Just After I Was Discharged From the Hospital, My Husband Suggested That His Mother Move In With Us for a Month
“Who said I gave permission to rearrange the furniture in my apartment?” Natasha finally snapped.
“And who’s going to stop me? You?” her mother-in-law laughed.
Natasha pressed her medical file tightly against her chest, as though trying to hide her diagnosis from curious eyes. The clinic corridor was noisy, but she felt as if she were completely alone—just her, those walls, and a quiet little voice inside whispering, “Everything will be all right.”
The doctors had said the surgery was uncomplicated, but any medical procedure frightened her. Especially since the question, “So, when are you finally going to have children?” had become painfully familiar.
Natasha was thirty-two, and after three years of marriage, she and her husband still had not managed to have a child.
Marina Petrovna, Natasha’s mother-in-law, could not stand uncertainty. Her son Alexei had always been an open book, but ever since he got married, he had become “secretive.” At least, that was how Marina Petrovna described him.
“So what exactly is wrong with her?” she asked for what felt like the hundredth time as she poured her son tea and piled pastries onto his plate. “Gastritis? Or something feminine? There must be a reason she hasn’t been able to have a baby for so long!”
“Mom, I told you, everything is under control. Don’t worry. It’s Natasha’s business. She’ll handle it,” Alexei said, eating one pastry after another.
“How can I not worry?” Marina Petrovna sighed loudly. “You told me yourself that you wanted children. What if she has some kind of women’s problem?”
Alexei clenched his teeth. He knew his mother would not calm down until she dragged the information out of him. But Natasha had specifically asked him not to tell anyone—not even his mother.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“You’ll figure it out…” Marina Petrovna snorted. “I heard that Lyudochka’s niece from the third floor is already expecting her third child. She’s about to give birth any day now…”
“Are you ever going to stop?” Alexei abruptly got up from the table. “Give me some more pastries.”
At the hospital, Natasha lay staring at the ceiling. Her mother, Irina Nikolaevna, sat beside her and gently stroked her hand.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “The doctors are good. They’ll do everything properly, and afterward you’ll still be able to carry a baby.”
“I know…” Natasha smiled. “I’m just… a little scared.”
“I understand, sweetheart. We’ll hope for the best. The important thing is that you believe everything will be fine.”
Natasha closed her eyes.
She did not want to complain, but two years earlier her mother-in-law had already managed to call nearly everyone she knew and tell them that her daughter-in-law was sickly and practically useless.
“The main thing is that Lesha supports you,” Irina Nikolaevna sighed, as though reading her daughter’s thoughts.
The surgery was scheduled around lunchtime, and every minute before it seemed endless. It became even harder after Irina Nikolaevna left. Natasha’s mind filled with unpleasant thoughts—that something would go wrong, that the surgery would fail.
But in the end, everything went quickly and successfully.
Two days later Natasha was already feeling much better, yet Lesha still had not appeared at the hospital.
Irina Nikolaevna, on the other hand, came every evening after work. Somehow, she found time to prepare homemade chicken soup and Natasha’s favorite pancakes with sour cream.
Lesha did not call.
Natasha was the one who called him every evening, holding the phone to her ear while the footsteps of nurses gradually faded in the hospital corridor.
“How are things?” she would ask, trying to make her voice sound cheerful.
“Great!” he would reply. “You should’ve seen the client who came in today—he bought a Mercedes with the best possible package! I handled him personally, so I’m going to get a pretty good bonus.”
“Good for you,” Natasha would say with a faint smile as she stared at the ceiling.
He talked about cars, coworkers, and the new loan specialist who, according to him, “had no brains, just a pretty face.”
Not once did Lesha ask Natasha how she was feeling.
She told herself that perhaps he simply felt awkward discussing her health. Or maybe he was afraid of upsetting her.
On the final day before her discharge, their phone conversation began as usual, with Lesha bragging about his achievements at work.
Natasha had just opened her mouth to tell him that she would be discharged the next day when he suddenly interrupted her.
“By the way, Mom is moving in with us… temporarily.”
“…What?”
“Well, you’ve just had surgery. Who’s going to cook soup for you? I work. Mom is retired and has nothing to do anyway.”
Natasha fell silent and gripped the bedsheet in her fist.
“Did you… ask me?”
“What’s there to ask?” Lesha snorted. “You said yourself that you still weren’t feeling very well. Who else is supposed to help if not my mother?”
