Andrey came into Tatyana’s life out of the blue—like a spring thunderstorm, sudden and intense. They met at a corporate party hosted by mutual friends, and from the first glance something sparked between them. He was courteous, attentive, and always seemed to know exactly what to say.
Tatyana, thirty years old, strong-willed, and the owner of her own two-bedroom apartment in the city center, wasn’t used to falling so fast. But Andrey managed to thaw her caution.
Six months into dating, he carefully mentioned that renting his small one-bedroom place was getting too expensive. The rent swallowed half his salary, and his commute took more than an hour each way. Tatyana didn’t hesitate long—she suggested he move in with her. Why waste time and money if they were planning to get married anyway?
“Are you sure?” Andrey asked again, even though his eyes shone with happiness. “You won’t regret it?”
“What’s the point of delaying?” Tatyana shrugged. “I’ve got two rooms—there’s plenty of space. And we’ll learn more about each other before the wedding.”
Andrey moved in at the end of April. He didn’t bring much—just a couple of clothing boxes, his laptop, and a few books. Tatyana cleared half the closet for him and freed up a shelf in the bathroom. The first weeks felt like a honeymoon. On weekends Andrey made breakfast, helped with cleaning, and bought her flowers for no reason at all. Tatyana kept catching herself thinking she’d never been this happy.
By the end of summer, they officially registered their marriage. They celebrated with a small wedding at a riverside restaurant—around forty guests, a white dress, a three-tier cake, live music. Andrey’s mother, Galina Olegovna, arrived from the village three days before the ceremony. She was short, heavyset, about fifty-five, with tight lips and a sharp, prickling gaze. She inspected Tatyana’s apartment as if she were evaluating merchandise at a market.
“Not bad,” the mother-in-law muttered, dragging a finger along the windowsill as if hunting for dust. “But the curtains are old-fashioned. And you should really change the wallpaper.”
Tatyana stayed silent. She didn’t want to ruin the mood before the wedding. Galina Olegovna lived with them for three days and managed to criticize nearly everything—from the furniture arrangement to the dishes they used. She left right after the banquet and didn’t even stay the next day.
The first months of married life passed quickly. Andrey turned out to be an easygoing husband—no shouting, no constant demands. He worked as a sales manager at a construction company, earning about fifty thousand a month. Tatyana made a bit more—sixty-five thousand—working as an accountant in a large firm. They had enough for a comfortable life. Evenings were for TV series, weekends for movies or walks in the park. A simple, steady routine.
Everything changed in November. Andrey came home thoughtful, repeatedly starting to speak and then holding back. Finally, at dinner, he couldn’t keep it in.
“Mom wants to sell the house in the village,” he blurted, staring down at his plate.
Tatyana raised her eyebrows. “So? That’s her decision. Maybe she’s tired of living there alone.”
“She wants to move to the city.” Andrey hesitated. “I was thinking… maybe she could stay with us? Just for a while, until she finds an apartment.”
Something inside Tatyana tightened, but she forced herself to smile. Refusing felt impossible—this was her husband’s mother, an older woman, alone. Where else would she go?
“Alright,” she agreed, though she didn’t feel any excitement. “One or two months, I guess. We have enough space.”
Andrey brightened. “Thank you, sweetheart! I knew you’d understand. Mom will be so happy!”
Galina Olegovna arrived a week later—by taxi. The driver pulled three huge suitcases, two bags, and a cardboard box from the trunk. Tatyana froze in the doorway, watching the way the mother directed her son like a foreman.
“Andryusha, careful with that suitcase! There’s crystal in there—you’ll break it!”
“Mom, why did you bring so much?” Andrey puffed as he dragged the luggage inside. “You’re not staying long.”
“Not staying long!” Galina Olegovna snorted. “And what, I’m supposed to live without my things? Without my pots? Without my own bedding?”
They gave her the second room. Tatyana and Andrey stayed in the bedroom. Galina Olegovna unpacked until late at night, rearranging and dragging things around. Creaking and thudding came through the wall, keeping them awake.
In the morning, Tatyana found new kitchen curtains—red-and-white checkered fabric that clashed horribly with the beige wallpaper.
“Galina Olegovna… where did these come from?” she asked carefully.
“I brought them from home,” the mother-in-law said proudly, admiring her work. “Your old ones are totally faded—disgusting to look at. These are fresh. Pretty.”
Tatyana swallowed. Her curtains were only a year old—she’d chosen them herself, spending ages matching the color. But she didn’t dare argue. No point fighting over something small.
