“Take your scrawny brat and get out of here! My son gave me this house!” the mother-in-law shrieked.
Natalya was standing at the stove, stirring soup, when she heard the familiar little cough behind her. Valentina Yegorovna entered the kitchen with her special gait—slow and important, like a general inspecting her territory.
“You overcooked the potatoes again,” the mother-in-law said, peering into the pot over her daughter-in-law’s shoulder. “Is that how people cook? My Antosha likes the potatoes to stay whole, not fall apart.”
Natalya silently kept stirring the soup. In the year they had lived together under one roof, she had learned not to react to such remarks. Or rather, she was trying to learn.
“The soup is turning out great,” Anton said, coming into the kitchen and kissing his wife on the cheek. “It smells delicious.”
“That’s because you’re hungry,” Valentina Yegorovna said, sitting down at the table. “But really, the meat should have been fried first and only then put into the soup. It tastes better that way.”
Anton shrugged and left the kitchen. Natalya turned off the stove and began setting the table. From the next room came the voice of eight-year-old Dima.
“Mom, can I go to Seryozha’s after lunch? He has a new construction set!”
“We’ll see. Do your homework first,” Natalya called back.
“Homework in the summer?” Valentina Yegorovna threw up her hands. “A child needs rest! You’re exhausting the boy with your lessons. In our day, children ran around outside all summer, and nothing happened—they grew up normal.”
Dima appeared in the kitchen doorway, listening to the adults’ conversation.
“Dimochka, come here,” the mother-in-law called. “Grandma will give you a candy. Don’t listen to your mother. No one needs to do homework in the summer.”
“Valentina Yegorovna, Dima and I agreed that he reads and solves problems for one hour a day so he doesn’t lose his skills before school,” Natalya explained calmly.
“That’s exactly it—you agreed! And who asked me? Do I live in this house or not?”
Natalya bit her tongue. Her mother-in-law had used that argument constantly ever since she moved in with them a year ago. Before that, for two whole years after the wedding, they had lived peacefully—Valentina Yegorovna came from the neighboring village once a week, sometimes less often. But then something happened that Anton called “a logical decision”: his mother sold her house and moved in with them permanently.
“Why should I sit alone in a big house?” Valentina Yegorovna had explained back then. “My grandson is nearby here, and I can help you. I’m not a stranger.”
Anton agreed immediately. He did not even consult his wife. He simply presented it as a fact: Mom was moving in, and they needed to clear out the far room. Natalya said nothing at the time. The house was spacious; there was enough room. Besides, she hoped her mother-in-law really would help—with watching Dima and with the household.
Reality turned out differently. Valentina Yegorovna was in no hurry to help, but she considered it her duty to comment on every step her daughter-in-law took. Natalya cooked wrong. Cleaned not thoroughly enough. Raised her son too strictly.
“Anton, tell your wife not to starve the child!” Valentina Yegorovna shouted toward the living room. “Lunch first, then all these lessons!”
“Mom, please don’t interfere,” Anton’s tired voice came from the living room. “Natasha will handle it herself.”
The mother-in-law snorted and demonstratively placed a whole handful of caramels in front of Dima.
“Eat, grandson. Grandma will take care of you, since your mother is busy with her nonsense.”
Natalya put the plates on the table with such force that they clinked. Dima looked frightenedly at his mother, then at his grandmother.
“I’ll eat the candies later, after lunch,” the boy said quietly.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Natalya said, stroking her son’s head. “Go wash your hands.”
When Dima left, Valentina Yegorovna pursed her lips.
“You’re turning the child against me?”
“I’m not turning anyone against anyone. There are simply rules that Anton and I established.”
“With Anton?” the mother-in-law laughed. “My son never established any rules. This is all your invention. I know mothers like you—you’ll turn the child into a neurotic with your rules.”
Natalya took a deep breath. Arguing was useless. She had learned that over the past year. Any attempt to defend her position ended with Valentina Yegorovna reminding her that the house was registered in her name.
