The key turned in the lock—a lock Olga had never changed—yet it no longer fit. Her mother-in-law had installed a new one while Olga was away on a business trip.
Olga stood on the landing of her own building, unable to enter her own apartment. Her wheeled suitcase bumped against her leg. Voices could be heard behind the door: a woman laughing, dishes clinking, the television playing.
She rang the doorbell.
Nina Pavlovna opened the door. Her mother-in-law. She was wearing Olga’s housecoat and slippers, with a towel draped over her shoulder—as though she were the mistress of the house and Olga were merely a visitor.
“Oh, you’re back,” her mother-in-law said without smiling. “Why did you ring the bell? Couldn’t you use your key?”
“My key doesn’t work.”
“Oh, right. We changed the lock. The old one kept sticking.”
Olga stepped inside. She took off her coat and hung it on a hook, which was already occupied by an unfamiliar windbreaker. The hallway smelled of fried food and an unfamiliar perfume. On the cabinet stood a photograph that had not been there before: Kostya at about five years old, wearing a bow on top of his head.
“Where’s Kostya?”
“Your Kostya is at work. Lyusya and I are having tea.”
Lyusya, Kostya’s sister, poked her head out of the kitchen. She waved as though they had seen each other yesterday rather than six months ago.
“Hi, Olya! We made some borscht. Would you like some?”
Olga walked into the kitchen. Her kitchen. Then she stopped in the doorway.
Everything had been rearranged. Her beloved coffee machine had been pushed into a corner, and an old enameled whistling kettle now stood in its place. The spice jars had been moved. Magnets she had never bought decorated the refrigerator. Even the curtains had been replaced—her linen ones were gone, and floral curtains hung in their place.
“You changed the curtains.”
“Yours were completely worn out from washing,” her mother-in-law replied dismissively. “I put up new ones. They’re prettier.”
Olga said nothing. Something cold and heavy began rising inside her. She had been gone for nine days. Just nine days. Yet she had returned to a home she could barely recognize.
The apartment had come from her parents. It was a three-bedroom apartment in a quiet neighborhood, with windows overlooking the courtyard and old poplar trees beneath the balcony. Four years earlier, her parents had moved permanently to their country house and legally gifted the apartment to her through a notary. Everything had been done properly.
This was her home.
She had allowed Kostya to move in after they married. He had arrived with nothing but a backpack and a box of books.
And now his mother was replacing Olga’s curtains.
“Nina Pavlovna, are you planning to stay with us for long?”
Her mother-in-law poured herself some tea and sat at the table as though she owned the place.
“Why are you asking? Didn’t Kostya tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m moving in. Permanently. I transferred my apartment in Tver to Lyusya because she and the children don’t have enough space. So now I’ll live with you. Where else can an old woman like me go?”
Olga sat down on a stool. Her legs had suddenly grown weak.
“You sold your apartment in Tver?”
“I didn’t sell it. I gave it to Lyusya. I signed a deed of gift. And now I’ll live here—with my son. And with you, of course,” her mother-in-law added with a smirk. “It’s not as though we can get rid of you.”
Lyusya lowered her eyes and stirred her tea.
Kostya returned that evening. Olga waited for him in their bedroom—the only room that had not yet been touched by unfamiliar hands. She heard him taking off his shoes, his mother speaking to him in a low voice, and Kostya answering, “Mom, not now.”
He entered the bedroom and closed the door. He looked guilty. After three years of marriage, Olga had learned how to read that expression.
“You knew,” she said.
“Olya, let me explain.”
“You knew your mother was moving in. You knew she had given her apartment to Lyusya. You knew she had changed the lock. And you said nothing.”
Kostya sat on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands.
“She told me a month ago that she wanted to move in with us. I didn’t know how to explain it to you. I thought it would somehow work itself out.”
“Work itself out? Kostya, she took down my curtains. She changed the lock while I was away. She intends to live here permanently. How exactly was that supposed to work itself out?”
“She’s my mother. She’s alone. Lyusya has children and plenty of problems of her own.”