He spoke as casually as if he were suggesting they buy dumplings for dinner.
“Lesha…”
“All right, a client is calling me. I’ll pick you up from the hospital tomorrow at five.”
Irina Nikolaevna arrived earlier the next day and helped Natasha pack her things. Natasha completed the discharge paperwork, and they began walking downstairs.
“Mom,” Natasha suddenly said, grabbing her mother’s hand. “Lesha… invited Marina Petrovna to stay with us. He said she would take care of me.”
Irina Nikolaevna froze.
Then she slowly exhaled.
“And who was stopping that darling woman from taking care of you while you were lying in the hospital for a week?”
“Her legs hurt.”
“And mine don’t?” Irina Nikolaevna replied sharply. “If she had really wanted to visit you, she would have come. No… something about this doesn’t feel right.”
Her mother abruptly turned toward the window, but Natasha still noticed her lips tremble.
“You can always throw both of them out. Don’t forget whose apartment it is. And if anything happens, call me immediately. Don’t let anyone mistreat you. You’re completely healthy now.”
Lesha met them outside the hospital and patted his wife on the shoulder.
“You’ve lost some weight,” he said, taking the bag from his mother-in-law. “Thank you, Irina Nikolaevna. We can manage from here.”
In the car, he turned on music and spent the entire drive talking about his plans for the weekend.
Natasha stared out the window, only occasionally listening to her husband’s stories.
When Natasha entered her apartment, she immediately smelled fried potatoes.
The clinking of a fork against a plate came from the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re back!” Marina Petrovna came into the hallway, wiping her hands on an apron. “Well, sick girl, how are you feeling?”
“Thank you, I’m fine,” Natasha whispered.
“I left you some buckwheat with a cutlet. Just heat it up. Lesha and I are having fried potatoes.”
Lesha went straight to the shower, tossing his keys onto the sofa.
It apparently never occurred to him that perhaps his wife, who had just come home from the hospital, might want to use the bathroom first.
Marina Petrovna’s gaze slid toward Natasha’s stomach.
“So what did the doctors say? Maybe… later you’ll still manage?”
Natasha suddenly understood.
He had told her.
He had told his mother everything Natasha had specifically asked him to keep private.
“I’m going to lie down,” she said abruptly.
In the bedroom, she shut the door and sat down on the bed, clutching a pillow.
From behind the wall came the sound of dishes clattering. Her mother-in-law was washing plates Natasha had never even seen before.
Natasha closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached into the wardrobe for her robe.
The entire wardrobe smelled strongly of cheap laundry detergent.
She grimaced but changed into her home clothes.
Another surprise waited for her in the bathroom.
Natasha’s favorite lavender liquid soap had disappeared. In its place sat an ordinary bar of soap in a dish, already half dissolved into a soggy mess.
“Finally!” Marina Petrovna called when Natasha entered the kitchen.
She and Lesha were sitting at the table, finishing their potatoes and cutlets.
A brand-new dinner set decorated the table—snow-white plates with gold rims and some kind of floral pattern.
Natasha’s ceramic mugs, which she and Lesha had chosen at a fair on the day of their engagement, had vanished without a trace.
“Sit down,” her mother-in-law muttered without even looking up from her plate.
Silently, Natasha took her old plate from the shelf—the only surviving one from the original set—and served herself some potatoes from the shared frying pan.
“What are you doing?!” Marina Petrovna suddenly raised her head. “You’re not allowed to eat fried food!”
“I am,” Natasha said quietly but clearly. “I don’t need any special diet.”
Her mother-in-law snorted and demonstratively pushed the frying pan farther away.
“Well, if you want complications…”
Lesha, seemingly oblivious to the tension, enthusiastically served himself a second helping.
“By the way,” Marina Petrovna suddenly said, poking at her food with her fork, “I was shocked by how dirty this apartment was. Seven days have passed, and I’ve only just finished cleaning and washing everything. I put your ridiculous plates in the back cabinet. They’re far too heavy, and ugly besides.”
Natasha froze with her fork suspended in the air.
“A week?” Her voice trembled. “But I only came home today…”
“Well, yes.” Her mother-in-law smiled smugly. “Leshenka was lonely here by himself. And the apartment needed to be put in order before you came home.”
Natasha looked at her husband.
He was concentrating on picking a piece of meat from between his teeth.
Natasha’s head began to buzz.
She mechanically chewed the overcooked potatoes, which suddenly seemed completely tasteless.
