— So you finally dragged yourself here! And I’ve been waiting here like a fool since morning! — the mother-in-law shouted when she saw her daughter-in-law enter the apartment with a notary and documents.
— So you finally dragged yourself here! And I’ve been waiting here like a fool since morning, waiting for my daughter-in-law to deign to show up! — the mother-in-law’s voice struck Marina right from the doorway the moment she stepped into the apartment.
The keys slipped from her trembling fingers and clattered onto the tiled floor. Marina froze in the doorway, unable to believe her eyes. Valentina Petrovna was seated in the living room she shared with Dima as if on a throne, surrounded by some papers and folders. Beside her sat an unfamiliar man in a strict suit with a leather briefcase.
— Mom? — Marina blinked in confusion, trying to understand what was happening. — What are you doing here? You don’t have keys…
Her mother-in-law snorted contemptuously, adjusting her perfectly styled hair. Her lips stretched into the very smile Marina had learned to fear over three years of marriage — the smile of a predator that had cornered its prey.
— Dimochka gave them to me, of course. My son always takes care of his mother, unlike some people, — Valentina Petrovna looked her daughter-in-law up and down. — Late from work again? Your husband is sitting hungry, while you wander around offices.
Marina felt the familiar wave of irritation rising inside her. Three years. Three endless years she had endured the barbs, remarks, and outright rudeness of this woman. Her mother-in-law appeared in their lives like a natural disaster — always unexpectedly, always at the wrong time, always with complaints.
— Valentina Petrovna, I’m not wandering around. I’m working. And Dima is perfectly capable of heating up dinner for himself if he gets hungry, — Marina tried to speak calmly, though everything inside her was boiling. — Excuse me, but what is going on here? Who is this man?
The man in the suit stood up and offered her a business card.
— Sergey Vladimirovich Krylov, notary. I am here at Valentina Petrovna’s request to draw up a deed of gift.
— What deed of gift? — Marina felt the ground slipping from under her feet.
Her mother-in-law broke into a triumphant smile. She slowly rose from the sofa, smoothing the folds of her expensive dress. Every movement radiated the superiority of a victor.
— Ah, yes, you don’t know yet. Dimochka didn’t have time to tell you. We decided to transfer the apartment into my name. After all, I helped with the down payment, so it’s only fair.
Marina felt the blood drain from her face. The apartment. Their apartment, the mortgage for which she had been paying for the last two years while Dima “found himself,” moving from one job to another.
— What do you mean, “we decided”? — her voice trembled. — Dima didn’t tell me anything. And the apartment is registered in both our names!
— Exactly, dear, — her mother-in-law stepped closer, and her perfume — sickly sweet and expensive — wrapped around Marina in a suffocating cloud. — In both your names. But it should be only in my son’s name. You understand, anything can happen in life. We need to protect Dimochka’s interests.
Marina took a step back, pressing her back against the wall. Her head was spinning. Could Dima really have known? Could he really have agreed to this madness?
— Where is Dima? — she tried to pull herself together. — I want to talk to my husband.
— Dimochka is in the kitchen, — her mother-in-law waved toward the kitchen. — Preparing the documents. You know, dear, you ought to be grateful. I’m not throwing you out onto the street. Not yet. You can live here and pay me rent. It’s even convenient — extra income for my pension.
Marina did not remember how she got to the kitchen. Her ears were ringing, red circles floated before her eyes. Dima was sitting at the table, buried in his laptop. When he saw his wife, he flinched and guiltily lowered his eyes.
— Dima, — Marina sat across from him, her voice shaking with barely restrained emotion. — Tell me this is some kind of misunderstanding. Tell me you are not planning to transfer our apartment to your mother.
He remained silent, nervously picking at the edge of the tablecloth. Marina knew that habit of his — he always did it when he felt guilty but did not want to admit it.
— Dima! — she raised her voice. — Look at me! Are you serious? You’re going to give her the apartment I’m paying the mortgage for?
— Mom said it would be the right thing to do, — he finally raised his eyes, and Marina saw the usual mixture of guilt and stubbornness in them. — She really did help with the down payment. And anyway, what’s the big deal? We’ll still live here.
— What’s the big deal? — Marina could not believe her ears. — Dima, your mother just said we would pay her rent! For our own apartment! Do you understand how absurd that is?
— Well, Mom sometimes goes too far, — he shrugged. — Don’t take it to heart. She just wants to be safe. You never know…
— You never know what, Dima? — Marina stood up, unable to sit still any longer. — You never know, we might get divorced and I’ll take half? Is that what this is about?
He lowered his eyes again, and that gesture said more than any words. Marina felt something inside her snap. Three years. For three years she had been building this family, investing money, strength, and her soul. And he… all this time he had been thinking about how to protect himself.
Family
— So you’ve already decided everything, — it was not a question, but a statement of fact. — Without even consulting me. You simply decided to give our apartment to your mother.
— Don’t dramatize, — Dima grimaced. — No one is giving anything away. We’re just re-registering it. For security.
