“Ella, sweetheart, I moved your blouses to the second shelf. It’ll be easier to grab them there,” Vera Alexeyevna said in a deceptively gentle voice as Ella walked into the apartment after work.
Ella froze in the doorway, her bag still hanging from her hand. She hadn’t expected to see her mother-in-law in their home again—without warning. For the third time that week.
“Vera Alexeyevna,” Ella said carefully, keeping her voice level, “could you please let us know before you come over?”
“Let you know?” her mother-in-law raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “Why would I? I’m not a stranger. I just decided to help. You come home so late—Romochka gets hungry.”
Ella silently counted to five.
“Roma is at a company party today,” she said, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook. “He told you.”
“Maybe he did,” Vera Alexeyevna shrugged. “But I stopped by and put things in order. Your fridge was almost empty! So I roasted a chicken.”
Ella walked into the kitchen. A pot of soup and a baking dish with roasted chicken sat on the table. In the sink was a mountain of dishes.
“Thank you, of course, but I asked you not to come without warning,” Ella said, struggling to keep her temper in check.
“What nonsense,” Vera Alexeyevna waved her hand. “I’m helping my son, helping my daughter-in-law, and she’s unhappy. Oh—by the way, I soaked your beige dress. There was a very visible stain on the sleeve.”
A cold wave washed over Ella.
“What dress? The one I bought with my bonus?”
“Yes, yes—exactly that one. It needed a good soak in hot water with detergent.”
Ella rushed to the bathroom. Her favorite thin cashmere dress—worth almost half her monthly salary—floated in a basin of water. The same dress whose care label clearly warned: no washing above thirty degrees.
Now it looked like something made for a child—shrunken so much that even a kid wouldn’t fit into it.
Ella felt a lump rise in her throat. That was the last straw.
A few days after the dress disaster, Ella asked Roman over dinner, “Did you talk to your mom about the keys?”
Roma shrugged vaguely, not lifting his eyes from his plate.
“No time. Work’s piled up.”
“Roma, we agreed,” Ella set her fork down. “Your mother comes in without warning, moves my things, criticizes everything. She ruined my new dress!”
“She wanted to help, El,” Roman finally looked up. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s a dress—so what? We’ll buy another one.”
“It’s not about the dress. It’s about your mother not respecting our space,” Ella said, trying to stay calm. “We’ve lived together for three years, but I still feel like I’m a guest in your family.”
“Here we go again,” Roman rolled his eyes. “Mom’s just caring. She’s always been like that. And your mom, by the way, calls all the time too.”
“But my mother doesn’t come here when we’re not home!”
“That’s because she lives in another city,” Roman smirked. “If she lived nearby—who knows.”
Ella sighed. This argument wasn’t new. And it always ended the same way: nowhere.
The next day Ella stayed late at work. A major client changed their travel route at the last second, and she had to urgently redo all the bookings.
She got home close to nine—exhausted and hungry. The moment she opened the door, she caught the familiar smell of homemade food. On the table lay a note in her mother-in-law’s neat handwriting:
“Dear Roma and Ella! I made you dinner. Ella, there’s still a yellow stain in the bathroom. I scrubbed it with a brush, but you need to do it again with powder. And there’s hardly anything in the fridge—this won’t do at all. I’ll stop by tomorrow and bring groceries. Kisses, Mom.”
Ella sank slowly onto a chair.
This had been going on for three years. At first Vera Alexeyevna came once a week “to check on her boy.” Then she started dropping in on Wednesdays to “help with cleaning.” Now she appeared in their home almost every day, and no hints made any difference.
Ella remembered how, half a year earlier, she’d found her mother-in-law going through her makeup and throwing out “expired” eyeshadow and lipstick. How she kept finding her belongings moved into other drawers. How once, in front of guests, Vera Alexeyevna announced that Ella “couldn’t cook borscht properly to save her life.”
Every time Ella complained to Roman, and every time he brushed it off: “Mom just wants to help. Don’t start.”
Ella took out her phone and called her mother-in-law.
“Good evening, Vera Alexeyevna. Could you stop by tomorrow? I want to discuss an anniversary gift for Roma.”
