Now the master and mistress enter the house!” announced the toastmaster — and my husband lifted his mother into his arms and carried her into my cottage.
Olga ran her hand over the smooth countertop of the kitchen island and looked around the living room. The cottage was small but cozy — two floors, three bedrooms, a bright open-plan kitchen with high ceilings. Every square meter had been hard-earned. Five years of working as an interior designer, endless projects, sleepless nights over blueprints. But now it was truly hers.
Outside the window, the first snow was falling. December evenings came early, and the house glowed with soft, warm, homely light. Tomorrow was the wedding. Olga laid out the white dress, shoes, and veil on the sofa. Everything looked perfect.
She had met Andrey in the spring at a furniture design exhibition. Tall, smiling, easygoing — he immediately made people feel comfortable. He worked as a foreman at a construction company, loved telling jokes, and teased everyone about everything. At first, it seemed charming. Olga even laughed at his jokes about how lucky a guy from an ordinary family was to find a bride with her own house.
“I’m marrying you, not your property,” Olga would say back then, and Andrey would laugh and kiss her on the cheek.
Now, on the eve of the celebration, those jokes came back to her more and more often. But Olga pushed her doubts away. Andrey was caring, helped around the house, brought groceries, fixed the kitchen faucet. His mother, Raisa Ivanovna, had seemed like a pleasant woman — short, plump, with a constantly businesslike expression on her face. True, at every meeting her future mother-in-law looked around the cottage appraisingly and sighed:
“Of course, Olechka, everything is beautiful here, but one woman can’t manage a house like this alone. It’s good that Andryusha will be by your side now.”
Olga nodded, not getting into arguments. The main thing was that the relationship was calm, without conflicts.
The wedding morning began in a rush. The hairdresser, the makeup artist, friends bustling around with glasses of champagne and compliments. Olga looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw a beautiful, confident woman. Thirty-two years old, her own business, her own home, and now — a family.
The registry office, congratulations, rings, a kiss under applause. Everything passed quickly, as if in a fog. Andrey smiled broadly, held the bride by the waist, and joked loudly with his friends:
“Now I’m a rich man! I have a wife with a cottage!”
The guests laughed. Olga forced a smile, gripping her bouquet a little tighter.
The banquet was organized at a restaurant, but the main part of the evening was supposed to take place at home — the traditional carrying of the newlyweds over the threshold. Olga had insisted on it. She wanted everything to be proper, according to custom. The guests were to arrive at the cottage, greet the newlyweds, and the husband would carry his wife in his arms into their shared home.
By nine in the evening, everyone left the restaurant. The cars moved in a line through the snowy streets. The December frost was growing stronger, snowflakes dancing in the headlights. Olga sat beside Andrey in the car decorated with ribbons and looked out the window. Something inside her tightened with a strange premonition, but Olga blamed it on fatigue.
The cottage greeted them with bright lights. The guests lined up in a semicircle by the entrance, someone turned on music, someone set off fireworks. The toastmaster, a rosy-cheeked man in a crimson jacket, waved his arms:
“Let us welcome our newlyweds! May love and happiness enter this home!”
Olga got out of the car and adjusted her dress. Snow had dusted the path to the porch. Andrey stopped beside her, nodded to the guests, and waved. The toastmaster continued:
“And now, according to tradition! The groom must carry the bride in his arms! Let us welcome the master and mistress into the house!”
The guests applauded. Olga turned to her husband, expecting him to lift her as he was supposed to. But suddenly Andrey burst out laughing, slapped his thigh, and shouted:
“Wait, wait! What mistress?”
The guests fell quiet in confusion. Olga froze. Andrey smiled broadly, looking around at everyone with some kind of defiant amusement. Then he turned, walked through the crowd, and stopped beside his mother. Raisa Ivanovna stood in a dark-blue suit, holding her handbag. Her face showed bewilderment, but her eyes gleamed with interest.
“Mom, come on!” Andrey announced loudly and lifted his mother into his arms.
