“Your Place Is a Pigsty!” My Mother-in-Law Declared and Called Child Protective Services. But They Ended Up Investigating Her
“I’m going to Child Protective Services first thing tomorrow!”
Nina threateningly pointed toward the clothes scattered across the carpet.
“This isn’t an apartment—it’s a pigsty! The child has a living father, yet she’s forced to live in this filth!”
Dasha leaned her shoulder against the doorframe and calmly folded her arms.
“Go ahead. Get there early and take a place in line.”
Her mother-in-law snorted indignantly, adjusted her shiny handbag under her arm, and proudly marched down the stairs.
Dasha closed the door and looked around the hallway. It was hardly a pigsty. She had simply taken eight-year-old Alina’s winter clothes down from the overhead storage. She needed to check which things her daughter had completely outgrown and which could still be sold online. Jackets, snowsuits, and hats were lying on the floor, waiting to be sorted.
That was precisely when Nina had decided to show up without calling. She still had a spare key to the shared entryway and used it with alarming regularity.
Three years had passed since the divorce. Dasha’s ex-husband, Kolya, had moved to the other side of the city, found a job at an auto repair shop, and faithfully sent five thousand rubles a month for his daughter. That amount barely covered her art classes and a couple of weeks of school lunches.
His mother, however, had never disappeared from Dasha’s life.
She regularly appeared at the door of the rented two-bedroom apartment to offer her invaluable opinions about Dasha’s parenting and housekeeping.
Dasha did not take Nina’s threat about Child Protective Services seriously. An offended woman who had not even been offered slippers could say all kinds of things.
The following day, Dasha went to work. She rented a manicure station in a small beauty salon two blocks from her home. It provided her with a stable income, allowing her to pay the rent and buy groceries while her former husband built his new, carefree life.
Valya, one of her regular clients, was sitting across from her.
“She really said that?” Valya raised her eyebrows while Dasha carefully removed the old polish from her nails.
“Exactly like that. Said my apartment was a pigsty and that she’d send Child Protective Services after me.”
“Forget about it. My former mother-in-law used to threaten me too. Sometimes with the police, sometimes with court. They like doing that to make themselves feel important.”
Dasha brushed the dust from her worktable.
“I did forget about it. It’s just irritating. I took yesterday off to sort through Alina’s clothes. Half of them are too small—the sleeves barely reach her elbows. I thought I could sell the old things, add some money, and buy her a decent winter coat. Then Her Majesty arrived to conduct an inspection.”
“What about your ex? Doesn’t he want to pay for the coat?”
“Kolya?” Dasha gave a bitter smile. “Yesterday, Kolya sent his legally required five thousand. Then he wrote, ‘I transferred the child support. My car broke down, so don’t ask me for anything else.’ As though I call him begging for money every day.”
“Listen, why don’t you change the lock on the shared entrance? Why do you let her keep wandering in?”
“The neighbors are against it. Old Mrs. Shura lives there, and changing the key would be a full-scale tragedy for her. So I have to put up with it. Let Nina come if she wants. The main thing is that she leaves Alina alone.”
At that moment, Dasha’s phone screen lit up.
A message had arrived. Dasha glanced at the lines and frowned. It was from her daughter, who had returned from school an hour earlier.
“Mom, Grandma is here. Dad came with her. They’re walking around the rooms and arguing.”
Dasha apologized to her client, quickly finished the appointment, pulled on her coat, and hurried home.
The hallway smelled of unfamiliar perfume. Dasha kicked off her boots and went into the kitchen.
Kolya was sitting on a stool by the window. He was wearing a good-quality leather jacket and turning a set of car keys over in his hands.
The keys to the same car that had supposedly broken down.
Nina stood beside the stove, looking like the embodiment of grief. Alina sat at the table, staring nervously at her father.
“Go to your room, sweetheart,” Dasha gently told her daughter. “Do your homework.”
The girl quickly slid off the chair and disappeared behind the door.
“So, what’s this meeting about?” Dasha asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Kolya straightened his back and put the keys in his pocket.
“Hi, Dash. Mom says you’ve got problems here. I came to sort things out.”
“We’re doing perfectly well. The real question is what you’re doing here in the middle of the day on a Wednesday. Don’t you have to work?”
“I took time off,” her former husband muttered, avoiding her eyes. “I’m worried about my daughter, you know. Mom called me yesterday in tears. She said the child was living in unsanitary conditions. Clothes everywhere, and her mother constantly disappearing at work.”
“Exactly!” Nina exclaimed triumphantly. “She dumps the girl on strangers at the after-school program while she files people’s nails all day!”
Dasha pushed herself away from the doorframe and approached the table.
“You should keep quiet about the after-school program, Nina. Who promised to pick Alina up from school on Tuesdays last month? You did it twice and forgot the third time. The child sat on the school steps for an hour until I rushed over from work.”
Red blotches appeared on Nina’s face.
“My blood pressure went up! I’m an elderly woman!”
“But apparently you’re healthy enough to inspect other people’s apartments.”
Dasha looked at her former husband.
“And what about you, Kolya? When was the last time you bought her even one piece of clothing, Father of the Year? Your five thousand rubles barely covers one week of school lunches.”
“I pay child support!” Kolya snapped. “I pay exactly what the court ordered! Don’t try to make me look like a monster! I’m not a millionaire!”
“I’m not making you look like anything. I’m stating a fact. Your mother comes here to drain the life out of me, then calls you and invents fairy tales about Child Protective Services. Go check the refrigerator, since you came here to conduct an inspection. There’s fresh soup and meat patties inside. So much for the pigsty you’re looking for.”
