“You’ve created problems out of nowhere again, Ler. Mom just needs a week or two to rest, no big deal. The house is empty anyway,” Pavel replied lazily, eyes glued to his phone.
“Pash, are you serious right now? This is my grandmother’s house. Mine. I poured a whole year into it. Alone. By myself. Remember, we were on a break then. And it’s not empty—I live here,” Valeria shot back.
“Yeah, living… between orders and stories,” he muttered. “An online store isn’t a job; it’s a hobby with money involved.”
Valeria clenched her fists, resisting the urge to throw the nearest mug at him. Ceramics or glass—the temptation was strong, but she valued the dishes more than her husband did.
“Can’t Mom go to a sanatorium like normal pensioners?” she asked.
“Her blood pressure won’t allow it. She needs sea air, sunshine, iodine,” Pavel answered.
“She’s got a sharper tongue than a razor,” Valeria sighed. “She thinks I’m some sheltered girl. Last year, I misplaced a pillow, and she declared she raised the son not to have him sleep in a ‘backyard’.”
Pavel put down the phone and stared at her like an exhausted genius called back from the countryside because someone couldn’t open a jar of pickles.
“It’s all your complexes. Mom’s got a strong character. But she’s kind. You just take everything as an attack.”
“Like when she washed the mirror with my shampoo last year, saying ‘At least you’re useful with that,’ and you think I didn’t take offense?”
He stood, scratched his head dramatically, and walked off, his neutral voice floating from the hallway:
“Anyway, she’s coming Friday. I warned you. If that’s unbearable, go stay with Svetka. Andrej’s on a business trip. You can chat, drink wine, have girl talk.”
“And you?” Valeria shouted, feeling helpless and furious. “Are you staying here with your mom?”
“Yeah. We’re closer. Closer than you are to her,” he said, slamming the bathroom door.
That was no longer a warning. It was a fire alarm.
Raissa Petrovna arrived like Empress Catherine: wearing a white hat, dragging a suitcase as if ready for a long winter stay, and nonstop issuing commands.
“Valerochka, open up! There’s a draft and my neck hurts!”
“Pavlik, son, carry the suitcase instead of standing like a statue!”
“Where are the towels? And why is there no vase in the bedroom? I had such beautiful peonies…”
Valeria met her with polite dryness, which might seem indifferent if one were particularly unobservant.
“Towel’s in the bathroom. Vase went to the dacha, along with everything in this house that irritates me.”
“Am I irritating, too?” Raissa Petrovna asked reproachfully as she sank into the chair like a queen on a throne.
“No. You inspire heroic patience. I’ve mentally bought a ticket to Kamchatka today.”
Pavel chuckled.
“You wanted solitude by the sea. Consider this your chance: Mom is your practice in patience, a form of Buddhism, a new level.”
“A level? I’ll give you a level—you’ll have a black eye,” Valeria calmly replied, though inside she felt like an inferno.
Raissa Petrovna shook her head, listening, and said strictly:
“Family means compromises. A woman is the keeper of the hearth, not your internet business, little jars, boxes, stories, or showing off.”
“Raissa Petrovna, I do keep my hearth. You rush in with fire and gasoline.”
She smiled and turned up the TV volume.
On the third day, Valeria realized it was either her or Raissa Petrovna. The roof couldn’t hold both.
Every morning began with criticism: why the coffee wasn’t perfect, why towels weren’t fresh, why Pavel had lost weight (the food was terrible), why Valeria wore a bathrobe instead of a proper house dress appropriate for a well-bred woman, why her nails were short—“at least manicure your nails, you’re a woman after all.”
By the fifth day, Raissa Petrovna stated:
“I’m thinking maybe I’ll stay with you until the end of August. Pavlik’s okay with it. I like it here—air, peace, the view. My soul rests.”
“By the way, my eye twitch started,” Valeria said, voice sharp as a blade. “Do you think that’s accidental?”
Raissa Petrovna croaked, “It’s nerves, your independence. A woman shouldn’t live alone. You’ve exhausted yourself.”
Pavel snorted, grumbling, “Mom’s right. Feels like you’re always at war.”
“You know what’s funny, Pash?” Valeria turned toward him, tucking hair behind her ear. “Yes, it’s like a war. But the front is at home.”
That evening, she wrote Svetka:
“You said your renovations aren’t done? Still looking for a place to hide? Come to me—with your whole football team and dog. Let’s live and see how Raissa Petrovna handles solitude by the sea.”
Svetka replied with a smiley: “I’m in.”
Raissa Petrovna was still unaware that a storm approached: screaming children, running noses, feet in shoes on sofas, Svetka’s husband working from home shouting into Zoom, and a slightly crazy Labrador with a chronic shoe obsession.
But Valeria smiled—always a sign of impending trouble. Just not for her.
