Marina’s kitchen was exactly the kind every woman over thirty dreams of: spacious, spotless, the tiles shining, a tablecloth on the table that wasn’t splattered with borscht, and a fridge stocked with food you wouldn’t be ashamed to serve even to your mother-in-law. Although, of course, for Tatyana Petrovna you could serve it on a golden tray—she’d still find something that was “dirty” or “not done properly.”
Marina sat with her laptop, checking work reports. Alexey had just come home from work, kicked off his shoes so hard his sneakers flew under the cupboard. She rolled her eyes out of habit.
“Did you throw your shoes like that when you were a kid too?” she tossed out dryly.
“Mom used to say a man should enter the house wide, so everyone can see who the master is,” Alexey smirked and headed for the bathroom.
Marina snorted: master of the house, while his wife’s salary was three times higher… sure, sure.
She hadn’t even gotten back to her spreadsheet when the doorbell rang—long, insistent, with that familiar rattling that always meant one thing: Tatyana Petrovna had come “for a visit.”
“Oh, Mom!” Alexey brightened, as if it were a pizza delivery at the door.
Marina clenched her teeth. Again without warning… She could at least send a text: “On my way to ruin your evening.”
Tatyana Petrovna walked in like it wasn’t Marina’s apartment—bought by Marina before the wedding—but her own nest. She took off her boots without looking and put her bag right on the couch.
“Well hello, my unhappy children,” she said in a tragic voice, as if she hadn’t come for tea but for a funeral.
“Mom, what’s with you?” Alexey tensed.
“How am I supposed to be cheerful when my son has nothing? No apartment, no car, not even a garage!” Tatyana Petrovna declared, wringing her hands.
Marina looked up from the laptop.
“Sorry, do you work at Rosreestr?” she asked calmly. “Where are you getting such precise information?”
Tatyana Petrovna narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t get smart. I’m his mother—I can see. There you are, all businesslike, in your own apartment… and who is my son to you? A tenant?”
“Mom, why are you like this…” Alexey mumbled, scratching the back of his head.
Marina closed her laptop and placed her hands on the table like a teacher facing a difficult student.
“Tatyana Petrovna, let’s be honest. The apartment is mine; I bought it before the marriage. Alexey is registered here—everything is official. What complaints do you have against him?”
Her mother-in-law rolled her eyes.
“People’s tongues are already sore from talking! Our neighbor Valentina Ivanovna asked, ‘So why is your Lyosha living off his wife? How am I supposed to understand that?’ What am I supposed to say—that he has neither stick nor yard to his name?”
“Tell her Valentina Ivanovna’s personal life is so boring she lives in other people’s apartments,” Marina smirked.
Alexey gave a nervous snort but stayed quiet.
“See, son?” his mother raised her voice. “She’s humiliating you right in front of me! And what did I tell you? You should’ve registered half the apartment in your name before the wedding! Then you’d feel like a real man.”
Marina straightened sharply.
“Excuse me, so now a ‘real man’ is defined by square meters and an extract from the property register?”
“Don’t you talk back!” Tatyana Petrovna screeched. “You ruined everything! Now my son has no apartment and no benefit!”
Alexey stepped between them, hands raised like he was breaking up a fight.
“Mom, that’s enough, seriously…”
“No, Lyosha, it’s not enough!” she cut him off. “You live like a renter and you’re happy about it! And your wife—she only thinks about herself!”
“About myself?” Marina scoffed. “Sorry, and who paid the mortgage on your ‘beloved three-bedroom’ while Lyosha was looking for a job—wasn’t it me?”
Her mother-in-law leaned forward.
“That was temporary! And now—”
“And now I’m supposed to transfer part of the apartment to your son, right?” Marina interrupted.
“Of course! That’s fair. A man needs a support.”
“You know what support is? It’s when a person works and buys himself an apartment—not when his mother walks into someone else’s home and demands a share,” Marina replied coldly.
Alexey sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“I’ll pour some tea,” he said hoarsely, trying to change the subject.
“Tea!” his mother snorted. “You should pour yourself some bitter truth!”
Marina picked up a mug, but her hands trembled so much the spoon clinked against the rim.
