Anastasia stood in the middle of the empty living room, slowly turning in place as she imagined how everything would look once it was furnished. A sofa against the wall, a coffee table, maybe an armchair in the corner. Sergey wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Very much,” Anastasia smiled. “It’s spacious. Bright. Our home.”
They had taken out the mortgage three months earlier. A three-room apartment in a new building, fully finished, with a good layout. Sergey had insisted on three rooms, even though Anastasia had suggested buying a smaller two-room place. He said they were planning children, so they would need space.
They settled in little by little. They bought furniture, appliances, dishes. Sergey brought boxes from hardware stores, assembled wardrobes, and put up shelves. Anastasia arranged their things, placed plates in the cupboards, and hung curtains.
After two months, the apartment had changed completely. It was cozy, lived-in, a real home. Anastasia cooked dinners in the new kitchen, and Sergey came home from work tired but happy. They sat together at the table, talked about their day, and made plans.
One evening during dinner, Sergey said:
“My mom called. She wants to come and see the apartment.”
“Of course, let her come,” Anastasia nodded. “When is she planning to visit?”
“Next week. For about a week.”
“All right, I’ll cook something nice,” Anastasia said, already thinking through the menu in her head.
Maria Vladimirovna lived in another city, about two hundred kilometers away. She was a widow, a pensioner, and Sergey was her only son. They spoke on the phone regularly, but saw each other rarely. At the wedding, Anastasia had barely had time to get to know her mother-in-law properly — there had been guests, noise, and everything had passed in a blur.
The week flew by quickly. Anastasia cleaned the apartment especially carefully, bought groceries, and baked a pie. Sergey went to the station to meet his mother.
Maria Vladimirovna entered the apartment, looking around with a critical eye. She was a tall, solidly built woman with a short haircut and a straight back. She was dressed strictly, her lips pressed tightly together. Anastasia felt a slight tension inside but quickly pushed the thought away.
“Hello, Maria Vladimirovna,” Anastasia said, stepping forward to greet her.
“Hello,” her mother-in-law nodded and walked deeper into the apartment.
She went through every room, looked into the bathroom, and inspected the kitchen. Then she returned to the living room and sat down on the sofa.
“Not bad,” Maria Vladimirovna said. “Though the curtains look cheap. And there’s no rug. Bare floors everywhere.”
“Mom, we’ve only just moved in,” Sergey said, sitting beside her. “We’re doing everything gradually.”
“Gradually, gradually,” his mother waved him off. “But you have to live here now. All right, show me my room.”
Anastasia led Maria Vladimirovna to the guest room. It was small but bright, with a new bed and a wardrobe. Her mother-in-law looked around and nodded.
“It will do. At least you put decent bedding on the bed?”
“It’s new,” Anastasia replied, trying to keep her voice calm. “Straight from the store.”
“We’ll see,” Maria Vladimirovna said, opening the wardrobe and beginning to unpack her things.
Anastasia left the room and quietly closed the door behind her. In the kitchen, she took the pie out of the oven and placed it on the table. Sergey brewed tea and called his mother.
At the table, Maria Vladimirovna tasted the pie and grimaced.
“Too sweet. I don’t like much sugar.”
“I didn’t know,” Anastasia lowered her eyes. “I’ll remember that next time.”
“You should have asked in advance,” her mother-in-law said, taking a sip of tea. “In general, Nastya, you still have a lot to learn. A good housewife should know the tastes of her family.”
Sergey chewed silently, staring at his phone. Anastasia clenched her hands under the table. It was only the first evening, and she already felt like a schoolgirl being examined.
The next morning, Anastasia got up early and prepared breakfast. Fried eggs, toast, fresh coffee. Maria Vladimirovna came out of her room and looked over the table critically.
“Is the coffee strong?” she asked.
“Medium strength,” Anastasia answered.
“I like it stronger,” Maria Vladimirovna sat down. “And serve the milk separately. Don’t pour it in for me.”
Anastasia silently placed the milk jug on the table. Her mother-in-law tasted the eggs and shook her head.
“Not enough salt. And the yolk is too runny.”
