Three Months of Tolerance
Elena Mikhailovna settled into a worn velvet chair, her self-satisfaction evident as she surveyed the living room of Alexei and Anna. Her gaze lingered over every detail, critical of aspects that she deemed required immediate rectification. Anna quietly cleared the table after dinner, consciously minimizing any clatter, aware that even the slightest noise could trigger another lecture. It was precisely three months since the mother-in-law had come to stay ‘for two weeks’. During this period, she had subtly yet persistently turned the tables, transforming from a guest into the master of the household, while Anna found herself relegated to the role of a servant.
“Anya, darling, the tablecloth is laid the wrong way,” Elena Mikhailovna remarked, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness while venom seeped from each carefully chosen word. “And immediately remove this vase with your… wildflowers. Such poor taste, dear! Alexei has always adored roses. Artificial ones, of course, but they’re clean and refined—unlike these roadside flowers.”
With clenched teeth and a silent fume, Anna flipped the tablecloth to its proper side and took away the humble bouquet of daisies she had lovingly gathered in the garden that morning. Each day morphed into a series of small yet painful jabs: her belongings rearranged without consent, continuous criticism of the dinners she prepared after work, and ceaseless demands for money from Alexei for ‘necessary household needs’. The money vanished at an alarming pace—for ‘special’ groceries, ‘urgent’ home supplies, and ‘medications’ that somehow always turned out to be expensive vitamins. The once-cozy home transformed into a space that felt increasingly foreign to her.
Alexei attempted several times to delicately address the situation with his mother, kindly urging her to extend compassion towards his wife and to refrain from interfering in their domestic affairs. Each time, Elena Mikhailovna dismissed him and continued her systematic conquest of the household.
“Mom, you promised not to meddle in our lives…” Alexei began wearily as he entered the living room after a long day at work. His shoulders sagged, and the exhaustion from the constant tension at home was clear in his eyes.
“What did I promise? To take care of you?” Elena Mikhailovna declared, puffing her chest with pride. “That’s precisely what I’m doing! Who will teach your Anya elementary housekeeping? She can’t do anything properly! Wasting money, buying the wrong groceries, cooking unappetizing meals! You’ve become blind with love, failing to see the obvious!”
“Mom, that’s enough!” Alexei raised his hand sharply, interrupting the flow of accusations. His voice emerged unexpectedly firm. “This is our home. Our rules apply here. And Anna is my wife, whom I love and respect. I ask you: either respect her and our choices or prepare to return to your own space.”
A silence fell, heavy and oppressive, like a looming stone ready to crash down at any moment. Elena Mikhailovna slowly stood up with an air of theatrical dignity. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and her lips twisted into a contemptuous, almost triumphant smirk.
“Leave? And where would I go, pray tell?” she laughed falsely, her voice tense with a hint of hysteria. “My dear son, my apartment no longer exists. I sold it.”
Alexei gasped, and Anna stood frozen by the door.
“Sold it? Why?!” Alexei’s voice rose in a shout.
“Out of care, my son! Motherly concern!” Elena Mikhailovna spread her arms theatrically, feigning helplessness. “I thought you and Anya needed assistance—young, inexperienced… And then, there’s Yulie, my girl. She’s got a romance with that… Nikolai. As a loving mother, I entrusted all my wealth to my beloved daughter! Everything!” She savored each word, watching as her son’s face paled. “Now I have nowhere to live—only here. With you.”
This was deceit—a triple, well-planned, perfidious lie.
“You…” Alexei fought to push the words past the constriction in his throat. “You didn’t come to visit us for two weeks; you came to stay permanently, having calculated everything beforehand. You brazenly lied to my face. You gave all your money to Yulie, fully aware that you would need it for your own life? And meanwhile, you…” He stepped closer to his mother, his voice vibrating dangerously. “You permitted yourself to bully my wife in her own home? You shamelessly squandered our hard-earned money? You considered yourself the rightful mistress here?”
Elena Mikhailovna involuntarily stepped back. For the first time in many years, she saw not the obedient son but an enraged adult man, prepared to defend his territory.
“How dare you speak to me in that tone?!” she shrieked, losing all composure. “I am your own mother! I dedicated my entire life to your upbringing! And you chose that… that soulless creature over me! She’s ensnared you with her feminine wiles!” Spit flew from her mouth as her voice turned shrill. “I have every right to live in this house! I will stay until I draw my last breath! Let Yulie live freely! And you, as my only son, are obligated to provide for me for the rest of my days!”
“Obligated?” Alexei sneered coldly, his voice laced with dark sarcasm. “What a delightful logic. So, your sister received all the money and freedom from responsibility. And I inherited you and constant scandals. No, dear mother, this cannot continue.”
He turned and headed towards the room they had allocated for her. Anna followed her husband silently but with determination. Elena Mikhailovna dashed around the living room, her voice screeching and breaking.
“What are you doing?! Don’t touch my things! Alexei! My dear son! I did everything for you! Exclusively for your benefit! Anya, say something to him! Reason with him! He’s completely lost it!”
With a stone-cold, impassive face, Alexei methodically packed his mother’s belongings into a large suitcase. His movements were careless; he clearly didn’t care about preserving the contents. Anna assisted him, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes burning with righteous anger. Elena Mikhailovna’s frantic pleas and desperate cries hit like walls.
“You’re throwing your own mother out?! Into the street like a common vagabond?! I’m a wretched, miserable creature! In my old age, my own children have betrayed me! Murderers! Monsters! Heartless wretches!”