“And tomorrow,” her mother-in-law continued, “I want to rearrange the furniture in the living room. That sofa of yours is absolutely terrible! But what can you do? Furniture is expensive these days.”
Lesha finally raised his eyes.
“Mom, Natasha just came home from the hospital… and I’m tired from work. I’m sick of all this women’s talk.”
“Exactly!” Marina Petrovna slapped her palm against the table. “Tomorrow morning we’ll start moving the furniture. And tonight we sleep!”
She was about to leave when Natasha stopped her.
“I’m not moving any furniture. I’m not supposed to strain myself right now.”
“Oh, give me a break! You can stuff yourself with fried potatoes, but the moment somebody asks you to help around the house, suddenly you’re sick again. Look at her, Lesha!”
“Mom’s right, Natash. It’s already been a week. And Mom wants to live comfortably too.”
“Who said I gave permission to rearrange the furniture in my apartment?” Natasha finally snapped.
“And who’s going to stop me? You?” her mother-in-law laughed.
“Yes. Me. Because this apartment is mine,” Natalia said sharply.
“You should be kissing my son’s hands for putting up with someone as sickly as you,” Marina Petrovna said—and immediately covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, sickly, am I?! Then both of you get out! And take your horrible plates with you! The whole apartment stinks of your disgusting laundry detergent!”
Natasha barely recognized herself.
Her mother-in-law stared at her in shock at first, then burst out laughing.
“Who exactly are you trying to scare? I’ll put you in your place very quickly.”
“And I’ll deal with you too.”
Natasha herself hardly understood how she had already dialed the number of a police officer she knew.
She assumed the police probably would not come over something like this.
But Andrei arrived fifteen minutes later.
He introduced himself and asked Marina Petrovna and Alexei for their documents.
Natasha explained the entire situation to him as if speaking to a stranger.
She said she was divorcing her husband, that he refused to move out, and that on top of everything else, he had brought his mother into her apartment.
In the end, both Alexei and Marina Petrovna had to gather their belongings and leave.
Natasha locked the door behind them and finally allowed herself to breathe.
She immediately called her mother.
Her fingers trembled as she dialed the number.
“Mom, you won’t believe what just happened here…” Her voice broke as she began telling her about the new plates, her missing belongings, and her mother-in-law’s plans to rearrange the apartment.
“I’m coming right now!” Irina Nikolaevna said, already reaching for her keys.
“No.” Natasha firmly shook her head even though she knew her mother could not see her. “I already got them out with Andrei’s help. Right now, I just need to be alone.”
She ended the call and looked around the apartment.
Natasha spent the next several days quietly cleaning.
She threw away Lesha’s old sneakers, which he had spent years refusing to take to the trash, and discarded jars filled with mysterious bolts and screws that he insisted “might come in handy someday.”
In the back cabinet, she found her plates.
Fortunately, Marina Petrovna had not had time to throw them away.
In the kitchen, Natasha cooked seafood pasta—the exact dish Lesha had always hated.
The aroma of garlic and white wine filled the apartment, and for the first time in a long while, Natasha felt happy.
Then she sat down at her laptop and filed for divorce.
Natasha knew she should have done it long ago.
Lesha was not the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
He had not been there when she was frightened. He had not supported her when she needed him most.
Instead, he had brought his mother into their home, where she immediately began making her own rules.
A few days later, Natasha’s phone rang.
“Natash, hi. It’s Andrei.”
His voice sounded warm and caring.
“How are you? Those relatives haven’t come back, have they?”
“No,” Natasha said with a smile. “Everything’s quiet so far.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“Listen… maybe we could meet? At a café or something. Just talk.”
Natasha was taken aback.
She had not expected an invitation like that from her former classmate.
“Sure,” she finally replied.
Their meeting at the café became the beginning of a new romantic relationship.
Andrei turned out to be attentive and interesting to talk to.
He did not interrupt her, brag about his achievements, or try to tell he
r how to live her life.
At first, they spent time together simply as friends.
But gradually, they became closer.
Two years later, Natasha became a mother.
She moved in with Andrei and rented out her apartment.
Sometimes, when she happened to pass by it, she remembered the days when she had lived there with Lesha.
But now they were only memories—distant ones that no longer hurt nearly as much.
She was happy.
She was beside someone who truly valued her.
And for the first time in a very long while, Natasha felt that everything in her life was exactly as it was supposed to be.