All day at work, a strange feeling wouldn’t leave me alone. Maybe my blood pressure was dropping, maybe it was just the exhaustion piling up. How wrong I was. It wasn’t tiredness at all—it was quiet dread, an inner warning trying to alert me that chaos was already moving in.
The key turned with its usual click. I pushed the heavy metal door open and literally tripped over a huge чужой suitcase shoved carelessly into our narrow entryway. My heart froze for a second. Next to it, under the coat rack, another bag was crammed in—its zipper stretched just enough for a bright dress to peek out.
My first flash of fear—we’ve been robbed—was instantly replaced by bafflement. From the kitchen came muted voices and the clink of dishes. I kicked off my shoes, walked down the hallway still half-dressed, and stopped dead in the doorway.
At our dining table, holding my favorite mug as if it belonged to her, sat my mother-in-law, Galina Ivanovna. Across from her, glued to her phone, was her daughter—my sister-in-law, Svetka. On the table stood a plate of cookies I’d baked over the weekend for Maksim.
“Aline, sweetheart! Finally!” my mother-in-law smiled wide, but her eyes stayed cold—judging, weighing me up. “We’ve been waiting. Had time to drink some tea after the trip.”
I silently shifted my gaze to my husband. Maksim stood by the sink, staring out the window and pretending he was deeply fascinated by the view of the gray apartment block next door. His posture—those hunched shoulders—shouted guilt and a desperate wish to disappear.
“Maksim?” I asked quietly. “What is going on?”
He turned around. A guilty grimace was fixed on his face.
“Al… well… Mom and Sveta… Sveta’s having problems with her husband. A serious fight. I couldn’t just—”
“We’re only here for a little while, dear,” Galina Ivanovna cut him off in a sugary voice, taking a sip from my mug. “Until things calm down. A week or two. You don’t mind, do you? Your kitchen is so bright and cozy.”
Without lifting her eyes from the phone, Svetka muttered something displeased. A chill ran down my spine.
A little while. Suitcases in the hall. Their things already spread out. They already felt at home.
“You could’ve warned me,” I said, forcing my voice not to shake. “I would’ve at least bought something for dinner, prepared—”
“Oh, what’s there to prepare!” my mother-in-law waved a hand. “We’re simple people. You’ve got pasta, sausages—whatever. We’ll manage. This isn’t some royal palace to be making a ceremony out of it.”
Her gaze slid over our new kitchen—the one Maksim and I had chosen from catalogs and assembled piece by piece—as if it were a shabby storage room in an abandoned summer cottage. I looked at Maksim. He was staring out the window again, deliberately stepping away from the conversation.
Her heavy, sweet perfume hung in the air, smothering the smell of coffee. My home—my fortress—that had smelled like me, Maksim, and morning freshness only hours earlier now smelled like someone else’s pushy, чужая life. And deep inside, beneath my exhaustion and my politeness, something heavy and hot began to boil.
The first week passed like a foggy nightmare. My mother-in-law’s “only for a little while” and “a week or two” hung in the air like poisonous haze. There were no signs of leaving. If anything, Galina Ivanovna and Svetlana settled in with the comfort of occupiers who had never learned the meaning of “not yours.”
Every day became a copy of the one before it. I came home from work with a weight in my chest, standing at the door for long minutes, gathering courage before I slid my key into the lock. My apartment stopped smelling like home. Now it smelled like чужие perfumes, over-fried oil, and lazy disorder.
In the living room, on the couch Maksim and I shared, Svetka lay sprawled almost constantly. On the floor beside her was a plate with apple cores; candy wrappers were scattered around; a cup with half-finished tea gathered dust on the coffee table. She spent her days watching shows at maximum volume or talking for hours on the phone, dissecting her “jerk husband” with her friends.
I tried hints. I tried requests. I even suggested we make a cleaning schedule. In return I got either offended snorts or looks of genuine confusion.
“What is there to clean?” Svetka asked lazily one day, eyes still on her phone. “We’re not pigs. We don’t throw crumbs around.”
There weren’t crumbs. There was grease coating the stove, a sink clogged with hair, and constant chaos in the bathroom. My skincare and cosmetics started disappearing at lightning speed.
“Galina Ivanovna, did you happen to use my new serum?” I asked carefully, catching her at my vanity.
