The apartment smelled of freshly brewed coffee and old furniture. Marina remembered that scent from the earliest days of living with Andrei. Back then it had seemed cozy, almost magical—like a promise that everything would be fine. Now it affected her like a red rag to a bull. Especially when the doorbell rang in the entryway.
“Marin, open up, it’s me!” Valentina Petrovna’s voice, as always, sounded as if she were already standing inside the hallway, not out on the landing.
Marina slowly set her book aside. She knew: if she didn’t open, her mother-in-law would keep ringing, then start pounding, and then call Andrei to complain about the “disrespect.” And Andrei, in turn, would come home wearing a look as if Marina were to blame for the fact that his mother couldn’t simply walk into their home whenever she pleased.
“Coming, coming,” Marina muttered, shuffling her slippers across the laminate. She opened the door without trying to hide her irritation.
Valentina Petrovna stood on the threshold in her trademark cape-like coat, a bag stuffed to the brim. On her face was the expression of a holy woman who had come to save sinners.
“Marinochka, are you sitting in the dark again? Saving on electricity?” she slipped inside without even waiting to be invited. “They cut Lyubka’s power again. Can you imagine? Three kids, the fridge full, and just—bam!—no electricity. Didn’t pay again.”
“What a shame,” Marina said dryly, heading back to the kitchen. “Want coffee?”
“I won’t say no,” Valentina Petrovna tossed her bag onto the couch, which creaked plaintively. “You could at least turn the kettle on—this place feels like a morgue.”
Without a word, Marina pressed the button. She knew what was coming. And she wasn’t wrong.
“You know, Lyubka’s crying again. Says the kids caught colds and she doesn’t even have money for medicine. And you’re sitting here all alone in a three-room apartment like a queen,” her mother-in-law sat at the table and pulled a pack of cookies from her bag. “I don’t understand why you’re so stubborn. A one-bedroom is plenty for you! You’re young—you don’t need all this space.”
“Valentina Petrovna, we’ve already discussed this,” Marina set a cup down in front of her with such a clatter that the coffee nearly spilled. “The apartment is mine. I bought it before the wedding. And I’m not moving anywhere.”
“Oh, yours, yours,” her mother-in-law waved her hand. “And Andrei? Is he just air? He lives here too! And he’s my son!”
“And what does that change?” Marina sat opposite, folding her arms across her chest. “If Lyuba needs help, let Andrei give her money. Or you.”
“Don’t ask Lyubka for money,” Valentina Petrovna snorted. “She’s proud. But the apartment… you do understand they’re cramped! Three children! In one room!”
“So what—should I live in a closet?” Marina smirked. “Or are you suggesting Andrei and the kids move into the bathtub?”
“Don’t make me laugh,” her mother-in-law bit into a cookie, scattering crumbs across the table. “You’re selfish. Always have been. Andrei courted you like you were a fortress wall, and what did you do? Work, career, your own interests… And family? And children?”
“What children?” Marina felt something tighten inside her. “We don’t have children. And we won’t.”
“Exactly!” Valentina Petrovna jabbed a finger at her. “Because you never wanted them! All you do is pity yourself!”
“And all you do is try to save everyone,” Marina shot back. “Especially at someone else’s expense.”
Silence hung over the kitchen. The ticking of the clock seemed louder than usual. Marina looked at her mother-in-law and thought about how easily this woman turned any words into an accusation.
“You know Andrei agrees with me,” Valentina Petrovna suddenly said, taking a sip of coffee.
Marina froze.
“What?”
“He says you’re wrong. That family is more important than your principles.”
Marina laughed—bitterly, angrily.
“Of course. Andrei always agrees with you. Especially when it comes to blaming me.”
“He’s a man! He thinks about the future!” her mother-in-law raised her voice. “And you? What are you doing? Sitting here like a mouse in a hole and not letting anyone live!”
“Valentina Petrovna,” Marina stood up and braced her hands on the table. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore. The apartment is mine. Period.”
“Then I’m leaving,” the woman stood too, grabbed her bag. “But remember: sooner or later Andrei will choose between you and family. And I know what he’ll choose.”
The door slammed. Marina was left alone. She stared at the half-finished cup of coffee and thought about how long it had been since she’d felt so lonely. Even when she was alone.
Andrei came an hour later. He came in quietly, like a thief, and headed straight for the bathroom.
“Did you fight with Mom again?” he asked without looking at her.
“She was here,” Marina answered curtly.
“And why do you make her angry?” He finally turned to her, and she saw not understanding in his eyes, but reproach. “She’s just worried about Lyuba.”
