Elena heard the familiar doorbell and froze over the cutting board. The carrot under her knife crunched especially loudly in the sudden silence. She knew that ring—two short, one long. Her mother-in-law.
“Lena, open up, it’s Mom!” came from behind the door.
Elena slowly wiped her hands on a towel and looked at the clock. Thursday, three in the afternoon. Alexey would be at work until seven. Which meant at least four hours alone with Svetlana Pavlovna and her next theatrical performance.
“Lenusya, are you home? I can see the light’s on!”
Elena opened the door. Her mother-in-law stood on the threshold in her unchanging beige coat, with a huge bag and the look of someone about to reveal a terrible secret.
“Hello, Svetlana Pavlovna.”
“Lena, dear, I need to talk to you. Seriously talk.”
Without waiting to be invited, the mother-in-law walked into the apartment, slipped off her shoes, and headed for the kitchen. Elena followed her with her eyes and sighed softly. Here we go.
“Will you have some tea?” she asked, understanding this would be a long conversation.
“I will, I will. Only you sit down first. What I’m going to say is better heard sitting.”
Elena obediently lowered herself into a chair across from her and braced herself.
“Lena, I didn’t want to meddle in your private life—you know I’m a delicate person. But I’m a mother. And I can see that something’s wrong with Alyosha. He’s lost weight, he looks gaunt. Have you noticed?”
“No, Svetlana Pavlovna. Alexey is in great shape.”
“Exactly!” Her mother-in-law thrust a triumphant finger in the air. “Too great. Did he start going to the gym or something?”
“Yes, twice a week. We bought memberships together.”
“Aha!” Svetlana Pavlovna’s eyes flashed. “And how often do you go?”
“Three times a week.”
“And him?”
“Two, like I said.”
“You see? That means one time you go separately. What days does he go?”
Elena felt herself beginning to boil inside. She’d had this conversation before. A month ago her mother-in-law had launched a full investigation over the fact that Alexey had started listening to new music. It turned out Elena had made him a playlist for his runs.
“What are you getting at, Svetlana Pavlovna?”
“Lena, I’m not blind. Young men sometimes have… distractions. I just want you to know: if he has someone, it’s better to act now. Before it’s too late.”
Elena stood, went to the stove, and silently put the kettle on. She counted to ten in her head. Then to twenty.
“He doesn’t have anyone,” she said evenly. “Your son loves me and isn’t cheating on me.”
“Well, if you say so…” Her mother-in-law pursed her lips skeptically. “It’s just that lately Alyosha has that absent-minded look. As if he’s constantly thinking about someone.”
“He’s thinking about a new project at work. A big tender, Svetlana Pavlovna. We talk about it every evening.”
“Ah, the project… Of course, the project.”
When her mother-in-law finally left, Elena collapsed onto the couch and covered her face with her hands. Alexey came back around seven-thirty, cheerful and hungry.
“Hey, sunshine! What’s for dinner?”
“Your mother came by.”
Alexey froze at the fridge with a bottle of water in his hand.
“And what was it this time?”
“She thinks you’re having an affair.”
“Oh God,” Alexey sat down beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Just pay no attention. You know Mom’s always been a born actress. She needs drama, scenes, emotions. It’s how she feels needed.”
“Alyosha, it’s hard on me. Every week a new story. Either I’m cheating on you, or you’re cheating on me, or we’re both cheating on each other.”
“Len, just let it go in one ear and out the other. She doesn’t mean harm, really.”
Elena wanted to object, but Alexey was already heading to the bathroom, humming to himself. Let it go. Easy for him to say.
The next visit came two weeks later. This time, on a Saturday morning, Svetlana Pavlovna appeared with a huge shopping bag and a tragic expression.
“Lena, you have bedbugs!” she declared from the doorway.
“What?”
“Bedbugs! Last night I couldn’t sleep, I was itching all over. I look—and my arm is covered in bites! A whole trail! That’s definitely bedbugs!”
“Where would you get bedbugs, Svetlana Pavlovna?”
“Where? From you! I was at your place last week, sitting on your couch. I brought the infestation home! Have you ever even checked that couch of yours?”
Elena glanced, confused, at the couch where she and Alexey had slept for four years until they saved up for a bed. It was clean and well-kept. Not a sign of bedbugs.