“Oh, that’s yours?” she didn’t even turn around, still rubbing cream into her neck. “I thought Maksim bought you some cheap stuff. I had one like that too—didn’t suit me. Don’t be upset, dear. I’ll let you try mine, it’s better.”
In the evenings, my mother-in-law ran “educational talks.” She’d sprawl in the kitchen, cracking sunflower seeds and handing out instructions like orders.
“Your soup is too thin, Aline. A man needs to eat properly. And you stew meat all wrong. I’ll show you how it’s done—until it’s soft, until it starts sliding off the bone. My Maksim is looking skinny.”
Maksim… became a shadow. He tried to come home later, stayed “at work,” and when he was there, he silently buried himself in the TV or his phone, pretending nothing was happening. Every attempt I made to talk to him alone hit a wall.
One night, when the apartment finally went quiet, I snapped.
“Max, how long is this going to go on? I can’t do this anymore. This is my home!”
He turned his back to me and pulled the blanket over his head.
“What do you expect me to do?” he muttered. “Throw them out? That’s my mother. She raised me alone. Just hold on a bit. They’ll leave on their own.”
“They aren’t going anywhere,” I said through clenched teeth. “You see that. They’re settling in.”
“You’re exaggerating,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Just relax. Don’t rock the boat.”
That night I lay awake for a long time listening to Svetka snore in the next room. I felt like a stranger in my own home—alone on my half of the bed. The air was thick and stale with unspoken resentment and silent betrayal. The boat wasn’t just rocking. The next wave was already building.
The atmosphere in the apartment grew hotter each day, like air before a thunderstorm—dense, heavy, hard to breathe. I caught my mother-in-law’s evaluating looks sliding over the walls and furniture as if she were pricing everything and imagining how she would rearrange it. Svetka sighed louder and louder each night on the foldout in the living room, putting on a show of her “suffering.”
That evening I came home drained beyond words. Work had been brutal; my head was splitting. All I wanted was silence, a hot shower, and sleep in my own bed.
It wasn’t going to happen.
The kitchen was strangely lively. It smelled like fried potatoes with mushrooms—Svetka’s favorite dish and something Maksim couldn’t stand. He sat at the table, poking at his food with a blank stare. My mother-in-law, glowing with satisfaction, kept putting more on Svetka’s plate.
“Eat, my girl, build your strength,” she cooed. “You still have a child to raise.”
Svetka grunted without looking up from her phone. I set the kettle on, feeling eyes on me. Galina Ivanovna’s stare was heavy and studying.
“Aline, sit with us,” she said in an unnaturally sweet voice. “We need to discuss something—like a family.”
It felt like cold water poured down my spine. I turned slowly and leaned against the counter, folding my arms. Maksim stopped scraping his fork and went tense, as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
“I’m listening,” I said quietly.
Galina Ivanovna straightened, adopting an official tone. She glanced around our kitchen, then looked at me—there was no trace of the fake sweetness left. Her gaze was cold and final.
“Alright, children, I’ve thought everything through,” she began, in a tone that allowed no argument. “It’s far too cramped for Svetka on that couch. Her back hurts. She isn’t sleeping. Her nerves are shot after everything she’s been through.”
She paused, letting it sound dramatic. Maksim dropped his head even lower.
“So I’ve made a decision,” she said, striking each word like a gavel.
“My daughter will live in your bedroom. The bed is good—orthopedic—and there’s plenty of space. She’s young. She needs comfort and proper rest.”
A graveyard silence fell over the room. Even Svetka lifted her eyebrows for a moment, looking up from her phone. My ears rang. For a second I thought I’d misheard. I looked at Maksim, waiting for him to react—to say something.
But he just sat there, curled inward, staring at his plate of cooling potatoes.
And Galina Ivanovna, pleased with the effect, turned to me. Her voice slid back into that falsely affectionate tone—sweet and poisonous.
“And you, sweetheart,” she gestured broadly toward the corner of the kitchen where a folded cot stood, “you’ll do just fine in the kitchen. Your kitchen is big. You’ll manage. No big deal.”
Time stopped.
I felt the blood drain from my face, my hands turning ледяными. I stared at a woman who could offer me the kitchen floor as if she were assigning a dog its place. I stared at my husband, who couldn’t find the strength to defend me. I stared at Svetka, already back on her phone, completely indifferent.
