Lena gripped the keys so tightly that the metal cut into her palm. A three-room apartment on Prospekt Mira. Eighth floor. Seventy-two square meters. Aunt Valya had lived there for forty years, and had spent the last year of her life in the hospital. Now the apartment belonged to Lena—the only niece who had visited her every week, brought fruit, and read detective novels to her out loud.
“Shall we go take a look?” Andrey wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to go alone first?”
“No, let’s go together.”
They were silent the entire ride on the metro. Lena stared at the darkened window as lights flashed past and thought about how much this apartment meant. She and Andrey were renting a tiny one-room place in Otradnoye—twenty-eight square meters where the sofa turned into a bed, and having a child still felt like a distant dream. “Someday,” they always told each other. “When we finally have room to breathe.”
The entryway of the building smelled of fresh paint—there had clearly been repairs done recently. The elevator moved without a sound. On the eighth floor it was quiet, except for faint classical music drifting from somewhere far away.
The door opened with a creak. The hallway smelled of old age and lavender—Aunt Valya had always loved little sachets of dried herbs. Lena stepped inside and froze.
The apartment was enormous. Compared to their cramped rental in Otradnoye, it felt like a palace. A wide corridor opened into a spacious living room with two windows. Two bedrooms were on the left, and to the right there was a bright kitchen, at least fifteen square meters, with a balcony.
“My God,” Lena whispered.
Andrey walked through all the rooms, peeked into the bathroom, opened the balcony door, then came back with shining eyes.
“Lenka, this is… this is unbelievable! You can actually live here! You could raise children here!”
She nodded, unable to speak. Her throat tightened with emotion. Aunt Valya, thank you. Thank you for remembering me. Thank you for not forgetting.
“We need to figure out how much the renovation would cost,” Andrey was already making plans. “We could take out a small loan. Even better! We’ll move here, and then…”
“Wait,” Lena said, sitting down on the old sofa upholstered in faded tapestry fabric. “Let’s not rush. I need time to think.”
“Think about what?” Andrey sat beside her and took her hand. “This is our chance, don’t you get it? We’ve postponed everything for years—the baby, a real home, a normal life. And now…”
“I know. Just give me a little time.”
That evening, after they returned to Otradnoye, Galina Petrovna called.
“Andryusha told me you went to see the apartment,” her mother-in-law said in a cheerful voice laced with steel. “I want to see it too. I’ll come tomorrow. Would ten in the morning work?”
Lena frowned. Galina Petrovna lived in a small suburb, in a Khrushchyovka on the outskirts. She had worked all her life as an engineer at a factory, raised her son alone, and now, in retirement, believed she had the right to weigh in on every family matter.
“Galina Petrovna, maybe that isn’t necessary… we haven’t even decided ourselves what we’re going to do yet.”
“All the more reason to discuss it. I’ll be there at ten.”
She arrived exactly on time. She was dressed for practicality—in a dark blue tracksuit and sneakers, with a large shoulder bag. She greeted them dryly and didn’t offer the usual cheek kiss.
“Well then, show me this inheritance of yours.”
They went back to Prospekt Mira together. The whole ride there Lena felt uneasy—Galina Petrovna sat with her lips pressed tightly together, clearly turning something over in her mind. Her face, usually stern, now seemed especially impenetrable.
Inside the apartment, her mother-in-law inspected every room methodically. She looked into closets, tested the faucets in the bathroom, stood on the balcony for a while. Then she returned to the living room and gave it one long, assessing look.
“What a large apartment you’ve inherited,” she said at last. “I’ll be very comfortable here.”
Lena didn’t understand at first.
“I’m sorry… what?”
“I said I’ll be comfortable living here,” Galina Petrovna replied, nodding toward one of the bedrooms. “That room will do. The windows face the courtyard, so it’s quiet. The metro is close, the clinic is right next door. There are good shops nearby too—not like where I live. There I have to walk half an hour to reach a decent store, and at my age that’s hard.”
Lena felt a chill run down her back.
“You… want to live here?”
“Of course. I’m getting older, and my health isn’t what it used to be. Here there’s an excellent clinic, stores nearby, everything I need. And it’ll be easier for you and Andryusha too—I can take care of the household while you’re both at work.”
She spoke as though the matter had already been settled. As if there were nothing to discuss.
Andrey stayed silent, standing by the window and staring into the courtyard. Lena could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he had no idea what to say.
“Galina Petrovna,” Lena began carefully, “we still haven’t decided what we’re doing with the apartment. We might rent it out. Or sell it and buy something else.”
“Why would you sell it?” her mother-in-law frowned. “It’s a wonderful apartment in an excellent area. Yes, it needs renovation, but that’s not a problem. I can help—with money and with work. I’ve got some savings.”
“It’s not about the renovation…”
“Then what is it about?” Galina Petrovna fixed her with a hard stare. “Are you unwilling to spare a room for me? I’m not a stranger. I’m Andrey’s mother, after all.”