Except the “small” things didn’t stop. A few days later, Galina Olegovna started rearranging the living room. She shoved the armchair into a corner and set a vase of artificial flowers on the coffee table.
“It’s so much cozier this way!” she declared when Tatyana came home from work. “I’ve been doing this my whole life. I have an eye for it.”
“But I liked it the way it was,” Tatyana tried to object.
“You liked it!” Galina Olegovna mocked. “Young people don’t understand anything about making a home. I’ll show you how to run a household properly.”
Andrey, hearing scraps of the conversation, peeked into the room and then quickly disappeared. He clearly wasn’t going to step into a fight between his wife and his mother.
Day by day the mother-in-law’s presence felt heavier. Galina Olegovna criticized Tatyana’s cooking, saying the borscht was under-salted and the cutlets were dried out. She redid the cleaning, insisting the floors hadn’t been washed properly. She placed her own dishes on the most convenient shelves, pushing Tatyana’s things to the back.
“You wash floors with a mop?” the mother-in-law gasped one morning. “You’ll never get it clean like that! You have to do it by hand—on your knees—like in the old days. Here, I’ll show you!”
Tatyana clenched her fists but stayed quiet. Galina Olegovna dropped onto all fours and began scrubbing the linoleum with fierce intensity, smacking her lips with effort. When she finished, she stood up satisfied.
“See? Now it’s clean. Not like the filth you had…”
That evening, Tatyana tried to speak to her husband.
“Andrey, your mom has been living here for a month. When is she going to start looking for an apartment?”
Andrey set his phone aside and looked at her guiltily. “She is looking. It’s just… nothing suitable has come up yet. Prices are brutal, you know.”
“Maybe we can help her—look at options together?”
“No,” Andrey said, turning away. “She can handle it herself. Just be patient a little longer, okay? It’s hard for her right now—new city, getting used to everything…”
Tatyana didn’t answer. Irritation was boiling inside her, but she forced herself to keep it together. It’s temporary. Soon Galina Olegovna will move out, and life will go back to normal.
But the mother-in-law had no intention of leaving. On the contrary, she grew more confident with every passing day. She started inviting her village friends over, arranging tea gatherings in the kitchen, and speaking loudly on the phone until late at night. Tatyana would come home exhausted, craving silence—only to run into strangers and the smell of frying potatoes.
“Galina Olegovna, could you at least warn me when you invite guests?” Tatyana finally snapped one day. “I didn’t prepare, I didn’t clean—”
“Why would I warn you?” the mother-in-law asked, genuinely surprised. “This is my home now. Or am I not allowed to have guests?”
“Your home?” Tatyana went still. “Excuse me, but the apartment is mine.”
“Well, yes—technically yours,” Galina Olegovna waved a hand. “But Andryusha lives here, which means I have rights too. We’re family. Besides, I can see you can’t manage without me!”
That conversation made one thing clear: the mother-in-law wasn’t going anywhere. Worse—Galina Olegovna had started treating the apartment like her own territory.
Arguments became more frequent. She complained to her son that his wife didn’t respect her, that she was creating unbearable conditions, always dissatisfied. Andrey listened in silence, nodded, but did nothing. He tried to smooth things over, asked Tatyana to endure it a little longer, promised his mother would find a place soon.
Tatyana stopped believing those promises. Galina Olegovna wasn’t even searching for an apartment. Instead, she kept tightening her rules. She forbade them to open windows at night, claiming drafts were unhealthy. She demanded only the dishes she liked be cooked. She imposed her schedule—bed at ten, up at six.
“I’ve lived like this my whole life!” she insisted. “And it would do you good to keep a routine too. Sleeping until eight—then you spend all day exhausted.”
“We work late,” Tatyana tried to explain. “We need enough sleep.”
“Enough sleep!” the mother-in-law snorted. “In my day nobody got enough sleep—and we worked twelve-hour shifts. And look, we survived.”
Tension rose daily. Tatyana felt like a stranger in her own home. She couldn’t relax, always sensing her mother-in-law’s judgmental gaze. Andrey kept ignoring the problem, pretending everything was fine.
In early February—three months after Galina Olegovna arrived—the final showdown happened. Tatyana came home after a brutal workday—quarterly reports were due and her nerves were shredded. She dreamed of a shower, a cup of tea, and going to bed early. But her plans collapsed the moment she walked in.
In the living room sat her mother-in-law, and beside her—Andrey. Both looked serious, almost ceremonial. Galina Olegovna folded her hands on her lap and stared at Tatyana the way a strict teacher looks at a guilty student.