On day six, the peaceful morning broke like an anchor being lifted.
Raissa Petrovna, wrapped in a white terry robe, sat on the veranda sweeping bread crumbs while muttering:
“Valerochka, you should take some courses—household management, womanhood. Why’s our coffee bitter, floors sticky, your eyes tired? Your husband’s all right; you need to hold on to him…”
“Raissa Petrovna,” Valeria nodded, placing a teapot in front of her, “My cousin will arrive in fifteen minutes. With her whole crew.”
“Who?” asked Raissa Petrovna, tensing like a dog smelling a stranger.
“Husband, four kids, and a dog. They’ll stay a while, hiding from renovations.”
“Stay? Here? With us?”
“Of course. This ‘seaside house’ isn’t empty. ‘Don’t let it stand idle.’ You said those words. I’m just helping family. Noble, right?”
Raissa Petrovna blinked rapidly, her jaw slackened slightly.
“Four kids? A dog? Are you insane?”
“No, not at all,” Valeria smiled warmly. “As you taught me, I yield. Help those close to me. Family is the most important thing, isn’t it?”
“Pavel?” her voice cracked. “Did you hear that? You’ll live with this?!”
Pavel peeked out of the bedroom, sleepy with a pillow on his head, grumbling:
“I’ve got to be at work in an hour. Don’t shout, please.”
“Great team spirit we have here, Raissa Petrovna—a cozy little nest.”
Then, a motor roared at the gate. The house shook as brakes squealed. Svetka arrived, like a tank: in an old, battered UAZ but with character. The car chaos included screaming children, a dog wedged between seats, and the youngest munching a cucumber like a microphone.
“Hi, darling!” Svetka shouted without getting out. “We’re not empty-handed—we brought a multicooker and folding bed! Where’s our bedroom?”
Raissa Petrovna shrank into her chair as if an earthquake hit beneath.
“Well… this… is the house… here… I…”
“Raissa Petrovna, you and Pavel in the bedroom, Svetka and her husband in the guest room, children on mattresses in the hall. You wanted family warmth? Here it is. Enough for everyone.”
Raissa Petrovna stood.
“I’ll go to a hotel.”
“Well, go ahead. But it’s the season, rooms are booked. Maybe at the traffic police post, Uncle Slava rents beds and dusty pillows.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Learning from the best. You said humor is the lubricant of family life.”
Two hours later, Raissa Petrovna sat on the veranda clutching a chamomile tea cup like a wheel. Hell roared around her.
- Children chased around the yard.
- The eldest girl threw a tantrum over the phone restriction.
- The labrador snatched a chair pillow and hid in the bushes.
“Anya, stay away from the pool!” Svetka’s husband, Andrej, shouted while grabbing the child. “Don’t drink the water again like last time!”
“I didn’t drink it! Vovka pushed me!” Anya screamed, drooling and punching the air.
“Valeria, say something! Tell them this is unbearable!” Raissa Petrovna wailed, clutching her head. “I can’t stand this place!”
“Did you think an online store was unbearable?” Valeria coldly replied. “Welcome to reality. And I can leave. Completely. You all can manage here—Pavel, Mom, Svetka, Andrej, kids.”
“Are you serious?” Pavel finally grasped the situation.
“Absolutely. I pay rent on time, the house is mine, but there’s no peace—minus a hundred nerves. At least your mother is warm and breathing sea air.”
Raissa Petrovna looked at her with a new expression—not angry or irritated but human.
“Maybe I’ll really go to the sanatorium,” she muttered, for the first time losing her pace.
Later, during dinner, when the kids finally calmed down, Valeria listened to Svetka’s stories over a glass of wine.
“And I told him, ‘If you put socks on the microwave again, I’ll call an exorcist!’ And he said, ‘That’s not a microwave, that’s an oven!’ We laughed till it hurt.”
“You’re crazy,” Andrej laughed. “I was just drying them. Summer dries fast!”
“Raissa Petrovna thought the same. Here’s kids, noise, dog…” Valeria quietly added.
“Am I bothering you?” Raissa Petrovna suddenly said, looking at her plate.
“Bother? Raissa Petrovna, you’re the house’s heart. Without you, there’d be no story. And I love drama, especially when I can handle it.”
Raissa Petrovna sighed.
“I’ll leave tomorrow. To a sanatorium. Called Anapa. They have rooms, three meals, massage. I don’t want to cause trouble.”
“Are you sure?” Pavel didn’t expect that.
“I am. You’re all here yourselves.”
“Wise choice,” Svetka raised her fork like a toast. “If I were you, I’d have fled at the word ‘Temya’.”
The dog sneezed and crawled out from under the table dragging a sock.
Raissa Petrovna stood and started packing. No further arguments. At the door, she looked at Valeria softly:
“You’re not what I thought.”
