Galya turned a crumpled napkin in her hands for a long time, staring at the hospital papers spread out on the table. Roma sat across from her, nervously tapping his fingers on the tabletop.
“You understand, Galochka, Mom is really weak after the surgery,” her husband said quietly, avoiding direct eye contact. “The doctors said she needs rest and care. And her communal apartment is under renovation, dust everywhere. How can she recover there?”
Galya sighed, picturing her mother-in-law’s cramped place with its endless neighbor squabbles and the smell of paint from the rooms being redone. Of course, those conditions really weren’t suitable for a sick person.
“Alright,” Galya nodded, stacking the documents neatly. “She can come. Just for a couple of weeks, until she’s fully better.”
Roma beamed and grabbed his wife’s hands.
“Thank you so much! I knew you’d understand. Mom will be so grateful.”
That morning, when Roma went to pick up Valentina Ivanovna from the hospital, Galya got up especially early. She prepared the sofa in the living room, put on fresh linens, set a glass of water and the medications nearby. She even bought flowers—white chrysanthemums, which her mother-in-law had always loved.
The doorbell rang around noon. Galya hurried to the hallway, smoothed her hair, and opened the door. There were not two but three people on the threshold.
“Galechka, dear!” Valentina Ivanovna reached out for a hug; she did look gaunt after the hospital.
“Hello, Valentina Ivanovna,” Galya embraced her, but her gaze immediately shifted to the third figure.
Next to Roma stood his sister Larisa with a large travel bag in her hand and a satisfied smile on her face.
“Hi, Galka,” Larisa waved breezily. “Hope you don’t mind that I’ve moved in with you too? I’m having such problems with my apartment right now, it’s a nightmare.”
Galya looked at her husband in confusion. Roma avoided her eyes, fussing with the bags.
“What problems?” Galya asked, letting them all into the apartment.
“The upstairs neighbors flooded me,” Larisa kicked off her shoes right in the middle of the hallway. “The ceiling sagged, the wallpaper’s peeling. Impossible to live there. Until they fix it, I’ll have to bounce around somewhere.”
“And how long will the repairs take?” Galya asked carefully.
“Oh, who knows with those management companies,” Larisa waved it off. “A month, two… Maybe more. You know how things are done here.”
Galya stood in the middle of her hallway and felt something tighten inside her. She’d planned on one mother-in-law for a couple of weeks and got two guests for an indefinite period.
“Roma,” she called her husband softly, “can we talk?”
But Valentina Ivanovna was already heading into the living room, looking around.
“Oh, how everything has changed here,” the mother-in-law remarked, sitting down on the sofa. “And what lovely flowers! Though roses would be better—chrysanthemums are more for the cemetery.”
Galya clenched her fingers tighter. She had chosen the flowers deliberately, remembering how Valentina Ivanovna had admired the chrysanthemums in her garden last fall.
Meanwhile, Larisa had already inspected the kitchen.
“Galya, where am I going to sleep?” Roma’s sister shouted from the kitchen. “Maybe we clear the sofa? Mom could stay in the bedroom with you two—she’s quiet.”
“What?” Galya started. “In our bedroom?”
“Well yes, there’s more space there,” Larisa returned to the living room with an apple in hand. “And I’ll take the sofa. I’m not picky.”
Roma was still silent, busying himself with the bags and pretending nothing was happening.
“Fine,” Galya said slowly. “For now we’ll do it that way.”
The first few days passed relatively calmly. Valentina Ivanovna truly was weak after the operation; she lay down a lot and took her medicine. Larisa bustled about, playing the caring daughter. Galya cooked diet meals and made sure her mother-in-law took her pills on time.
But by the end of the first week, the atmosphere began to change. Valentina Ivanovna had noticeably regained strength and started to scrutinize Galya’s household.
“Galechka, dear,” the mother-in-law said on Saturday morning, watching Galya make breakfast, “why do you boil eggs like that? Romochka likes them soft-boiled, and you make them hard-boiled.”
