitcase and headed into the entrance. Natalya and her mother followed him. Galina shouted after them about ingratitude and heartlessness, but no one turned around.
The move took an hour and a half. Her parents helped arrange the things, and her mother warmed the soup on the stove. Over an improvised lunch, they talked about plans for the place—where to hang a mirror, what flowers to put on the windowsill.
“Don’t rush to buy furniture,” her father advised. “Live a bit first—you’ll figure out what you really need.”
“A sofa is a must,” her mother said. “And a proper kitchen table.”
“I’ll buy everything gradually,” Natalya nodded.
After her parents left, the apartment grew quiet. Natalya sat on the floor in the empty room and leaned her back against the wall. The door closed behind her, the keys lay in her pocket. No one could enter without her permission anymore.
Around seven in the evening, the phone rang. Galina.
“Natalya, come back immediately!” the mother-in-law shouted into the receiver. “Denis refused dinner, he’s sitting there dark as a cloud!”
Natalya ended the call without answering. Ten minutes later Galina called again.
“You’ve no conscience at all! You’re destroying the family!”
She hung up again. Galina called four more times, but Natalya didn’t pick up.
The next day the calls continued. The mother-in-law demanded she come to her senses, threatened to tell all the relatives about the ungrateful daughter-in-law, and promised that Denis would file for divorce.
“Let him file,” Natalya said calmly into the phone, and hung up again.
By the end of the week, the calls stopped. Natalya bought a folding table and two chairs, hung light curtains on the windows. The apartment was gradually becoming cozy.
Denis showed up ten days later. He stood in the doorway for a long time, not daring to come in.
“May I?” he asked uncertainly.
“It’s your apartment too.”
Denis walked into the room, looked over the few pieces of furniture, and stood by the window.
“Nata, let’s go back home. Mom has calmed down and promises not to meddle.”
“Denis, we are home. This is our apartment.”
“But it was more convenient there… Mom cooked, cleaned…”
“And here I’ll cook and clean. When I want and how I want.”
He was silent for a moment, then sighed heavily.
“So you won’t come back?”
“No.”
“What if Mom apologizes?”
“Denis, it’s not about apologies. Your mother thinks she can run my life. And you agree with that.”
“I don’t agree… I just didn’t want to quarrel with Mom.”
“But you weren’t afraid to quarrel with me.”
Denis had no answer. He left half an hour later, still unable to decide whether he would live with his wife or go back to his mother.
Natalya didn’t rush him. She kept arranging the apartment, went to work, and spent evenings reading by the light of her new desk lamp. For the first time in a long while, no one told her when to go to bed, what to watch on TV, or whom to see.
A month later Denis brought his things. He didn’t say a word about his mother, didn’t mention his brother, who was still living in the dorm. He simply set his suitcase down in the hallway and shyly asked where he would sleep.
Galina never called again. Occasionally Natalya ran into her at the store, but they pretended not to notice each other.
In the evening, lying on the new sofa and watching the setting sun through the window, Natalya knew she had made the right decision. No one else would dictate where to live, how to furnish the apartment, or when to invite guests. Her own space, her own rules, her own choice. What she had waited two long years for had finally become reality.
