“If you don’t like it when we’re at the dacha, then don’t come to our apartment!” I told my mother-in-law.
“You’ve forgotten yourself, Irina. This dacha and this apartment all belong to my son. So you’d better keep quiet if you want to stay here for long.”
Irina had been living with her husband for several years. Together with Anton, they were raising their wonderful daughter Ksenia, who was now about six years old. By a fortunate turn of events, Irina had returned to work early, when her daughter was accepted into kindergarten at the age of two and a half. That was when her mother, Svetlana Leonidovna, came to her aid, helping to look after her granddaughter whenever Ksyusha was sick.
However, after six months, Svetlana Leonidovna began suffering from back pain and could no longer help her daughter so often. Then Anton decided to ask his own mother, Anna Pavlovna, for support.
Anna Pavlovna was a strict woman. After all, she had many years of experience as a teacher and believed that a daughter-in-law should manage everything herself. Still, she agreed to her only son’s request.
“Anna Pavlovna, thank you so much,” Irina tried to say politely, although she understood that her relationship with her mother-in-law would never be easy.
“Thank me?” the woman snorted. “Because of you, I have to take sick leave from work. Maybe you should start looking after your child properly. She’s constantly sniffling.”
“But this is only the second time in two years…” the daughter-in-law replied with a guilty expression.
“So what? My work is more important!” her mother-in-law clicked her tongue and went home, leaving Irina feeling confused and hurt.
Irina never turned her daughter against her grandmother. On the contrary, Ksyusha enjoyed spending time with Grandma Anya. True, Irina noticed that around her mother-in-law, her daughter became far too obedient, as if she were afraid of doing something wrong. Anna Pavlovna knew how to keep anyone under strict control, even adult colleagues at school, let alone a child.
“Grandma said I shouldn’t laugh like that,” Ksyusha once said, sadly lowering her eyes.
“Why not?” Irina asked gently.
“Grandma said girls should be modest and quiet.”
Irina’s heart tightened. Under her mother-in-law’s influence, her cheerful, sunny little girl was becoming withdrawn and far too quiet. Fortunately, her mother-in-law’s visits were not all that frequent. Ksyusha was growing up, getting sick less often, and Irina managed on her own, only occasionally staying home with her daughter on sick leave.
But one day, everything changed.
Anna Pavlovna divorced her husband right before their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Ivan Andreevich left her for another woman. And it would have been one thing if she had been some young girl. But no, she was the same age as Anna Pavlovna. And she did not look any younger or more beautiful than her. Anna Pavlovna was beside herself with rage.
“How dare he! Acting up in his old age!” she thought, slowly turning Anton against his father.
Anna Pavlovna began appearing more and more often at her son and daughter-in-law’s home, because in her own apartment she no longer had anyone to boss around. She came in without calling, as if it were her own place, cast a stern eye over shelves and cupboards, and handed Irina her valuable instructions and advice.
“Is this what you call order? The napkins should be folded differently!” she grumbled, adjusting the stack in the kitchen.
“Irina, pots should be arranged by size, from the largest to the smallest. That’s elementary!” her mother-in-law said sternly.
“Ksyusha, don’t run around the house, or you’ll knock something over! A girl should behave modestly. Sit down and draw.”
At first, Irina tried not to pay attention. She understood that her mother-in-law was going through a difficult time. A divorce after so many years of marriage had knocked Anna Pavlovna off balance. One could pity her and forgive a few extra complaints.
But soon the visits became daily. Every evening after work, at the same time, Anna Pavlovna appeared on the doorstep of their apartment. Irina already felt that there was no personal space left in the house, and that the air ran out the moment she saw her mother-in-law.
“Anton, I can’t go on like this anymore,” Irina told her husband one evening. “I understand that your mother is having a hard time, but we have our own family. She comes almost every day and looks for something to criticize.”
Anton sighed, scratched the back of his head, and tried to defend his mother.
“Well, you know she’s worked in a school her whole life. It’s hard for her to change. Besides, she’s alone now. She’s bored.”
“That’s exactly it!” Irina looked at her husband seriously. “She needs something to do besides monitoring how I arrange the pots. Do you know what I thought? Buy her a dacha. A small house somewhere near the city. Let her work in the garden, grow flowers. It’ll distract her.”
Anton frowned.
“A dacha? But that’s an extra expense…”
“But it will save everyone’s nerves. Hers and ours. Think about it,” Irina said gently but firmly. “Let her have her own space. Otherwise, soon you and I won’t even be able to talk calmly.”
Anton thought about it. On the one hand, he loved his mother and was used to listening to her. On the other hand, Irina was right. With each passing day, the atmosphere in the house was becoming more tense.
The next day, he cautiously brought up the idea of a dacha with his mother for the first time.
