Polina carefully examined the new curtains. Light blue, with delicate floral patterns—exactly what she had envisioned for the living room. She adjusted the pleats, stepped back, and smiled at her work.
— Sergey, what do you think? — Polina asked, turning to her husband, who was sitting in an armchair, absorbed in his phone.
— It’s fine, — Sergey mumbled without looking up.
— Maybe we should have gone for a bigger pattern? — Polina hesitated, unsure.
Sergey glanced at the window briefly, then shrugged.
— Curtains are just curtains.
Polina sighed. Lately, Sergey had become distant, and there seemed to be something weighing on him. She sat down on the edge of the sofa, touching his hand.
— Is something bothering you? You’ve been acting differently lately.
Sergey paused, put down his phone, and rubbed his nose.
— Polina, we need to talk, — his voice sounded unusually serious. — Mom is retiring next week.
— So? — Polina raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
— And she’ll have a tough time being alone. She’s used to having people around, being social. Sitting in four walls isn’t for her.
Polina felt a tightness in her chest, knowing where this conversation was going.
— I was thinking… — Sergey continued, — maybe she could stay with us for a while? Until she gets used to her new routine.
Polina clenched her fingers into a fist. Sergey’s mother, Larisa Arkadyevna, had always been critical of her. Every time they met, she found something to complain about: Polina was too thin, her clothes were wrong, or she didn’t keep the apartment as well as she should.
— How long are we talking about? — Polina asked carefully, trying to keep her emotions in check.
— Well, a month or two, — Sergey shrugged. — Maybe until the fall.
— Fine, — Polina agreed after a long pause. — But just temporarily.
— You’re the best! — Sergey hugged her impulsively. — Mom will appreciate your care.
A week later, Larisa Arkadyevna arrived with two large suitcases.
— I hope you’ve prepared a room for me, — she said, looking around the hallway with a critical eye.
— Of course, Mom. The guest room is all yours, — Sergey took the suitcases and carried them to the room.
Polina forced a smile.
— Come in, Larisa Arkadyevna. Would you like some tea?
— Yes, but no sugar, — her mother-in-law snapped, walking past Polina. — And take down these awful flowery rags from the window. They’re making my eyes hurt.
Polina bit her lip but said nothing. It was only for a couple of months, she reminded herself.
But what was supposed to be a couple of months quietly stretched into six. Larisa Arkadyevna had settled in, filling the kitchen with her jars of homemade jam and pickles, rearranging the paintings in the living room, and throwing out Polina’s favorite decorative pillows, claiming they just “gather dust.”
— Sergey, I can’t do this anymore, — Polina whispered to her husband one evening, exhausted. — Your mom is acting like this is her apartment.
— She’s just used to being in charge, — Sergey sighed, trying to appease her. — You know she’s going through a tough time. She’s at an age where everything feels like a crisis.
— What crisis at sixty? — Polina threw her hands up. — She threw away my collection of porcelain figurines yesterday!
— She didn’t throw them away, she packed them in a box. They were taking up too much space.
— In my apartment!
— In our apartment, — Sergey corrected.
— The apartment I bought before we got married, using the money from selling my grandmother’s apartment, — Polina reminded him.
Sergey grimaced.
— Let’s not start this conversation again. Just be patient a little longer.
Polina turned away, her frustration growing. More and more, she found herself retreating to the bedroom, avoiding her mother-in-law’s sharp remarks and Sergey’s indifference.
Soon, the criticisms from her mother-in-law started to become more frequent.
— You’ve over-salted it again, — Larisa Arkadyevna huffed, pushing away her plate of stewed potatoes. — In my day, girls were taught to cook properly by their mothers.
— In your backwards day, women were also married off without asking, — Polina snapped, immediately regretting the words.
— Sergey! Did you hear how she’s talking to me? — Larisa Arkadyevna turned to her son, her voice filled with indignation. — I’m an elderly person; I deserve respect!