“Mom,” Andrey finally spoke up, “let’s not get into this right now. We need to think…”
“Think about what?” she raised her voice. “I devoted my whole life to you! I raised you alone, sacrificed everything! And now that you have the opportunity to help your mother, suddenly you need to think?”
“Mom, please…”
“No, let your wife answer!” Galina Petrovna snapped, turning to Lena. “Say it plainly—are you sorry to give me a room or not?”
Lena said nothing. Her ears rang. She knew she should say something diplomatic, soft, careful—but the words wouldn’t come.
“I’ll think about it,” she finally managed.
“Then think,” her mother-in-law said, picking up her bag. “And I’ll go home for now. Andrey, will you walk me out?”
They left together. Lena remained alone in the large empty apartment. She sat down on the sofa and covered her face with her hands.
Andrey came back late that night. He smelled of cigarettes—he had quit two years earlier, but clearly he had relapsed.
“Len,” he said, sitting beside her, “let’s talk calmly.”
“About what?” She didn’t look at him.
“About Mom. The truth is, it really is hard for her where she lives. She fell at a bus stop recently. I didn’t tell you. Good thing some people helped her. Otherwise she might have been lying there until someone noticed.”
“So?”
“Well… maybe we really should think about it. Not forever. Just while she’s still able to manage on her feet. Later…”
“Later what?” Lena turned toward him. “Andrey, do you even hear what you’re saying? Your mother wants to move into my apartment. The apartment my aunt left to me. And she didn’t even ask—she announced it like a decision had already been made!”
“She just speaks that way. She doesn’t know how to be gentle.”
“For three years we’ve been living in that shoebox, postponing having a child, dreaming of a real home,” Lena stood up and began pacing the room. “And now we finally have one. At last. And what happens? Your mother has already assigned herself a bedroom!”
“Lena, she’s getting older…”
“Everyone is getting older! My mother is getting older too, and she lives alone as well! But for some reason she doesn’t demand a room in my apartment!”
“Your mother is different.”
“In what way? Because she knows how to behave?”
Andrey went pale.
“That was low.”
“No, low is walking into someone else’s apartment and announcing you’re going to live there!” Lena’s voice trembled. “Andrey, tell me honestly. Had you discussed this with her beforehand?”
“No! I swear, I was shocked when she said it.”
“But you stayed silent.”
“I didn’t know what to say!”
“You should have said no. Clearly. Immediately. But you said nothing, and now she thinks it’s settled!”
They didn’t speak for three days. Andrey spent those nights at a friend’s place. Lena barely slept, replaying the conversation again and again, inventing things she could have said, things she should have said.
On the fourth day, he came back. He sat across from her and laid his hands on the table.
“Len. Mom called. She was crying.”
“And?”
“She says you don’t love her. That you’ve always treated her badly.”
“That isn’t true.”
“I know. But that’s how she feels. Len, she’s sixty-eight. She has heart problems. Maybe really…”
“No.” Lena looked him straight in the eyes. “Andrey, listen to me carefully. If your mother moves into that apartment, I won’t survive it. I won’t be able to live with her. I won’t be able to raise children under her constant control. I know her. She’ll be everywhere, in everything, all the time.”
“You’re exaggerating…”
“No. I know exactly what I’m talking about. Remember when she stayed with us for one week last year? Remember how even you said you couldn’t handle any more?”
Andrey said nothing.
“That was one week,” Lena continued. “Now imagine that forever.”
“Not forever. Until she…”
“Until what? Until she dies? Andrey, do you hear yourself? You’re suggesting I wait for your mother to die?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Then what did you mean?”
He covered his face with his hands.
“I don’t know. I just… she’s my mother. The only family I have besides you.”
“And I understand that,” Lena said, taking his hand. “I really do. But that doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice our whole life. We can help her—with money, with visits, by bringing her to stay on weekends. But living together… Andrey, that will destroy our marriage.”
“You’re being so absolute…”
“Because I know. I see the way she talks to you. The way she manipulates you. The way she pushes on your guilt.”
“She’s not manipulating me! She just…”
“What? Loves you?” Lena let go of his hand. “Love is not control. Love is respect. And your mother respects neither me, nor you, nor our boundaries.”
Andrey stood and walked to the window.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“That we tell her no. That we explain we understand, we’re grateful, but the apartment is for us. For our life. For our future children.”
“She won’t accept that.”
“Then let her not accept it. The decision is still ours.”
“She’ll be offended. She might stop speaking to me.”
“Maybe,” Lena said, coming closer. “And yes, that will hurt. But that will be her choice, not ours.”
“Lena…”
“I want a child, Andrey. I want a family. I want to live in that apartment and be happy. But not at the cost of my mental health and our relationship.”
He was silent for a long time. Then he pulled her into an embrace.
“I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“But you’re right.”
The next day they called Galina Petrovna. They met in a café—neutral ground. She arrived dressed for battle: a severe suit, hair carefully styled. Lena understood immediately—she had come prepared.
“Mom,” Andrey began, and Lena could hear his voice shaking, “we want to talk.”
“I’m listening,” Galina Petrovna said, folding her hands over her handbag.