At first, Anna Pavlovna reacted with hostility.
“A dacha? What do I need that headache for?” she snapped. “Are you trying to send me away so I won’t get under your feet? I’m still a young woman, I have plenty of strength! I’m not some old lady who should sit at a dacha all weekend.”
Anton tried to explain that it was not a punishment, but, on the contrary, an opportunity to distract herself and take up something new. But his mother stood her ground, waving her hands irritably.
“I’m not going to sit alone in those garden beds of yours!” she cut him off and left late that evening, slamming the door.
Anton sighed heavily, while Irina only shook her head.
“It’s all right. She needs time. Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
Irina turned out to be right. A week later, Anton persuaded his mother to at least go and look at the plot that he and Irina had already found for her.
Anna Pavlovna rode there with a stony face, but as soon as they got out of the car and she saw the neat little house with a spacious wooden terrace, her gaze noticeably softened. The plot was small, only six hundred square meters, but apple trees and currant bushes were already growing in the garden. A neighbor’s cat ran along the path, and from the terrace there was a wonderful view of a green corner drowning in flowers.
“Well… it’s not so bad,” Anna Pavlovna said cautiously after walking around the house. “The terrace is spacious. I can imagine how nice it would be to sit here in the evening with a book and a cup of dacha tea with currant leaves.”
Anton could barely hold back a smile. He saw that his mother had softened.
“Of course, the house still needs some work. But that’s only a matter of time. Irina and I will help,” he said gently.
Anna Pavlovna nodded reservedly, but her eyes were already burning with interest. In her mind, she was already arranging dahlias and petunias in the flower beds, imagining how she would plant strawberries and dill.
“All right,” she finally said. “If you insist so much, let’s try.”
And so Anna Pavlovna got a dacha. It was easy to get there, only half an hour by car. She had been driving for a long time, so the road posed no difficulty for her.
Anton registered the plot in his own name, since the money was shared — both his and Irina’s. But Anna Pavlovna did not even think about that. She was too absorbed in her new occupation and seemed to come back to life.
As soon as the weather warmed up, Anna Pavlovna practically moved to the dacha. From spring until the end of summer, she lived there almost constantly. From morning until evening, she worked in the beds, pruned trees, planted flowers, and even started a small vegetable garden.
Anton, Irina, and Ksyusha also visited often: sometimes to help dig up the soil, sometimes to bring seedlings, and sometimes simply to spend the weekend in the fresh air. Together they painted the fence, repaired the roof, set up the terrace, and even repapered one of the rooms. By mid-summer, the dacha looked well-kept and cozy, as if it had come from a magazine about country living.
Irina was sometimes surprised by how much her mother-in-law had changed. It seemed that working with the land had restored her taste for life. Tired but satisfied, Anna Pavlovna would come out onto the terrace in the evening and proudly show everyone her achievements.
Then one day in August, when the garden was full of apples, the whole family gathered around a large table outside. The grill was smoking, shashlik was cooking, and Ksyusha happily ran across the grass. Everyone laughed, talked, and enjoyed that rare feeling of family harmony.
Then suddenly, when dinner was almost over, Anna Pavlovna put down her fork and said in an even but cold tone:
“Well then… thank you, of course, for your help. We’ve put the house in order, and the plot too. But now I want to live here alone. I need privacy. You have fulfilled your mission, and from now on I’ll manage by myself.”
Silence fell over the table. Irina was stunned, Anton frowned, and little Ksyusha looked at her grandmother in confusion.
“Mom, are you serious?” Anton couldn’t hold back. “We came here as a family, we did everything together…”
“You said this plot was for me,” his mother-in-law cut him off. “So now I want to be here alone.”
It sounded rude and hurtful. Especially to Irina, who had put so much effort and patience into turning the dacha into exactly such a place. But she only smiled restrainedly and thought:
“Well, fine. At least the apartment will be quiet now, without my mother-in-law’s constant lectures.”
That very evening, Irina and Anton packed their things and returned to the apartment. Anton had not been drinking, so he calmly got behind the wheel and drove his family home. No one said a word on the road. Ksyusha peacefully dozed off in the back seat, while Irina thought only one thing:
“Let her stay there alone. The main thing is that our home becomes peaceful.”
And indeed, the following weeks were surprisingly quiet. Anna Pavlovna did not call or come over, and a new atmosphere seemed to settle in the apartment. Irina finally breathed freely. The evenings passed in the family circle, without stern remarks or constant criticism.
But the joy did not last long. As soon as the cold October days arrived and the dacha season ended, Anna Pavlovna began visiting again. She appeared without calling, just as before, and seemed to have gathered strength in the fresh air only to unleash a new wave of criticism on her daughter-in-law.