Sergey ate without lifting his eyes. Anastasia felt irritation beginning to boil inside her. But she stayed silent and cleared the dishes.
The day dragged on slowly. Maria Vladimirovna walked around the apartment, rearranging things and commenting on every little detail. The curtains were hanging crookedly. The flower on the windowsill was wilting. The mirror in the hallway was too low.
“Is anyone planning to clean properly around here?” her mother-in-law asked, running her finger along a shelf. “There’s dust everywhere.”
“I cleaned yesterday,” Anastasia said, pressing her lips together.
“You cleaned badly,” Maria Vladimirovna showed her finger. “See? Dirt.”
Anastasia turned around and went into the kitchen. Her hands were shaking with hurt. She had cleaned for two hours. Everything had been shining. Her mother-in-law was deliberately searching for flaws.
That evening, Anastasia tried to talk to Sergey in the bedroom.
“Seryozha, your mother keeps criticizing everything,” Anastasia began quietly. “Nothing is right. Nothing is the way she wants it.”
“Well, that’s just how Mom is,” Sergey shrugged. “She’s picky. Be patient for a little while. The week will pass quickly.”
“I feel uncomfortable in my own home,” Anastasia sat down on the edge of the bed. “I feel like a servant.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” her husband said, putting his arm around her. “Mom is just worried. She wants things to be good for us.”
Anastasia sighed and leaned against him. Maybe he was right. Maybe the week would pass quickly.
But the week felt endless. Maria Vladimirovna got up early and immediately checked the kitchen. She wiped the countertop, inspected the stove, and looked inside the refrigerator.
“The groceries are arranged all wrong,” she muttered. “There needs to be a system. Dairy separately, meat separately.”
She rearranged jars in the cupboards, changed the towels in the bathroom, and criticized the laundry detergent.
“Cheap chemicals. They ruin clothes. I’ll give you the name of a proper one. You’ll buy that.”
Anastasia nodded, agreed, and endured. Inside, exhaustion, irritation, and resentment kept piling up. But there were only two days left until the end of the week.
Finally, Sunday came. Maria Vladimirovna packed her things, and Sergey drove his mother to the station. Anastasia stayed home and collapsed onto the sofa. Silence. At last, silence.
She walked through the apartment and put everything back in its place. She moved the jars back, hung the towels the way she liked, and turned on her favorite music. The apartment became a home again, not someone else’s territory.
That evening, Sergey returned and hugged his wife.
“Well, we survived,” he smiled.
“We survived,” Anastasia nodded. “I hope the next visit won’t be soon.”
“Mom said she liked it here,” Sergey said, heading into the kitchen. “She wants to come again.”
Anastasia said nothing. She wanted to say many things, but held herself back. The important thing was that her mother-in-law had gone.
A month passed peacefully. Work, home, weekends together. Anastasia almost forgot about Maria Vladimirovna’s visit. Until one morning, Sergey announced over breakfast:
“Mom is coming again. For a month.”
Anastasia froze with the cup in her hand.
“For a month? A whole month?”
“Yes,” Sergey spread butter on his bread. “She says she misses us. She wants to spend more time with us.”
“Seryozha, a month is a very long time,” Anastasia put down the cup. “We have our own life, our own rhythm.”
“Mom lives alone. She feels lonely,” her husband looked at her. “We can’t refuse her.”
“I understand, but a month…”
“Nastya, please don’t start,” Sergey stood up from the table. “She’s my mother. She’s coming.”
Anastasia sat there, staring at her empty plate. A month. Thirty days. How was she supposed to survive that?
Maria Vladimirovna arrived with a huge suitcase. She stepped into the apartment, hugged her son, and nodded to her daughter-in-law.
“Well then, we’ll be living together for a whole month,” she announced as she walked into the guest room.
Anastasia felt her heart sink. It had begun.
The first week was difficult. Maria Vladimirovna behaved like the rightful mistress of the apartment. She moved furniture, changed the cleaning schedule, and told Anastasia what to cook.
“Today we’ll make borscht,” her mother-in-law declared one morning. “My recipe. Yours has no taste.”
Anastasia stood nearby, watching Maria Vladimirovna take command in her kitchen. Inside, she was boiling, but outwardly she tried to remain calm.