“I didn’t know myself until you arrived,” Valeria answered without blinking.
The night was unexpectedly peaceful. Children asleep, Temya nestled in the bathroom, Pavel went silently to the bedroom. Valeria sat in the kitchen contemplating—not joy, not anger—just silence after a storm.
Tomorrow, Raissa Petrovna would leave. Maybe the day after, tougher decisions awaited. About Pavel.
Because a house can be cleared. But relationships? That’s another battlefield, one where the offensive seems necessary.
The morning came gloomy despite the bright sun. Valeria awoke to silence, which unnerved her.
In the kitchen, Svetka quietly brewed coffee, grumbling about wrong pot sizes. The kids still slept. Temya the dog sulked in the closet after being kicked out of the bedroom.
Raissa Petrovna was gone.
“She left?” Valeria asked her sister.
“At six a.m. She left a note saying she feels like a stranger here and that young people should live their way. She added she’s going to find her own place. Dramatic, but kind of beautiful.”
“Interesting,” Valeria mused. “I guess I got what I wanted.”
Svetka sipped coffee, muttering, “And Pavel?”
“What about him?”
“Don’t you see him? He’s been withdrawn for days, grumbling to himself at night, sitting in a hammock under the stars.”
“Yeah. Because his mom left, but I stayed. He wants the opposite—a quiet backdrop, no noise or demands. Mom in charge, me cooking and cleaning.”
Svetka nodded.
“So, what will you do?”
“Not sure yet, but I have to do something.”
Pavel showed up at lunch, sitting silently with his phone, looking at the pasta like a dead frog.
“Not hungry?” Valeria asked.
“No… just haven’t eaten. Feeling pressure.”
“Pressure?”
He shrugged.
“You see it, right? Everything’s off. Mom left, the house is chaos. Svetka’s great, but we’re on different planets.”
“True. But actually, I’m on my planet—my home. You’re in mine.”
He flinched.
“Starting again?”
“No, I’m ending this. I’m tired of walking on eggshells, guessing if you’re happy, if your mom’s pleased, if I haven’t bruised someone’s ego. I’m my own person. And I’m in my home.”
“Wait. What do you suggest?”
“Decide: wife or mom? Can’t have both, practice proved it.”
Pavel froze, then slid his chair back slowly.
“You’re kicking me out?”
“I propose adult choices. Think. No one else will overstep here. I won’t be caretaker for your family. If you don’t get this is your family, we’re done.”
“What about kids?” he asked at the door.
“What kids?”
“Maybe… later.”
“Pavel,” Valeria stood. “Family first, kids later. We don’t even have the first.”
He left quietly, no argument, no bags. Just his laptop and a wave of unspoken words.
That evening Svetka opened a wine bottle.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“And what next?”
“Silence, Sveta. I’m exhausted from this war. It was like a bad play: me the villain, my mother-in-law the saint, him stuck between a rock and a hard place. Enough. My house isn’t a hospice or trenches. I want peace. And no favors.”
Svetka drank, paused, then said:
“You were his mom. Not the beloved but functional kind—laundry, cooking, listening, not interfering. Now he has no mom at all.”
Valeria smiled:
“Maybe he should get a dog.”
Temya wagged his tail and licked her hand obediently.
- After a week, the house felt lighter.
- The kids adjusted, Svetka tidied the veranda and planted marigolds.
- Even their usually cranky neighbor aunt Galya commented on the newfound peaceful air.
One day, an envelope arrived from a sanatorium. Inside was a postcard showing the sea, signed:
“Valeria, I realize I might have been unfair. I wanted to be needed but pushed too hard. I now understand you don’t need a controlling mother-in-law but freedom. You took it and deserve respect. I’m practicing breathing exercises and massages. If you want peace, just write. Simply write. Raissa Petrovna.”
Valeria held the card to the light and smiled.
“What is it?” Svetka asked.
“An almost admission from Raissa Petrovna.”
“Wow.”
“She’s not iron after all.”
“And Pavel?”
“He wrote days ago asking if he can come ‘just to talk.’”
“And?”
“I said he should live with his mom first. If he manages, then we talk.”
Two weeks later, Valeria sat by the window sipping coffee. Sunlight hurtled through the glass. Lavender scent filled the air. Children shouted about a ‘base’ in the yard, and Temya barked guarding duty.
Life went on—without Raissa Petrovna or Pavel, but with the comforting sense of being home again.
Ultimately, the story reveals the complexities of family relationships, the challenges of living with in-laws, and the necessity of establishing personal boundaries. Valeria’s journey illustrates that maintaining one’s sense of self is vital, sometimes more than holding onto others. Through patience, confrontation, and honest decisions, finding peace at home is possible, even when family dynamics are difficult.