“Roma never complained,” Galya replied, stirring the porridge.
“Well, men don’t like to upset their wives,” Valentina sighed. “They suffer in silence. And as his mother, I can feel that my son doesn’t like it.”
Larisa chimed right in:
“Exactly! As a kid, Roma ate only soft-boiled. A mother’s memory holds on to things like that.”
Galya put the pot on the stove a little more sharply than she intended. In eight years of marriage, Roma had never mentioned any preference about how his eggs were boiled.
“Alright,” Galya said curtly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
By the end of the second week, the remarks were constant. The dishes were arranged incorrectly, the floors weren’t clean enough, the groceries weren’t the right ones.
“Galya, dear,” her mother-in-law began one morning, peering into the fridge, “what kind of cottage cheese is this? Looks suspicious.”
“Just regular cottage cheese,” Galya replied wearily, pouring herself coffee.
“It’s just that we’re used to buying only at the market, from a trusted grandma,” Larisa inserted. “Store stuff can be made of who knows what. It’s unhealthy.”
“And so expensive,” the mother-in-law added, examining the price tag. “We get it for half as much at the market.”
Galya gulped hot coffee and burned her tongue. In her own apartment she was being instructed where and what to buy.
The worst part began when Valentina Ivanovna and Larisa started making decisions without asking. One day Galya came home from work to find all the furniture in the living room rearranged.
“We thought,” Larisa explained cheerfully, “that it would be cozier this way. The TV’s easier to see, and there’s more space.”
Galya stood in the middle of the rearranged room and didn’t recognize her own home. The sofa had been turned toward the window, the armchair shoved into a corner, the coffee table moved to the opposite wall.
“Did it not occur to you to ask?” Galya inquired quietly.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Larisa waved her off. “It’s better now! Look how pleased Mom is.”
Valentina Ivanovna did indeed sit in the armchair with a beatific look and nodded:
“Much more convenient, Galechka. I don’t know how you lived like that before.”
That evening Galya tried to talk to her husband.
“Roma, I’m uncomfortable with how your mom and Larisa act so freely,” Galya began when they were alone in the bedroom.
“What’s the big deal?” Roma didn’t even look up from his phone. “They moved some furniture, so what. Maybe it really is better.”
“It’s not about the furniture,” Galya sat on the bed next to him. “It’s that no one asks me. In my own apartment.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Roma finally tore himself from the screen. “Mom is sick; she needs peace. And Larisa is just helping. Be patient a little—soon it’ll all settle down.”
“And when is ‘soon’?” Galya couldn’t hold back. “It’s been three weeks, and no one even mentions looking for other options.”
“Galya, what’s with you?” Roma frowned. “Mom’s just had surgery, and my sister has no place to live. Is it really so hard for you to help family?”
The word “family” grated on her ear. So his mother and sister were “family,” and Galya was what? The staff?
“Fine,” Galya said shortly and turned toward the wall.
The next day things got worse. Valentina Ivanovna decided to do a general cleaning.
“Galechka, I peeked into your closet,” the mother-in-law reported at dinner, “and it’s such a mess! Clothes hung any which way, colors all mixed. I set everything straight.”
Galya slowly put down her fork. Her closet was a model of order—dresses by color, skirts separate, blouses separate. A system she had built over years.
“You went through my things?” Galya asked, trying to keep her voice even.
“Oh come on, what ‘went through’,” Larisa laughed. “Mom just made it pretty. You should be thanking her.”
“And also, dear,” Valentina went on, “I threw away a few old tops. They were completely worn out—embarrassing to wear such things.”
Galya stood up abruptly from the table. Among the “old tops” was her favorite blouse, a gift from Roma on their dating anniversary. Worn, yes, but precious as a memory.
“Where are my things?” Galya’s voice came out quieter than usual.
“Probably already in the trash,” Larisa answered indifferently. “Why keep them?”
Galya left the kitchen without a word. Behind her she heard dissatisfied voices:
“What a character she has… You do good, and she complains.”