This wasn’t everyday rudeness anymore. This was a takeover—of my space, my life, my dignity. And it sounded like a sentence.
The silence after her words was deafening. It lasted only seconds, yet felt endless. I could hear my heart pounding in my temples, heavy and painful. The air turned thick like syrup; I couldn’t breathe.
I slowly shifted my gaze from Galina Ivanovna to my husband. He sat hunched, head down—his body screaming the truth: he wasn’t going to say anything. He was waiting it out, hoping the storm would pass while he hid.
That silence was the last drop.
My mouth went dry. My fists clenched until my nails bit my palms.
“What?” I finally forced out, my voice rough and unfamiliar. “Are you serious?”
Galina Ivanovna snorted like I’d asked something stupid.
“Of course I’m serious. Would I suggest it for no reason? It’s best for Svetlana. After her stress…”
“And me? And us?” My voice hardened—metal slipped into it. I looked straight at her. “This is our bedroom. Our apartment.”
My mother-in-law leaned back, her face twisting into offended outrage.
“Oh, here we go. I knew it. Pure selfishness. Do you really not feel sorry for family? Your husband’s sister, for heaven’s sake! Can’t you sacrifice a little comfort to help your loved ones?”
That was when Maksim finally moved. He lifted his eyes to me, pleading, and hissed quietly so only I could hear:
“Aline, stop. Not now.”
It hit me like a slap. Be quiet. Let it happen. Let them wipe their feet on you.
“No, Maksim—now is exactly when,” I snapped, no longer hiding the tremor of rage. “Am I not the mistress of this home? Didn’t we buy this apartment together? Don’t we pay the mortgage? Or am I already nobody here, and my opinion means nothing?”
“I’ll—” Galina Ivanovna started, but I cut her off, turning to her fully.
“No, Galina Ivanovna. This is not happening. No one is moving anywhere. This is absurd.”
I pushed away from the counter. If I stayed, I would scream. I spun around, walked out, and slammed the bedroom door behind me.
I locked it, leaned my back against the cool wood, and shut my eyes. Through the door I heard muffled voices—her loud, shrill outrage and Maksim’s quiet, appeasing tone as he tried to calm her down. Not me. Her.
About half an hour later, there was a knock.
“Aline, open up. Let’s talk.”
I stepped away in silence. He came in, eyes lowered. The room was dark; I hadn’t turned on the light.
“So why did you get so worked up?” he started, like always—trying to shrink my feelings into nothing. “Mom didn’t mean it. She’s just worried about Sveta.”
“Worried?” I laughed, and it came out bitter and cracked. “She told me to sleep in the kitchen, Maksim. In the kitchen. Like a stray dog. And you stayed silent. You sat there staring at your plate while she humiliated your wife in her own home!”
“She raised me alone!” he suddenly burst out, his voice full of the same familiar fear of his mother. “What was I supposed to do—start a fight? Throw them out? They’re family!”
“And I’m not?” I whispered, something inside me tearing clean in half. “I’m your wife. We’re supposed to be a family. Or are we not? Is your real family out there in the kitchen, and I’m just… an attachment to this apartment?”
He had no answer. He only exhaled heavily and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
“Just hold on a bit, please,” he said. “They’ll cool off. It’ll settle down. Don’t rock the boat, Aline.”
I stared at his hunched back and understood: he wasn’t simply weak. He was betraying me—our marriage, our home, our rules. He was choosing the path of least resistance, and in this war for territory I was completely alone.
The boat wasn’t just rocking anymore. It had sprung a leak, and it was sinking. And he was asking me to sit still so I wouldn’t “make it worse.”
The next day I barely made it to evening. My head buzzed; my thoughts tangled. I felt like a trapped animal searching for an exit that didn’t exist. Maksim’s “just hold on” and “don’t rock the boat” rang in my ears, mixed with the sugary venom of his mother’s voice. I was almost ready to give up—to accept defeat in this ridiculous war.
At lunch I sat alone in an empty conference room, staring at the wall, and didn’t notice when Katya—my colleague and closest friend—walked in. She sat beside me and studied my face.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve been run over by a steamroller. Your ex’s brother causing trouble again?”
I gave a bitter half-smile.
“I wish it were him. No. It’s worse. Much worse.”