The story with the house was a separate pain. When Natalya had just moved in with Anton after the wedding, she had not paid much attention to his words that the house was in his mother’s name.
“It’s safer that way,” Anton had explained back then. “You never know what might happen—no one can take anything from my mother. It’s just a formality. I built the house. My money was invested in it.”
Natalya believed him. She herself had nothing—after her divorce, she had left the one-room apartment to her ex-husband just to finish the divorce process as quickly as possible. She had rented a place with Dima until she met Anton.
The first two years felt like a fairy tale. Anton treated Dima well, and the boy was drawn to his stepfather. The house was cozy, with a large plot of land. Natalya planted a vegetable garden and flowers. It seemed that life had finally settled down.
And then Valentina Yegorovna arrived with suitcases.
“I have the right to live in my own house!” she declared then, seeing her daughter-in-law’s confused face. “Or are you against a mother living with her own son?”
Anton hugged Natalya back then and whispered:
“Be patient for a little while. She’ll settle in and calm down.”
But his mother did not calm down. On the contrary, with each passing month, she behaved more and more confidently. She rearranged the furniture in the living room according to her taste. She threw out the curtains Natalya had chosen and hung up her own—with huge roses. She took over the best armchair by the television and watched soap operas for hours at full volume.
“Anton, could you maybe talk to your mother?” Natalya asked one evening. “She keeps the TV on all day. Dima can’t do his homework.”
“Oh, come on, let her watch. What else is she supposed to do?” her husband brushed her off. “And anyway, don’t dramatize. Mom behaves normally. You’re just too sensitive.”
Natalya said nothing then. What could she say? Anton adored his mother and automatically took her side in every conflict. Even when Valentina Yegorovna clearly went too far.
Like last month, when the mother-in-law caused a scandal because Natalya had bought Dima new sneakers.
“Spendthrift!” Valentina Yegorovna screamed through the whole house. “Throwing money away! My Antosha wore the same boots for three years, and nothing happened!”
“It’s my money. I earned it myself,” Natalya tried to explain.
“Your money? In my house, there is no yours and mine! Everything is shared! And don’t try to establish your own rules here!”
Anton simply went to the garage that time. He returned two hours later, when the scandal was already over, and pretended nothing had happened.
At lunch, Valentina Yegorovna continued lamenting.
“In our day, women respected their husbands. And now what? They think they know everything and listen to no one.”
“Mom, enough,” Anton muttered without lifting his eyes from his plate.
“Enough of what? I’m telling the truth! Your wife doesn’t treat me like a person. She cooks whatever nonsense, torments the child with her lessons, and spends money on who knows what.”
“Valentina Yegorovna, I work as a nurse in two shifts, I support my child myself, and I do everything around the house too. What exactly don’t you like?” Natalya finally lost her patience.
The mother-in-law slowly put down her spoon and looked at her daughter-in-law with a heavy stare.
“What I don’t like is that you’ve forgotten whose house you live in. If I want to, I’ll throw you out of here together with your scrawny brat. This is my house. My son gave it to me!”
“Mom!” Anton finally raised his voice. “What are you saying?”
“What? I’m telling the truth! The house is in my name. I’m the mistress here. And she should know her place.”
Dima stared fearfully from his mother to his grandmother. The boy’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Dimochka, go to your room and solve some problems,” Natalya said quietly.
When her son left, she stood up from the table.
“You know what, Valentina Yegorovna? I’m not going to tolerate this anymore.”
“Then get out of here!” the mother-in-law shrieked. “Take your scrawny brat and get out! My son gave me this house!”
Natalya slowly rose from the table. Something tightened in her chest, but she straightened her back and looked her mother-in-law directly in the eyes. She would not give this woman the pleasure of seeing her weakness.
“Fine, Valentina Yegorovna. We’ll leave.”
“That’s right!” the mother-in-law cried triumphantly. “No need for freeloaders sitting around here! You’ll find yourself another fool who’ll tolerate your little snot-nosed brat!”
“Mom, stop it!” Anton tried to interfere, but his mother only became more worked up.