In the evenings, the spouses argued in the bedroom.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Anastasia hissed, trying not to raise her voice. “Your mother acts like she owns the place! This is our apartment!”
“So what’s the big deal?” Sergey waved his hand irritably. “Mom is helping. She’s giving advice.”
“I didn’t ask for advice!” Anastasia clenched her fists. “I don’t need help! I want to live in my own home by my own rules!”
“This is my family’s home,” Sergey snapped. “Mom has the right to be here.”
“A month, Seryozha! A whole month!” Anastasia felt tears rising in her throat. “I’m going crazy!”
“Be patient,” her husband turned away. “A month will pass quickly.”
But the month did not pass quickly. It dragged on endlessly. Every day brought new remarks, new criticism, new orders.
“Nastya, you’re washing the floors wrong. Do it like this.”
“Nastya, why did you buy this sausage? I told you to buy another kind.”
“Nastya, you make the bed carelessly. The bedspread should lie straight.”
Anastasia stayed silent, nodded, and obeyed. Inside her, a wall of hurt and anger kept growing. But she held on. For the sake of the family. For the sake of the marriage.
Finally, the month ended. Maria Vladimirovna left. Anastasia spent the entire day in bed, recovering. She felt drained, empty, wrung out.
Sergey tried to fix things, but Anastasia pulled away from him. The resentment sat too deep. Not once had he stood up for her. Not once had he told his mother to stop.
Another month of relative calm passed. Anastasia slowly came back to herself and began regaining her strength. She started feeling that the apartment was her home again.
And then Sergey said:
“Mom wants to come again. For three or four months.”
Anastasia froze.
“What?”
“Well, she liked it here,” Sergey avoided looking his wife in the eyes. “She decided to stay longer this time.”
“Three months?!” Anastasia jumped up from the sofa. “Are you joking?”
“I’m not joking,” her husband raised his hands. “Mom is alone. She has nothing to do there.”
“And what am I supposed to do?!” Anastasia felt everything turn upside down inside her. “Spend three months listening to her orders? Live like a servant in my own home?”
“Nastya, don’t shout,” Sergey frowned. “She’s my mother. She’ll come whether you like it or not.”
“No,” Anastasia said firmly. “She will not come.”
“What do you mean she will not come?” her husband raised his eyebrows.
“I mean exactly that,” Anastasia crossed her arms over her chest. “I won’t let her into the apartment.”
“Have you lost your mind?!” Sergey turned red. “She is my mother!”
“And this is my apartment too!” Anastasia shouted. “I have the right to say no!”
Sergey turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Anastasia remained standing in the middle of the living room, trembling with fury and fear. For the first time in their marriage, she had drawn a hard boundary.
A week later, the doorbell rang. Anastasia opened the door and saw Maria Vladimirovna on the threshold with a huge suitcase. Sergey stood beside her, looking guilty.
“Hello, Nastya,” her mother-in-law smiled broadly. “I’ve come to stay. For a long time.”
Anastasia silently looked at Maria Vladimirovna. Then she turned her eyes to her husband. Sergey looked away.
“Maria Vladimirovna,” Anastasia began, trying to speak evenly, “we did not agree on this visit. I am against it.”
“What do you mean, against it?” her mother-in-law frowned. “Seryozha, what is she talking about?”
“Mom, wait,” Sergey tried to step inside, but Anastasia did not move away from the door.
“I said I’m against it,” Anastasia repeated more firmly. “You cannot live here for three months.”
Maria Vladimirovna straightened her back, and her face hardened.
“This is my son’s home. I will come here whenever I want!” she declared loudly.
The words hit Anastasia like a slap. She went pale, feeling humiliated. Her son’s home. Not their home. Not the family home. Her son’s home.
Sergey stood nearby in silence. He did not correct his mother. He did not support his wife. He simply said nothing.
Anastasia stepped back, allowing her mother-in-law to enter. Maria Vladimirovna walked into the apartment triumphantly, rolling her suitcase behind her. Sergey followed his mother.
Anastasia closed the door and went into the bedroom. She locked herself inside and took out her phone. Her hands were shaking. She wrote to her mother.