“We don’t have bedbugs,” she said firmly.
“No? Then what’s this?” Her mother-in-law pulled a bottle from the bag. “I already treated my whole apartment! Spent three thousand on pest control! Three thousand, Lena!”
“If you have bites, it could be mosquitoes, an allergy, anything!”
“Mosquitoes in October? You think I’m an idiot? It’s bedbugs, and they came from you! Because, Lenochka, you’re a poor housekeeper. I knew it from the moment Alyosha brought you home. You can’t keep house, so all sorts of parasites breed here!”
Elena felt a hot surge inside her. A poor housekeeper. She, who did a deep clean every Saturday. She, who washed, ironed, cooked, and made sure the home was always clean and cozy.
“We don’t have bedbugs,” she repeated. “And never have.”
“Then what’s this?” Her mother-in-law yanked up her sleeve to show a few red spots on her wrist.
“That could be anything. See a dermatologist.”
“See a dermatologist! You hear that, Alyosha?” she turned to her son, who had just entered the kitchen. “Your wife infected me with bedbugs, and I’m supposed to run to doctors!”
“Mom, enough,” Alexey said wearily. “We don’t have bedbugs. And never have.”
“So you don’t believe me? You think I’m lying?”
“Mom, we think you’re mistaken.”
She puffed up with indignation and left, slamming the door with meaning. Alexey gave his wife an apologetic look.
“Sorry. She’s just… well, you know.”
“Yeah,” Elena said dryly. “I know. A born actress.”
The third act of the play unfolded in November. On a Wednesday evening, while Alexey was working late, the doorbell rang. Elena opened—and was stunned. Her mother-in-law stood pale, a handkerchief pressed to her chest.
“Lena, dear, I feel unwell. May I sit?”
“Of course, come in.”
She moved slowly to the kitchen and sank onto a chair, as if every movement cost her.
“Water, please.”
Elena poured water and watched as she took tiny sips and rolled her eyes.
“What happened?”
“I saw the doctor, Lenochka. I’ve been diagnosed. A serious diagnosis.”
Elena’s heart clenched. However difficult her mother-in-law was, she was still Alexey’s mother. And she did look poorly.
“What diagnosis?”
“Asthma. I have asthma, Lena. The doctor said I can’t live in the city. I need fresh air, nature. I need a dacha.”
“Asthma?” Elena repeated. “Do you have attacks? Do you get short of breath?”
“Not yet, but the doctor said it could start any moment. I urgently need to leave the city. Urgently!”
“And which doctor told you this?”
“Well which? The therapist at the clinic.”
“And did he prescribe treatment?”
“Of course he did. Here,” she rummaged in her bag and produced a crumpled sheet. “See? It says: ‘Being in fresh air is recommended.’ That means I need a dacha!”
Elena glanced at the paper. It was a routine note confirming the patient had visited the therapist with complaints of fatigue. No diagnoses, no recommendations to move.
“Nothing about asthma is written here, Svetlana Pavlovna.”
“How is it not written? It is!” She jabbed a finger at the sheet. “Right here about fresh air!”
“It says you should take more walks. That’s not the same as buying a dacha.”
“Lena, you don’t understand! I’m unwell! I’m dying! And you want to argue!”
“I’m not arguing, I just…”
“I know what you’re ‘just’! You just don’t want your mother-in-law to live long! You want me to suffocate in this stuffy apartment!”
“Your apartment is fine, Svetlana Pavlovna. Big, full of light…”
“But it has no fresh air! I need a dacha! Alyosha must buy me a dacha!”
Elena bit her lip. Alexey earned well, but a dacha was serious money. They had only just started saving for a new car.
“We can’t buy a dacha right now.”
“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” Her eyes narrowed. “I see. You don’t want to. You want me to die, don’t you?”
“What? No, of course not!”
“You do! I can tell! You’ve hated me from the first day you came into my Alyosha’s life! You want to separate us!”
“I don’t want to separate anyone,” Elena felt her voice trembling. “I’m just saying we don’t have the money for a dacha.”
“No money! But you have money for yourself? For your rags, your cosmetics? I saw your new coat!”
“That coat was a birthday gift from my mother.”
“Uh-huh, a gift! And where does your mother get money?”
Elena stood up. She felt that another moment and she’d snap and say something she’d regret.