“And who’s worried about me?” Marina asked softly.
Andrei was silent.
And in that moment she understood: she wasn’t going to like the answer.
Rain tapped at the window like a persistent debt collector. Marina sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, staring at her phone screen. Andrei’s message had been unread for half an hour:
“Marin, let’s talk. Mom’s right—Lyuba really has nowhere to live. Maybe we could at least temporarily move into a one-bedroom? Just until the kids grow up.”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she opened a browser and started looking up one-bedroom rental prices in their neighborhood—just to understand how much this “temporary” breather would cost her. The numbers on the screen swam before her eyes, blurring into one indistinct smear.
The door opened. Andrei walked in, shaking drops from his umbrella, and went straight to the kitchen.
“Will you at least turn the kettle on?” he tossed over his shoulder as he hung his jacket on the hook. “I’ve been on my feet all day—I’m tired.”
Marina didn’t move.
“Are you serious?” she finally asked without taking her eyes off the screen.
“Serious about what?” Andrei poured himself water and drank it in one gulp.
“You’re really ready to kick me out of my own apartment for your mom and Lyuba?”
Andrei sighed as if she’d asked a stupid question.
“No one’s kicking you out. Just… temporarily. Until Lyuba gets back on her feet.”
“Temporarily,” Marina repeated. “Like in that joke: ‘Temporarily, until we get married.’ ‘Temporarily, until we have kids.’ ‘Temporarily, until we buy a car.’ And temporary stretches into ten years.”
“You’re exaggerating again,” he sat opposite and reached for a bag of chips. “Lyuba’s in a tough situation. Three kids, husband left, no job. And we have an extra room.”
“Extra?” Marina raised an eyebrow. “The room with your exercise machine you last used in the last century? Or the one where you stack your old fishing magazines?”
“Don’t nitpick words,” Andrei crunched loudly. “You’re not stupid. You know what I mean.”
“That your mother decided how I should live?” Marina finally put the phone down. “And you—rather than stopping her—nod and say, ‘Yes, Mommy, whatever you say’?”
“I’m not saying ‘whatever you say,’” he frowned. “I’m thinking about family.”
“What family?” Marina sprang up. “Ours? Or the one you’re trying to save at my expense?”
“You always twist it like I’m a traitor,” Andrei threw the bag onto the table. “I’m just trying to help my sister!”
“At my expense,” Marina said coldly. “Interesting—if I had a sister who’d lost housing, would you be so eager to hand over our apartment to her?”
“You don’t have a sister.”
“Right. But I do have a mother-in-law who thinks I’m obligated to tolerate her manipulation.”
Andrei stood sharply.
“Enough! You’re acting like a spoiled child!”
“And you’re acting like a henpecked man,” Marina snapped. “Not by your wife—by her.”
He stepped toward her, face flushed.
“You’re crossing a line.”
“What line?” she laughed. “I’m in my own apartment. Or have you already forgotten who’s in charge here?”
Andrei grabbed her by the hand.
“Stop it!”
Marina jerked, trying to pull away, but he squeezed harder.
“Let go,” she hissed through her teeth.
“You push me,” he didn’t release her. “Always you, you, you! You don’t care about anyone but yourself!”
“And you don’t care about me,” she tore free and stepped back. “You don’t even try to understand. You just follow orders.”
“I’m not following orders!” he shouted. “I’m trying to keep peace in the family!”
“What peace?” Marina shook her head. “You’re destroying our marriage. Piece by piece. First—for your mom. Then—for Lyuba. Then—for someone else. And where am I? Am I supposed to quietly agree and go live in a shoebox?”
Andrei suddenly deflated, as if the air had been let out of him.
“Marin… I don’t want to fight with you.”
“And I don’t want to live in a one-bedroom,” she crossed the room and stood by the window. The rain kept coming—sheeting, cold. “And I don’t want other people deciding how much space I’m allowed to have in my life.”
“Then what do you suggest?” he clenched his fists. “That Lyuba and the kids live on the street?”
“I suggest you finally grow up,” Marina turned around. “And stop letting yourself be manipulated. Are you a man, or Mommy’s little boy?”
He was silent. His face turned gray, like the wall behind him.
“You know what?” he finally said. “I’m sick of this. If you’re so miserable with me, maybe we really should separate. Let Lyuba live here, and you can find yourself another idiot who’ll put up with your hysterics.”
Marina looked at him for a long time, hard and steady. Then she nodded.
“Fine.”
“What do you mean, fine?” he didn’t understand.
“I agree,” she turned back to the window. “Tomorrow I’m moving out. And I’m filing for divorce.”