“Such ingratitude, Larisa. We’re helping her, and she…”
Galya locked herself in the bathroom and turned on the water to drown out the voices. A tired face stared back at her from the mirror, a face she barely recognized. Three weeks ago, two people lived in this apartment. Now three were running the place, and Galya felt like an extra.
The next morning, Valentina Ivanovna met Galya in the kitchen with a new initiative:
“Galechka, I was thinking—why don’t we change the schedule? You get up at seven, clatter dishes, wake everyone. Maybe you could get up at six-thirty, have a quiet breakfast, and we’ll get up later?”
Galya stood in the doorway of her own kitchen and listened as someone explained a new daily routine for her home.
“What if it’s inconvenient for me to get up earlier?” she asked.
“Such selfishness, honestly,” the mother-in-law shook her head. “The doctor prescribed me rest, and Larisa’s on edge because of the repairs. Is getting up half an hour earlier such a sacrifice?”
Larisa appeared in the kitchen wearing Galya’s robe—taken without asking, as it turned out.
“Speaking of routines,” Roma’s sister said, pouring herself coffee from Galya’s cezve, “maybe we should take turns with the shower, too? There’s such a line in the morning. I propose: first Mom, then me, then you and Roma.”
Galya turned silently and went to the bedroom. Roma was just pulling on his shirt.
“Your family has become completely brazen,” Galya said quietly but distinctly.
“What are you talking about?” Roma fastened his buttons and looked at his wife.
“About the fact that I’m being given a new daily schedule in my apartment. That your sister is wearing my clothes. That your mother threw out my things without asking.”
“Galya, you’re exaggerating,” Roma took his tie. “Mom is trying to help, and you take everything as an attack.”
“Help?” Galya narrowed her eyes. “You call that help?”
“What else would you call it? She tidied your closet, cleaned up…”
“In MY closet,” Galya cut him off. “In MY apartment. Without asking.”
Roma sighed and tied his tie.
“Listen, maybe you’re just tired? Take a day off, rest. Mom and Larisa can manage on their own for now.”
Galya stared at her husband. He was suggesting she take a break—from her own home.
“How much longer is this going to go on?” she asked point-blank.
“What exactly?”
“Their living here. When will your mother be fully recovered? When will Larisa find a place?”
Roma adjusted his collar, avoiding her gaze.
“Well… Mom isn’t completely well yet. And Larisa… her situation with the apartment is complicated. I can’t throw my own family out on the street.”
“But you can throw me out, apparently,” Galya said quietly.
“What does that have to do with you? No one’s throwing you out.”
“Really? Then who is the main host in this apartment?”
Roma didn’t answer. He picked up his briefcase and headed to the door.
“I’m late. We’ll talk calmly tonight.”
But there was no conversation that evening. Valentina Ivanovna and Larisa sat in the living room watching TV and discussing plans for tomorrow—namely, a trip to the hypermarket for groceries. With Galya’s money, as it turned out.
“Galechka, dear,” the mother-in-law called, “you understand my pension is small, and I need expensive medications after the hospital. And Larisa is temporarily out of work…”
“How out of work?” Galya was surprised. “Larisa works as a preschool teacher.”
“Well, I’m on vacation now,” the sister said casually. “Decided to take a break while the apartment is being repaired. I had leave accumulated.”
Galya leaned against the doorframe. So Larisa had deliberately taken time off to live off someone else’s dime. And no one thought it necessary to warn her in advance.
“And what if I’m not prepared to pay for your vacation?” Galya asked.
Silence fell. The mother-in-law and Larisa exchanged glances.
“Galya, what’s happened to you?” the mother-in-law shook her head reproachfully. “So stingy. Can’t you spare for family?”
“For whose family?” Galya clarified.
“What do you mean whose? For Roma’s, of course. Which means yours, too.”
Suddenly Galya understood clearly that no temporary stay had been planned. Valentina Ivanovna and Larisa had settled into her apartment for real—and for the long haul. And Roma was silent because it suited him: his mother close by, his sister accommodated, and all the expenses on his wife.