“And now Lyusya has an apartment too. Your mother gave her an entire apartment and then came here—to me.”
Kostya remained silent.
“Kostya, look at me. Were you ever going to tell me? Or was I simply expected to live with your mother in my kitchen without understanding what was happening?”
“I was going to tell you. Honestly. I was just waiting for the right moment.”
“The right moment was a month ago, when she first mentioned it.”
Olga rose and walked to the window. The poplar trees swayed outside—the familiar trees beneath which she had grown up.
“We’ll discuss this with her tomorrow,” Olga said. “The three of us. And you’ll say what you truly think in front of both of us. No more whispering in corners.”
She barely slept that night. The television blared through the wall because her mother-in-law was watching a series at full volume, claiming, “My hearing is bad now that I’m old.” Kostya slept beside Olga as though nothing had happened.
Olga lay awake, staring at the ceiling, while something inside her slowly changed and hardened.
The three of them gathered in the kitchen the following morning. Her mother-in-law looked triumphant, Kostya looked like a beaten dog, and Olga was calm—almost unnaturally calm.
“Nina Pavlovna,” Olga began, “I want to make everything clear. This apartment is legally mine. My parents transferred it to me through a deed of gift. Kostya is registered here, but he is not an owner.”
“And what exactly are you trying to say?” her mother-in-law asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I’m saying that I make the decisions concerning this apartment. No one else.”
“Well, look at you. So my son is nobody? Is he your husband or a piece of furniture?”
“He is my husband, but he is not the owner of this apartment. I am.”
Nina Pavlovna turned toward her son.
“Kostya, do you hear the way she’s speaking? Who am I to you? I’m your mother! I raised you by myself! Your father abandoned us, and I did everything alone! I went without sleep and worked three jobs so that you could grow into a decent man! And now, in my old age, I don’t even deserve a roof over my head?”
Kostya shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Mom, well…”
“What do you mean, ‘Mom, well’? Tell her! You’re the man of this house!”
Olga watched her husband and waited. This was it. Everything would be decided now.
“Mom,” Kostya said quietly, “did you really give the apartment to Lyusya? Completely?”
“I did. So what? She needs it more.”
“And you didn’t think to consult me? Or Olya? You were planning to move in with us.”
“Why would I need to consult anyone? I’m your mother. I know what’s best.”
Kostya raised his head. Olga saw something on his face that she had never seen during their three years of marriage: anger. But it was not directed at her. It was directed at his mother.
“No, Mom. You can’t do that. You gave away your apartment without asking us. You changed the lock in someone else’s home without asking the owner. You replaced the curtains. You’re ordering everyone around in Olya’s home as though it belongs to you.”
“It belongs to you too!”
“It belongs to Olya. I knew that when I married her, and I’ve never had a problem with it.”
His mother’s face turned crimson.
“So you’re throwing your mother into the street?”
“No one is throwing you into the street,” Olga said. “But you will not live here permanently. That is not open for discussion.”
“Kostya!” his mother-in-law shrieked. “Are you going to let her speak to me like that?”
Kostya stood slowly. For the first time in a long while, Olga saw a grown man before her rather than a mama’s boy.
“Mom, giving away your apartment was foolish. But it was your decision, and you’re an adult. Now we need to figure out what to do. Maybe we can speak to Lyusya and ask her to transfer the apartment back to you. Or we can rent you a place nearby. But you are not moving in with us permanently. Olya and I never agreed to that. And you put me in a ridiculous position in front of my wife.”
“Me? I put you in that position?”
“Yes, you did. You made decisions for me and for Olya. You can’t do that.”
Nina Pavlovna gasped. She stood up, pushing the stool away.
“Well, thank you. Thank you very much, my dear son. I raised you only for you to turn against your own mother because of some skirt…”
“It’s not because of ‘some skirt.’ It’s because of my wife—and because of me. I’m an adult, Mom. I’m thirty-four years old. Stop making decisions for me.”
