Vera had just seen her husband, Dmitry, off to work. She kissed him gently on the cheek, then closed the door behind him and decided to rest for a bit. The day promised to be a busy one: working from home, household chores, and dealing with the rented apartment in Nizhny Novgorod that they had moved into after their wedding. They had just returned from their honeymoon and hadn’t quite settled in yet. The apartment, though not theirs, was cozy — well-renovated, warm, bright, and with a view of the Volga. The landlords had spent a long time choosing tenants and had settled on them — a young, intellectual couple.
Vera had a remote workday. She worked on a flexible schedule: a few days at the office, and the rest from home. She sat down at her laptop, opened her email, and began sorting through her tasks when the doorbell rang. She was surprised — she wasn’t expecting anyone. Standing at the door was her mother-in-law, Galina Stepanovna.
“Hello,” Vera said, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“I came to see my son,” her mother-in-law replied curtly, not waiting for an invitation, and walked right into the apartment.
“Dmitry isn’t here; he’s at work.”
“That’s fine, I’ll wait,” Galina Stepanovna said, heading straight to the kitchen.
“Wait… it’s a workday, I have calls scheduled. Please come back in the evening when Dima returns,” Vera responded calmly but firmly, blocking her path.
Her mother-in-law frowned but turned around and left. In the evening, Dmitry was surprised.
“Mom complained that you didn’t even offer her tea.”
“Dima, you know how she likes to just show up unannounced, like she’s at her own house. I was working, and she was acting like it was a restaurant. And do you remember how she behaved in our previous apartment?”
Dmitry shrugged.
“You can’t change your mom. I invited her for lunch on Saturday. Let’s try again, without any arguments.”
Vera agreed but reminded him, “Friday is for cleaning, and on Sunday, we have a celebration at our friend’s. My schedule’s already packed.”
Saturday’s lunch went off without a hitch. Her mother-in-law sat at the table, eating, but occasionally throwing in some sharp remarks:
“Your apartment is too expensive. You could’ve rented a cheaper place in a residential area. And your parents have their own house — couldn’t you have stayed with them and saved for your own place?”
Vera responded calmly: “Ask Dmitry if he wants to live with my parents.”
“No way,” Dmitry interjected. “I need my own space.”
“But the apartment isn’t yours!” Galina Stepanovna pointed out sharply.
“For a year, it’s ours. We pay for it, and we’re happy with it,” he retorted.
Then her mother-in-law suggested:
“Why don’t you move in with me? I have a three-room apartment, there’s plenty of space.”
“No, mom. We’ll visit, but living together is a bad idea. We have different rhythms.”
The next week, Vera was working from home again. Dmitry left, and she decided to take a nap. But soon, she was woken by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She frowned. Dmitry had left, and he didn’t make coffee. So who was making it? She put on her robe and went to the kitchen — and froze. There, sitting at the table, was Galina Stepanovna, calmly sipping coffee and eating pie.
“How did you get in here?” Vera asked coldly.
“I have keys. Dmitry gave them to me. It’s his apartment. What’s his is mine.”
“Where did you get the keys?” Vera hissed.
“I took them on Saturday. They were in the hallway. And they’re staying with me,” Galina Stepanovna said nonchalantly.
“We’ll discuss this with my husband. But for now — leave. I need to work.”
“I’m not leaving until I say everything I think. I’ve never liked you from the start. You have a country name, your family has nothing. Dmitry used to give me half his salary, now it’s barely anything. Everything goes to you. The apartment is rented, the food is from cafes, and you’re living off him. And you haven’t had kids in two years. And your cooking — it’s worse than in a student cafeteria!”
“Are you done?” Vera asked calmly. “Then give me the keys.”
“No, I won’t,” Galina Stepanovna said, reaching for her bag, but Vera was faster. She emptied the contents onto the table and took the keys.
“Now, leave.”
“You’ll regret this! Dmitry will kick you out when he finds out how you treated his mother!” Galina Stepanovna yelled as she slammed the door.
That evening, Vera told Dmitry everything. He listened silently, then hugged her and said:
“I’ll handle it. And yes — you were right.”
Vera didn’t cry. She knew that respect had to be defended immediately. Otherwise, people would walk all over you, even if they were family.