Andrei froze.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Test me,” she said without turning around.
He stood in silence, then snatched up his jacket and left, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.
Marina was alone again. The apartment went quiet—only the rain kept tapping and tapping at the glass, as if reminding her: you did the right thing. Or didn’t you?
She sat on the couch and wrapped her arms around herself. One thought spun in her head: what if he doesn’t come back? And the scariest part wasn’t that. The scariest part was that she didn’t know whether she wanted him to.
Morning began with the sound of the door opening. Marina was lying on the couch under the same blanket she’d fallen asleep in, and the first thing she saw was Valentina Petrovna standing in the entryway with a huge bag in her hands. Next to her, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, stood Andrei. He wore the same blazer he’d left in yesterday—apparently he’d spent the night at his mother’s.
“Marina, get up,” her mother-in-law said as if the apartment were hers, not Marina’s. “We came for the things.”
Marina slowly sat up and stretched. Her head buzzed like after a brutal hangover.
“What things?” she asked, though she already knew.
“Andrei has nowhere else to live,” Valentina Petrovna dropped the bag on the floor. “Lyuba and the kids are already moving in. So grab your rags and clear out the room.”
Marina looked at Andrei. He avoided her gaze, examining the shoes by the door.
“Are you serious?” she asked him.
Andrei was silent.
“He is,” her mother-in-law answered for him, walking into the kitchen. “I brought boxes. Come on—start packing.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Marina said calmly.
Valentina Petrovna stopped and turned.
“What?”
“I said I’m not going anywhere.” Marina stood and squared her shoulders. “This is my apartment. And if anyone has to move out, it’s you.”
“Have you completely lost it?” her mother-in-law scoffed. “Andrei, say something to her!”
Andrei still didn’t speak. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.
“You’re not even trying to protect me?” Marina stared at him, pain and rage tightening inside her. “You’re ready to lose your wife for your mother?”
“Marina, don’t make this harder,” he finally forced out.
“Don’t make it harder?” she laughed. “You came with your mommy to kick me out of my home, and you’re telling me not to make it harder?”
“You’re exaggerating everything!” Valentina Petrovna snapped. “We’re just asking you to make room temporarily! Lyuba has nowhere to live!”
“And what about me?” Marina stepped toward her. “Where am I supposed to live? On the street? In a basement? Or maybe you already arranged it with Lyuba that I’ll move into her one-bedroom, and you’ll set up a little communal apartment here?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” her mother-in-law waved her off. “You’ve always been hysterical.”
“Hysterical?” Marina felt something burst inside her. “I’m hysterical because I don’t want to hand over my apartment? And who are you then—a saint? The one who came with her son to throw me out of my home?”
“You said you’d move out!” Andrei suddenly yelled.
“I said I’d file for divorce,” Marina replied coldly. “And I will. But the apartment stays mine. If you want to live with your mother and your sister—go ahead. But you don’t belong here.”
Andrei went pale.
“You can’t do this.”
“Why not?” Marina crossed the room and stopped right in front of him. “You’re the one who said: if it’s so bad with me, why not separate? Well—I’m agreeing. Leave.”
“This is my home too!” he clenched his fists.
“No,” Marina shook her head. “This is my home. And if you won’t leave voluntarily, I’ll call the police.”
Valentina Petrovna gasped as if she’d been struck.
“You’re threatening your own husband?”
“I’m protecting my property,” Marina pulled out her phone. “I have all the documents. And a lawyer. So if you don’t leave in five minutes, I’m calling the local officer.”
“You’re bluffing,” Andrei hissed.
“Test me,” she said, dialing.
He looked at her—and in his eyes she saw not anger, but fear. Fear of losing her. But it was too late.
“Fine,” he grabbed his jacket. “Is this what you wanted? You got what you wanted.”
“I got justice,” Marina said.
Andrei left without looking back. Valentina Petrovna stood for another second, threw one last venomous look at Marina, and followed her son out.
The door closed.
Marina was alone.
The apartment fell silent again. She sat on the couch; the phone slipped from her hands. Tears came on their own—not from weakness, but from relief. She was free. But the freedom tasted bitter, like wormwood.
An hour later, the phone rang. Lyuba.
“Marina,” Andrei’s sister’s voice trembled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know… Mom said you agreed.”
“I didn’t agree,” Marina answered. “And I never will.”
“I understand,” Lyuba exhaled. “I’ll find another way. I’m sorry.”
Marina ended the call. One thought kept circling in her head: it’s over. But along with the pain came a strange, unfamiliar feeling—she was the owner of her life again.
And it was worth it.