“You know what,” Galya said slowly, “I think I’ll go for a walk. Get some fresh air.”
“Right, go clear your head,” Larisa approved. “We’ll watch TV. There’s a good movie on.”
Galya went outside and walked without choosing a route. The summer evening was warm; children were playing somewhere, the air smelled of lindens and barbecue drifting from nearby balconies. Ordinary life, where people live in their own homes and don’t have to explain to guests why they buy cottage cheese at the store and not at the market.
When Galya returned an hour later, the apartment greeted her with TV noise and laughter from the living room. A mountain of dirty dishes towered in the kitchen sink—they’d apparently decided to have tea. Roma sat in the bedroom at the computer.
“Where were you?” her husband asked without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Out walking,” Galya answered curtly. “Thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how I’m tired of being the maid in my own home.”
Roma finally turned to her.
“There you go again. Galya, this is my family. Can’t you be patient?”
“How long?” Galya asked for the third time that day. “A month? Two? A year?”
“I don’t know,” Roma admitted honestly. “Until the situation settles.”
“And what if it never does?”
Roma shrugged and buried himself in the monitor again. In that moment Galya realized that her husband simply didn’t see a problem. He was comfortable; he liked having his mother fuss over him, his sister entertain him, and his wife silently bankroll the household.
Galya went to bed and stared at the ceiling. Through the wall came muffled voices—her mother-in-law and Larisa discussing tomorrow’s plans. Something about the clinic, something about new medications, something about the store. Plans in someone else’s apartment with someone else’s money and someone else’s husband, who preferred not to notice what was happening.
And tomorrow would bring a new day, new remarks, new instructions on how to live in her own home. And Roma would say again: “Be patient, it’s family.”
Only whose family is it? And where in that family is there a place for Galya herself?
The question hung in the air, heavy and demanding an answer Galya wasn’t ready to give yet.
The answer came on its own a week later. Valentina Ivanovna felt herself the full mistress of the house and decided to do a thorough inspection of the entire apartment. Galya came home from work and found her mother-in-law in the bedroom, going through the dresser.
“Galechka,” Valentina announced, still rummaging through the underwear, “I’ve straightened up your things. Such disorder! And really, we need to get rid of the excess—there’s not much space.”
On the bed lay neat stacks—what her mother-in-law had deemed worth keeping—and a large pile destined for the bin. Among the “unneeded” Galya saw Roma’s gifts, keepsakes, favorite dresses.
“You had no right,” Galya said, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.
“What do you mean ‘right’?” Valentina was surprised. “I’m doing good here. Look how nicely it’s all arranged now.”
Larisa appeared in the doorway with a cup of tea and a sandwich.
“Mom did great, made it beautiful,” Roma’s sister backed her up. “You’ve got no taste at all, Galya. You buy whatever clothes.”
Galya picked up from the “unneeded” pile a pretty dress she’d worn on her first date with Roma.
“This is mine,” Galya said quietly.
“So what?” Larisa shrugged. “It’s old. Time to update your wardrobe.”
“In my bedroom, in my dresser, my things,” Galya repeated, raising her voice.
“Oh, stop making a fuss,” Valentina waved her off. “We freed up space; now I’ll put my medicines there. They were scattered all over.”
Galya gathered all her things from the bed into her arms. Her hands shook, but her voice grew firm:
“Move your medicines. This is my bedroom.”
“How is it yours?” Larisa protested. “Where are we supposed to live then? Mom is sick, she needs peace.”
“Find somewhere else,” Galya snapped and walked out of the bedroom.
Dinner that evening was tense. Valentina Ivanovna picked at her salad with a martyr’s expression, while Larisa ostentatiously drank tea from Galya’s favorite cup.
“Romochka,” the mother-in-law began plaintively, “talk to your wife. Her character has completely spoiled. She yells at a sick woman and snatches things away.”
Roma looked at Galya reproachfully.
“Galya, Mom’s right. Why make scenes?”