“Mom, I have a problem. A big one. Can you come?”
The reply came almost immediately.
“What happened, sweetheart?”
Anastasia typed a long message, explaining everything. The visits, the constant criticism, the sentence at the door, her husband’s silence. As she wrote, she felt a wave of despair rising inside her.
Inna Petrovna replied a few minutes later.
“Hold on, Nastya. I’ll come in a week.”
Anastasia reread the message several times. Then she smiled through her tears. Her mother always knew what to do.
The week passed in tense silence. Maria Vladimirovna ran the household, Anastasia stayed quiet and avoided her, and Sergey pretended nothing was happening.
On Sunday morning, the doorbell rang. Anastasia opened the door and saw Inna Petrovna standing there with a suitcase. She was a short, slender woman with a kind face and a firm gaze.
“Mom!” Anastasia hugged her mother, feeling relief wash over her.
“Hello, my dear,” Inna Petrovna stepped into the apartment. “I’ve come to stay. For about two months.”
Maria Vladimirovna came out of the living room and stopped when she saw the guest with the suitcase.
“Are you staying with us for long?” she asked.
“My mother,” Anastasia said, helping Inna Petrovna take off her coat. “Inna Petrovna. She’ll be living with us.”
“What do you mean, living here?!” Maria Vladimirovna stepped closer. “It’s already crowded enough!”
“It’s a three-room apartment,” Inna Petrovna replied calmly. “There’s enough space.”
“I do not agree!” her mother-in-law stamped her foot. “This is my son’s home! What right does your mother have to live here?”
“The same right as you,” Inna Petrovna looked at Maria Vladimirovna steadily. “You said this is your son’s home, correct? But it is also my daughter’s home. Legally, the apartment belongs to both spouses. So I have every right to be here.”
Maria Vladimirovna opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“Seryozha!” she called her son. “Do you hear this?”
Sergey came out of the bedroom and stopped when he saw his mother-in-law.
“Hello, Inna Petrovna,” he muttered.
“Hello, Seryozha,” Inna Petrovna nodded. “I’ve come to visit you. Nastya invited me.”
“What kind of behavior is this? You didn’t even discuss her visit!” Maria Vladimirovna protested. “Seryozha, throw this woman out!”
Sergey looked at his mother, then at his mother-in-law, then at his wife. His face tightened.
“Inna Petrovna, maybe this isn’t the best time for a visit,” Sergey began carefully.
“Why not?” Inna Petrovna raised her eyebrows. “Maria Vladimirovna lives here. So I can too.”
“That is completely different!” Maria Vladimirovna waved her hands. “I am Seryozha’s mother! You are a stranger!”
“A stranger?” Inna Petrovna gave a dry smile. “I am Anastasia’s mother. Your daughter-in-law’s mother. The woman who owns half of this apartment.”
“Seryozha!” Maria Vladimirovna turned to her son. “Are you going to do something?”
Sergey shifted from one foot to the other. Anastasia watched him and waited. Now. Now he would choose. Now he would show whose side he was on.
“Inna Petrovna,” Sergey sighed, “you need to leave. I’m sorry, but this is our home. We are not ready to receive guests.”
“But Maria Vladimirovna has already been living here for a week,” Inna Petrovna noted calmly. “And she plans to stay for three months.”
“She is my mother!” Sergey raised his voice. “She has the right!”
“And my mother doesn’t?” Anastasia asked quietly.
Sergey looked at his wife and turned his eyes away.
“That’s different,” he muttered.
“How is it different?” Anastasia stepped closer. “Explain it to me. How is your mother better than mine?”
“Nastya, don’t make a scene,” Sergey clenched his fists. “Inna Petrovna, please leave. Today.”
“No,” Anastasia said firmly. “If my mother leaves, I leave with her.”
“What?!” Sergey spun toward her.
“You heard me,” Anastasia walked over to her mother. “I’m not staying in a home where I’m not respected. Where my family is treated as second-class.”
“Nastya, don’t talk nonsense!” Sergey grabbed his wife by the arm. “This is your home!”
“No,” Anastasia pulled her arm free. “It’s your home. Your mother said so. You confirmed it. That means there is no place for me here.”
