“Scared? Excellent! Now get out of here,” shrieked my mother-in-law, after taking over my apartment
Vera inherited an apartment from her aunt Raisa, who had died suddenly — a stroke had left her no chance. Her aunt had no children, and Vera turned out to be the only niece the old woman had kept in touch with during her final years. The other relatives showed up only for the funeral, but the will was airtight. Six months later, Vera entered into her inheritance rights and moved out of her rented room into her own fifty square meters on the fourth floor of a nine-story panel building.
The apartment needed renovation, but it was hers. Completely hers. Vera worked as a manager at a trading company, lived alone, and enjoyed the feeling — no one told her what time to come home, what to cook, or how to spend her weekends.
She got married a year later. Igor worked at the same company, in the warehouse. He was tall, calm, and quiet. He had courted her for a long time and persistently — bringing her coffee in the mornings, walking her home, listening to her stories about difficult customers. When he proposed, Vera agreed without hesitation. He seemed reliable.
They had a modest wedding — signed the papers at the registry office and celebrated at a café with friends. Her mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna, came from Tula especially for the celebration. She was a short, heavyset woman with a tight gray bun and a sharp gaze. She hugged Vera at the restaurant entrance and whispered:
“Take care of my boy. He’s my only one.”
Vera nodded and smiled. Back then, those words seemed like ordinary motherly concern.
After the wedding, Igor moved in with Vera. They lived together quietly and steadily. He left for work early, came home late, ate dinner, and fell asleep in front of the television. Vera did not complain — at least he did not drink, did not make scandals, and brought his whole salary home.
Three months later, Valentina Petrovna called late in the evening. Her voice trembled:
“Igoryok, my apartment got flooded. The upstairs neighbors burst a pipe. It’s impossible to live there, everything is covered in mold. Can I come stay with you for a week while they make repairs?”
Igor did not even ask Vera. He simply said:
“Of course, Mom. Come tomorrow.”
Vera said nothing. A week was not long. She could tolerate it.
Valentina Petrovna arrived with two huge bags and a box filled with jars of jam, pickles, and dried mushrooms. Vera met her at the door and helped bring in her things. Her mother-in-law looked around and nodded.
“Well, it’s not bad. Modest, but clean.”
She put her bags in the small room where Vera’s work corner had once been, with a computer desk and shelves. Igor himself carried the desk out into the hallway, making space for his mother. Vera stood in the doorway and silently watched as her personal space disappeared.
For the first few days, everything seemed bearable. Valentina Petrovna got up early, made breakfast, washed dishes, and wiped the dust. Vera was even pleased — fewer chores for her. But by the end of the first week, strange things began.
One day Vera came home from work and discovered that everything in the refrigerator had been rearranged. Her yogurts were on the lower shelf, the sausage was no longer where she had left it but on the top shelf. Vera opened the freezer — the bags of vegetables had been neatly labeled with a black marker: “Cabbage — 500 g,” “Pepper — 300 g.”
“Valentina Petrovna, was this you?”
Her mother-in-law came out of the room, wiping her hands with a towel.
“So what? I put things in order. It was a mess in there — impossible to understand where anything was.”
“But this is my refrigerator…”
“Our refrigerator,” her mother-in-law corrected her. “Igor is your husband now, and I am his mother. That means it’s mine too.”
Vera wanted to object, but Valentina Petrovna had already turned around and gone back to the kitchen. Igor was lying on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. Vera went up to him.
“Igor, talk to your mother. She rearranged everything in the refrigerator.”
“So what?” He did not even look up.
“It’s inconvenient. Now I don’t know where to find anything.”
“Mom is trying. She’s helping you. Why are you nitpicking?”
Vera clenched her fists. Arguing was useless.
One week turned into two. Then three. Valentina Petrovna had no intention of leaving. When Vera once carefully asked how the repairs in Tula were going, her mother-in-law waved it off.
