Pack your things and get out of our apartment,” my mother-in-law told me, not knowing the apartment belonged to me
“Arinushka, when are you going to learn how to set the plates properly?” Rimma Viktorovna shook her head as she rearranged the dishes on the table. “Spoons go on the right, forks on the left. Basic rules of etiquette!”
Arina pressed her lips together and silently counted to ten. It had been three months since her mother-in-law had moved into their apartment, and every day had turned into a test of endurance.
“Rimma Viktorovna, Oleg and I are used to doing it differently,” Arina tried to object.
“You’re used to doing it wrong,” her mother-in-law snapped. “Olezhek deserves order at home. He worked so hard for this apartment.”
Arina stayed silent again. She still hadn’t found the courage to tell her mother-in-law that she had bought the two-room apartment in the new district herself, long before she met Oleg. Her grandmother’s inheritance, plus her own savings, had allowed her to buy a home by the age of twenty-six.
Oleg had appeared in her life later. They met at the birthday party of a mutual friend. Tall, with kind eyes and an easy smile, he immediately appealed to her with his reliability. A year later, they got married, and Oleg moved in with her. The question of whose apartment it was had never become a serious issue.
Until Rimma Viktorovna arrived.
“Arina, these kitchen curtains don’t match the wallpaper at all,” her mother-in-law continued, looking around the room. “They should be replaced.”
“I’ll think about it,” Arina replied dryly, even though she had chosen those curtains with special care.
The front door clicked — Oleg had returned. Rimma Viktorovna’s face instantly lit up with a smile.
“Olezhek!” she rushed toward her son. “You’re home early today. I was just teaching Arina how to set the table properly. Can you imagine? She doesn’t even know which side the forks go on!”
Oleg gave a tired smile.
“Mom, maybe you shouldn’t? We’ll figure it out ourselves somehow.”
“Well, there you go,” Rimma Viktorovna pouted. “I’m only trying to help, and you…”
Arina caught her husband’s gaze — apologetic, pleading. Again. Every time his mother crossed the line, he looked at her the same way, asking her to be patient and not start a conflict.
“Let’s have dinner,” Arina said, placing the salad on the table. “I made a casserole.”
“I hope it isn’t dried out this time,” her mother-in-law muttered under her breath, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.
During dinner, Rimma Viktorovna talked about her plans.
“I’ve almost chosen an apartment. Not far from here, in the neighboring block. It’s small, but it’ll be enough for me alone.”
“That’s wonderful, Mom,” Oleg said, brightening.
“There’s just one problem — I’m short on money,” Rimma Viktorovna sighed, looking closely at her son. “They gave me very little for my old apartment, and prices here are steep.”
A pause hung over the table. Arina felt Oleg tense.
“Maybe you could look at cheaper options?” she suggested carefully.
“At my age, one needs to live in a good district, closer to the clinic,” Rimma Viktorovna objected. “Besides, I want to be near you. Olezhek, perhaps you could help your mother?”
“Of course, Mom,” Oleg answered quickly, without looking at his wife. “We’ll think of something.”
Arina lowered her eyes. Their family budget was already falling apart after the archive where she worked had reduced staff, forcing her to switch to part-time. What kind of help could they possibly offer?
After dinner, when Rimma Viktorovna went to watch her TV series, Arina quietly asked her husband:
“Oleg, are you serious? Where are we going to get the money?”
“Not in front of Mom,” he whispered, glancing around. “We’ll talk later.”
But “later” never came.
The next day, Arina stayed late at the archive, sorting through new materials. Veronika, her colleague, sat on the edge of the desk.
“How are things on the family front?” she asked with a wink. “Is your mother-in-law still living with you?”
“Yes,” Arina sighed. “And now she’s hinting that Oleg should help her buy an apartment.”
“And what does he say?”
“He said he’d help. But where would the money come from? I’m working part-time, he’s an engineer at a factory. We’re not oligarchs.”
Veronika shook her head.
“Does she know the apartment is yours?”
“No. And judging by the looks of it, Oleg isn’t in any hurry to enlighten her.”
“Why?”
Arina shrugged.
“I don’t know. He’s probably afraid to disappoint her. She’s always been proud of him, considered him the most successful. Her ‘golden boy.’”
“And what about you? Doesn’t it hurt?”
Arina thought about it. Before, she had believed these were small things, not worth paying attention to. But with every passing day, the unspoken truth weighed more heavily on her.
“It does hurt,” she finally admitted. “But I don’t want to put Oleg in an awkward position.”
That evening, a surprise was waiting for them at home. Sitting in the living room was not only Rimma Viktorovna, but also Oleg’s sister and her husband.
“Lena! Sasha!” Oleg said happily. “What brings you here?”
“Mom called and said there would be a family dinner,” Elena smiled, hugging her brother.
Arina looked at her mother-in-law in confusion. No one had warned her about guests. Nothing had been prepared.
“I took care of everything,” Rimma Viktorovna announced proudly, noticing her confusion. “I went to the store and cooked. You’re tired after work, after all.”
It might have sounded caring, if not for the tone — condescending, with a note of superiority.
At dinner, Rimma Viktorovna shone. She told stories from Oleg and Elena’s childhood, remembering how hard it had been to raise the children alone.
“I worked three jobs so they wouldn’t lack anything,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “And look at the result! Lenochka is a senior accountant, Olezhek bought an apartment himself and found a good job.”
Arina noticed Oleg tense up. But he said nothing.