“Scenes?” Galya set down her spoon slowly. “Roma, your mother was rifling through my underwear and deciding what I should wear and what to throw away.”
“Mom wanted to help,” Roma defended her.
“I didn’t ask for help,” Galya stood up from the table. “I need to talk to you. In private.”
In the bedroom Galya closed the door and turned to her husband.
“Roma, how long is this going to continue?”
“What are you talking about?” Roma sat on the bed.
“About your family taking over my apartment. Your mother rummages through my things, your sister acts like she owns the place. And you keep silent.”
“Galya, you’re exaggerating…”
“Exaggerating?” Galya cut him off. “In my own apartment I’m told when to get up, what to eat, what clothes to wear. Is that normal?”
Roma sighed.
“Mom just wants to help. And Larisa… her situation is complicated.”
“And what about my situation?” Galya stepped closer. “Roma, I want your mother and sister to start looking for another place tomorrow.”
“That’s impossible,” her husband shook his head. “Mom isn’t completely well, and Larisa’s apartment is under repair.”
“Then let them rent something temporarily.”
“With what money? Mom’s pension is sixteen thousand, and Larisa is on leave.”
“Not my problem,” Galya said sharply.
“How is it not yours?” Roma was surprised. “It’s my family.”
“And what am I?” Galya asked bluntly. “The service staff?”
“What does that have to do with it? You’re my wife.”
“Exactly. A wife. Not a maid for your relatives.”
Roma stood and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t say that. Be patient a little longer. It’ll all work out soon.”
Galya slipped out of his embrace.
“No, Roma. I won’t be patient anymore. Either your family starts looking for another place tomorrow or…”
“Or what?” her husband asked warily.
“Or I’m the one who moves out. And the apartment, I remind you, is in my name.”
Roma turned pale.
“You’re joking?”
“No,” Galya said firmly. “I’m not.”
The next three days passed in strained silence. Valentina Ivanovna and Larisa moved on to open attacks, deciding that the best defense was offense.
“What ingratitude,” the mother-in-law declared loudly to her daughter. “We help and care, and she’s rude in return.”
“Selfish,” Larisa echoed. “Thinks only of herself. Poor Romochka, how does he live with her?”
Roma kept quiet, clearly hoping everything would sort itself out. But Galya was done waiting.
On Saturday morning, the final scandal broke. Galya woke up and went to the kitchen for breakfast. Nothing remained of what she’d bought the day before.
“Where are the groceries?” she asked Larisa, who was sitting at the table.
“We finished them,” Roma’s sister replied indifferently. “So what?”
“How finished? I shopped for the week yesterday.”
“So go buy more,” Larisa shrugged. “You’ve got money.”
Valentina Ivanovna walked into the kitchen wearing a robe Galya recognized as her own.
“Galechka, go to the store,” the mother-in-law ordered. “We need milk and fresh cottage cheese. What you brought yesterday was kind of sour.”
“Go yourselves,” Galya replied.
“How can we go ourselves?” Valentina was indignant. “I’m a sick woman; I can’t carry heavy things.”
“And I can?”
“You’re young and healthy,” Larisa cut in. “You won’t fall apart from carrying a bag of milk.”
“In that case, you’re healthy too,” Galya shot back.
“I have depression because of the repairs,” Larisa declared. “The doctor said to avoid stress.”
Galya stood in the middle of her own kitchen and listened to why she was supposed to serve two healthy adult women.
“And also,” Valentina added, “bring something for tea. Cookies or pastries. Life’s so boring otherwise.”
“With my money?” Galya clarified.
“Whose else?” the mother-in-law was surprised. “My pension is peanuts.”
“Then live within your means,” Galya said and turned to leave.
“Oh, so that’s how it is!” Valentina flared up. “Romochka! Come here!”
Roma appeared sleepy, in shorts and a T-shirt.
“What happened?”
“Your wife has gone savage!” his mother complained. “She’s sending a sick woman to the store and stingily withholding money!”
Roma looked at Galya with reproach.
“Galya, what would it cost you to go?”