Raisa Ivanovna cried out in surprise, but immediately laughed and wrapped her arms around her son’s neck. The guests gasped. Someone began clapping uncertainly, deciding it must be a joke. Andrey, proudly raising his head, carried his mother toward the porch of the cottage. The toastmaster stood with his mouth open, not knowing what to say.
“Here is the real mistress!” Andrey shouted as he crossed the threshold. “Mom will run things here the way she knows how!”
Raisa Ivanovna burst out laughing and waved her hand.
“Oh, son, have you lost your mind completely?”
But her tone was not indignant. It was pleased. Andrey set his mother down in the hallway, put an arm around her shoulders, and turned to the guests standing on the porch.
“Come in, come in! Mom, welcome the guests!”
Olga stood by the car. Blood rushed to her face, her ears burned. Around her hung an awkward silence, broken only by a few scattered giggles. One of her friends asked quietly:
“Olya, are you okay?”
Olga did not answer. Her legs would not obey her, her breathing faltered. Everything swam before her eyes — the cottage façade decorated with garlands, the crowd of guests, the back of her husband disappearing into the house. Her house. The one she had built herself, into which she had poured years of work and all her savings. And now her husband, who had just sworn love and loyalty, had carried another woman inside.
“Olechka, come inside, you’ll freeze!” came her mother-in-law’s voice from the doorway. “Why are you standing there? It’s a celebration!”
The guests slowly began entering the house, shaking snow from their shoes, taking off coats in the hallway. Music started playing again, someone turned on the television, someone carried bottles into the kitchen. Andrey laughed loudly, telling another joke.
Olga slowly walked toward the porch. Every step was difficult. She crossed the threshold and took off her shoes. In the living room, the table was already being set, guests were sitting down, drinks were being poured. Raisa Ivanovna was giving orders, pointing where things should be placed. Andrey stood beside his father, Viktor Pavlovich, whispering about something and chuckling.
“Well, Olechka, now we are one family!” her mother-in-law announced loudly, approaching her daughter-in-law. “Don’t be offended by Andryusha. He’s such a joker. He only wanted to make his mother happy.”
Olga looked at Raisa Ivanovna. She was smiling, but her gaze was hard and appraising. Olga silently nodded and went into the kitchen. Her hands trembled. She wanted to scream, throw everyone out, demand explanations. But there were guests, music, laughter. The celebration was in full swing.
The toastmaster took the microphone again.
“Well, dear guests, let us raise our glasses to the newlyweds! To love, to happiness, to a strong family!”
Everyone raised their glasses. Andrey put his arm around Olga’s shoulders and pulled her close. Olga froze, not returning the embrace. Her husband did not notice. He clinked glasses with his father and drank in one gulp.
The evening dragged on endlessly. Olga sat at the table, staring at one spot. Guests came up, congratulated her, embraced her. Olga answered briefly, stiffly. Her friends exchanged glances but asked nothing. Raisa Ivanovna kept jumping up, running to the kitchen, giving orders as if she were the mistress of the house. Olga saw her mother-in-law opening her cupboards, taking out dishes, placing them on the table.
“Olechka, everything is arranged so strangely here,” Raisa Ivanovna remarked, returning to the living room. “We’ll have to rearrange things. It’s inconvenient.”
Olga clenched her fists under the table. Andrey sat beside her, telling his friends about work, laughing and drinking. Olga got up and went outside. The frost hit her face, snow creaked under her feet. She stood by the porch, staring into the darkness. Everything inside her was boiling, but no tears came. Only emptiness.
“Olya, what happened?” Lena, her best friend, came up to her.
“Nothing,” Olga answered dully. “Just getting some air.”
“You’re not okay. I saw what happened. That was… strange.”
Olga stayed silent. Lena put an arm around her shoulders.
“Talk to him. Find out what that was. Maybe it really was just a stupid joke.”
Olga nodded, but inside she understood — it was not a joke. It was a message. Andrey had shown who was in charge here, who made decisions, whose opinion in this house would carry more weight. Olga turned around and went back inside.
The guests began leaving closer to midnight. Some left by taxi, some on foot. Raisa Ivanovna and Viktor Pavlovich stayed the longest. Her mother-in-law collected dirty dishes and packed up leftovers. Olga watched silently. Andrey sat sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his phone.