— Polina, don’t start, — Sergey said tiredly. — Mom is right, we need to respect our elders.
Polina stood up in silence, her heart sinking. A wave of resentment flooded over her. It was no longer just her mother-in-law — now, her husband had become her enemy, too, turning her into a guest in her own home.
One morning, as she was getting ready for work, Polina noticed that her favorite blouse was missing from her closet.
— Larisa Arkadyevna, have you seen my white blouse? — she asked, walking into the kitchen.
— That tasteless thing? I washed it. You’ve been washing it all wrong, that’s why it looks like a rag.
— But I was going to wear it today! — Polina clenched her fists, trying to hold back her frustration.
— Buy something decent for yourself, — her mother-in-law cut in. — You should learn how to dress properly at your age. You’re married now, not a teenager.
Polina was about to respond, but at that moment Sergey walked into the kitchen.
— What’s going on?
— Your mom took my things without asking! — Polina exclaimed, unable to contain herself.
— I’m just helping her look presentable, — Larisa Arkadyevna countered. — Sergey, tell her it’s inappropriate for a married woman to wear such revealing things.
— A white blouse is revealing? — Polina looked at her mother-in-law, stunned.
Sergey raised his hands in a placating gesture.
— Let’s not argue about a blouse. Polina, just wear something else. And you, Mom, next time ask before taking someone else’s things.
Polina, already late for work, felt exhausted. She didn’t want to go home. Her apartment had become a foreign territory where every step she took was met with criticism and condescension.
That evening, she met her friend Natasha at a café near home.
“I can’t take this anymore,” Polina confessed, stirring her now-cold tea. “She’s turned my life into a nightmare.”
“And Sergey?” Natasha asked.
“Always on his mother’s side,” Polina smiled bitterly. “Do you know what he said yesterday? That I should respect his mother because without her, there would be no him and no our marriage.”
“Maybe you should live separately for a while?” Natasha suggested. “I have a spare room.”
Polina shook her head.
“This is my apartment, Natasha. Why should I leave?”
“Then talk to Sergey seriously. No hysteria, no accusations. Explain that you’re uncomfortable.”
Polina thought for a moment. Maybe it was worth having one more conversation with her husband — calmly, rationally, without the drama.
When she returned home, she found Larisa Arkadyevna in her bedroom.
“What are you doing here?” Polina was taken aback.
“Making space in the closet,” her mother-in-law replied matter-of-factly, sorting through things. “I have too many clothes for the guest room. Sergey said I could take some of your closet space.”
That was the last straw.
Polina froze in the doorway, watching as her mother-in-law continued to rearrange her things.
“Stop,” she said, her voice firm but calm.
Her mother-in-law didn’t even look up.
“Are you bothered by making space for your husband’s mother?” she asked, continuing to rifle through the closet. “What a selfish woman you are.”
“This is my bedroom, my closet,” Polina stepped closer. “Please, get out of here.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, girl,” Larisa Arkadyevna straightened up and looked down at Polina. “You may be my son’s wife, but you don’t deserve any respect.”
“What’s going on here?” Sergey appeared in the doorway, drawn by the raised voices.
“Your mother is going through my things!” Polina pointed at the disarray on the bed.
“I just wanted to hang my things, but your wife had a fit,” Larisa Arkadyevna pursed her lips. “I always knew she didn’t respect family values.”
Sergey sighed tiredly.
“Polina, what’s all this noise about? Mom just wanted to help out.”
“A little help?” Polina threw up her hands. “Sergey, she’s taken over the entire guest room, half the kitchen, thrown out my things, rearranged the furniture! And now she’s in our bedroom!”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Sergey waved his hand. “Mom just wants…”
“I don’t care what your mother wants!” Polina interrupted him. “She was supposed to stay for a couple of months, and now she’s been living with us for half a year!”