Vera Alexeyevna arrived the next day precisely at three, as agreed. She wore her favorite blue suit, her hair neatly styled. A former head of a kindergarten, she kept her impeccable appearance and command voice even in retirement.
“Ella, I brought cabbage pies—Romochka has loved them since childhood,” she said, holding out the package.
“Thank you,” Ella accepted it. “Come in. Let’s talk.”
They sat down in the living room. Ella took a deep breath.
“Vera Alexeyevna, I didn’t invite you to talk about a gift.”
“Oh?” her mother-in-law lifted her brows. “Then what about?”
“The keys to our apartment.”
Vera Alexeyevna stiffened slightly.
“What about them?”
“Roma and I decided we don’t need anyone to have spare keys anymore,” Ella lied, feeling a prick of guilt. “Even parents.”
“But I’ve had keys ever since you got married!” Vera Alexeyevna’s voice sharpened with indignation. “I help you. I take care of you!”
“And we appreciate that,” Ella said gently. “But we want our visits to be by agreement. We’re not children anymore, Vera Alexeyevna.”
“Does Romochka know about this?” her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes.
Ella hesitated for a heartbeat.
“Of course. We decided together.”
Vera Alexeyevna held her gaze for a long moment, then slowly reached into her purse and pulled out a keyring. She unclipped one key and placed it on the table.
“Fine,” she said. “But I will talk to Roma. I hope this really is a mutual decision.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Ella said, relieved—and also uneasy. She knew this conversation was only the beginning.
Vera Alexeyevna stood up.
“I suppose I’ll go. If my presence here is unwelcome now.”
“You’re always welcome,” Ella tried to soften it. “Just with a heads-up first.”
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together and walked to the door. Then she turned back.
“Tell Roma I called. And tell him his father’s back hurts, but of course the son is too busy to call his parents.”
When the door closed behind her, Ella exhaled and stared at the key on the table. That evening, she knew, a serious conversation with her husband was inevitable. There was no turning back.
Roma came home earlier than usual. He slammed the door so hard the glass rattled. His face was warped with anger.
“How dare you take my mother’s keys?” he stormed into the room where Ella was working on her laptop.
Ella flinched, but forced herself to steady.
“Roma, let’s talk calmly—”
“Calmly?” he cut her off. “My mother is calling me in tears saying you threw her out! Took her keys! What is going on?”
“I didn’t throw her out,” Ella stood up. “I asked her to return the keys. We’ve talked about this so many times—about how she comes without warning, moves my things, criticizes everything…”
“She helps us!” Roma raised his voice. “She cooks, cleans, takes care of things!”
“She interferes in our life!” Ella finally snapped. “She ruined my dress, rearranges my things, reads my notes!”
“What?”
“Yes—she read my planner! I found it in a different place, and the bookmark had been moved!”
Roma waved a hand.
“You’re imagining things. Mom would never—”
“Three years, Roma,” Ella’s voice trembled. “For three years I’ve swallowed her intrusion. For three years I’ve tried to explain that it’s uncomfortable, that we need our space. And you’ve taken her side every single time!”
“Because you blow everything out of proportion!” Roma slammed his fist on the table. “So what if Mom drops by sometimes? What’s so terrible about that?”
“Sometimes?” Ella let out a short laugh. “She was here the day before yesterday, yesterday, and today—without warning. She doesn’t even call!”
“And why should she?” Roma snapped. “Does she need permission to check on her son?”
“She needs to respect our family and our home!” Ella’s hands shook. “I’m your wife, Roma. Not some temporary girlfriend you can ignore!”
Roma’s eyes flashed.
“You know what? You’re jealous. You can’t stand that I’m close with my mother.”
“Close? She controls your every step—and now she’s trying to control me!”
“That’s not true!”
“It is!” Ella’s emotions finally spilled over. “And you know it. You’re just afraid to stand up to her!”
Roma went crimson.
“I’m not listening to this. You’re going to call my mother right now, apologize, and give her the keys back.”
“No,” Ella said quietly, but firmly.
“What?”
“I said no. I won’t apologize for protecting our home and our family. And I’m not returning the keys.”
Roma stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“So that’s how it is? You’re forcing me to choose?”
