Nastya took off her boots at the door and was left standing in her favorite gray wool sweater, a bit worn but she loved it. The place smelled like fresh renovations, new furniture dust, and just a hint of paint. Even though it was just a panel apartment, she took pride in it. When her parents moved to Sochi for good, they signed the two-bedroom over to her—no fuss, just left the keys on the table: ‘Time to build your own nest, dear. You and your husband need a home.’
And she did just that. She renovated everything at her own expense. Painted it all bright, installed proper shelves in the bathroom, ordered a new wardrobe and kitchen. She took a vacation just to go to Leroy Merlin with the contractor. Her husband Ivan promised to help, but he was always too busy. Eventually, their ‘we live together’ situation slowly turned into ‘he just comes home to sleep.’
The silence was broken by a knock at the door—not the doorbell, but three short, confident raps. Nastya winced a little. It could only be her.
‘Hi, Galina Petrovna,’ she said dryly, opening the door.
‘Hey there,’ Ivan’s mother replied, already taking off her shoes. ‘I brought some fresh cutlets, made them myself. Seems like you two never have time—my son is getting skinny, his cheeks are sunken. I told him, “What’s wrong with you?” and he says, “Nastya’s on her diets, cooking some kind of green soups.” That’s not good!’
Nastya stepped back in silence. She already knew what would come next: ‘I’ll just set these here,’ ‘Something smells odd in your bathroom. Don’t you think it’s time to change the pipes?’ and, most importantly, ‘Can I stay a while? My TV’s acting up again, but yours is so much better.’
It had only been three months since she and Ivan moved in, and barely a month since her mother-in-law had pretty much taken over half the apartment.
‘Go ahead,’ Nastya nodded curtly toward the kitchen. ‘Your usual spot on the couch.’
‘Thank you,’ Galina Petrovna said, plopping down as if it was her own chair. ‘Actually, I came for a reason. I need to talk to you.’
Nastya tensed up. These “talks” always ended with someone needing something, or her ending up as the guilty one—again.
‘Yeah, I’m listening,’ she said, taking a seat across on the stool.
‘You and Vanya,’ her mother-in-law began, narrowing her eyes slyly, ‘have been together for a while, right?’
‘Fifth year,’ Nastya nodded, already sensing where this was going.
‘And yet you’re still… living like this. It’s not serious.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think? The apartment is yours, right? So my son is just… “there for free.” I’m not just saying this, Nastya. As a mother, I care about him having everything he needs. And your parents, sure, they’re kind and all, left you the place. But really—it should be both of yours, you know?’
‘It’s not both. It’s mine. My parents gave it to me only,’ Nastya replied.
‘Big mistake,’ her mother-in-law grunted. ‘When my husband and I got our apartment, both names were on it. Because family means togetherness. With you two, it’s… some sort of weird math.’
‘I see,’ Nastya stood up. ‘So you’re hinting that I should sign part of the apartment over to Vanya?’
‘I’m not hinting, I’m telling you directly. That would be fair. He lives here, works, helps out…’
‘Helps?’ Nastya shot back. ‘He barely takes out the trash. Didn’t lift a finger for the renovations—I did it all. He couldn’t even put the wardrobe together. I had to hire someone myself.’
“Well, you love doing things ‘your way.’ Besides, he doesn’t have any time. The man is working.”
“Sitting in the garage with friends and drinking beer—that’s work to you?”
My mother-in-law sighed and got up.
“You’re being hurtful right now. To Vanya and to me. I’m trying to be kind, and you treat me like a stranger. Do you want my son to be left with nothing if something happens?”
“If something happens?” Nastya’s voice turned colder. “This is my apartment. We don’t own anything together, and I’m not about to change that. If you’d like, we can talk with a lawyer present.”
Galina Petrovna fell silent. Then she stepped closer, smiling as if this was all just a joke, and said:
“You’re still so young, Nastenka. You don’t understand. A man should feel like the head of the house. And you—the lady beside him. Not the other way around. With you two, everything’s upside down.”
“Everything’s fine with us. At least until you show up with cutlets and complaints.”
Her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes.
“Aren’t you afraid to end up alone?”
Nastya spun around sharply.
“If I end up alone in MY apartment, that’ll be better than living with someone who hides behind his mother.”
“Well, well,” her mother-in-law grumbled as she left the kitchen. “I’ll be back. And I won’t come alone.”