“You be quiet! Are you blind or what? Don’t you see how she’s wrapping you around her finger? She latched onto you with her bastard child and occupied my house!”
“I’m not a bastard!” a thin little voice suddenly came from the hallway.
Everyone turned around. Dima stood in the doorway, clenching his little fists. The boy’s face was red, and his eyes shone with tears.
“You’re evil! An evil grandma! I hate you!”
Valentina Yegorovna nearly choked with outrage.
“What?! How dare you, you little pup! In my house! I’ll show you right now!”
The mother-in-law moved toward the boy, but Natalya stepped between them.
“Don’t you dare touch my son.”
“Your son? Who are you, anyway? Nobody! A stray! You wandered around rented rooms with your bastard until my fool of a son picked you up!”
Anton sat at the table, staring down at his plate. Natalya looked at her husband, expecting at least one word in her defense. But Anton remained silent.
“Dimochka, go to your room. Pack your favorite toys into your backpack,” Natalya said calmly.
“Mom, are we leaving?” the boy sobbed.
“Yes, sweetheart. We’re going to Grandma Galya and Grandpa Kolya.”
Dima nodded and ran to his room. Valentina Yegorovna gave a satisfied snort.
“That’s right, get out! Just don’t touch my things! Everything in this house is mine!”
Natalya silently walked past her mother-in-law into the bedroom. She took two suitcases down from the overhead storage—hers and the child’s. Methodically, she began folding clothes. First hers, then Dima’s things. Valentina Yegorovna stood in the doorway and watched like a hawk.
“That dress was bought here! Leave it!”
“I brought this dress with me three years ago,” Natalya replied calmly, continuing to pack.
“You’re lying! Anton, tell her!”
But Anton did not appear. Natalya took documents from the nightstand—hers and her son’s, the savings book, and a small box with jewelry left from her mother. She carefully put everything into a separate bag.
“What’s that? Show me!” Valentina Yegorovna tried to snatch the bag.
“These are my documents and my son’s documents. Don’t touch them.”
Natalya went into the child’s room. Dima sat on the bed, pressing his favorite teddy bear to his chest.
“Mommy, are we never coming back here?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll see.”
The woman quickly packed the child’s clothes, textbooks, and notebooks. She took the drawing albums her son loved so much. Her mother-in-law followed behind, muttering:
“Just try taking anything of mine! I’ll call the police! Thief!”
Natalya stopped and turned to Valentina Yegorovna.
“You know what? I’m going to the neighbors now. Let Nina Vasilyevna and Pyotr Ivanovich witness what I’m taking, so there won’t be talk later that I stole something.”
“Go ahead! Gather the whole village if you want!”
Natalya went out into the yard. In the neighboring yard, Nina Vasilyevna was watering the garden beds.
“Nina Vasilyevna, could you come over for a minute?”
The neighbor came to the fence. The women were on good terms and often talked.
“What happened, Natashenka? You look so pale.”
“Dima and I are leaving. For good. Could you and Pyotr Ivanovich come inside and see what I’m taking? So Valentina Yegorovna doesn’t accuse me of theft afterward.”
“Good Lord, has it really come to this? Of course. I’ll call my husband right now.”
Five minutes later, the neighbors were standing in the hallway. Valentina Yegorovna puffed herself up like a turkey.
“Why did you come? To put on a circus?”
“We came as witnesses,” Pyotr Ivanovich said firmly. “To record that Natalya Sergeyevna is taking only personal belongings.”
In front of the neighbors, Natalya once again went through the house, showing what she was taking: two suitcases with clothes, a bag with documents, a backpack with the child’s toys, and a few books.
“That’s all. I’m not taking anything else. All the furniture, dishes, and appliances are staying.”
“And rightly so! No need to drag away my property!” the mother-in-law shouted.
Nina Vasilyevna shook her head.
“Valentina Yegorovna, shame on you! Natasha maintained this house for so many years—the garden, the flowers…”
“Mind your own business! Don’t bring your rules into someone else’s home!”