“I’m not forcing you to choose, Roma,” Ella replied. “I’m asking you to support your wife—just once.”
He shook his head.
“No, Ella. You should respect my family. My mother.”
“And what about your mother respecting me?”
Roma grabbed his jacket.
“I’ll spend the night at my parents’. And you can think about your behavior.”
When the door slammed behind him, Ella sank onto the couch. In three years of marriage, they had never fought like that. And Roma had never left to sleep elsewhere.
“So what do I do now?” Ella asked, sitting in a café with her friend and coworker Anya. “It’s the third day he’s been staying at his parents’. He answers my calls with one-word replies. And my mother-in-law is clearly turning the entire family against me.”
Anya stirred sugar into her cup thoughtfully.
“Are you sure you handled it right? Maybe you should have discussed it with Roma first and only then acted.”
“We discussed it a million times!” Ella rested her head on her hand. “Every time it was the same: ‘Mom’s just caring, you’re exaggerating.’ And nothing ever changed.”
“Still… taking the keys without his consent…”
“I know it wasn’t completely honest,” Ella sighed. “But I was desperate. You have no idea what it’s like to come home and never know who you’re going to find there. To constantly worry someone is digging through your things, judging you.”
Anya nodded, understanding.
“And your mother-in-law won’t talk at all?”
“Not a chance. She won’t even pick up when I call. Roma says she cries all day and tells everyone I threw her out of her son’s home.”
“Maybe talk to your father-in-law? He seems more reasonable.”
“Nikolai Petrovich is a good man, but he’ll never go against his wife,” Ella shook her head. “At our wedding three years ago he whispered to me, ‘Just don’t argue with her and everything will be fine.’ Looks like he’s lived by that rule his whole life.”
Just then, Ella’s phone rang. Her husband’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hello, Roma?”
“Ella,” his voice sounded tired. “We need to talk. I’ll come home this evening.”
“Okay,” Ella’s heart started pounding. “I’ll be here.”
She hung up and looked at her friend.
“He wants to talk. He’s coming home.”
“That’s a good sign,” Anya smiled. “It means he’s ready for dialogue.”
“Or for an ultimatum,” Ella exhaled. “What if he says it’s either I give his mom the keys back or we’re done?”
“And are you willing to give the keys back?”
Ella thought for a moment.
“No,” she shook her head. “I’m tired of living like we’re in a train station. Let her come as a guest—when she’s invited. Like normal people.”
“Then be ready to stand your ground,” Anya squeezed her hand. “And remember—you’re not asking for something outrageous.”
That evening Ella cooked dinner and waited. Roma arrived around eight, looking tired and hollow-eyed.
“Hi,” he paused awkwardly in the entryway, as if unsure how to act.
“Hi,” Ella walked up to him. “I made dinner. Are you hungry?”
“A little,” he nodded, taking off his jacket.
They sat at the table. For a while they ate in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes.
“Ella,” Roma finally began, “I talked to Viktor.”
“Your friend?”
“Yeah. He thinks you… he thinks you’re wrong. That in a family the husband makes the decisions, and the wife should respect his mother.”
Ella felt something tighten in her chest.
“And what do you think?”
Roma hesitated.
“I’m confused. On one hand, Mom really can be… pushy sometimes. On the other, she means well. She’s always cared for me—for all of us.”
“Roma,” Ella chose her words carefully, “care means respecting what a person wants. Asking them. Not forcing your own idea on them. That isn’t care—it’s control.”
Roma grimaced.
“You talk like my mother is some monster.”
“No—she’s not a monster,” Ella said quietly. “She’s just used to controlling everything. But we’re adults now. We have our own family.”
Roma pushed his plate away.
“Either way, you should’ve talked to me before taking her keys.”
“I tried—many times,” Ella sighed. “You just didn’t hear me. Every time you said I was exaggerating.”
Roma opened his mouth to argue, but his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned.
“It’s Mom.”
He answered—and Ella immediately heard Vera Alexeyevna’s agitated voice, even though she couldn’t make out every word.
“Yes, Mom. Yes, I’m with Ella… I mean, I’m home,” Roma shot his wife an uneasy look. “No, not today. I told you Ella and I want to talk… Mom, I can’t right now… Okay, okay. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
He ended the call and exhaled heavily.