The door slammed shut with a sound that felt like a challenge. Nastya was left alone in the kitchen. With the cutlets—which didn’t even smell like meat. She stood by the sink, washing dishes on autopilot, while one phrase throbbed in her mind:
“You’re still so young, Nastenka.”
No, this was outright rudeness. She wasn’t a mother-in-law, she was an inspector for revoking my right to live.
She tossed the cutlets into the trash without even tasting them. They all looked suspiciously identical. Like something from the store, just crisped on the edges so she wouldn’t catch on. “Homemade,” sure. Made in the microwave, most likely. Just like in the army: served by strict rules, without a pinch of love—or salt.
The door slammed again—no knock, no bell. The key turned, and in he came.
Ivan.
“Hey, Nastya,” he boomed, dragging his gym bag behind him. “Did Mom stop by?”
“Yeah, she left a greeting—and an ultimatum.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Ivan said as he kicked off his sneakers, walked straight to the kitchen, grabbed a mug and poured himself some tea that Nastya had already let go cold. He sat down, stretched, and yawned. “You tired or something?”
“Tired. Of both of you,” Nastya dried her hands on a towel, folded it neatly, and, oddly enough, sat down across from him. “Can you explain to me why she thinks she can come in here like it’s her house? This is MY home. No one called me, no one asked. She just shows up and starts interrogations. Complaints. Preaching. And now she’s demanding I sign the apartment over to you.”
Ivan smirked—loudly. He even leaned back in his chair:
“Ha! You women always exaggerate. ‘Demanding,’ really? She just suggested it. Like, you and I—we’re family. Everything should be shared, that’s all. Where’s the drama in that?”
“The drama is that it’s MINE!” Nastya slammed her palm on the table. “My parents put this apartment in my name. You moved in as my husband. That’s it—you’re a guest. Both you and your mother. And now she thinks she can tell me how to live? What I owe?”
“You’re talking like… like an accountant, honestly! Everything by the book, all paperwork and contracts! Where’s the love? Where’s the trust?”
— And where were you when I was painting the walls? Where was your trust when your mom was deciding who gets to live here and who has to leave, all behind your back?
Ivan stood up. He threw his mug into the sink—it clanged loudly but didn’t break. Nastya didn’t even flinch.
— Are you out of your mind? She’s my mother! She wants what’s best for us!
— She just wants your residence permit! — Nastya jumped up. — Then she’ll try to split our property. And after that, you two will toss me out like some stray dog!
— Nonsense! — Ivan grabbed his hair. — You’ve lost your mind over this apartment! Apartment, apartment! Why don’t you just hug it? Sleep with it already!
— And what about you? — she lifted her chin defiantly. — Who’s side are you on? Me or your mother?
He fell silent. Just for a few seconds. But that was all Nastya needed.
— I… I can’t choose. She’s my mother. And you… — he hesitated. — You’ve become too harsh. You’re not the same person you used to be.
— The person I used to be just put up with everything. The old me stayed silent when you lounged with a beer while I cleaned the floors. The old me even drank tea with your mom and smiled. But that girl’s gone. I’ve found myself, and thank God, I haven’t lost my apartment. Not yet.
He stepped closer. For a second, she thought he might hit her. But he only loomed over her, close enough that she could smell the mix of tobacco and mint—his usual gum after a smoke in the garage.
— You know, you’re just like your mom. Always ‘me,’ always ‘alone,’ always ‘you mean nothing to me.’ Well, now you will end up alone—with your precious apartment.
— Better alone than with you two.
He took a step back. His eyes weren’t angry anymore—just empty. Tired.
— Mom always said you were selfish, even as a kid. Now I see she wasn’t lying.
Ivan walked into the hallway, grabbed his jacket and his bag. But before leaving, he turned back:
— You think you’re strong? You’re just scared. Scared to live alone. Scared to be without us. Let’s see, Nastya, how you handle it in a month.
— Maybe in a month, I’ll start a new life, — she called after him. — No slippers in the hallway. No more of your mom’s cutlets. No you.
He slammed the door so hard a bottle of perfume toppled off the shelf in the hallway. Nastya didn’t even move. She just sat down. And for the first time in a long while—she cried.
Her tears weren’t from pain. They were from rage. And from realizing just how much she’d allowed him, and how little he appreciated it.
The morning began with silence. No phone calls, no footsteps by the door, no keys jingling in the lock. Just… emptiness.