Natalya carried the things out into the yard. She ordered a taxi through an app. While they waited for the car, Dima pressed himself against his mother, trying not to look at his grandmother.
“Mom, is Uncle Anton not coming with us?”
“No, sweetheart.”
Anton finally appeared in the doorway. His face looked confused.
“Natash, are you serious? Where are you going?”
“To my parents.”
“But… why? We can talk, figure this out…”
“Figure out what, Anton? Your mother is throwing me and my child out of the house. You’re silent. What is there to talk about?”
“She just lost her temper. Mom didn’t mean it badly. That’s just her character.”
Natalya looked at her husband. They had lived together for three years, yet it was as if a stranger stood before her.
“Anton, your mother called my son a degenerate and a bastard. In front of you. And you stayed silent.”
“What could I say? She’s my mother!”
“And who are we to you? Random people?”
The taxi arrived. The driver helped load the things into the trunk. Dima climbed into the back seat. Natalya turned to Anton.
“I’m filing for divorce.”
“Natash, wait! Don’t do this! Let’s talk!”
But Natalya was already getting into the car. When the taxi pulled away, Dima turned around and looked through the rear window. Anton stood in the middle of the yard, and beside him Valentina Yegorovna was shouting something and waving her arms.
“Mom, are you crying?”
Natalya wiped her eyes.
“No, sweetheart. I’m just tired.”
The road to her parents’ home took two hours. Natalya’s parents lived in the regional center, in a three-room apartment. Galina Andreyevna opened the door and immediately understood everything from her daughter’s face.
“Come in, my dears. Dima, Grandpa is in the room. Go to him. He bought you a new book.”
The boy ran to his grandfather, while Natalya collapsed into her mother’s arms and finally let herself cry.
“That’s it, daughter, that’s it. Cry. You’ll tell me later.”
That evening, when Dima had fallen asleep, Natalya told her parents everything. Nikolai Stepanovich listened silently, only clenching his fists.
“You did the right thing by leaving,” her father said. “There was no reason to tolerate that. It’s a pity you didn’t tell us sooner.”
“I thought I could handle it. I thought Anton would come to his senses and talk to his mother.”
“Your Anton is a mama’s boy,” Galina Andreyevna sighed. “Men like that find it easier to get a new wife than to argue with their mother.”
Natalya’s phone kept ringing nonstop. Anton called every hour. Natalya did not answer. Finally, she wrote a message: “Don’t call. We’ll communicate through lawyers.”
The next day, Natalya went to a lawyer. Filing for divorce turned out to be simple—there was no jointly owned property, the house belonged to her mother-in-law, and they had no children together.
“You’ll be divorced in a month if your husband doesn’t interfere,” the lawyer said.
Anton came three days later. Nikolai Stepanovich did not let him past the threshold.
“Natalya doesn’t want to see you. And don’t traumatize the boy.”
“But I have to explain! I’ll take my mother to live with me. Natasha and I will live together!”
“It’s too late, Anton. You should have thought of that earlier.”
A month passed. The divorce was finalized without any problems. Anton signed all the documents without even trying to dispute anything. Natalya got a job at the local hospital. Dima started at a new school. At first, the boy was sad, but he quickly made friends.
One evening, Galina Andreyevna said to her daughter:
“You know, it’s good everything turned out this way. Imagine if you had lived there another ten years. What would have become of you? And of Dima?”
Natalya nodded. Her mother was right. It was better to leave in time than to endure humiliation all her life. She had a job, she had her son, she had her parents. And that was what mattered most.
Six months later, Nina Vasilyevna called and told her the latest news. Anton was still living with his mother. Valentina Yegorovna now bossed her son around however she wanted. She made him do all the housework, cook, and clean. Anton had lost weight and looked worn down. Problems started at work—he was constantly late because his mother demanded that he first make breakfast and then wash the dishes.
“She now tells everyone how ungrateful you were. But no one believes her. Everyone saw how you took care of the house.”
Natalya listened and shrugged. Let her say whatever she wanted. The important thing was that she and Dima now lived peacefully, without shouting and insults. And that was worth a great deal.