How much more could she take? Every time it was the same. Some outsider considered it her duty to decide what Marina should do with her own property. And the worst part—Lyosha stayed silent. Standing there like a schoolboy at recess while his mother argued with the teacher.
“Mom,” Alexey finally exhaled, “let’s do this without scandals. Marina’s right: it’s her apartment, everything’s honest.”
Tatyana Petrovna froze as if she’d been hit.
“So you’re against me? Against your mother?”
“I’m for my wife.” Alexey’s voice was quiet, but firm.
His mother turned pale.
“Oh, I see. So I gave birth to you, raised you, carried it all alone—and now you’re throwing me out for some stranger…”
Marina shoved her chair back.
“Stranger?” her voice shook. “I’m his wife. And you… you’re a guest. An uninvited one.”
A silence fell so thick that even the kettle on the stove whistled awkwardly, like a schoolkid who’d ended up with the wrong crowd.
Tatyana Petrovna grabbed her bag and went to the door.
“Remember this, both of you!” she shouted from the hallway. “You, Lyosha—you’ll regret it! And you, Marina… you ruined everything!”
The door slammed so hard a cup fell off the shelf.
Marina stood in the kitchen trying to catch her breath. Alexey came up and awkwardly put an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t expect her to be like that.”
“Expected it or not—what difference does it make?” Marina said wearily. “The question is: whose side are you on?”
Alexey looked her in the eyes and, for the first time in years, didn’t look away.
“Yours. Always.”
Marina sat back down at the table and gave a crooked half-smile.
“Then get ready, Lyosha. The war has only just begun.”
After that scandal, a strange quiet settled over the apartment. For a whole week Tatyana Petrovna didn’t call, didn’t come by— even the upstairs neighbor complained:
“Listen, Marinochka, why has your husband’s mother stopped walking around our stairwell? I got used to it: every evening a meeting by the elevator—news, advice. Now it’s boring…”
Marina just smirked. This isn’t the end. It’s the calm before the storm, she thought. And she wasn’t wrong.
On Saturday morning, when she and Alexey were getting ready to go to the market for vegetables, the doorbell rang. On the doorstep stood her mother-in-law—fully dressed up: hair sprayed into place, amber earrings, a folder of papers in her hands.
“Good morning, kids,” she sang sweetly. “I came to discuss something.”
Marina tensed immediately. Alexey tried to smile.
“Mom, we were just—”
“Nothing, the market can wait,” Tatyana Petrovna said confidently and walked into the kitchen.
She opened the folder and spread the documents across the table.
“Here, take a look. I consulted someone. By law, if an apartment is purchased during marriage, it’s shared property.”
Marina squinted.
“Only my apartment was bought before the marriage. Want me to bring you the registry extract?”
Without blinking, her mother-in-law went on:
“What difference does it make when! You live with my son—so you must share.”
Alexey timidly tried to step in.
“Mom, enough already…”
“Quiet!” his mother snapped. “You’re always quiet—that’s why you live like a tenant. I’ll speak for you.”
Marina raised an eyebrow.
“So you’ve decided to become a lawyer? For free, I hope?”
“Very funny,” Tatyana Petrovna hissed. “I’m his mother. And I won’t allow my son to be humiliated.”
“And I won’t allow someone to wave random papers around in my house,” Marina shot back.
Tatyana Petrovna slammed her palm on the table.
“So you refuse?”
“Yes.”
“Then know this: you’ll destroy the family!”
Marina laughed—dry and angry.
“A family isn’t destroyed by an apartment. A family is destroyed when third parties meddle where they weren’t invited.”
Alexey sighed heavily and stood up.
“Mom, really—enough. This is crossing every line…”
Tatyana Petrovna grabbed his hand.
“Lyosha, wake up! Are you blind? She’s using you! She only needs your hands to move furniture, and your salary for utilities. Everything else she keeps for herself.”
Marina gave a cold smile.
“Right, ‘using’ a person who bought himself new sneakers last week with my money. Alexey, confirm it was me who paid.”
Alexey blushed like a schoolboy at assembly.
“Well… yeah. That happened.”
“There!” his mother howled triumphantly. “She even counts your sneakers!”
Marina stood, stepped closer, and looked her mother-in-law straight in the eyes.
“No, Tatyana Petrovna. I’m not counting sneakers. I’m counting respect. And there’s zero of it.”