“Your beloved Yulie is eagerly waiting for you,” Alexei retorted, flinging the door open. “She received all your money—now she can receive you as well, just as fair and reciprocal.”
Minutes later, he practically forced his resisting mother into his car. Throughout the ride to Yulie’s apartment, Elena Mikhailovna sobbed incessantly, cursing her ungrateful children and threatening dreadful retribution for their disrespect. Alexei remained silent, only gripping the steering wheel tighter.
Yulie’s apartment was bright and ultra-modern, furnished with expensive decor. Tall windows looked out onto a bustling boulevard. The door was opened by the hostess herself, clad in a luxurious silk robe, a nourishing mask on her face, and curlers in her hair. Upon seeing her mother with the suitcase and her grim brother, she became momentarily paralyzed with shock.
“Aleshka? Mama? Why are you…”
“Your mother has always spoiled you; you received money from the sale of her apartment, so shut your mouth and host your guests,” Alexei placed the heavy suitcase directly in the entryway and dusted off his hands. His voice was utterly even, devoid of any emotion. “And since your mother has no apartment, and the money is with you, accept your inheritance along with all its consequences.”
“What?!” Yulie went pale beneath her layer of cosmetic mask. “But… I thought… she said she had plans! That with Nikolai… he promised… he wouldn’t…”
From the depths of the apartment, Nikolai appeared slowly. He assessed the situation instantly.
<p“What’s the circus?” he asked quietly.
“Mama… mama will now live with us,” Yulie stammered, her voice betraying her tremor from fear. “She… the apartment… and now she has nowhere to live…”
Nikolai’s face darkened immediately. Without a word, he looked thoughtfully at Elena Mikhailovna, her suitcase, and the terrified Yulie. Then he turned and went back into the bedroom. Five minutes later, he emerged with a packed bag.
“Where are the keys to my car?” he asked Yulie businesslike, not even bothering to look her way.
“Kola! Darling! Wait! We can find a compromise…” Yulie pleaded, extending her hands toward him.
You can explain to the neighbors why your mother will sleep on the couch in the living room,” Nikolai ruthlessly seized the keys from her hands, ignoring her tears. “I did not sign up for shared living with your mother. And even less so for enduring this circus of family disputes and hysteria.”
He paused, casting a scornful glance at the entire scene: his sobbing wife, his mother-in-law triumphantly standing with a suitcase, and the scattered belongings.
“Sort out this mess and call me if you want. Though I doubt you are capable of anything beyond tears and fits.”
The door slammed behind him. Yulie stood frozen, as if jolted by an electric shock, momentarily unable to believe what had happened. The sound of the departing car snapped her back to reality, and a grimace of uncontrollable anger twisted her face. Slowly, she turned to her brother.
“You… you’re satisfied?!” she hissed. “You’ve ruined everything! My whole life! He’s gone! Because of you! Because of your treachery!”
“Because of me?” Alexei raised an eyebrow, mockery lacing his tone. “How amusing to hear that from someone who was perpetually in her mother’s favor and suddenly sells the apartment to enjoy life herself while casting Mama aside—now that you have a beautiful life. Ever thought about where she will live or what she will eat?”
He stepped towards the door but turned for the final blow:
You destroyed your life—by your own greedy hands, dear sister. So enjoy the company and remember to thank Mama for her generosity.” He turned to Elena Mikhailovna, “Mama, make yourself comfortable. As you can see, Yulie has plenty of space. I’m sure you two will get along splendidly.”
He left without looking back, leaving silence in his wake. Yulie burst into tears, burying her face in the doorframe, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, smudging her makeup. All her beauty, which she had devoted so much time and money to, dissolved into salty trails of despair.
Elena Mikhailovna stood in the middle of an unfamiliar hallway with a tattered suitcase in hand. Her recent indignation turned to confusion and then to a bitter emptiness. She slowly looked around: the lavish wallpaper, the crystal chandelier, the mirror in a gilded frame—all this splendor suddenly seemed to her like a backdrop to someone else’s life.
She glanced at her weeping daughter and the luxurious apartment that had transformed from a symbol of victory to a gilded cage. Without money. Without Nikolai, who once supported all this well-being. Without the ability to influence her son, who now regarded her as a stranger.
Elena Mikhailovna silently took her suitcase and slowly shuffled toward the living room, where, according to her son-in-law, the couch—her new sleeping spot—should stand. Her legs faltered, and one thought spun in her head: “How did this happen?”
The door to Yulie’s bedroom slammed shut with a deafening bang, startling Elena Mikhailovna. She found herself alone in the alien living room, where every object screamed that she was unwelcome.
She sank down on the cardboard boxes that had yet to be unpacked by Yulie after the move. In the luxurious but now hostile silence, where even the familiar ticking of a wall clock was absent, she curled into a ball. Her hands trembled, and her heart raced furiously.
Anger bubbled within, hot and impotent, but there was no one left to unleash it upon. Only the silent walls and the slowly dawning realization that the game she believed she was the star of had concluded in complete and shattering defeat.
“How dare they!” she thought, rocking on the boxes. “How could that upstart Nikolai speak to me like that? And Alexei… so ungrateful, heartless…”
But somewhere deep down, in the part she tried not to confront, a traitorous understanding stirred: everyone was at fault—everyone except her. Of course, except her. After all, she had merely wanted the best… For herself.