Sveta opened the door with her own key and immediately understood: there was an enemy in the house…
It smelled like cutlets. But not hers, her signature ones with garlic and bread soaked in milk. These smelled like some cafeteria-style patties—greasy, with far too much onion. And there was also the smell of cheap “Lavender” perfume, the kind that seemed to seep even into concrete.
Sveta sighed. She worked as the head of the sales department at a large construction company. All day she had been driving from site to site, arguing with foremen, dreaming of only one thing: silence, a shower, and a glass of kefir.
But judging by the situation, the evening was no longer going to be peaceful.
In the hallway stood someone else’s boots. Worn-down, size forty-something at least.
Sveta walked into the kitchen.
A scene worthy of an oil painting: at her table, on her chair, sat Tamara Ilyinichna—her mother-in-law. A monumental woman, like a statue of Lenin, and just as uncompromising. Across from her sat Oleg, Sveta’s husband. Oleg looked guilty. He was poking at that very cutlet with his fork and trying not to look at his wife.
“Oh, so you’ve shown up,” Tamara Ilyinichna said instead of hello. “We’re having dinner here. Sit down, Svetochka, I’ll give you a cutlet. You don’t feed your man properly. Soon he’ll become transparent.”
“I feed my man steaks,” Sveta replied coldly, placing her bag on the windowsill. “And your cutlets… give me heartburn, Tamara Ilyinichna. What brings you here? We weren’t expecting you.”
“A mother should not have to wait for an invitation!” her mother-in-law snapped. “I came on business. Serious business.”
Oleg drew his head into his shoulders. Sveta tensed. The last time her mother-in-law had come “on serious business,” it had ended with her trying to force them to take in a nephew from Saratov “just for a year.”
“I’m listening,” Sveta said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Here’s the matter,” Tamara Ilyinichna said, sipping tea from Sveta’s favorite mug—fine porcelain, by the way. “Our Lenochka, Oleg’s sister, has had a misfortune. Her husband left her. With two children. It’s impossible to live in that dormitory—bedbugs and drunks everywhere.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sveta nodded. “But what does that have to do with us?”
“What do you mean, what does it have to do with you?!” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “You are family! A brother must help his sister! So Oleg and I discussed it and decided…”
Oleg choked on his cutlet.
“Mom, I didn’t…” he began, but caught his mother’s gaze and fell silent.
“We decided,” Tamara Ilyinichna repeated with emphasis, “that Lenochka and the children will move here. Into this apartment. There’s plenty of space here, two rooms, good renovation, a school nearby. Children need room.”
Sveta blinked. For a moment she thought she had misheard.
“Excuse me, but where are Oleg and I supposed to go? Onto the doormat in the hallway?”
“Why onto the doormat?” her mother-in-law asked sincerely. “You’re young, childless for now. You don’t need much. You’ll move in with me for the time being, into my one-room apartment. I was planning to go to my sister’s village for the summer anyway, and in winter… well, we’ll squeeze in. Or rent something. You have a good salary, you can manage.”
Sveta looked at her husband.
“Oleg, are you serious? You agreed to move out of our apartment so your sister and her brood of children could live here?”
Oleg blushed to the roots of his hair.
“Svet, well… Lenka really is having a hard time. And our mortgage is paid off… Mom says we have to help…”
“Mom says,” Sveta repeated like an echo.
She looked around the kitchen. She remembered how they had done this renovation. Or rather, how she had done it. How she had chosen the tiles. How she had argued with the workers over a crooked seam. How she had saved for this kitchen set, denying herself vacations for three years in a row.
“Tamara Ilyinichna,” Sveta said very quietly. “You must have misunderstood something. This is not a dormitory. This is my apartment. And no one is moving in here.”
Her mother-in-law stood up to her full considerable height.
“What do you mean, yours?!” she shrieked. “Don’t get above yourself, girl! You’re married! All property is shared! And Oleg is a man, the head of the family! If he has decided his sister will live here, then she will! And if you don’t like it, you can get out!”
“So,” Sveta clarified, feeling cold fury begin to boil inside her, “you’re suggesting I vacate the living space?”
“I’m not suggesting, I’m presenting you with a fact!” her mother-in-law declared triumphantly. “Lenochka is arriving tomorrow morning. Pack your things so they won’t be in the way.”
Sveta looked at Oleg. He sat staring into his plate, pretending he was part of the décor.
“And why exactly should I leave the apartment?” Sveta said loudly, clearly, and deliberately, looking her mother-in-law straight in the eye. “I bought it with my own money!”
“Ha!” Tamara Ilyinichna laughed. “What do you mean, your own? You’ve been married for five years! Shared budget! Don’t make me laugh, business lady. Oleg worked too! So half of this place is his. And he is giving his half to his sister. And my half, as his mother, too. So you, dear, are in the minority here.”
Sveta smiled. A terrifying kind of smile—the sort that usually made her subordinates develop nervous tics.
She went to the cabinet where the documents were kept and took out a folder.
“Oleg,” she said sweetly. “Tell your mother where you were working when we bought the apartment. And most importantly—where the down payment came from.”
Oleg turned pale. He raised frightened eyes to his mother.
“Mom… maybe we shouldn’t? Let’s go home…”
“What do you mean, we shouldn’t?!” Tamara Ilyinichna barked. “Sit down! Let her show the documents! I know the law! Marital property is divided in half! Tomorrow I’ll change the locks myself so you, you insolent woman, won’t come here until Lenochka has settled in!”