Alexey’s mother flinched, but recovered quickly.
“You’re going to lecture me about respect? You… you’re a crow in peacock feathers! You think if you work and have money, you’re better than everyone? But you don’t have kids. And I have a son. He’s my blood!”
Marina went pale but didn’t look away.
“And what—now we’re having a contest of whose blood is thicker?”
Alexey snapped.
“Mom, stop! I’m asking you.”
“I gave birth to you, Lyosha!” Tatyana Petrovna screamed. “And now you’re asking me?”
Marina took the “documents” off the table and shoved them back into the folder.
“Take this. These papers mean nothing. By law, it’s my property. If you want—go to court. But keep in mind: in court people talk in facts, not in neighbors’ gossip.”
Tatyana Petrovna pressed her lips together, grabbed the folder, and left without saying goodbye. The door slammed, plaster crumbling somewhere.
Marina sat on the couch and covered her face with her hands.
“God… when will this end?”
Alexey quietly sat down beside her.
“I’m sorry. She… she’s just afraid she’ll lose me.”
“Alexey,” Marina looked at him closely, “I’m not against your mother. I’m against her dictating how we live. We’re a family. We have to be a team.”
He nodded.
“I understand. It’s just… hard. She’s my mother.”
Marina gave a bitter smile.
“And who am I? An enemy of the people?”
He stayed silent.
That evening, while they were having dinner, the phone rang. It was the neighbor Valentina Ivanovna. Her voice buzzed with curiosity:
“Marinochka, is it true you had a scandal? People are saying you want to throw Alexey out of the apartment!”
Marina nearly choked on her cutlet.
“What?!”
“Oh yes! Tatyana Petrovna was telling everyone by the entrance. Said you’re a mean person and you’re preparing divorce papers!”
Alexey clenched his fists.
“That’s it. Enough. I’ll talk to her myself.”
Marina put a hand on his shoulder.
“No. Now I’ll talk.”
There wasn’t a drop of doubt in her voice.
Sunday. The apartment smelled of fresh coffee and syrniki. For the first time in a week Marina felt calm: the window was cracked open, outside a light rain fell, and inside there was silence. Alexey sat with a newspaper, but his eyes showed it—his thoughts weren’t about the weather or retirement.
And then—again—the doorbell. Loud, long.
“Well,” Marina said, “the final act is starting.”
Tatyana Petrovna swept in like a storm: coat unbuttoned, a bag of pies in her hands.
“I came to make peace!” she announced and dropped the bag on the table like a bribe. “Let’s do this like human beings: the apartment—half and half, period.”
Marina sat down, arms folded across her chest.
“So this is how you make peace. Interesting.”
“Marina, don’t push me!” her mother-in-law raised her voice. “Either you transfer half to my son, or I’m going to court!”
Alexey stood up.
“Mom, stop!”
“Shut up!” Tatyana Petrovna shouted. “You’re whipped, I can see it!”
Marina stood too.
“Tatyana Petrovna, you’re crossing boundaries. Go to court if you want. They’ll explain there that the apartment is mine and your son isn’t entitled to any share.”
Her mother-in-law turned purple.
“So you’re mocking me now?!”
She jerked the bag, and the pies flew across the floor. Alexey stepped toward her to stop her, but Marina got there first.
“That’s it! Enough! This is my home—and there will be no more scandals in it. Leave.”
“You’re throwing me out?” Tatyana Petrovna hissed.
Alexey came up and said firmly:
“Yes, Mom. Leave. Don’t come back here without an apology.”
Silence. Tatyana Petrovna looked from her son to Marina. Her lips trembled like a child’s who’s being punished for the first time—and deservedly.
“So… you chose her?” she whispered.
“I chose myself, Mom. And the family Marina and I are building,” Alexey replied, steady.
She silently took her coat and left. The door closed quietly—too quietly.
Marina sank into a chair.
“Well, now the war of rumors will definitely begin.”
Alexey took her hand.
“Let it. The main thing is—you and I are together.”
They sat in the kitchen among scattered pies. And suddenly Marina laughed.
“Symbolic, you know? Everything fell apart—but we stayed.”
For the first time in a long while, Alexey smiled too.
“Then we’ll start gathering it up again. But our own.