Nastya woke up late, no alarm, no reason. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, just like in those movies where the woman is left alone—beautiful, broken, with red eyes and oatmeal in the microwave she knows she won’t eat.
A drizzly June rain was falling outside. The kind that’s sticky and unpleasant, just like those words people say not to you, but just to spite you.
She fell in love with her apartment all over again. It was quiet, peaceful, smelling of coffee and vanilla. Just like it was before slippers appeared, socks under the couch, and phrases like:
‘But this is how we do it at home. Mom does it like this.’
For the first time in a month, she even put on some music. Quietly. So the walls wouldn’t get scared that someone else might come back.
But the person who actually showed up—was Galina Petrovna.
No doorbell. She just used her key. As if there was already a monument to her in this apartment.
“Well, well! I noticed the silence! Thought either you’d all dropped dead or you finally came to your senses,” Galina Petrovna marched into the hallway like it was her own spa. “Where’s my son?”
Nastya stood up from the table. No smile. No words.
“I’m asking you, where’s Vanechka?” she repeated, a bit more insistent now, squinting her eyes.
“He’s gone,” Nastya replied calmly. “Hopefully for good.”
“And what are you so happy about?” her mother-in-law sniffed. “You think I’ll let you just throw your family away like trash? Do you know how much he’s invested in you?”
“And have you ever tried to count how much I’ve put into him?” Nastya said quietly but firmly. “Five years of my life. And now I’m supposed to say thank you that the two of you didn’t get to take my apartment too?”
Galina Petrovna turned pale. Not because she felt guilty—because a worrying thought struck her that maybe, just maybe, they really hadn’t managed to take it.
“You don’t understand something, Nastya,” she said, fixing a gray strand that always fell into her eyes. “A woman should be wise. She should keep her family together. Understand her husband. Not just toss everyone out and sit alone like a fool. What will you do later, when your hair turns gray? When your back starts to hurt? Who’ll take you to the doctor?”
“I will,” Nastya folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll take myself. Because I’m not my own enemy. And you and your son—you’re strangers to me now. You’re not family. You are a mistake.”
“Oh, that’s how it is,” Galina Petrovna stepped closer. “So now we’re the bad guys? Look at you, so saintly! But you kept quiet when he took you to Egypt! You were all smiles posting photos when you planted potatoes in our village! And now we’re ‘toxic’ just because of the apartment?!”
Nastya smirked.
“Do you hear yourself? Egypt? Potatoes? In five years he never even bought me a single gift. Just kept whining about how expensive everything is. How I want too much. And you always backed him up. And yes, the apartment is MINE. Because my parents left it to me. Not your village.”
“Aaaah!” Galina Petrovna screamed. “I hope you live alone for the rest of your life, you hear? With your personality, only cockroaches could love you! I told you, you were never good enough for my Vanechka! He pitied you! And you tossed him out like a puppy!”
“He left on his own,” Nastya raised her voice. “Because he’s used to you making all the decisions. He’s not a husband. He’s your apron-string puppet.”
Galina Petrovna darted to the coat rack, grabbed Nastya’s jacket, pulled a set of keys from the pocket, and sorted through them quickly.
“We’re taking these! So you don’t get tempted to let in just anybody,” she spat out spitefully and proudly stuffed the keys into her bag.
Nastya walked over. Standing face to face.
No shouting. Calm. Like a judge who’s already handed down the verdict.
“Give me back the keys, Galina Petrovna. Or I’ll call the police. I have grounds for a complaint—you entered without permission, made a scene, and threatened me. I’ll document everything. Trust me, I’ve learned how to protect myself.”
“Are you threatening me? Me? After everything I’ve done for you two?”
“After everything—you’re nobody to me. And if you pull anything like this again, you’ll go to court. No drama. No mercy.”
They stared at each other for several seconds. Nastya didn’t even blink.
This time, it was Galina Petrovna who faltered. She dropped her gaze, then suddenly turned and marched to the door.
“Go live, Nastya. Just don’t call me later. When you finally understand everything. And you will, trust me.”
“I get it now,” Nastya replied. “No one has the right to intrude in my life. Not even those who think they do.”
The door slammed shut.
This time—for good.
Epilogue
An hour later, Nastya blocked access to the intercom, changed the entry code, and the next day ordered a brand new lock for her apartment. From then on, no one else had a key to her life.
A week later, her mom and dad arrived. They brought a cake, some cognac, and said:
“Well, sweetie, it looks like you’ve finally grown up. Let’s live.”