“What happened?” Ella asked.
“Her computer isn’t working. She wants me to come fix it right now.”
“And you’re going?” Ella asked carefully, keeping accusation out of her voice.
Roma hesitated, then shook his head.
“No. I told her I’ll come tomorrow. We haven’t finished talking.”
A small wave of relief passed through Ella. In the past he would’ve rushed out immediately.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “That matters to me.”
Roma studied her for a long moment, like he was deciding something internally.
“You know… work was intense this week,” he said slowly. “And I realized how important it is for people to have their own responsibility zones. For no one to barge into someone else’s work without asking.”
Ella nodded, unsure where he was going with this.
“My boss, Sergey Ivanovich, told me something,” Roma continued. “He had a similar situation—his wife and his mother. His mother used to drop by constantly without warning, tried to control everything. It almost destroyed his marriage.”
“And what did he do?” Ella held her breath.
“He talked to his mother. Told her he loved her, but now he had his own family and his own rules. At first she was offended, but eventually she accepted it,” Roma paused. “He said it was the hardest conversation of his life—but it saved his marriage.”
Ella stayed silent, not wanting to push.
“And there’s something else,” Roma looked embarrassed. “I found a printed page in Mom’s purse. A copy of your messages with the travel agency where you work—about booking our anniversary trip.”
Ella stared at him, stunned.
“What? But how—” And then it hit her. “She read my emails on my laptop. When I left it at home.”
Roma nodded slowly.
“Looks like it. I didn’t want to believe it, but now…” He shook his head. “That’s too much.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” Ella said quietly. “She doesn’t just ‘care.’ She controls us, Roma.”
He was silent for a long time, staring at the space in front of him. Finally he looked up at Ella.
“I want you to know,” his voice was steady now, “I love my mom. A lot. She raised me mostly alone while Dad worked nonstop. She was always there, always supported me. But…”
He paused, searching for words.
“But you’re my wife, Ella. And our family is you and me. I should’ve understood that sooner.”
Tears welled in Ella’s eyes.
“You really mean that?”
“I do,” he nodded. “And tomorrow I’m going to my parents’. I’ll talk to Mom and explain everything. It won’t be easy—but it has to be done.”
Ella stood up and hugged him. For the first time in a long while, she felt their marriage might actually become stronger.
The next day Roma went to his parents’. Ella couldn’t settle all day, waiting for him to come back. Finally, around six, she heard the front door open.
Roma walked in slowly, looking lost. One glance told her the conversation hadn’t been easy.
“How did it go?” Ella asked carefully.
Roma dropped onto the couch.
“She didn’t want to listen,” he ran a hand through his hair. “At first she cried, said I was an ungrateful son, that she’d devoted her whole life to me. Then she started blaming you—saying you were turning me against her, that you were destroying our family.”
“And your dad?”
“He tried to calm her down, but she wouldn’t listen,” Roma looked drained. “When I mentioned the printout of your messages, she said she ‘accidentally’ saw an open page while wiping the laptop. But we both know that’s not true.”
Ella sat beside him.
“So what now?”
“She said she won’t step into our home until we apologize,” Roma gave a bitter laugh. “And apparently she’s always ‘known’ you were an ungrateful daughter-in-law, and I’m just blind.”
“I’m really sorry,” Ella rested a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t want it to get this ugly.”
“It’s not your fault,” Roma shook his head. “Sergey Ivanovich warned me it would be hard. His mother didn’t speak to him for a month after their talk. But later it got better.”
“Do you think it’ll get better for us?”
“I don’t know,” Roma admitted. “My mom is very stubborn. And she’s used to everything being done her way.”
They sat in silence, each lost in thought. Then Roma turned to Ella.
“Ella, I want you to know: whatever happens, I’m with you. I understand now that our home is our space. And we set the rules.”
Ella squeezed his hand gratefully.
Over the next few weeks, the tension stayed. Vera Alexeyevna refused to speak to Ella and avoided meeting her son. Through a neighbor, Olga Pavlovna, rumors reached Ella that her mother-in-law was telling everyone how the “ungrateful daughter-in-law threw her out of her son’s home” and “forbade her to see her own child.”