“How many times have I told you: shoes must be arranged by size! First men’s shoes, then yours, and only then Ksyusha’s,” she scolded as soon as she crossed the threshold.
“Irina, you’re ironing Anton’s shirts wrong. Look at these creases!” her mother-in-law grumbled, peering into the wardrobe.
“Ksyusha, stop drawing on the floor! A girl should sit at a table, not sprawl wherever she likes like a boy!”
Irina endured it. She was used to holding herself back for Anton and Ksyusha’s sake. But one evening, when her husband was late at work, her patience finally ran out.
Anna Pavlovna was once again walking around the apartment and sternly listing everything that displeased her. Irina was standing in the kitchen when suddenly, not expecting such determination from herself, she sharply turned around.
“You know what, Anna Pavlovna… If you don’t like it when we come to your dacha, then don’t come to our apartment!”
Her mother-in-law froze. Surprise flashed in her eyes, followed by something cold and poisonous. She narrowed her eyes and said with emphasis:
“You’ve forgotten yourself, Irina. This dacha and this apartment all belong to my son. So you’d better keep quiet if you want to stay here for long.”
Those words hit Irina harder than any of her nitpicking. She felt the ground slipping out from under her feet. So this was her mother-in-law’s true attitude.
“Excuse me, but Anton and I bought the apartment together. And with a mortgage, at that.”
“Oh, of course! You sat on maternity leave for two years. Don’t start telling me about rights. I know everything better than you, my dear,” Anna Pavlovna sang in a poisonous-sweet voice.
“If you know everything, then I’ll ask you to leave!” Irina boiled over. “You will not dare show up here again until you apologize to me and stop criticizing everything around you. I am sick and tired of it!”
Anna Pavlovna gasped at her daughter-in-law’s unexpected tone. She gathered her things and walked out of the apartment with her head held high.
As soon as Anton came home, his wife told him everything. She gave him an ultimatum.
“Either your mother apologizes, or her foot will never cross the threshold of our home again. I have no intention of tolerating her mocking tone anymore. And if you go against me, then you can expect a divorce and division of property. Because it seems Anna Pavlovna has forgotten whose apartment this is.”
“Yes, all right, all right,” Anton tried to calm his furious wife. “I’ll talk to her. You probably misunderstood everything.”
The next day, Anton kept his word and called his mother.
“Mom, I’ll stop by after work. We need to talk,” he said calmly.
Anna Pavlovna immediately understood.
“That bitch already managed to complain!” she thought.
That evening, she met her son fully prepared, with accusations and objections ready.
“So, what has your wife been singing to you about me?” she threw at him from the doorway as soon as Anton entered the apartment.
Anton looked at his mother with a tired expression, placed a bag of fruit on the table, and said calmly:
“Mom, let’s do without your tricks. You understand perfectly well that you’ve gone too far.”
“I’ve gone too far?” Anna Pavlovna was indignant, spreading her arms. “If it weren’t for me, your house would have long ago been buried in filth!”
Anton sighed. He understood that arguing was pointless. But he knew exactly which argument would work.
“Mom, I’ll say it directly. If Irina decides to file for divorce, you’ll be left without your dacha. Because it’s registered in my name, which means in a divorce it will be divided as marital property.”
Anna Pavlovna froze. Her lips trembled, and shock flashed in her eyes. She had completely forgotten about the legal side of things when she had agreed to accept the dacha. After all, Anton and Irina had invested their shared money in it.
“How… how is that?” was all she managed to squeeze out.
“That’s how it is,” Anton continued calmly. “I am not going to divorce Ira. She is carrying my second child. Soon we will have a son. And if you want to remain close to our family, you’ll have to accept that. If you want, come visit, but without shouting and reproaches. If you want, relax at the dacha. But stop destroying our family.”
His son’s words fell on her like a heavy weight. Anna Pavlovna gasped and sat down on a chair. It was bitter to realize that power was slipping from her hands. But it was even more bitter to understand that her son had finally taken his wife’s side.
She was silent for a long time, then only waved her hand wearily.
“All right… Let it be your way.”
Anton knew it had worked. His mother could outargue anyone, but losing the dacha she had already grown attached to would have been too painful for her.
Some time later, Anton returned home. From the doorway, he told his wife that his mother would think about it and apologize.
“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Especially since you need to worry less now,” her husband said.
“All right, thank you. Honestly… I didn’t think you would actually talk to her yourself. Usually, you liked avoiding difficulties like that.”
“What choice do I have? Once you start a family, you have to take responsibility and care for it.”
“Thank you…” Irina hugged her husband and kissed him.
And that evening, true peace settled in their apartment again — without the need to apologize to anyone or wipe the same shelf for the hundredth time.