“Well, Mommy, tired?” her husband asked, raising his head. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
“No, son, your father and I will take a taxi,” Raisa Ivanovna answered, though her voice sounded uncertain.
“What taxi!” Andrey waved his hand. “Stay the night. There’s enough room here.”
Olga froze. Raisa Ivanovna turned to her daughter-in-law.
“Olechka, you don’t mind, do you? It really is late already.”
All the words stuck in Olga’s throat. She wanted to say she did mind, that this was her house, that she was not ready for this. But her husband had already risen from the sofa.
“Mom, Dad, go upstairs to the guest room. The bedding is clean, everything is there.”
Raisa Ivanovna smiled and, without waiting for Olga’s answer, headed toward the stairs. Viktor Pavlovich silently followed his wife. Andrey turned to Olga.
“Why are you standing there? Let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
Olga looked at her husband. He yawned, stretched, and went into the bedroom. Olga remained alone in the living room. There was a mess all around — dirty plates, empty glasses, napkins on the floor. The house that had been flawless that morning now looked foreign.
Olga sank onto a chair and covered her face with her hands. The celebration was over. But something told her this was only the beginning.
Morning greeted her with silence. Andrey’s parents had left early without saying goodbye. Her husband slept until noon, then went out to meet his friends. Olga spent the whole day cleaning the house, returning everything to its former place. By evening, the cottage looked the way it had before, but the feeling of someone else’s presence would not go away.
The following days passed calmly. Andrey behaved as usual — worked, came home late, ate dinner, and fell asleep in front of the television. He did not say a word about the wedding, as if nothing had happened. Olga also stayed silent, watching her husband. Tension accumulated inside her, but she did not want to start an argument.
On Saturday evening, during dinner, Andrey announced:
“Mom called. Renovations have started at their place, the workers are making noise, it’s impossible to live there. I told her she could stay with us temporarily. Two weeks, three at most.”
Olga looked up from her plate.
“What do you mean, stay with us?”
“Well, she’ll spend the nights here until the renovation is over,” Andrey shrugged. “The house is big, there’s enough space for everyone.”
“Did you even ask me?”
“What is there to ask?” her husband said, surprised. “She’s my mother. She has nowhere else to go.”
Olga wanted to object, but Andrey had already risen from the table and carried his plate to the sink. The conversation was over.
A week later, a taxi pulled up to the house. Raisa Ivanovna got out with a huge suitcase and two bags. Olga opened the door, letting her mother-in-law inside. She entered the hallway, looked around, and nodded.
“Well, now this is normal. I was going crazy at my own place with all that noise.”
Andrey helped his mother drag the suitcase to the second floor, into the guest room. Raisa Ivanovna immediately began unpacking, hanging clothes in the wardrobe. Olga stood in the doorway.
“Raisa Ivanovna, how long have you come for?”
“Oh, Olechka, I don’t even know,” her mother-in-law sighed. “Renovations are tricky, you understand. They promised to finish in three weeks, but who knows with them.”
Three weeks turned into a month. Raisa Ivanovna settled in thoroughly. Her things spread throughout the house — cosmetics in the bathroom, a robe on a hook in the bedroom, slippers in the hallway. Her mother-in-law got up early, took over the kitchen first, and cooked breakfast. By the time Olga came downstairs, Raisa Ivanovna was already sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
“Good morning, Olechka! I made porridge, sit down,” her mother-in-law would say cheerfully.
Olga silently poured herself water and sat at the table. Raisa Ivanovna continued:
“Listen, everything in your refrigerator is arranged so chaotically. I rearranged it yesterday, now it’s more convenient. And we need to buy groceries — nothing but vegetables. I made a list, Andryusha will stop by the store.”
Olga nodded without arguing. She did not feel like fighting. Raisa Ivanovna took her silence as agreement and continued making changes. Dishes were rearranged, groceries were bought according to the mother-in-law’s list, even the furniture arrangement in the living room changed — Raisa Ivanovna decided the sofa was in an inconvenient spot.