“We’ve decided the apartment needs to be ours. We want to move there and… well, later on, when we have children…”
“So there’s no place for me,” his mother said evenly, though Lena noticed her knuckles turning white.
“Mom, we can help. With money, with visits…”
“I don’t need your money,” she said, getting to her feet. “What I needed was my son. But apparently I no longer have one.”
“Mom, please…”
“I gave you my whole life!” Her voice cracked. “My whole life! I gave up everything—my personal life, my career! All for you! And this is what I get?”
“Galina Petrovna,” Lena interjected, “no one ever asked you to give up your life.”
Her mother-in-law looked at her with such naked hatred that Lena instinctively recoiled.
“You,” she hissed, “you turned him against me. You took my son away.”
“No,” Lena said, forcing herself to remain calm. “I didn’t take him away. I simply want to live my own life. And I want Andrey to live his too.”
“His own?” Galina Petrovna gave a bitter laugh. “You live on my money! I helped pay for your wedding. I helped you buy furniture!”
“And we’re grateful,” Andrey said. “Mom, we truly are grateful. But that doesn’t mean we have to…”
“You owe me everything!” she shouted so loudly that people in the café turned around. “Everything, do you hear me? I gave birth to you, raised you, educated you! And what do I get in return? Betrayal!”
“Mom…”
“Don’t you dare call me Mom! You have another family now!” She grabbed her bag. “Live however you want. But don’t come to me anymore. I don’t need either of you!”
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Andrey sat there pale and hollow-eyed.
“She doesn’t mean it,” he whispered. “She’s just upset.”
“Andrey,” Lena said, covering his hand with hers, “she’s an adult. She’s responsible for the words she says.”
“But…”
“No buts. We did what we had to do.”
He nodded, but she could see the pain in him—pain so deep it made him want to take everything back, to surrender, just so he wouldn’t have to feel it.
But Lena knew that if they gave in now, it would only get worse.
Galina Petrovna didn’t call for two weeks. Then she did, but she spoke only to Andrey—briefly, dryly, about the weather and her health. If he asked how she was, she answered, “Fine. Surviving.”
After each of those calls, Andrey grew gloomy. Lena saw how much it weighed on him, but she kept quiet. He had to go through it himself.
A month later they began the renovation. They hired a crew and made a plan. The apartment transformed—what had once been an elderly woman’s dark, heavy home with carpets and old wallpaper gradually became bright, modern, and theirs.
Lena stood in what would be the nursery and imagined everything: the crib there, the toy cabinet here, a dresser for baby clothes over there. And for the first time in a very long while, she felt it was real. That it could actually happen.
“What are you thinking about?” Andrey asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
“The future.”
“A good one?”
“Yes,” she said, turning to him. “A very good one.”
“Mom called,” he said after a pause. “She asked how the renovation was going.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That it’s going well. That we’ll be done soon.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“She said she’d… like to see it. When it’s finished.”
Lena tensed.
“And?”
“I told her of course. That she can always come visit.”
“Visit,” Lena repeated. “That’s the word you used?”
“Yes. And she… she started crying.”
“Andrey…”
“But then she said yes. Yes, of course, as a visitor.”
Lena hugged him tightly.
“Everything will be all right.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
They finished the renovation in October. The apartment turned out exactly as they had dreamed—bright, spacious, and warm. Galina Petrovna came to the housewarming with an enormous cake.
“It’s beautiful,” she said as she walked through the rooms. “Truly beautiful.”
Lena waited for the hidden barb, but none came. Her mother-in-law drank tea, talked about her neighbors, asked about work. She kept a certain distance, but not coldly.
When she was about to leave, Andrey offered to walk her out.
“No need,” Galina Petrovna stopped him. “I’ll get home by myself.”
She put on her coat and buttoned it. Then she looked at Lena.
“You made this apartment into something lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“It will be good for children here.”
Lena nodded, not knowing what to say.
“I was probably wrong,” Galina Petrovna said quietly, looking away. “When I demanded it. It was your apartment. Your inheritance.”
“Galina Petrovna…”
“No, let me finish. I was… frightened. Frightened of being alone. And I thought… but it was selfish.”
“You are always welcome here,” Lena said. “Truly.”
Her mother-in-law nodded.
“I know. Thank you.”
Then she left. Andrey closed the door behind her and leaned back against it.
“That was…”
“Yes,” Lena said, holding him. “That mattered.”
That night they lay in their new bedroom, on their new bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“Do you think,” Andrey asked, “that we handled it?”
“Handled what?”
“All of it. My mother. The apartment.”
Lena turned toward him.
“We did what we had to do. We protected our life.”
“It was hard.”
“Yes. But we got through it.”
“Together.”
“Together,” she said, kissing him. “And now we have a home. A real home. For us. And for our children.”
Andrey held her tighter.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Outside, the city murmured in the dark. The apartment smelled of fresh paint and a new beginning. And Lena knew everything would be all right. Because they had chosen each other. Because they had chosen themselves.
And it was the right choice.
