I asked you to tell me when you were going to the doctor! Why didn’t you tell me?” Zinaida Fyodorovna’s voice cut into the apartment’s morning silence like a fire siren.
Ksenia froze in the entryway, handbag still in her hand. She had just come back from the women’s clinic, where she’d been registered for prenatal care. Third month. The very beginning—when nothing shows yet, but a new life is already taking shape inside. She’d planned to rest first, make some tea, and only then figure out how to tell her husband about the visit. But her mother-in-law, as always, appeared before anyone expected her.
Zinaida Fyodorovna stood in the middle of the corridor in her favorite gray suit, which made her look like a school principal from a Soviet film. In her hands she held the keys to the apartment—her own personal keys, which let her come in at any hour of the day or night. Her eyes, small and thorny, drilled into Ksenia with such indignation as if she’d done something unforgivable.
“Hello, Zinaida Fyodorovna,” Ksenia tried to speak calmly, though her heart had already started beating faster. “I had a routine checkup. Nothing special.”
“Nothing special?” Her mother-in-law stepped forward, and she carried the scent of expensive perfume mixed with something sour and unpleasant. “You’re carrying my grandchild and you call that ‘nothing special’? What did the doctor say? What tests did they order? Why do I have to hear about your trips to the clinic from a neighbor who saw you near the polyclinic?”
Ksenia felt a wave of irritation rising inside. She slowly took off her shoes, hung her handbag on the hook, and only then turned to her mother-in-law.
“The doctor said everything is fine. The tests are normal. I feel good.”
“Show me the test results.”
It wasn’t a question—it was an order. Zinaida Fyodorovna held out her hand, expecting medical documents to be placed into it immediately. Her posture, her tone—everything about her screamed that she had every right to demand and receive any information.
“They’re in my medical chart. At the clinic.”
“Don’t lie to me!” her mother-in-law’s voice jumped an octave. “They always give copies to take home! You’re hiding something! What’s wrong with the baby?”
At that moment the front door opened and Pavel walked in. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked imposing—yet the second he saw his mother, his shoulders sagged and the familiar fatigue appeared in his eyes.
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
“I came to check how your wife is doing, since she doesn’t think it necessary to keep me informed about her condition!” Zinaida Fyodorovna turned to her son, and her voice became plaintive, almost tearful. “Pasha, she went to the doctor and didn’t even warn me! And on top of that, she refuses to show me her test results!”
Pavel looked at his wife, then at his mother. Ksenia could see the battle in his eyes. He was torn between wanting to protect his wife and being afraid to upset his mother. And, as always in situations like this, fear won.
“Ksyusha… just show Mom the tests. What’s the big deal? She’s worried.”
Those words hurt Ksenia more than any accusation from her mother-in-law. Her husband’s betrayal—his inability to stand on her side—made the pain almost physical.
“Pavel, those are my medical documents. I don’t have to show them to anyone.”
“Don’t have to?” Zinaida Fyodorovna threw up her hands. “You’re carrying a child of our family and you say you don’t have to? Do you even understand that if it weren’t for me, you’d still be wandering from one rented corner to another?”
There it was—the trump card her mother-in-law played at every convenient moment. The apartment. The very apartment they lived in had been bought by Zinaida Fyodorovna five years ago, when Pavel had just gotten married. She’d registered it in her son’s name, but kept the keys, and ever since then this place hadn’t been a home, but a gilded cage.
“Mom, don’t start with that,” Pavel tried to intervene, but his voice sounded uncertain.
“Why shouldn’t I? Let her know her place! I poured all my savings into this apartment so my son could live decently, and now she’s acting like she’s the boss here!”
Ksenia felt something inside her break. For three years she’d endured it. Three years of reproaches, demands, lectures. Three years of trying to build a relationship, to be a good daughter-in-law. But now, with a child growing inside her—now, when she needed support and understanding more than ever—her patience ran out.
“You know what, Zinaida Fyodorovna,” she said quietly, but there was steel in her voice. “You’re right. It’s your apartment. You paid for it. But there’s one tiny detail you keep forgetting.”
She paused, staring her mother-in-law straight in the eyes.
“For the last three years I have been paying all the utilities. I buy the groceries. I buy household supplies. I replaced all the plumbing when it broke down. I paid for the bathroom and kitchen renovations. I bought all the furniture in the bedroom and living room. If you add it up, in three years I’ve put at least as much into this apartment as you paid for it.”
Zinaida Fyodorovna’s face began to redden. She hadn’t expected pushback.
“How dare you count my money?”
“It’s not your money. It’s my money. Money I earned. While your son makes thirty thousand a month, I make eighty. And all that money goes into maintaining this apartment and our family.”
“Pasha!” her mother-in-law turned to her son. “Do you hear what she’s saying? She’s throwing money in your face!”