— Whose security? — Marina felt anger rising from somewhere deep inside, hot and fierce. — For the security of your mommy, who has spent her whole life trembling over her precious little son? Who still washes your socks and cooks borscht for you when you visit her?
— Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that! — Dima jumped up, his face flushing. — She devoted her whole life to me! She raised me alone!
— And now you’re repaying her with our apartment? — Marina laughed, but there was not a drop of amusement in that laugh. — You know what, Dima? Maybe you should have married her instead. She would cook for you, wash your clothes, and make decisions for you. The perfect marriage!
— Marina, stop this hysteria! — her mother-in-law’s commanding voice came from the living room. — The notary is waiting! Stop making scenes!
Valentina Petrovna appeared in the doorway, formidable as a rock. Behind her loomed the embarrassed notary, clearly regretting that he had gotten involved in a family drama.
— I will not sign any papers, — Marina straightened up, looking her mother-in-law directly in the eye. — The apartment is registered equally in my and Dima’s names, and without my consent you won’t be able to do anything.
Valentina Petrovna’s face twisted with rage. The mask of a caring mother slipped off in an instant, revealing her true essence — a domineering, cruel woman used to everyone dancing to her tune.
— You ungrateful thing! — she stepped forward, jabbing a finger into Marina’s chest. — I accepted you into my family! I allowed you to marry my son! And what do you do? All you know how to do is assert your rights!
— Allowed? — Marina recoiled from the jab. — You were against our wedding from the very beginning! At the ceremony you whispered to your relatives that I wasn’t worthy of your “golden boy”!
— And I was right! — her mother-in-law raised her voice. — Look at yourself! Miserable career woman! You’re never home, you don’t feed your husband, you don’t have children! What kind of wife are you?
— Mom, calm down, — Dima weakly tried to intervene, but both women ignored him.
— I don’t have children? — Marina felt the last remnants of her self-control leave her. — Do you know why we still don’t have children? Because your son thinks “it’s not the right time yet”! Because he still can’t decide what he wants to do for work! Because I’m the one carrying the mortgage, the utilities, and all the expenses alone!
— Don’t you dare blame my son! — Valentina Petrovna turned crimson. — You’ve browbeaten him! Turned him into a rag! He used to be a confident man, and now…
— And now he has simply shown his true face! — Marina no longer held back. — A mama’s boy who, at thirty years old, cannot make a single decision without mommy! Who is ready to betray his wife for mommy’s approval!
— Marina! — Dima finally found his voice. — That’s too much! Apologize to Mom!
Marina slowly turned to her husband. In his eyes she saw indignation, resentment, but not a drop of understanding. Not a drop of support. He was standing next to his mother, and that choice spoke for itself.
— Apologize? — she shook her head. — For what? For telling the truth? For spending three years trying to build a normal family with a man who never managed to cut the umbilical cord?
Family
— Enough! — her mother-in-law clapped her hands. — Sergey Vladimirovich, you may go. We’ll resolve this matter later, when the daughter-in-law comes to her senses.
The notary gathered the papers with obvious relief and hurried to the exit. Marina heard the front door slam.
— And now listen to me carefully, — Valentina Petrovna spoke quietly, but there was steel in her voice. — You will sign all the documents. Voluntarily or through court — that’s up to you. But this apartment will be registered in my son’s name. Period.
— On what grounds? — Marina crossed her arms over her chest. — I have been paying the mortgage for two years. I have all the receipts, all the documents. Any court will be on my side.
Her mother-in-law smirked — coldly, calculatingly.
— And I will tell the court how you are cheating on my son with your boss. How you stay at work until night. How you went on business trips alone with him.
Marina felt the ground slip from under her feet. How? How did she know about Andrey? They had been so careful… No, stop. There had been no affair. Andrey was simply a colleague, a friend who had supported her during difficult moments. But her mother-in-law was twisting the facts, turning an innocent friendship into a vulgar romance.
— That’s a lie, — Marina forced out the words with difficulty. — Andrey is my boss, nothing more. We’re working on a joint project.
— Of course, of course, — her mother-in-law nodded with feigned sympathy. — Only the photos from the restaurant suggest otherwise. And there will be witnesses. Neighbors, for example, who saw you coming home toward morning. Disheveled, with smeared lipstick.
Marina remembered that evening. A corporate party, celebrating the successful completion of a project. She really had returned late. She really had drunk too much. But there had been nothing even close to cheating!
— Dima, — she turned to her husband, searching for support. — You know it isn’t true. You believe me, don’t you?
He remained silent, staring at the floor. And in that silence there was everything — doubt, readiness to believe his mother, and a complete lack of desire to protect his wife.
— See? — her mother-in-law gloated. — Even Dimochka has doubts. What can we say about a judge? An unfaithful wife, a career woman who abandoned her husband for work and another man. Do you think the court will be on your side?
Marina felt a wave of rage rise inside her. Pure, scorching, liberating rage.