And I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Everything poured out—starting with the suitcases in the hallway, the sideways looks, the domestic chaos, Maksim’s silent betrayal, and that unbelievable sentence about the kitchen. I spoke too fast, barely stopping, terrified that if I paused I would start crying right there.
Katya listened without interrupting. Her usually light, calm face darkened with every minute. By the time I finished, her eyes had narrowed to slits and her lips were pressed tight.
“Okay. Stop,” she raised a hand as if halting traffic. “Let me make sure I understand. Your mother-in-law, who’s registered God knows where, moved into the apartment you bought together with your husband, and announced that your sister-in-law will sleep in your bed while you sleep in the kitchen?”
I nodded, fighting the lump in my throat.
“And your husband—your legal spouse—instead of showing them the door told you ‘don’t rock the boat’?”
I nodded again, staring at the floor.
There was a short pause. Then Katya exploded—not into hysterics, but into the cold, righteous fury of someone who speaks the language of law.
“They’ve completely lost their minds—sorry for my French,” she hissed. “This is pure self-will. Arrogance. Straight-up lawlessness.”
She stood and began pacing.
“Listen carefully, Aline. You are not the victim here. You are the owner. Legally, you’re right—one hundred percent. Let me lay it out.”
She sat again, leaning closer, speaking clearly as if ticking points off a list.
“First: is the apartment shared ownership? Do you pay your part of the mortgage and utilities?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “I have every receipt.”
“Perfect. That means you are a full legal owner. And those… citizens,” she said the word with contempt, “are not members of your household in the legal sense.”
“They were not permanently moved in by you, they’re not registered there, and they have absolutely no right—not to control the space, and not even to remain there against your will.”
She looked me straight in the eye, her gaze steady and grounding.
“You have every right to demand they leave immediately. If they refuse to go voluntarily, you call the police. You say: strangers are in my home against my will, they are violating my right to my dwelling and refuse to leave. The police must come, document it, and make a report.”
“But they’re… my husband’s relatives…” I tried weakly, still trapped in the old conditioning.
“So what?” Katya snapped. “The law is the law. Your rights are being violated. And your husband—excuse me—behaves like a rag.”
“So now it’s your resolve. You need to give them a hard, clear answer. Not a request. Not a hint. An ultimatum. And be prepared to follow through.”
She put her hand on my shoulder.
“You’re not alone. I’m with you. Legally you’re clean. They’re the ones breaking the rules. Do you understand?”
I took a deep breath. For the first time in days, something new appeared in my chest—not helplessness, but cold certainty. Knowledge. A backbone made of law instead of shaky “family agreements.”
“Yes,” I said, and my voice finally steadied. “I understand. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” she smiled. “Kick those freeloaders out. And tell your Maksim that if he doesn’t stand with his wife, he’ll soon be sleeping in that kitchen—alone. Permanently.”
Her words felt like fresh air after suffocating for weeks. For the first time I sensed solid ground under my feet—stone, not mud. And that ground was the law.
That night I barely slept. But this time not from tears or humiliation. Katya’s words played in my head like an instruction manual. I rehearsed my speech, prepared for every scenario, made myself ready for a fight. Fear didn’t disappear—but it was muted by cold determination. I knew I was right. Not only morally. Legally. That thought gave me strength.
In the morning I got up before everyone, took a shower, pulled myself together, and put on my strictest, most office-like suit. It was armor. I made coffee and sat at the table, waiting for the “family council” to wake up.
Svetka stumbled into the kitchen first—sleepy, rumpled.
“Oh, coffee?” she grunted, reaching for the cup.
“That’s mine,” I said clearly, sliding it away. “Make your own.”
She grimaced, muttered something, and moved to the kettle. Then Galina Ivanovna floated in. She looked me up and down.
“What’s with the outfit, dear?” she smirked. “Job interview?”
“No,” I answered calmly, meeting her eyes. “An important conversation.”
Maksim appeared last. He felt the tension immediately and darted his eyes between me and his mother.
“Aline, maybe don’t—” he started his usual whining.
“We will,” I cut him off. My voice was quiet but so unfamiliar in its firmness that he fell silent and sat down.
I looked at all three of them, took a deep breath, and began. My voice didn’t shake.
“Yesterday a suggestion was made here. About moving rooms. I want to give you my final answer.”
Galina Ivanovna lifted an eyebrow, expecting my usual surrender.