“What repairs? The workers promised, but they keep dragging it out. I call them, and they say they’ll start next week. So I’m waiting.”
Another month passed. Valentina Petrovna had fully settled in. She rearranged the pots in the kitchen, threw away Vera’s old grater, bought a new one, and announced that from then on she would cook lunches herself. Igor was pleased — he came home from work and a hot dinner was already on the table.
Vera tried to cook herself in the evenings, but her mother-in-law interfered.
“You’re cutting the meat wrong. Look, you have to cut along the grain, not across it.”
“You don’t add enough salt. Igor likes it saltier.”
“Why are you cutting the potatoes so small? They should be larger so they don’t fall apart.”
At first Vera tried to explain that everyone had their own way of cooking. But Valentina Petrovna did not listen. She would take the knife out of Vera’s hands and finish everything herself.
One evening, Vera went to bed around eleven. Igor was snoring beside her, sprawled across half the bed. Vera closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep, when she heard footsteps in the hallway. A switch clicked — the light in the living room came on. Then in the hallway. Then in the kitchen.
Vera opened the bedroom door slightly and looked out. Valentina Petrovna, in a nightgown and slippers, was walking around the apartment, looking into cabinets. She opened the wardrobe in the hallway, took out a bag of winter clothes, rustled through it, then put it back. Then she went into the kitchen, opened all the drawers, and wrote something in a notebook.
Vera stood behind the door, afraid to move. Her mother-in-law passed by without even noticing her and returned to her room. The light went out.
In the morning, Vera asked Igor:
“Your mother was walking around the apartment at night. Opening cabinets.”
“So what? Maybe she wanted a drink of water.”
“She was writing something in a notebook.”
“What, are you spying on her?” Igor frowned. “Mom is old, she doesn’t sleep well. It’s nothing terrible.”
Vera understood that it was useless. Igor did not see a problem. To him, it was just his mother acting a little oddly.
A few days later, Valentina Petrovna made another nighttime round. This time she turned on the lights in every room, opened the refrigerator, counted the eggs, and looked in the freezer. Vera lay in bed with her eyes open and listened to the cabinet doors creak.
During the day, she found her mother-in-law’s notebook on the kitchen table. She opened it. There were entries inside: “Oil — half a bottle left. Buckwheat groats — 200 grams. Flour — one kilogram. Eggs — 8.”
Below that was a note: “Wasteful people. Used up three packs of butter in a week.”
Vera slammed the notebook shut. Her hands were shaking. She left the kitchen, went into the bedroom, and sat down on the bed. She wanted to scream, but her voice was stuck somewhere inside.
That evening, when Igor came home from work, Vera tried to talk again.
“Igor, your mother is counting how much food we have. She writes it in a notebook. This isn’t normal.”
“Mom is economical. She’s used to watching money.”
“But this is my apartment! My groceries!”
“Our apartment,” he corrected her. “I live here now. And Mom does too.”
“Temporarily!”
“So what? While she’s here, you could be more polite.”
Vera turned away. She could no longer speak. Her head was splitting, her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe.
The nighttime rounds continued. Valentina Petrovna walked around the apartment, turned on lights, opened cabinets, and wrote something down. Vera stopped sleeping normally. She woke up at every rustle, flinched at every creak of the floorboards, lay with her eyes open, and waited for it to end.
One day she fell asleep only toward morning. She slept through her alarm and was late for work. Her boss reprimanded her. Vera nodded and apologized, but inside everything was boiling. She barely made it through the end of the workday.
At home, Valentina Petrovna met her with a displeased face.
“What did you do with my shampoo? I left it in the bathroom, and now it’s gone.”
“I didn’t touch your shampoo.”
“Don’t lie! There’s no one else here but you! Igor is a man, why would he need my shampoo?”
“Valentina Petrovna, I didn’t take it.”
“Then where did it go?!” her mother-in-law raised her voice. “I put it on the shelf yesterday!”