“I think you should discuss buying a dacha with Alexey. When he gets home.”
“I’ll discuss it with Alyosha. Don’t you worry. I’ll tell him everything. How his wife doesn’t want his mother to live! How you tell me to my face there’s no money!”
Her mother-in-law left, slamming the door. Elena sank onto a chair and buried her face in her hands. Tears rose to her throat, but she held them back. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.
When Alexey returned, she told him about the visit. He listened, frowning more and more.
“Mom doesn’t have any asthma,” he said at last. “She just decided she wants a dacha. And we really don’t have money for it. I’ll talk to her.”
“Alyosh, every week she comes up with something new. Affairs, bedbugs, now asthma and a dacha. I’m tired. Really tired.”
“Just ignore it, Len. You know how she is.”
“I know,” Elena said quietly. “And that’s why I’m tired.”
The visits continued. In December, she discovered she was allergic to something in Alexey and Elena’s apartment—either the flowers or the laundry detergent—and demanded they get rid of all the plants and change their household chemicals. In January she decided Elena was feeding her son poorly—too many vegetables, not enough meat. She brought three kilos of pork and insisted Elena cook it all immediately.
Every visit turned into a three-hour performance. Every time she found a new pretext for complaints, a new tragedy, a new reason for a scandal. And every time Alexey waved it off: “Don’t pay attention. She doesn’t mean harm.”
But in February, when the doorbell rang yet again, Elena didn’t open right away. She stood in the hall, looking at the door, listening to the insistent ring. Two short, one long. Svetlana Pavlovna’s signature melody.
“Lena, open up! I know you’re home!”
Elena took a deep breath and opened the door. But she didn’t throw it wide as usual. She stood in the doorway, blocking the way.
“Hello, Svetlana Pavlovna.”
“Lena, let me in, it’s cold!”
“First we need to discuss something.”
Her mother-in-law frowned in confusion.
“Discuss what?”
“Payment for visits.”
“What?”
“I’ve decided that each of your visits will cost three thousand rubles. Cash, in advance.”
Her mother-in-law’s mouth fell open, but no words came. She just stared at her daughter-in-law in astonishment, as if Elena had suddenly started speaking Chinese.
“Lena, have you lost your mind?”
“No, Svetlana Pavlovna. I’m perfectly sane. Three thousand per visit. If you want to come in—pay.”
“You… you’re joking?”
“No.”
“This is my son’s apartment! I have a right to come whenever I want!”
“This is our apartment—mine and Alexey’s. And I have the right to set rules for guests.”
“Guests? I’m not a guest! I’m his mother!”
“You’re a guest who stages theatricals here every week. And I’m tired of this free circus. So from now on the circus is paid. Three thousand per performance.”
Her mother-in-law turned purple.
“Alyosha!” she shouted. “Alyosha, get here this instant!”
“Alexey isn’t home,” Elena said calmly. “He’ll be back in an hour.”
“I’ll wait for him right here! On the landing!”
“Please do. Only when he comes, I’ll still require payment for today’s visit.”
“You… you…”
She couldn’t find the words. She leaned against the wall and pulled out her phone. Elena closed the door and leaned her back against it. Her hands trembled, her heart pounded. But inside, a strange sense of certainty settled.
Forty minutes later, the bell rang—Alexey’s familiar tone. Elena opened. Her husband and mother-in-law stood on the threshold. Alexey looked bewildered, and his mother triumphant.
“Len, what’s going on? Mom says you’re charging her money to visit?”
“Yes,” Elena said firmly. “Three thousand for each visit.”
“But why?”
“If your mother wants to rattle my nerves, let her pay for every visit,” the wife was tired of the mother-in-law’s performances.
Alexey looked at his wife in silence. Then at his mother. Then back at his wife.
“Lena, please explain what you mean.”
“I mean that after each of your mother’s visits I plan to go to a therapist. Because I can no longer handle her performances on my own. A session costs three thousand rubles. So let your mother pay for my therapy if she insists on continuing her visits.”
“You hear that, Alyosha?” His mother grabbed his hand. “Your wife is insulting me! Demanding money from me! Calling me an actress!”
“I’m not calling names,” Elena said tiredly. “I’m stating a fact. Every week a new story. Affairs, bedbugs, asthma, allergies. I’m tired, Alyosh. Truly tired.”