“Andryusha, come help me move the sofa to the window,” her mother-in-law asked one evening.
Andrey obediently got up and took hold of the armrest. Olga watched from the kitchen, clenching her jaw. The sofa had been placed exactly where Olga wanted it — the light fell that way, the view of the fireplace opened from there. Now everything was changing.
“There, look how nice it is!” Raisa Ivanovna announced joyfully when the sofa had been moved. “Now it’s brighter and more spacious.”
Andrey nodded in agreement and returned to the television. Olga came out of the kitchen and sat in an armchair. Her mother-in-law continued walking around the room, evaluating the result.
“And here we should hang a painting. I have one at home, very beautiful. We’ll ask Andryusha to bring it.”
Olga said nothing. Raisa Ivanovna looked at her daughter-in-law.
“Olechka, why are you so sad? Tired? Rest, I’ll do everything myself.”
“Thank you,” Olga answered shortly and went upstairs to the bedroom.
The days passed. Raisa Ivanovna behaved like the full mistress of the house. She cooked, cleaned, received guests. Several times a neighbor came by, and Raisa Ivanovna met her at the door, invited her for tea, talked about the house as if it were her own property. Olga heard their conversations from the kitchen:
“Yes, the house is good, spacious. Olechka did well, of course, she earned it. But one woman can’t handle such a household alone, can she? It’s good that I’m here now, helping.”
The neighbor agreed and praised the family support. Olga listened and felt everything inside her tighten. But she remained silent. She did not want a scandal. It was easier to observe.
A month and a half after her arrival, Raisa Ivanovna announced at dinner:
“I was thinking, maybe I shouldn’t finish the renovation at all. Why spend the money? It’s nice here, and there’s enough room for everyone.”
Andrey lifted his head from his plate.
“Well, Mom, that’s an idea. Right, Olya? The house is big, no one is bothering anyone.”
Olga put down her fork.
“Raisa Ivanovna came temporarily. For the renovation.”
“What difference does it make, temporary or not?” Andrey brushed her off. “We’re family now. The house is ours together. Everything was acquired in marriage, after all.”
Olga slowly raised her eyes to her husband.
“The house was bought by me before the marriage. With my money.”
“So what?” Andrey shrugged. “Now we’re married, which means everything is shared.”
Raisa Ivanovna nodded.
“Of course, Olechka. Now it’s family property.”
Olga got up from the table and left the kitchen. She went upstairs to the bedroom, opened the safe, and took out a folder with documents. The certificate of ownership for the cottage, the purchase agreement, payment receipts. Everything was in Olga’s name, everything dated several years earlier. The marriage had nothing to do with it.
Olga put the documents back and locked the safe. The plan formed instantly. There was no point delaying.
The next day, Andrey went to work and Raisa Ivanovna went to the store. Olga called a locksmith and ordered the locks changed. The master arrived an hour later, quickly removed the old locks from the front door, and installed new ones. He handed the keys to Olga.
“Thank you,” Olga said, paying him.
The master left. Olga closed the door and leaned against the doorframe. Her breathing quickened, her hands trembled, but her resolve grew stronger. Now the main thing was to act quickly.
Olga went up to the second floor and entered the guest room. Raisa Ivanovna’s belongings were everywhere — clothes in the wardrobe, cosmetics on the nightstand, books on the shelf. Olga methodically packed everything into the suitcase and bags, carefully folding each item. Then she went down to the bedroom where Andrey had been staying. His clothes, shoes, documents — everything went into a large travel bag.
By evening, two suitcases, three bags, and one travel sack stood by the front gate. Olga returned to the house, printed a copy of the certificate of ownership, and wrote a short note on a sheet of paper:
“The house is mine. The jokes are over.”
She placed the note and the copy of the document into an envelope, sealed it, and attached it to one of the suitcases.
Raisa Ivanovna returned first. She came up to the gate, saw the belongings, and froze. She took out her phone and called her son. Olga watched from the living room window. Her mother-in-law shouted into the phone, waving her arms, then tried to open the gate, but it was locked from the inside. Raisa Ivanovna pulled the handle, knocked, and shouted:
“Olga! Open this instant! What do you think you’re doing?”