Vera turned around and went into the bedroom. She closed the door, lay down on the bed face-first into the pillow. Tears began flowing on their own. She lay there crying, biting the fabric so no one would hear.
Igor came in an hour later. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Mom is upset. You should apologize.”
Vera sat up sharply.
“For what?! I didn’t take her shampoo!”
“Well, maybe accidentally. Not on purpose.”
“I didn’t take it!”
“Vera, don’t shout. Mom is old, it’s hard for her.”
“And is it easy for me?!”
Igor stood up and shrugged.
“I don’t understand why you’re so worked up. It’s just shampoo.”
He left the room. Vera remained sitting on the bed, clutching the blanket in her hands.
Another week passed. Vera went to work like a zombie. Her colleagues began noticing that she looked worn out, with dark circles under her eyes. One of the girls asked:
“Verochka, are you okay? Maybe you should see a doctor?”
“Everything’s fine,” Vera lied. “I’m just not getting enough sleep.”
She could not tell the truth. It was humiliating to admit that her mother-in-law, who was merely living in her apartment, had driven her to this state.
One night, Vera woke up because the light had come on again. She got up and went into the hallway. Valentina Petrovna was standing by the open wardrobe, going through the shelves with bed linens. Vera froze.
“Valentina Petrovna, what are you doing?”
Her mother-in-law turned around and smiled.
“I’m checking for moths. There’s a musty smell here. You probably haven’t aired things out in ages.”
“It’s three in the morning.”
“So what? I can’t sleep. I’m doing something useful, and you’re unhappy.”
Vera opened her mouth to answer, but the words would not come. She turned around and went back to the bedroom. She lay down beside Igor and buried her face in the pillow. Her hands were trembling.
In the morning, she could not take it anymore. She woke her husband.
“Igor, I’m scared. Your mother walks around the apartment at night, opens cabinets, writes things in her notebook. This isn’t normal. I think she has problems… mental problems.”
Igor sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.
“What are you talking about? What problems?”
“She’s behaving strangely. You see it yourself!”
“I don’t see anything. Mom is just frugal.”
“Igor, listen to me! I’m truly scared!”
“Oh, stop it!” he raised his voice. “Mom is old, she has insomnia. It’s nothing terrible!”
Vera wanted to continue, but the bedroom door flew open. Valentina Petrovna stood in the doorway. Her face was twisted, her eyes glittering.
“Scared?!” Her voice broke into a shriek. “Excellent! Now get out of here if I scare you!”
Vera jumped out of bed. Her mother-in-law stepped into the room, grabbed Vera’s sweater from the chair, and threw it into the hallway.
“Out! Out of my house!”
“This is not your house!” Vera shouted. “This is my apartment!”
“Shut up! You’re nobody! Igor is my son, and you’re just temporary!”
Valentina Petrovna rushed around the bedroom, grabbing Vera’s things and throwing them into the hallway. Jeans, a sweater, books, cosmetics — everything flew into a pile.
“Mom, stop!” Igor grabbed her by the arm.
“Don’t touch me!” she tore herself free. “This filth is slandering me! Saying I’m abnormal!”
“I’m not slandering you! I’m telling the truth!”
Valentina Petrovna grabbed a pillow from the bed and hurled it at Vera. The pillow hit her shoulder and fell to the floor. Vera backed up to the wall.
Igor darted between them.
“Mom, calm down! Vera, don’t make it worse!”
“Don’t make it worse?!” Vera turned to him. “Do you see what’s happening?!”
“You’re both to blame! Stop fighting!”
Valentina Petrovna grabbed another bag of things, pulled it out of the wardrobe, and dumped its contents onto the floor.
“Get out! Get out immediately!”
Vera looked at her husband. Igor stood in the middle of the room, pale, with a lost expression. He did not know what to do. He could not choose between his mother and his wife.
Vera understood that he would not help. He never would.
She took her phone out of her pocket and dialed the police. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was firm.