Pavel stood with his head lowered. He knew his wife was right. He knew she truly carried the entire financial burden. But admitting it in front of his mother would mean admitting his own inadequacy.
“Ksyush… why are you doing this…”
“Because I’m tired, Pasha. Tired of your mother treating me like a servant. Tired of her coming into our home without warning. Tired of having to report to her about my every step.”
“If you don’t like it, the door’s open!” Zinaida Fyodorovna shouted. “Leave! But the baby stays here! That’s my grandchild, and I won’t let you take him away!”
Those words were the last straw. Ksenia felt a surge of rage so strong her vision darkened for a moment. She took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm down. She couldn’t get upset. She couldn’t—for the baby.
“A child isn’t an object you can leave or take,” her voice trembled with restrained emotion. “And it’s certainly not your property.”
“We’ll see what the court says! I have money for the best lawyers! You’ll be left with nothing!”
“Mom, stop!” Pavel finally found the strength to intervene. “What are you saying? What court? She’s my wife—the mother of my child!”
“Your wife?” Zinaida Fyodorovna turned to her son as if he’d betrayed her. “She’s manipulating you! She got pregnant on purpose to tie you to her! I told you from the start she wasn’t your match!”
“I got pregnant on purpose?” Ksenia couldn’t take it anymore and laughed—a bitter, almost hysterical laugh. “Pavel and I tried for three years to have a child! Three years of treatment, tests, procedures! And you’re saying I got pregnant on purpose?”
She turned to her husband.
“Pavel, tell her. Tell your mother what we went through so we could have this baby.”
But Pavel was silent. He stood between the two women like a man caught between a hammer and an anvil, not knowing what to say. His silence said more than any words.
“You can’t even stand on my side now,” Ksenia shook her head. “Even now, when your mother is threatening to take my child away, you’re silent.”
“I didn’t mean it like that…” Zinaida Fyodorovna began, but Ksenia cut her off.
“No—you meant exactly that. You’ve always believed I’m unworthy of your son. That I’m after his money. Only there’s one problem—he doesn’t have any money. There’s only the apartment you bought, and you use it like a leash to keep us under control.”
She went to the closet in the entryway and pulled out a folder of documents. Her hands shook slightly, but her voice was firm.
“Here, Zinaida Fyodorovna. These are all the receipts and bills from the last three years. Utility payments, repairs, furniture, appliances. Total amount: two million three hundred thousand rubles. That’s what I invested in your apartment.”
She placed the folder on the small hallway table.
“And here’s something else. This is the lease agreement for an apartment I rented last week. One room, small—but mine. Where no one will walk in without knocking. Where I can carry and give birth to my child in peace.”
Pavel lifted his head; shock filled his eyes.
“You rented an apartment? When? Why?”
“When your mother came in again without warning and did an inspection of whether I was making you breakfast ‘correctly.’ That’s when I understood I can’t live like this anymore.”
“But… but you’re pregnant… How will you manage alone?”
“I won’t be alone,” Ksenia looked him straight in the eyes. “I’ll be with our child. The question is whether you’ll be with us.”
Silence fell. Zinaida Fyodorovna stood with her mouth open, unable to believe what was happening. Pavel stared at his wife as if seeing her for the first time.
“So what—this is an ultimatum?” he finally forced out.
“It’s a choice. Either you stay here, in this apartment, with your mother, and she controls your every step for the rest of your life. Or you come with me, and we build our family. A real family—where no one interferes in our life.”
“Pasha, don’t listen to her!” Zinaida Fyodorovna cut in. “She’s bluffing! Where will she go with a baby? She has nothing!”
“I have a job. I have money I’ve been saving. I have the strength to start over. And most importantly—I have self-respect, and it won’t let me endure humiliation anymore.”
Ksenia took her handbag and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Pavel stepped toward her.
“To my apartment. I’ll take my things tomorrow, when Zinaida Fyodorovna isn’t here. I don’t want to make any more scenes.”
“Wait!” He grabbed her hand. “Ksyush, wait. Let’s talk.”
“About what, Pasha? About how your mother will tell you what crib to buy? How she’ll decide what kindergarten we send the child to? How she’ll come every day and check whether I’m feeding him correctly?”
She gently freed her hand.
“I’m tired of fighting for my place in this family. Tired of proving I deserve respect. If you love me and our child, you know where to find us.”
“You’ll regret this!” Zinaida Fyodorovna shouted after her. “You’ll come crawling back on your knees!”
Ksenia stopped in the doorway and turned around.
“You know, Zinaida Fyodorovna, I’ve endured a lot from you. But today you crossed the line. You threatened to take my child away. A mother’s instinct is a powerful thing—it makes you protect your baby at any cost. Even at the cost of breaking with your husband.”
She shifted her gaze to Pavel.
“You have until tomorrow. Think about what matters more to you—your mother’s approval or your family.”