Roma tried not to react, though Ella could see how much it hurt him. He called his parents regularly, offered to meet, but Vera Alexeyevna always found excuses.
One evening, while Ella and Roma were having dinner, the doorbell rang.
“Are we expecting someone?” Roma asked.
Ella shook her head. Roma went to open the door.
Vera Alexeyevna stood on the threshold with a large shopping bag in her hands.
“Mom?” Roma said, surprised.
“I was passing by,” Vera Alexeyevna’s voice was dry. “I brought some groceries. Nikolai bought them at the wholesale market. Too much for just the two of us.”
“Come in,” Roma stepped aside. “We’re having dinner.”
“No, no,” Vera Alexeyevna pressed her lips together. “I don’t want to interfere.”
Ella came into the hallway.
“Hello, Vera Alexeyevna. Would you like some tea?”
Her mother-in-law looked at her coldly.
“Thank you, but no. Just take the groceries.”
She handed the bag to her son and turned to leave.
“Mom, wait,” Roma placed a hand on her shoulder. “Can we talk?”
“Talk about what?” Vera Alexeyevna didn’t even turn around. “Everything’s already been decided without me.”
And she left, leaving them standing in the doorway holding the bag of groceries.
Two months passed. Slowly, Ella and Roma’s life settled into a new rhythm. Without constant interference, their home became calmer. They talked more, planned weekends together, invited friends over.
Vera Alexeyevna never truly accepted the new boundaries. She still refused to visit them, even when officially invited. For family celebrations she always found reasons not to come if Ella would be there. Roma visited his parents alone a few times, but the visits always ended the same way: his mother started talking about Ella, and the conversation turned into a fight.
“Why can’t she just accept it?” Roma asked bitterly after one such visit. “It’s been so long. I’m not asking her to be friends with you—just to respect our choice.”
“She’s always lived by her own rules,” Ella replied gently. “It’s hard for her to accept she doesn’t control your life anymore.”
“And my dad calls in secret when Mom isn’t home,” Roma admitted once. “He says he misses us, but he doesn’t want to upset her.”
One Sunday evening they sat in the kitchen planning a vacation. Ella wanted the sea; Roma leaned toward the mountains.
“The mountains are packed with tourists in the summer,” Ella argued. “At the sea we can actually rest—swim, relax…”
“But the mountains have views!” Roma protested. “And the air!”
Just then Roma’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen.
“It’s Mom.”
He answered on speaker.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Roma!” Vera Alexeyevna’s voice was sharp. “You have to come right now! The computer broke, and I can’t send my application for the utilities recalculation. The deadline is tomorrow!”
“Mom, it’s late,” Roma glanced at the clock—almost nine. “Can I come in the morning?”
“Morning will be too late! I’m at the doctor all day tomorrow! You must come now!”
Roma sighed.
“Mom, Ella and I are discussing something important. I can help you over the phone. What exactly happened with the computer?”
“You’re choosing her over your mother?” Vera Alexeyevna’s voice trembled. “I knew it! She’s completely controlled you!”
“Mom, no one is controlling anyone,” Roma answered, exhausted. “It’s just late, and we—”
She cut him off. The line went dead.
Roma set the phone down slowly.
“And it’s like this every time,” he said quietly. “Any ‘no’ she hears as betrayal.”
Ella touched his hand.
“Do you want to go?”
Roma shook his head.
“No. It’s another manipulation. Her computer is fine—last week I set it up completely. She’s just checking whether I’ll drop everything and run the second she calls.”
“Do you think she’ll ever accept it?” Ella asked softly.
“I’m not sure,” Roma shrugged. “But it won’t destroy our family anymore.”
He looked at the vacation brochures spread across the table.
“What if we compromise? One week in the mountains, then one week by the sea?”
Ella smiled.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
So they sat there in the kitchen, planning their future while Roma’s phone kept blinking with message after message from his mother. But now they knew they could handle it—together. Their family had grown stronger through the pressure. And their mother-in-law… maybe one day she’d understand that real care means respecting other people’s boundaries. Until then, Ella and Roma had learned how to protect their home and their relationship—and that mattered most.