“I’m not inventing anything!” Nina threw up her hands. “The child has a living father, yet she’s growing up like a neglected orphan! Her grades are slipping! I will write clearly in my complaint that I demand custody of my granddaughter be transferred to us! Kolya will take her! We’ll provide her with proper living conditions!”
The only sound in the kitchen was water dripping from the faucet, which had not been completely turned off.
Kolya coughed nervously.
“Mom, what are you talking about? Take her where? I rent a room with some guys on the outskirts of the city. It’s basically a dormitory.”
“We’ll take her to my place!” Nina announced calmly. “I have a two-bedroom apartment! I have a good pension and plenty of free time. We’ll raise the girl properly. She’ll be supervised, well fed, and properly dressed. Not like she is here.”
Dasha looked at her former mother-in-law and suddenly burst into loud laughter.
It was genuine laughter. She laughed for so long that Kolya began glancing nervously toward the front door.
“What’s so funny?” Nina asked, offended.
“To your place?” Dasha wiped away a tear. “You’re going to raise her properly? Kolya, when was the last time you visited your mother?”
The man frowned, trying to remember.
“About six months ago, I think. I stopped by for half an hour on her birthday. Why?”
“That’s why.”
Dasha decisively headed toward the hallway.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?” her former husband asked, confused.
“To Nina’s place. It’s a ten-minute walk through the courtyards. We’ll go right now and see exactly where you’re planning to take the child. We can also pick up Alina’s winter boots, which your mother promised to have repaired back in March and never returned.”
Nina’s expression changed instantly. She pressed her shiny handbag tightly against her chest.
“I… I haven’t cleaned!” she squeaked, backing toward the wall. “I’ll invite you another time. Next week. I’m not feeling well today.”
“No. Inspections are conducted without warning. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Come on, Kolya. You can see the ideal living conditions being offered to your daughter. We’ll evaluate the housing, so to speak.”
Still not understanding what was happening, her former husband obediently put on his shoes.
Throughout the entire walk to the neighboring block, Nina muttered something about a sudden rise in blood pressure, keys left at the country house, and an urgent need to stop by the pharmacy.
But Kolya was determined.
He had become curious about why his mother was panicking.
They climbed to the third floor of an old Soviet-era apartment building. Looking utterly defeated, Nina fumbled with her key in the lock.
The key turned, and the door reluctantly opened.
A smell of stale dust, dampness, and old newspapers rushed out of the hallway.
Kolya took one step inside and stopped.
There was simply nowhere else to go.
Cardboard banana boxes were stacked along the walls all the way to the ceiling. No fewer than a dozen unfamiliar coats, raincoats, and faded jackets hung on the coat rack. A cracked cabinet stood forlornly in the corner, covered by a huge pile of yellowed supermarket advertisements.
“Good Lord,” Kolya said quietly.
He tried to enter the room but stumbled over a rusty bucket filled with old rags and broken children’s toys.
Dasha stood on the landing, silently watching her former husband’s reaction.
She knew Nina’s secret perfectly well. Her former mother-in-law was famous throughout the neighborhood for her passion for hoarding.
She dragged broken stools, cracked dishes, discarded clothing, and empty glass jars into the apartment.
“It might come in handy someday” was her standard answer whenever the neighbors questioned her.
The situation in the main room was even worse.
Half of the sofa was buried under broken umbrellas and stacks of gardening magazines tied together with string. It was impossible to reach the window because of a barricade made from dried-out chairs and old tires. A mountain of unwashed plastic containers towered over the dining table.
“This… I’m planning renovations!” Nina tried to squeeze past her son, desperately blocking his view of a cabinet overflowing with tangled balls of yarn and mysterious wires. “I’m slowly collecting things for the country house!”
“What country house, Mom?” Kolya stared in disbelief at the mountains of garbage, afraid to take a step in any direction in case a pyramid of boxes collapsed on top of him. “We sold it eight years ago.”
“You never know! We might buy another one! I’ll throw everything away soon, I swear! I simply haven’t had the time!”
Kolya slowly turned around and went back into the stairwell.
He took his phone from his pocket, absentmindedly turned it over in his hands, and then looked at his former wife.
He looked completely lost.
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” Dasha shrugged indifferently. “The next time she calls you and tells you I’m a bad mother, remember these banana boxes. And don’t bother looking for Alina’s boots, Nina. I’ll buy her new ones.”
She turned and walked down the stairs.
She still needed to make dinner and help her daughter with mathematics.
“Hey, wait!” Kolya called, catching up with her outside the building.
Dasha stopped.
“What do you want?”
“Listen, I… I’m sorry I came at you like that.” Kolya kicked a small stone across the pavement. He avoided looking her in the eyes. “Mom got me worked up. I’ll transfer another ten thousand tonight. For the winter coat. Or the boots. You can decide.”
“Transfer it,” Dasha replied with a brief nod. “Should I give Alina your number? She asked for it. She misses you.”
“Yes, let her call. I’m free this weekend. I’ll take her to the park. And… you should change the lock on the shared entryway. I’ll talk to your neighbor myself if necessary.”
Dasha continued walking toward her apartment building.
She had no illusions.
Kolya was not suddenly going to become Father of the Year. He would not begin paying millions in child support, and Nina certainly would not stop dragging broken objects home from the garbage.
But that evening, with a clear conscience, Dasha called a locksmith and arranged to have the lock changed.