“Sit down,” she ordered. “We need to talk.”
Tatyana lowered herself into a chair, confused, glancing at her husband. Andrey avoided her eyes, studying the pattern on the rug.
“I’ve made a decision,” Galina Olegovna began. “I’m going to live here permanently. I won’t be looking for an apartment—there’s no point. Why waste money when my son has plenty of space?”
Tatyana blinked, not immediately processing what she’d just heard.
“Excuse me—what?”
“I’m staying,” the mother-in-law repeated slowly, as if explaining to a child. “And you and Andryusha will find somewhere else to live. It’s time you became independent—stand on your own feet.”
The blood drained from Tatyana’s face. She looked to Andrey, waiting for him to object, to say this was some ridiculous joke. But he stayed silent, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Andrey?” Tatyana called, her voice trembling.
“Mom’s right,” he forced out without looking up. “She needs a calm old age—comfort. We’re young. We can handle it. We’ll rent something…”
“Rent?” Tatyana repeated, her temples pounding. “Do you even hear yourself?”
“I do.” Andrey finally looked at her. His expression was awkward, but there was no remorse. “She spent her whole life in the village, in hard conditions. It’s time she got to rest. And we’ll earn our own apartment eventually.”
Tatyana stood up. Her hands were shaking; she laced her fingers together to steady them.
“This is my apartment,” she said clearly, slowly. “Mine. I lived here before you. It was left to me by my grandmother when I was twenty-three. I paid for it, renovated it, furnished it. You moved in because I invited you. Because I did. And now you’re suggesting I move out? Are you out of your mind?”
Galina Olegovna grimaced.
“Don’t yell. We’re talking reasonably. The village house sold for pennies, and prices in the city are outrageous. No bank will approve a mortgage for me at my age. And I can see you don’t want to live with me. So we’re offering a solution.”
“You came into my home as a temporary guest, spent three months imposing your rules—and now you’re throwing me out?” Tatyana’s voice sharpened. “And you call that ‘reasonable’? You’ve completely crossed the line!”
“I’m not throwing you out. I’m offering a sensible decision.” The mother-in-law pressed her lips together. “Andryusha is my son. His home is my home. That’s logical.”
“Logical?” Tatyana laughed—short, bitter. “Then listen to my logic. This apartment is in my name. Legally, it’s my sole property. We don’t have a prenup. Which means the only person with rights here is me. No one else.”
Andrey jumped up from the couch.
“So you’re going to kick my mother onto the street?”
“Me?” Tatyana stared at him. “I’m the one kicking someone out? Seriously? Did you forget who was planning to kick out whom?”
“She’s an elderly woman!” Andrey snapped. “She has nowhere else to go!”
“And where do I go?” Tatyana stepped closer, and Andrey instinctively backed away. “Should I rent a place for thirty thousand a month so your mother can be comfortable in my home?”
“Tanya, let’s calm down—”
“Don’t you dare try to calm me down!” Tatyana’s voice broke into a shout. “I’ve endured this for three months! Three months of complaints, criticism, lectures! I changed my life, I adapted, I stayed quiet! And now I’m being told to get out of my own apartment—and you, my husband, are supporting it!”
“I’m not supporting it, I’m trying to find a compromise…”
“What compromise?” Tatyana gasped, furious. “You took your mother’s side against your wife! That’s not a compromise—that’s betrayal!”
Galina Olegovna rose, standing tall.
“Enough with the theatrics! We’re family—we’re supposed to help each other. I raised Andryusha alone, without a husband, in poverty. Now it’s my turn to receive care!”
“Care?” Tatyana turned to her. “You call seizing someone else’s home ‘care’? Forcing the legal owner out of her own apartment?”
“You’re not that ‘legal’!” the mother-in-law snapped. “Andryusha is my son, he’s your husband. Under the family code, property is shared!”
“Not in this case,” Tatyana shot back. “This apartment was mine before marriage. It isn’t jointly acquired property. And neither you—nor even your son—has any rights to it. Ask a lawyer if you don’t believe me.”
Silence fell. Galina Olegovna flushed, opened her mouth, then couldn’t find words. Andrey looked helplessly from his mother to his wife.
“Tanya… why are you doing this?” he started, sounding almost pleading.
“Why?” A cold, steady rage spread through Tatyana. “Have you completely lost your shame, dear husband? I lived in this apartment before the wedding. And now you’re trying to throw me out for your mother?”
Those words landed like a sentence. Andrey went pale and recoiled. Galina Olegovna grabbed the back of the couch as if she needed support.