Sveta placed the folder on the table.
“The locks, you say? Very well. Oleg, will you tell her yourself, or should I read out the full list of your ‘contributions’?”
Silence hung in the kitchen, broken only by Tamara Ilyinichna’s heavy breathing. She stared at the folder of documents as if it were a dead rat—with suspicion and disgust.
“Well?” Sveta prompted. “Oleg is silent, so I’ll begin.”
She opened the folder and took out the first sheet.
“The purchase agreement. Yes, it was signed while we were married. But look at the clause on the payment procedure. Eighty percent of the apartment’s price was paid in one lump sum.”
“So what?” her mother-in-law snorted. “You saved up! My Oleg is thrifty!”
“Your Oleg,” Sveta said, taking out a second document, “was working that year as a ‘freelance artist’ and trying to launch a startup selling phone cases. His income for the year was minus fifty thousand rubles, which he borrowed from me. But the money for the apartment…”
She laid a bank statement on the table.
“…came into my account from the sale of my grandmother’s three-room apartment. Which I inherited before marriage. And here, Tamara Ilyinichna, is Oleg’s notarized statement that these funds are my personal property and that he makes no claim to them. We arranged this when we took out the mortgage. The bank required confirmation of the origin of the funds.”
Tamara Ilyinichna snatched up the paper and held it close to her eyes.
“This… this is worthless paper! You forced him! Drugged him!”
“No,” Sveta smirked. “Oleg simply really wanted a new gaming computer at the time. And I bought it for him. In exchange for his signature. Right, Oleg?”
Oleg sank into his chair. He understood: he had been betrayed for an RTX 3090 graphics card.
“And the remaining twenty percent?” his mother refused to give up. “That was a mortgage! You paid it during the marriage! So Oleg has a share!”
“The mortgage,” Sveta nodded. “Correct. Except I paid it. From my salary card. And Oleg’s salary… Oleg, where has your salary gone for the past three years?”
“Well… groceries…” Oleg mumbled.
“Groceries?” Sveta laughed. “Beer, Oleg. And World of Tanks. I even paid the utilities myself. And I have all the bank statements. In court, Tamara Ilyinichna, this can be proven in no time. Oleg’s share in this apartment is roughly equal to the value of that cutlet of yours.”
Sveta snapped the folder shut. The sound cracked like a gunshot.
“So here’s the arrangement. The apartment is mine. One hundred percent. No Lenochka will be living here. No children, husbands, or hamsters either.”
“You… you monster!” her mother-in-law gasped. “You’re throwing your husband out into the street?! You don’t respect family?!”
“Husband?” Sveta looked at Oleg. “Is a husband someone who decides behind his wife’s back to give her home to his sister? No, Tamara Ilyinichna. That is not a husband. That is a tenant. And an insolvent one at that.”
She went to the door and threw it open.
“Oleg, pack your things. Right now. You may take the computer. I’m feeling generous today. And take your mother with you. Along with the cutlets.”
“Svet, why like this?” Oleg whined, finally peeling himself off the chair. “We got carried away… Mom just wanted to help Lenka… Let’s discuss it!”
“We’ll discuss it at the registry office when we file for divorce. The clock is ticking. You have ten minutes. After that, I’m calling the police and saying that strangers in my apartment are refusing to leave the premises.”
Tamara Ilyinichna stood up. Her face flushed with red blotches.
“Let’s go, son!” she proclaimed solemnly. “Don’t humiliate yourself in front of this… tradeswoman! We’ll live without her! I have an apartment! Lenochka will come, and we’ll all live together, happily! Cramped, but not offended!”
Oleg looked longingly at the spacious kitchen, at his favorite sofa, at the coffee machine… He imagined his mother’s one-room apartment, where he, his mother, Lena, and two screaming nephews would all be living.
“Mom, maybe…” he began.
“Go!!!” Sveta roared so loudly that the dishes in the cabinet clinked.
Oleg bolted into the room. Five minutes later he came out with a backpack into which he had carelessly stuffed the computer tower. The monitor did not fit.
“Goodbye,” he muttered.
“Keys on the nightstand,” Sveta reminded him.
At the last moment, Tamara Ilyinichna tried to grab a candy bowl from the table—the one she had brought herself—but Sveta gave her a pointed look, and the bowl remained where it was.
“Choke on your square meters!” her mother-in-law spat at the threshold. “You’ll find no happiness in them! A lonely woman with a cat—that’s your future!”
“Better with a cat than with rats,” Sveta shot back and slammed the door.
The lock clicked.
Sveta leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes.
Silence.
Divine, ringing silence.
The smell of cheap cutlets still lingered in the air, but that could be fixed.
She went to the kitchen. Opened the window wide, letting in the frosty air. Scooped the cutlets into the trash bin.
Took a bottle of dry white wine from the refrigerator. Poured herself a full glass.
Sat down on her rightful chair.
Her phone pinged. A message from Oleg: “Svet, I forgot my monitor. And my underwear. Can I stop by tomorrow?”
Sveta took a sip, smiled, and typed her reply:
“Your underwear and monitor will be waiting for you with the concierge. Entry into the apartment only by court order. Good luck in the dormitory named after Tamara Ilyinichna.”
She blocked his number.
She looked around. The apartment was empty, but for the first time in five years, it felt truly full. Full of peace and self-respect.
“Well then,” she said aloud. “Now I can finally get a dog. A big one. So no mother-in-law will ever dare come near the doorstep.”
And that was an excellent plan.