Olga did not answer. She stood by the window, looking at her mother-in-law. Raisa Ivanovna kept knocking, but the door remained closed.
Twenty minutes later, Andrey arrived. He jumped out of the car and ran to the gate. Seeing the suitcases, he turned toward the house.
“Olga! Come out! What is this supposed to mean?”
Olga opened the window.
“Take your things and leave.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Andrey shouted. “Open the door!”
“This is my house. I did not invite you to live here permanently.”
“We are husband and wife!” Andrey grabbed the bars of the gate. “You can’t throw me out!”
“I can,” Olga answered calmly. “The house is registered in my name and was bought before the marriage. The documents are in the envelope. You can check.”
Raisa Ivanovna picked up the envelope, opened it, and took out the papers. She read them and turned pale. She handed them to her son. Andrey scanned the text and crumpled the document in his fist.
“Are you serious? Because of one stupid joke?”
“The joke was at the wedding,” Olga replied. “Everything after that was no longer a joke.”
“I’ll call the police right now!” Raisa Ivanovna screamed. “You have no right!”
“Go ahead,” Olga nodded. “Explain to them why you are living in someone else’s house without the owner’s permission.”
Andrey tried to open the gate, pulled harder, but the lock did not give. He turned around and kicked a suitcase. Raisa Ivanovna grabbed her son by the arm.
“Andrey, calm down. Let’s get out of here.”
“Mom, this is my house!” Andrey turned back toward the window. “Olga, stop this! We’ll discuss everything, I’ll explain!”
“There is nothing to explain,” Olga said and closed the window.
Andrey stood by the gate for another ten minutes, shouting something and knocking. Raisa Ivanovna tried to calm him, but he would not listen. Finally, his mother took out her phone and called a taxi. Andrey loaded the things into the car and sat beside his mother. The taxi drove away.
Olga stepped back from the window and sank onto the sofa. Silence. For the first time in a month and a half, the house was quiet. No strange voices, no footsteps, no orders. Only Olga and her space.
The phone rang. Andrey. Olga declined the call. For the next two hours, her phone would not stop — her husband, her mother-in-law, even Viktor Pavlovich called, trying to persuade her to open the door. Olga turned off the sound and placed the phone on the table.
That evening, a message came from Andrey:
“You’ll regret this. I’ll file for division of property.”
Olga read it and smirked. Property can be divided if it was acquired during the marriage. The cottage had been bought long before the wedding, and all the documents confirmed it. The court would not be on Andrey’s side.
The following days passed calmly. Andrey no longer came by, and the calls stopped. Olga returned to her usual life — work, projects, meetings with friends. Lena came to visit and sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
“So, how are you?”
“Fine,” Olga answered. “Very fine, actually.”
“Do you regret it?”
“What exactly?” Olga looked at her friend.
“The marriage. Your husband.”
“No,” Olga shook her head. “The only thing I regret is not doing it sooner.”
Lena nodded.
“You did well. Many women would have endured it.”
“There is no reason to endure it,” Olga said, taking a sip of coffee. “This is my home. My life. No one has the right to control either of them without my consent.”
A month later, the divorce papers arrived. Andrey had filed an application, demanding division of property. Olga hired a lawyer and provided all the documents. The court reviewed the case quickly — the cottage remained with Olga, and Andrey was not entitled to any compensation. The marriage was dissolved through the registry office, since there were no children and the property dispute had been resolved in court.
Olga received the stamp in her passport and stepped out of the registry office building. It was a February day, the snow was melting, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. Olga walked down the street, feeling light. For the first time in a long while, the future seemed clear.
At home, Olga took off her coat and walked into the living room. The sofa was back in its old place, and everything lay exactly where she liked it. In the refrigerator were the groceries Olga had chosen herself. No one else’s slippers in the hallway, no orders in the kitchen. Only silence and order.
Olga sat by the window, looking out at the snow-covered garden. The cottage was her fortress, the place where only she made the rules. No more jokes, no more “temporary” residents, no more attempts to seize what did not belong to them.
Now there truly was only one master of the house.