“Here’s how it’s going to be,” Tatyana continued, her voice icy. “You have three days. Three days to pack your things, find somewhere to stay, and leave. Both of you. Mother and son. I’m done being humiliated in my own home.”
“You can’t kick me out!” Andrey exploded. “I’m your husband!”
“A husband who turned against me,” Tatyana said, folding her arms. “A husband who was ready to hand my apartment to his mother. I don’t need a husband like that.”
“Tanya, think!” Andrey reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “We love each other!”
“Love?” Tatyana gave a sharp smile. “You love me so much you’re willing to throw me out onto the street? Sorry, but that’s a strange kind of love.”
Galina Olegovna cut in, her voice trembling with outrage.
“How dare you speak to us like this! I’m the mother of this family—I’m the elder! You should respect me!”
“Respect?” Tatyana turned, eyes burning. “You barged into my life, turned everything upside down, tried to take my home—and you demand respect? Respect is earned. And you’ve earned nothing except contempt.”
“Andryusha!” the mother wailed. “Do you hear how she’s talking to me?”
But Andrey stood frozen, shifting his gaze between them. He clearly hadn’t expected this. He’d assumed Tatyana would give in, surrender, quietly pack her things. He’d misjudged her.
“Three days,” Tatyana repeated firmly. “Then I change the locks. And if you’re still here, I’ll call the police. This is my home, and I have every right to decide who lives in it.”
She turned and left the living room, shutting the door behind her. In the bedroom she collapsed onto the bed and pressed her face into the pillow. Her hands shook, her heart hammered so hard it felt like it might break through her ribs. But she didn’t cry. Only cold, scorching anger—and an unshakable resolve.
In the morning, Tatyana woke before her alarm. She’d tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Her head buzzed, a dull ache pulsing in her temples. She got up, washed her face with cold water, and dressed. Andrey never came into the bedroom—apparently he’d spent the night on the couch.
In the kitchen Galina Olegovna sat silent and grim. Tatyana poured herself coffee, refusing to acknowledge her. The tension in the air was thick and suffocating.
“You really think it’s that simple?” the mother-in-law finally spoke.
Tatyana took a sip, not answering.
“Andryusha loves you. He did a lot for you. And you’re throwing him out like a stray dog.”
“He tried to throw me out first,” Tatyana replied without turning her head. “The difference is—he has no right to do that. I do. And I’m using it.”
“You’ll regret it,” the mother-in-law hissed. “You’ll end up alone—no husband, no family.”
“Better alone than with people who use me,” Tatyana said, and walked out of the kitchen.
The next three days dragged by painfully. Andrey tried to talk to her, begged for another chance, swore he would fix everything. But Tatyana wouldn’t bend. She understood one simple truth: if she gave in now, she would be giving in for the rest of her life. Galina Olegovna would never leave; she’d live with them, control their home, dictate their choices. And Andrey would remain a weak, obedient mama’s boy, incapable of protecting his wife.
On the third day, Tatyana came home from work and found the apartment empty. Andrey’s things were gone—his clothes, shoes, electronics. The living room looked bare as well. Galina Olegovna had taken her suitcases, and even removed the ugly kitchen curtains she’d hung.
Tatyana walked from room to room, breathing in the silence. The feeling was strange—a blend of relief, sadness, and freedom. She put the armchair back where it used to be, rehung her own curtains, returned everything to the way it was before her mother-in-law arrived. The apartment became her home again.
The divorce itself was simple—no property disputes, no children, and the reasons were painfully clear. Andrey didn’t argue. He signed the papers without much talk.
Two months passed. Tatyana gradually got used to being alone. In the evenings she played music, cooked what she actually liked, watched movies she’d never been able to enjoy under constant criticism. At first her friends pitied her and offered to introduce her to someone new, but Tatyana refused. She was fine on her own.
The apartment was quiet, warm, entirely hers. Nobody criticized her, moved her furniture, or forced their rules on her. Freedom turned out to be worth more than she’d ever realized.
Tatyana didn’t regret her decision. Divorce, scandal, separation—it was painful, but necessary. She learned something important: you can’t allow other people to dictate how you live. Even if those people are your husband and his mother. Your dignity, your independence, and your right to your own home are worth more than any relationship.
Life went on. And she was ready to live it on her own terms—in her own apartment—without strangers trying to take what belonged to her by right. There was still so much ahead: new connections, new opportunities, new choices. But one thing Tatyana knew for sure—she would never again let into her life anyone who didn’t know how to respect her space and her rights. The lesson had been harsh, but permanent.