“It would cost me nothing,” Galya answered. “But I’m not going to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not obliged to support and wait on your relatives.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Roma threw up his hands. “You’ve become so stingy, so mean.”
“Stingy?” Galya repeated. “I’m stingy?”
“Well yes. Mom’s sick, and you’re making a scene over pennies.”
Something clicked inside Galya, like a switch. A month of submissive patience, constant reproaches, her opinion ignored—all of it suddenly poured out.
“How much longer are we going to live as three in my apartment?!” Galya shouted at the top of her voice. “Take your mother, your sister, and go with them!”
Dead silence fell. Roma opened his mouth but didn’t utter a sound. Valentina Ivanovna and Larisa stared at Galya as if seeing her for the first time.
“I’m tired!” Galya went on, unstoppable. “Tired of being the maid in my own home! Tired of hearing I do everything wrong! Tired of supporting healthy freeloaders!”
“Galya,” Roma tried to intervene.
“Silence!” she barked. “You were silent for a month while your clan took over my apartment. Now it’s my turn to speak!”
Galya turned to her mother-in-law and sister-in-law:
“Valentina Ivanovna, you’re healthy. Larisa, you have a job and money. Pack your things and get out!”
“How dare you!” the mother-in-law protested. “I’m Roma’s mother!”
“So what?” Galya stepped closer. “Does that give you the right to run someone else’s apartment? To rummage through someone else’s things? To demand money?”
“Ingrate!” the mother-in-law hissed. “After all we’ve done for you!”
“What exactly have you done?” Galya smirked. “Ate my groceries? Criticized my cooking? Moved my furniture? Thanks, I can do without that kind of help.”
Larisa tried to object:
“I have problems with my apartment…”
“Not my problems,” Galya snapped. “Solve them yourselves.”
Galya went to the hallway and took out the guests’ suitcases from the closet.
“What are you doing?” Roma was frightened.
“What I should have done a month ago,” Galya set the suitcases in the middle of the corridor. “Pack up.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Valentina declared. “This is cruelty to a sick woman!”
“Go see a doctor if you’re sick,” Galya advised. “Just not in my apartment.”
“Roma!” the mother pleaded. “Say something!”
Her husband shifted from foot to foot.
“Galya, maybe you shouldn’t be so harsh…”
“I very much should,” Galya replied firmly. “You have half an hour to pack.”
“And if we don’t leave?” Larisa challenged.
“I’ll call the district officer,” Galya promised. “I’ll explain that you’ve unlawfully occupied someone else’s living space.”
Valentina Ivanovna and Larisa realized Galya wasn’t joking. Forty minutes later both stood in the hallway with their bags, shooting the apartment’s hostess murderous looks.
“You’ll regret this,” the mother-in-law threatened at the last moment. “My son won’t forget this.”
“We’ll see,” Galya answered calmly and opened the door.
Roma silently gathered his things and was the last to leave the apartment. At the threshold he turned:
“Is this final?”
“Yes,” Galya answered without hesitation. “Final.”
The door closed. Galya was alone in her apartment. The silence was deafening after a month of constant noise and arguments.
She walked through the rooms, putting the furniture back where it had been, removing other people’s belongings, restoring the home to its original state. In the bedroom she moved the dresser; in the living room, she returned the armchair to the corner. Each action brought back a sense of control over her own life.
By evening the apartment looked like a home again. Galya brewed tea in her favorite cup—the one she’d managed to reclaim from Larisa—and sat in the armchair by the window. Streetlights were coming on outside, children were laughing somewhere; life went on as usual.
Her phone was silent. Apparently, Roma and his family had found a place with acquaintances and were now discussing how evil and ungrateful Galya had turned out to be. Let them talk.
Galya finished her tea and smiled at her reflection in the dark window. For the first time in a month, she felt at home. In her home, where no one told her how to live, what to buy, or when to get up.
Kindness is wonderful. But when people take advantage of your kindness and turn it into a weakness, you must know when to stop. Galya had learned.