“That’s right!” Maria Vladimirovna cut in. “Ungrateful woman! Seryozha, let her go!”
Sergey shot his mother an angry look but said nothing. Anastasia went into the bedroom, took out a bag, and began packing her things. Inna Petrovna followed her daughter.
“Are you sure?” her mother asked softly.
“Absolutely,” Anastasia said, packing clothes, documents, and cosmetics. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired.”
“I understand, sweetheart,” Inna Petrovna embraced her. “Do what you believe is right.”
Half an hour later, Anastasia came out of the bedroom with two bags. Sergey stood in the hallway, pale-faced.
“Are you really leaving?” he asked.
“I am,” Anastasia put on her jacket.
“Because of my mother?”
“Because of you,” Anastasia looked him in the eyes. “You made your choice. Now I’m making mine.”
Inna Petrovna took one bag, and Anastasia took the other. They left the apartment without looking back. The door closed quietly behind them.
Outside, Anastasia stopped and took a deep breath. Inna Petrovna put an arm around her shoulders.
“Everything will be all right,” her mother said. “You’ll stay with me and recover.”
“Thank you, Mom,” Anastasia leaned against her.
A week later, Anastasia filed for divorce. Sergey called, wrote messages, and begged her to come back. He promised his mother would never visit again. He swore he would change.
Anastasia did not respond. She blocked his calls and deleted his messages. The decision had been made. Final.
The divorce process began. They divided the apartment. Sergey demanded more than half, claiming that his family had contributed a larger down payment. Maria Vladimirovna hired a lawyer, wrote statements, and tried to prove that Anastasia had no right to the property.
The court case lasted several months. Anastasia held firm and did not give in. She provided all the documents and proof of joint mortgage payments. Her lawyer worked clearly and professionally.
Finally, the judge gave the ruling. The apartment was to be divided equally. Each spouse owned half. Sergey could buy out Anastasia’s share, or the apartment would be sold and the money divided.
Sergey refused to buy her out. The apartment was put up for sale. Buyers were found quickly. The money was divided equally. Anastasia received her share and used it as a down payment on a one-room apartment in another district.
Inna Petrovna helped her settle in, buy furniture, and choose appliances. It was a small, cozy apartment that belonged only to Anastasia. No co-owners, no shared mortgage.
Six months passed. Anastasia found a new job, made new friends, and started going to yoga. Life was becoming calm and steady again.
One day, in a shopping center, Anastasia ran into Sergey. Her ex-husband looked tired and older. He stopped and greeted her awkwardly.
“Hi, Nastya.”
“Hi,” Anastasia nodded.
“How are you?” Sergey asked.
“I’m well,” Anastasia answered shortly. “And you?”
“Fine,” Sergey rubbed the back of his head. “I’m renting an apartment. Mom visits sometimes.”
Anastasia said nothing. Sergey shifted uneasily, clearly wanting to say something.
“Nastya, I wanted to apologize,” he finally forced out. “For everything. For not supporting you. For not standing by your side.”
“It’s too late,” Anastasia shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I understand,” Sergey nodded. “I just wanted to say it. You were right. I was weak.”
“You were,” Anastasia agreed. “Good luck, Seryozha.”
She turned and walked away. She did not look back. That life was behind her. A new one was only beginning.
At home, Anastasia brewed tea and sat by the window. She looked out at the city and thought about the past. Three years of marriage, ending with one sentence from her mother-in-law at the doorway: “This is my son’s home.”
Anastasia smiled. Now she had the home of Inna Petrovna’s daughter. Small, but her own. A place where no one dictated the rules. A place where toxic people had no room.
Her phone rang. It was Inna Petrovna.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, my dear. How are you?”
“Great,” Anastasia smiled. “Everything is just great.”
“Maybe you’ll come over this weekend?” her mother suggested. “I’ll bake some pies.”
“I’ll definitely come,” Anastasia promised.
After ending the call, Anastasia finished her tea. Then she stood up and went to the mirror. She looked at her reflection. A calm, confident woman looked back at her. A woman who had not been afraid to leave. A woman who had chosen herself.
And it had been the right choice.