“I am not switching rooms with anyone. No one will sleep in my bedroom. I am the owner here.”
My mother-in-law snorted and opened her mouth, but I raised my hand to stop her.
“I’m not finished. You came as guests. I wasn’t against helping relatives for a short time. But a week has passed, and you’re not even thinking about leaving. Worse—you’re giving orders and reshaping my daily life around yourselves. That ends today.”
I looked straight at Galina Ivanovna.
“Svetlana may stay one more week. She will sleep on the cot in the living room. That is my last offer. If it doesn’t suit you—here are the numbers and addresses of nearby hotels and hostels. You are free to choose any of them.”
In the silence, you could hear someone’s TV turning on through the wall.
My mother-in-law’s face shifted—confusion, then shock, then thickening anger.
“How dare you talk to me like that!” she snapped, her voice rising into a shriek. “You don’t get to give me ultimatums! I’m older in this family! I’m your husband’s mother!”
“In my home, I set the rules,” I answered evenly. “And my rule is: no uninvited guests for longer than a week. And absolutely no one taking my bed.”
“Maksim!” she screamed, turning to him. “Do you hear what your wife is doing? Kicking me and your sister out on the street! After all I did for you, working two jobs to raise you!”
Maksim went pale. He bounced his gaze between us like a trapped animal.
“Mom… Aline… please, no scandal…” he mumbled helplessly.
“This isn’t a scandal,” I said coldly. “It’s my boundary.”
“Go to hell with your boundary!” Galina Ivanovna roared, jumping up. “We’re not leaving! Try to throw us out! Let’s see what your husband says!”
“My husband,” I said slowly, turning to him, “has already said everything. With his silence.”
I pushed my chair back and stood.
“I’ve said what I needed to say. The decision is yours: stay under my conditions or find another place. You have one day.”
And I walked out, leaving them in dead silence. Behind me were three pairs of eyes—my mother-in-law’s full of hatred, Svetka’s confused, and my husband’s full of animal fear.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like a victim. I felt like the owner. And it was terrifying—and beautiful.
The silence after my ultimatum rang like metal. It lasted all evening and all night. The kitchen stayed quiet except for Galina Ivanovna’s loud, theatrical sighs. She and Svetka locked themselves in the living room, while Maksim—wrinkled, miserable—perched on the edge of our bed, afraid to move.
I knew the calm was fake. It was the quiet before a final assault. And I wasn’t wrong.
The next morning, the second I woke up, it was clear: they’d decided to “stand their ground.”
Galina Ivanovna acted as if yesterday had never happened. She busied herself in the kitchen again, clanging dishes, humming. But the look she threw at me wasn’t just arrogant anymore—it was openly cold.
Svetka, matching her mother, sprawled on the couch in pajamas, blasted the TV, and demanded fried potatoes for breakfast.
“Maksim, can I get coffee?” she purred when he came out of the bedroom.
He nodded silently and reached for the coffee pot.
I watched this performance—their staged calm—and couldn’t shake the feeling they were waiting for something. A signal.
The signal came at lunch. Galina Ivanovna set down her fork and looked at me with barely hidden triumph.
“Fine, we can wait on the bedroom issue,” she announced as if granting me a favor. “But Svetka needs proper rest. That couch is destroying her. Today we’ll move your desk into the storage room and put the cot there instead. More space.”
This wasn’t just bold anymore. It was a test. A declaration: they weren’t guests. They were settling in. Rearranging my home.
Maksim froze with a spoon halfway to his mouth, waiting for my reaction.
I set my napkin down. Inside me everything turned to ice. Katya’s words—they have no right—flashed bright in my mind.
“You’re not moving any furniture,” I said quietly, very clearly. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
“Aline, don’t start…” Maksim groaned.
“I’m not starting,” I said, never taking my eyes off his mother. “I’m ending it.”
Galina Ivanovna smiled with contempt.
“And what will you do—drag us out by the collar?”
“No,” I replied, and slowly—deliberately calm—I took my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll call the police. And I’ll explain that strangers are in my apartment against my will, refusing to leave, violating my constitutional right to my home.”
Shock hit the room like a wave. Even Svetka looked up. They expected tears, screaming, weakness. Not cold legal resolve.
“You’re bluffing,” my mother-in-law exhaled, but for the first time uncertainty slipped into her voice.