“Hello. My address is 12 Sovetskaya Street, apartment 47. There is a person raging inside my apartment. Please come.”
Valentina Petrovna froze. She stared at Vera.
“What have you done?!”
“I called the police.”
“Igor! Do you hear that?! She called the police! On her own mother-in-law!”
Igor turned even paler.
“Vera, what are you doing?! Cancel it!”
“No.”
“Cancel it immediately!”
“No, Igor. Enough. I can’t do this anymore.”
The police arrived twenty minutes later. Two officers, a man and a woman, entered the apartment. Vera opened the door and let them in.
“What happened?” the senior officer asked.
“This woman,” Vera pointed at Valentina Petrovna, “has been living in my apartment for two months. She walks around the rooms at night, opens cabinets, and behaves aggressively. Today she attacked me and threw my things around.”
“Are you the owner of the apartment?”
“Yes. It’s my property. I inherited it.”
The officer nodded and turned to Valentina Petrovna.
“And who are you?”
“I’m his mother!” the mother-in-law jabbed a finger at Igor. “He’s my son! I have the right to live here!”
“Are you registered here?”
“No, but…”
“Then you are a guest here. And if the owner asks you to leave, you are required to leave.”
“She’s crazy! She’s slandering me!”
The officer exchanged a glance with his colleague. Valentina Petrovna was rushing around the hallway, waving her arms, speaking incoherently and stumbling over her words. The officers exchanged another look.
“Call a team,” the senior officer said quietly.
The female officer went out into the stairwell and made a call. Half an hour later, a psychiatric emergency team arrived. The doctor, an elderly man in a white coat, examined Valentina Petrovna and asked her several questions. She answered aggressively, shouting that everything had been set up, that she was being slandered.
“She needs hospitalization,” the doctor said. “She is in an inadequate state.”
“No!” Valentina Petrovna tried to break free. “I’m not going anywhere! Igor, tell them!”
Igor stood by the wall, silent. His face was gray, his lips pressed together. He stared at the floor.
“Igor!” his mother screamed. “Protect me!”
He raised his head, looked at her, then at Vera. He did not say a word.
Valentina Petrovna was taken away. She screamed in the stairwell that she had been betrayed, that her son had abandoned her, that it was all a lie. Her voice echoed through the stairwell.
Vera closed the door. Silence fell over the apartment like a heavy blanket. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes.
Igor stood in the middle of the hallway. He looked at his wife.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked quietly.
“Satisfied?” Vera opened her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“You sent my mother to psychiatrists.”
“Your mother attacked me in my own apartment. She is not well. You saw it yourself.”
“She’s just nervous. She needed to calm down.”
“Two months, Igor. I endured it for two months. The nighttime rounds, the notes in the notebook, the accusations. You noticed nothing.”
“I thought you two would sort it out yourselves.”
“Sort it out? She called me temporary. She threw my things. And you stood there and asked me not to make it worse.”
Igor lowered his head.
“She’s my mother.”
“And I’m your wife.”
He was silent. Vera understood that there was nothing left between them. He had chosen. Not her.
The next day, Igor packed his things. Two bags, a box with his work clothes. Vera stood in the kitchen, watching him carry everything into the hallway.
“I’m going to my mother,” he said without looking at her. “They’ll discharge her in a few days. She needs support.”
“I see.”
“Vera…”
“What?”
“Maybe you started all this for nothing. We could have kept living together.”
“We couldn’t, Igor. I couldn’t anymore.”
He nodded, took the bags, and went out the door. Vera locked it and listened to his footsteps on the stairs. They faded away.
She went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. She looked around. The apartment was empty. Quiet. No nighttime footsteps, no creaking, no notes in a notebook.
Vera took a deep breath. The air seemed lighter. The silence no longer pressed down on her — it protected her.
She got up, went to the window, and opened it wide. A cool wind rushed into the room, blowing dust from the windowsill. Vera smiled. For the first time in a long while.
Her apartment. Her life. Her choice.