Alexey said nothing. He looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time. Then he slowly turned to his mother.
“Mom, is that true?”
“What’s true? That I care about my son? That I worry about you two? That I want everything to be fine?”
“Mom, is it true you make up stories every time?”
“Alyosha! I’m your mother!”
“Please answer the question.”
She puffed up.
“I’m not making anything up. I just notice what others don’t. I’m a mother, I have intuition. I can sense when something’s wrong.”
“And the bedbugs were intuition too?”
“There were bedbugs! My arm itched for a whole week!”
“Did you go to a dermatologist?”
“Why would I go to a dermatologist when I know perfectly well they were bedbugs?”
“And the asthma? Did you actually see a doctor?”
She flushed.
“I did! He told me I needed fresh air!”
“Show me the note.”
“What note?”
“The one you showed Lena. Where it says ‘fresh air.’”
Nervously, she dug in her bag, took out the crumpled sheet, and shoved it at her son. Alexey glanced at it and sighed heavily.
“Mom, it only says you should walk more. No asthma.”
“But the doctor said…”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Well… that walks are good for you.”
“And that’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Alexey covered his eyes with his hand. He stood that way for a minute. Then he looked at his mother—and there was something in his gaze that made her involuntarily take a step back.
“Mom, listen to me carefully. You come into our home. The home where Lena and I live. We both work, we get tired, and home for us is a place where we rest. Understand?”
“Alyosha, I’m your mother…”
“I’m not finished. You come in here and every time you stage a performance. Every time, a new story, a new drama. You accuse my wife of things she hasn’t done. You invent illnesses. You create conflicts out of thin air.”
“I don’t invent! I just…”
“Mom!” Alexey raised his voice, and she fell silent. “I’m asking you to behave like a guest. I’m asking you to rein in your imagination. Because if this doesn’t stop, I’ll set a rule: you can come only on weekends and only by prior arrangement. Is that clear?”
She looked at her son in horror, as if he had just disowned her.
“You… you’re taking her side?”
“I’m taking the side of common sense. And the side of my family.”
“I’m your family!”
“And Lena is my family too. My wife. And I won’t allow her to be constantly driven to stress.”
She sniffled, grabbed her bag, and rushed down the stairs. Alexey didn’t stop her. He just watched until the front door banged shut.
Then he turned to Elena. She stood by the door, tears running down her cheeks.
“Len, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your complaints seriously. I thought… I really thought that’s just how she is. That it wasn’t a big deal, that we could tolerate it. I didn’t realize how hard it was on you.”
Elena stepped toward him, and he embraced her. Tight, gentle.
“I’ll talk to her,” Alexey promised. “I’ll explain that this can’t go on. And yes, from now on she’ll come only on weekends and only if we both agree.”
“Thank you,” Elena whispered into his shoulder.
For two months, there were no calls from his mother. Elena began to get used to the quiet, to calm evenings, to not having to brace for the next performance every week.
Then one Saturday the phone rang. Alexey answered, listened, and looked at his wife.
“Mom wants to come tomorrow. At three. Is that okay?”
Elena nodded.
“Okay.”
Svetlana Pavlovna arrived exactly at three. With a pie and a guilty look. She sat in the kitchen, drank tea, talked about the weather, the news, how the neighbor’s daughter had had a baby. Not a word about affairs, bedbugs, or asthma.
True, at the very end she couldn’t quite resist:
“Lena, do I smell mold here? Is it just me, or is there a damp spot in the corner?”
Elena and Alexey exchanged glances. Alexey opened his mouth, but Elena beat him to it:
“Svetlana Pavlovna, that’s the shadow from the cabinet. There’s no mold.”
“Oh, well then, all right,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Must have just seemed so.”
When she left, Alexey burst out laughing.
“Did you see her face? She was trying so hard to hold back!”
“I saw,” Elena smiled. “Progress is obvious.”
“You know, maybe your idea about the three thousand really worked. In a way.”
“In what way?”
“Well, she understood that you have to pay for performances. Not necessarily with money. You can pay with your relationship with your son.”
Elena thought about it and nodded. Maybe Alexey was right. Maybe people really do need boundaries sometimes. Clear, explicit ones you can’t cross without paying a price.
And everyone’s price is their own