His mother stormed into the other room and slammed the door so hard that the cups rattled. Sobbing came from behind the door, followed by a telephone conversation. She was calling Lyusya, complaining that she was being thrown out, that her daughter-in-law was a snake, and that her son had betrayed her.
Kostya sat down again. His hands were trembling.
“That was the first time in my life I stood up to my mother,” he exhaled. “I’m thirty-four, and it was the first time.”
Olga placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Was it difficult?”
“Very.”
“But it was the right thing to do.”
“I know.”
An hour later, the doorbell rang. It was Lyusya. She had rushed over in a taxi and arrived agitated, her eyes blazing.
“Olya, why are you mistreating Mom?” she demanded the moment she stepped inside. “She’s an elderly woman! It’s difficult for her to live alone!”
“Lyusya,” Olga replied calmly, “your mother gave you an entire apartment. So she can live with you.”
Her sister-in-law faltered.
“But I… I have children. We don’t have enough space.”
“But there’s supposed to be plenty of space in my three-bedroom apartment?” Olga folded her arms. “Lyusya, let’s be honest. Your mother gave you her apartment and came here to live with me. You receive the property, while I’m expected to care for an elderly woman for the rest of her life. You arranged everything very conveniently for yourselves.”
Lyusya flushed.
“You’ve misunderstood everything…”
“No, I’ve understood perfectly. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Her mother-in-law emerged from the room. Her face was tear-stained, but there was still a combative fire in her eyes.
“Lyusenka, do you hear the way she speaks to me? She’s a poisonous snake.”
“Nina Pavlovna,” Olga said, turning toward her, “let’s not call anyone a snake. I don’t wish you any harm, but I will not allow you to manipulate me. You are an adult woman, and you made a decision concerning your apartment. Now you must take responsibility for that decision.”
“What responsibility? I’m a mother!”
“And I am the owner of this home. I never agreed to support you in my apartment for the rest of your life.”
Her mother-in-law sank into a chair and fanned herself with a handkerchief.
“Kostya! Surely you’ll say something!”
Kostya looked at his mother, his sister, and then his wife.
“Mom, Lyusya, listen to me. Mom will stay with Lyusya. Lyusya, you received an apartment from Mom, so please give her a room. That’s only fair.”
“Kostya!” Lyusya threw up her hands. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. Otherwise, transfer the apartment back to Mom. Then she can return to Tver and live in her own home. Those are the two options. A third option—moving in with us—doesn’t exist.”
Silence filled the kitchen. Only the whistling kettle could be heard on the stove; the water inside had almost boiled away.
Lyusya was the first to give in.
“Fine. All right. Mom can stay with me for now. We’ll see what happens later.”
“Not ‘for now,’” Kostya said firmly. “She gave you her apartment, so you’re responsible for supporting her. That’s fair.”
His mother remained silent. For the first time that morning, she had nothing to say.
Something in her expression changed. Olga could see that she finally understood. Her plan, which had seemed so flawless—give the apartment to her daughter and then make her daughter-in-law support her—had collapsed.
Her daughter-in-law was not someone she could bully into submission.
“All right,” Nina Pavlovna said quietly. “I’ll pack my things.”
She packed slowly, punctuating the process with theatrical sighs, deliberate coughing, and muttering under her breath. Olga did not interfere.
In the bedroom, she took down the unfamiliar floral curtains, retrieved her linen ones from the closet, and hung them back up. She brought the coffee machine out of the corner and returned it to its proper place. Then she removed the unfamiliar magnets from the refrigerator.
Her home.
She was reclaiming her home, one object at a time.
Lyusya and her mother left that evening. Before departing, Nina Pavlovna hugged neither her son nor her daughter-in-law. Standing in the doorway, she merely said:
“You’ll both regret this.”
“Goodbye, Nina Pavlovna,” Olga replied. “You can always come to visit—properly visit—for a weekend.”
Her mother-in-law snorted and walked away.
The door closed. Kostya leaned against the wall and exhaled.
“They’re gone.”
“They’re gone.”
“You know,” he said, rubbing his face with his hands, “I thought it would be more frightening. But now… it feels as though an enormous weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”