“Want to test it?” I had already dialed the emergency number. I held the screen up so she could see it. “I’m ready to call right now and repeat everything I just said in front of witnesses. Officers will come. They’ll write it up. And they’ll help you pack. Or you can do it yourselves and keep the last scraps of dignity.”
I stared at her without blinking. For the first time her eyes wavered and slid away. She looked at Maksim for support, but he buried his face in his plate—white as paper. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. And she understood too.
Her face twisted with anger and powerlessness. All her confidence drained away, leaving a bitter, furious woman realizing her control didn’t work here.
“You’re… a nasty piece of work,” she spat with hate.
“This is my home,” I said evenly, keeping the phone in my hand. “And I’m protecting it. Last time: you leave today voluntarily, or I call the police. Decide.”
I set the phone on the table, giving them one final chance to choose—though there was no real choice left.
The threat hung in the air—heavy, undeniable. It worked like a switch. Galina Ivanovna tried to keep her mask of contempt in place, but it cracked. Rage stayed in her eyes, but even stronger was shock that her power had failed so completely.
She muttered something under her breath, shoved her chair back, and left the kitchen without looking at anyone. Svetka followed, sniffling, throwing me a frightened glance.
I stood in the kitchen listening to the furious scrambling in the living room—suitcases snapping shut, plastic bags rustling, hissed arguments. They were packing. Fast. Angry.
Maksim stayed at the table like he’d been nailed there. He didn’t look at me. His shoulders sagged, his face twisted as if he were the one being thrown out.
I didn’t say a word to him. I held my silence until the sounds stopped, then walked to the hallway.
They stood there dressed, suitcases in hand. Galina Ivanovna stared past me into the wall with hatred.
“Happy now?” she hissed without turning her head. “You threw your husband’s mother and sister out like homeless beggars. Satisfied your ego? Just remember—people pay for things like this.”
I opened the front door and held it wide, stepping aside. Silence said more than any argument ever could. Any explanation would have been pointless—and would’ve given her fuel for one more explosion.
They crossed the threshold—first my mother-in-law with her head held high, then Svetka dragging her feet. I closed the door. Not a slam—just a firm click until the lock caught.
And then there was quiet.
The quiet I had been dreaming of. The quiet of my own home. I leaned my forehead against the cool door and listened. No shrill voice. No blaring TV. No suffocating чужие perfume.
It didn’t last long.
Footsteps came from deeper in the apartment. Maksim walked into the hallway and stopped at a distance, not daring to come closer.
“And why did you have to take it this far?” His voice was hoarse, exhausted. “A scandal. Threatening to call the cops… We could’ve handled it like human beings, without humiliating anyone.”
I turned slowly. My chest went cold. After everything, he didn’t see the problem in their behavior—only in my refusal to accept it.
“Humiliating who, Maksim?” I asked quietly. “Them? Or me—when they told your wife to sleep in the kitchen? Or did you humiliate yourself when you sat there and said nothing?”
His fists tightened. His face twisted with pain and anger.
“They’re family! She raised me alone! I was supposed to stand up and kick her out? That’s cruel!”
“And what’s ‘human’ to you?” My voice cracked, and all the hurt finally broke through. “Letting them trample me and my boundaries? Letting them take over our home? Where were you, Maksim? Where was my husband when I was being humiliated in my own house?”
He had no answer. He just lowered his head.
“You didn’t protect me,” I said, and it sounded like a verdict. “You protected them. You protected your comfort. You protected yourself from your mother. But not me. Not us.”
I looked at him—the man I loved, the man I planned to build a family with—and I didn’t recognize him.
“Who are you?” I asked almost in a whisper. “Are you my family? Or are you still her little boy—so afraid of his mother that he’s willing to sacrifice everything for her peace? Even me?”
He stayed silent. And that silence answered louder than words.
I walked past him into the apartment and stopped in the doorway of the living room. The couch was empty. The floor clean. Nothing remained of the unwanted guests except a faint trace of their perfume that still needed to be aired out.
I had defended my home. I had won the war.
But the victory tasted bitter. I stood alone in a quiet, clean apartment and realized the hardest part was only beginning. The question of whether there was still a place in this reclaimed space for my marriage to Maksim hung in the air—heavier than any cruel sentence my mother-in-law had ever said.