“So what?” Sergey crossed his arms. “She’s my mother, and I’m not going to throw her out.”
“Into the street?” Polina smiled bitterly. “She has her own apartment! A three-bedroom, by the way!”
“She doesn’t want to live alone,” Sergey cut her off. “You have no heart, Polina?”
“No heart?” Polina glanced at the disorganized room and the glaring expression of her mother-in-law. “I’ve been putting up with your mother turning my life into a nightmare for six months! Six months of hearing how bad a wife, housekeeper, and daughter-in-law I am!”
“Don’t dramatize,” Sergey grimaced.
“I’m not dramatizing! I can’t and don’t want to do this anymore. Either your mother goes back to her place, or…”
“Or what?” Sergey asked challengingly.
Polina fell silent, not knowing what to say. She had never thought their marriage could fall apart because of a trivial household conflict.
“See, Sergey?” Larisa Arkadyevna triumphantly said. “She doesn’t even know how to threaten properly. A weak, spineless girl. She dares to show character in our house? You need to put her in her place!”
And then something snapped inside Polina. The humiliations she had endured, the silent agreement, the fear of conflict, and the desire to please everyone — it all came crashing down in an instant.
She straightened up and looked directly into her mother-in-law’s eyes.
“No, dear mother-in-law, I bought this apartment before our marriage, so pack your things. Today. I won’t let you torment me in my own home anymore.”
“What did you say?” her mother-in-law was stunned.
“You heard me perfectly. Pack your things and leave.”
“You have no right to throw my mother out!” Sergey shouted.
Polina turned to her husband.
“I do. And I’m doing it. The apartment belongs to me. And I decide who lives in it.”
“I’m your husband!”
“Who never once stood by my side,” Polina said bitterly. “Who watched his mother mistreat his wife and stayed silent.”
“You’re just petty and mean,” Larisa Arkadyevna chimed in. “Poor my boy, he didn’t get lucky with a wife.”
“Yes, he didn’t get lucky,” Polina agreed. “But a real man wouldn’t let his mother treat his beloved woman like this.” She took a deep breath and walked to the door. “You have two hours to pack. Both of you.”
“What?” Sergey was stunned. “Are you kicking me out too?”
“Do you want to stay?” Polina raised an eyebrow. “After all of this?”
Sergey was silent, looking from his mother to his wife.
“Don’t worry, son,” Larisa Arkadyevna interrupted. “We’ll go to my place. You’ll find a normal girl who will respect your mother.”
Polina shook her head and left the room. Surprisingly, there was no pain. Only relief. Like a heavy stone had been lifted from her soul.
Two days later, there was a knock on the door. Sergey stood in the doorway.
“Polina, let’s talk,” he started.
“About what?” Polina crossed her arms. “About how you let your mother humiliate me? Or about how you never once stood up for me?”
“I tried to reconcile everyone,” Sergey said. “But I didn’t succeed.”
“You didn’t even try,” Polina shook her head. “You just went the path of least resistance. Mom shouts — so she has to be accommodated. I stay quiet — so everything’s fine with me.”
“I love you, Polina.”
“Love is not just words,” Polina smiled sadly. “It’s also actions. And you chose your mother, not your wife. I respect your choice, but now respect mine.”
She closed the door and leaned against it. Tears ran down her cheeks, but strength surged through her veins. Polina had taken back her life, her apartment, her dignity.
A week later, she repainted the bedroom walls her favorite lavender color, put the light blue curtains with a small floral pattern back up, and bought new decorative pillows. The apartment was once again her home, her fortress, her corner.
And a month later, Natasha introduced her to Andrei — a calm, self-confident man who listened to her stories about work with interest, valued her opinion, and never interrupted. And most importantly — he had his own apartment, where his mother didn’t live.
Sometimes losses turn out to be the beginning of something new, something better. And Polina was grateful to fate for this lesson. She would never again allow anyone to cross her boundaries. Even for love.