— You know what, Valentina Petrovna? — she spoke calmly, but steel rang in her voice. — I don’t care. Let there be a court case. Let you drag my name through the mud. Let Dima believe your fairy tales. But I will not give you a single kopeck of what I earned with my own labor.
— You little trash! — her mother-in-law broke into a scream. — I’ll drag you through the courts! I’ll leave you without a penny! You’ll be living on the street!
— Mom, calm down, your blood pressure, — Dima finally showed concern, but not for his wife — for his mother.
And in that moment Marina understood — it was over. There would be no reconciliation, no shared future. There was only her, Dima, and his mother, who would always stand between them.
— You know what? — Marina straightened, looking from her husband to her mother-in-law. — Take your apartment. I’ll leave. I’ll rent a room, live alone. But I won’t pay the mortgage anymore. That’s your problem now.
— What? — Dima finally snapped out of it. — Marina, what are you saying? Where will you go?
— Anywhere, — she shrugged. — Far away from both of you. From your mother, who will stand over our bed for the rest of her life. From you, who never became a man.
— Good riddance! — her mother-in-law threw up her hands. — At last Dimochka will find himself a normal wife! One who will appreciate him!
Marina went into the bedroom and took out a suitcase. Her hands were not shaking — on the contrary, she felt a strange calm. As if a heavy stone had fallen from her soul.
Dima stood in the doorway, confused and pathetic.
— Marin, don’t be stupid. Let’s talk calmly. Mom will leave, we’ll discuss everything…
— No, Dima, — she packed her things quickly, methodically. — We already discussed everything. Three years ago, when you promised we would live separately. Two years ago, when you swore your mother would not interfere. A year ago, when you said it was the last time. Enough. I’m tired.
— But you love me, don’t you? — his voice carried the hurt of a child whose favorite toy was being taken away.
Marina stopped and looked at him for a long moment.
— I did. But that love died somewhere between your mother’s borscht and her advice on how I should live properly.
She snapped the suitcase shut and put on her coat. Valentina Petrovna stood in the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest.
— And don’t even think of crawling back on your knees later! — she threw after her daughter-in-law. — I won’t let you cross the threshold!
Marina turned around at the door.
— Don’t worry, Valentina Petrovna. I won’t come back. You can calmly live out your years together with your son. Cook him borscht, iron his shirts, choose new wives for him. But I’ll tell you one thing — no normal woman will last beside you. And Dima will remain alone. With you. Forever. Isn’t that happiness for a loving mother?
She left without looking back. Behind her, Dima was shouting something, her mother-in-law was shrieking, but Marina was no longer listening. She went down the stairs, and with every step it became easier to breathe.
Outside, a fine drizzle was falling. Marina lifted her face to the sky, letting the drops mix with her tears. But they were not tears of grief — they were tears of liberation.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Andrey: “How are you? Is everything all right?”
She typed back: “Now it is. Now everything will be all right.”
And she walked forward into a new life. Without her mother-in-law, without a mama’s boy, without toxic relationships. Just her, the rain, and a whole world ahead.
And back in the apartment, Valentina Petrovna was already making plans. Now that this upstart had left, they could find Dimochka a normal wife. Obedient, quiet, one who would know her place. She looked at her son, who was sitting in the kitchen with his head in his hands.
— Don’t be upset, son, — she stroked his head. — Mom is here. Mom will always be here. And that one… she was never worthy of you. You’ll see, in a month you won’t even think about her.
Dima said nothing. Marina’s final words kept turning in his head. “With you. Forever.” For some reason, those words made him feel cold.
A month passed. Marina rented a small apartment on the outskirts and found a new job with a promotion. Andrey turned out to be a good friend — he helped her move and supported her during a difficult moment. But nothing more. Marina needed time to recover, to learn to trust people again.
And Dima… Dima stayed in that apartment. With his mother. She moved in “temporarily” to help her son get through the divorce. She cooked borscht, washed shirts, found candidates for the role of new wife. But for some reason, none of them lasted beyond a second date.
“Your mother is kind of strange,” one said.
“Sorry, but I’m not ready to live with my mother-in-law,” another admitted.
“You’re a mama’s boy, Dima. Find yourself a younger and stupider girl,” the third snapped.
And Dima would sit in the kitchen in the evenings, listening to his mother’s stories about how girls nowadays were all wrong, and think about Marina. About how she laughed. How she fell asleep with her face pressed into his shoulder. How she made coffee in the mornings.
But it was too late. Marina was already building a new life. Without him. Without his mother. Free and happy.
And Valentina Petrovna continued searching for the perfect wife for her son. After all, somewhere there had to be a girl who would understand that the mother-in-law was the head of the family. One who would obey and show respect. One who would not argue or assert her rights.
Family
Only for some reason, such girls were becoming rarer and rarer. And the apartment, won back with such effort, became emptier and colder with each passing day. Just like Dima’s life, forever tied to his mother’s apron strings.