And she left, closing the door softly behind her.
Pavel stood in the entryway, staring at the closed door. His mind was chaos. On one side—his mother, who had cared for him all his life, who bought the apartment, who always claimed she wanted only what was best for him. On the other—his wife, whom he loved, who was carrying his child, who had just walked out of his life.
“Let her go then!” Zinaida Fyodorovna dropped into a chair. “We’ll see how she sings in a week. Alone, pregnant, with no support. She’ll come back.”
“Mom,” Pavel turned to her, exhaustion in his voice. “She won’t come back.”
“Oh, she’ll come back. Where else can she go?”
“She won’t come back because she’s strong. Stronger than me. She put up with your nitpicking, your control, your disrespect for three years. She endured it for me. And I… I couldn’t even stand up for her.”
“Pasha, what are you saying? I’m trying for you! I want everything to be good!”
“No, Mom. You want everything to be the way you think is right. You don’t ask what we want. You just decide for us.”
He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch—the very couch Ksenia had bought. He looked around. The TV—Ksenia. The curtains—Ksenia. The rug—Ksenia. Even the pictures on the walls were her choices. Without her, the apartment was just a set of walls.
“Pasha, don’t be ridiculous. She’s just manipulating you. Using the pregnancy to get her way.”
“Mom, she paid for everything for three years. Three years! And I didn’t even notice. I took it for granted. She worked ten hours a day, came home exhausted, but still made dinner, cleaned, did laundry. And what did I do? I sat and waited for her to do it all.”
“That’s a wife’s duty!”
“No, Mom. It’s not a duty. It’s what she did out of love. And I… I barely even said thank you.”
Pavel got up and went to the bedroom. He opened the wardrobe and pulled out a bag.
“What are you doing?” Zinaida Fyodorovna followed him.
“Packing.”
“Where to?”
“To my wife. To my family.”
“Pasha, don’t do something stupid! You don’t even know where she is! You don’t even have the address!”
“I’ll find it. She’s right—if I love her and our child, I’ll find them.”
“If you leave, don’t come back!” his mother’s voice shook with anger and hurt. “I’ll disown you!”
Pavel stopped and looked at her. There was sadness in his eyes—but resolve, too.
“Mom, I love you. I always have, and I always will. But I can’t be a little boy hiding behind your skirt anymore. I’m going to have a child. I have to become a father. A real father—not Mommy’s son.”
“She turned you against me!”
“No, Mom. She opened my eyes. To what I’ve become. To what I allowed you to do to my wife. To how I betrayed her every day I didn’t defend her.”
He zipped the bag and headed for the exit. At the door, he turned back.
“The apartment is yours. Live in it. Just not with us.”
And he left, leaving his mother alone in the large, empty apartment. Zinaida Fyodorovna stood in the middle of the living room, unable to believe what had happened. Her son—her boy, her Pasha—was gone. He chose that woman, not her.
She sat down on the couch and only then noticed how quiet the apartment had become. Before, she hadn’t noticed it—there was always some noise, movement, life. And now… now there was only silence.
The next day Pavel found Ksenia. She opened the door and looked at him for a long time as he stood on the threshold with a bag in his hand.
“You came,” she said simply.
“Forgive me. For everything. For being weak. For not protecting you. For letting my mother humiliate you.”
“Pasha…”
“Give me a chance. A chance to become the husband you deserve. The father our child will need.”
Ksenia was silent, looking at him. Then she stepped aside.
“Come in. Let’s talk.”
They talked for a long time that evening—about the past, about the future, about how they would build their life. Pavel told her about the conversation with his mother, about how she’d threatened to disown him.
“She’s your mother, Pasha. Your only one. Maybe it’s worth trying to mend things?”
“Maybe. But only on our terms. Only if she respects our boundaries. If she agrees we’re a separate family.”
“Do you think she will?”
“I don’t know. But if not—that’s her choice.”
Two months passed. Zinaida Fyodorovna still didn’t call. Pride wouldn’t let her make the first move. She sat in her big apartment, watched TV, and convinced herself she’d done the right thing. That they’d regret it. That they’d come crawling back.
But they didn’t. Pavel took a second job to help his wife. Ksenia went on maternity leave and prepared for the baby’s birth. They set up their small apartment, bought baby things, chose a name.
And only sometimes, in the evenings, Pavel looked at his phone and thought about his mother—about her being alone, about the grandchild she would soon have, whom she might never see. But then he looked at his wife, at her rounded belly, and understood: he had made the right choice. A choice in favor of his family.
And Zinaida Fyodorovna sat in an empty apartment and waited. Waited for a call that never came. Waited for her son to come to his senses and return. But deep down she already knew—he wouldn’t. She lost him the moment she decided her love gave her the right to control his life. And now all she could do was live with that choice.