“By the way, Mom told me she found an apartment she likes,” Elena said. “She’s just short on money.”
“Yes,” Rimma Viktorovna picked up. “About two hundred thousand. I thought maybe we could all chip in? You, Lenochka, and Olezhek.”
Arina felt everything inside her tighten. “Chip in”? They could barely make ends meet!
“Mom, I’m not sure…” Oleg began.
“What’s there to think about?” Rimma Viktorovna interrupted. “You’re a man, a provider. Surely you can help your mother? I gave you my whole life, and now that I need help…”
“We’ll help,” Arina cut in, unable to listen any longer. “But we need time. We’re having financial difficulties right now.”
“What difficulties?” her mother-in-law asked, genuinely surprised. “You have your own apartment, no loans. Olezhek earns good money. And you could try harder too, instead of working part-time.”
Elena coughed awkwardly.
“Maybe we should change the subject?”
The rest of the evening passed in strained conversation. When the guests left, Arina turned decisively to her husband.
“We need to talk.”
“Now?” Oleg asked tiredly. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“Yes, now,” Arina insisted. “Why didn’t you tell your mother the truth? About the apartment, about our finances?”
Oleg sat down on the sofa and ran a hand over his face.
“You don’t understand. Mom has been proud of me all her life. I can’t disappoint her.”
“And you can disappoint me?” Arina asked quietly. “You can put me in an awkward position? You can let me be portrayed as a freeloader sitting on her husband’s neck?”
Continued in the first comment.
Arinushka, when are you finally going to learn how to set the plates properly?” Rimma Viktorovna shook her head as she rearranged the dishes on the table. “Spoons should be on the right, forks on the left. Basic rules of etiquette!”
Arina pressed her lips together and silently counted to ten. It had been three months since her mother-in-law had moved into their apartment, and every day had turned into a test of endurance.
“Rimma Viktorovna, Oleg and I are used to doing it differently,” Arina tried to object.
“You are used to doing it incorrectly,” her mother-in-law cut her off. “Olezhek deserves order at home. He worked so hard for this apartment.”
Arina stayed silent again. She still had not found the courage to tell her mother-in-law that she had bought the two-room apartment in the new district herself, long before she ever met Oleg. Her grandmother’s inheritance, together with her own savings, had allowed her to become a homeowner by the age of twenty-six.
Oleg had come into her life later. They had met at the birthday party of a mutual friend. Tall, with kind eyes and an easy smile, he immediately appealed to her with his reliability. A year later, they got married, and Oleg moved in with her. The question of whose apartment it was had never really become an issue.
Not until Rimma Viktorovna appeared.
“Arina, these kitchen curtains absolutely do not match the wallpaper,” her mother-in-law continued, looking around the room. “They should be replaced.”
“I’ll think about it,” Arina replied dryly, though she had chosen those curtains with great care.
The front door clicked. Oleg had come home. Rimma Viktorovna’s face instantly lit up with a smile.
“Olezhek!” she rushed toward her son. “You’re early today. I was just teaching Arina how to set the table properly. Can you imagine, she doesn’t even know which side the forks go on!”
Oleg gave a tired smile.
“Mom, maybe you shouldn’t? We’ll figure it out ourselves somehow.”
“Oh, of course,” Rimma Viktorovna pouted. “I only want what’s best, and you…”
Arina caught her husband’s gaze: apologetic, pleading. Again. Every time his mother crossed a boundary, he looked at Arina the same way, asking her to endure it, not to start a conflict.
“Let’s have dinner,” Arina said, placing a salad on the table. “I made a casserole.”
“I hope it isn’t dried out this time,” her mother-in-law remarked under her breath, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.
During dinner, Rimma Viktorovna spoke about her plans.
“I’ve almost chosen an apartment. Not far from here, in the next block. It’s small, but enough for me alone.”
“That’s wonderful, Mom,” Oleg said, visibly brightening.
“There’s just one problem. I’m short on money,” Rimma Viktorovna sighed, looking carefully at her son. “They didn’t give me much for my old apartment, and prices here are biting.”
A silence fell. Arina felt Oleg tense beside her.
“Maybe you could look at cheaper options?” she suggested cautiously.
“At my age, one needs to live in a good neighborhood, closer to the clinic,” Rimma Viktorovna objected. “Besides, I want to be near you. Olezhek, perhaps you could help your mother?”
“Of course, Mom,” Oleg answered quickly, without looking at his wife. “We’ll think of something.”
Arina lowered her eyes. Their family budget was already stretched thin after the archive where she worked had reduced staff and she had been forced to switch to part-time work. What kind of help could they possibly offer?
After dinner, when Rimma Viktorovna went to watch her TV series, Arina quietly asked her husband:
“Oleg, are you serious? Where are we going to get the money?”
“Not in front of Mom,” he whispered, glancing around. “We’ll talk later.”
But “later” never came.
The next day, Arina stayed late at the archive, sorting through new arrivals. Veronika, her colleague, perched on the edge of her desk.
“How are things on the family front?” she asked with a wink. “Is your mother-in-law still living with you?”
“Yes,” Arina sighed. “And now she’s hinting that Oleg should help her buy an apartment.”
“And what does he say?”
“He said he’d help. But where’s the money supposed to come from? I’m working part-time, he’s an engineer at a factory. We’re not oligarchs.”
Veronika shook her head.
“Does she know the apartment is yours?”
“No. And judging by everything, Oleg isn’t in a hurry to enlighten her.”
“Why?”
Arina shrugged.
“I don’t know. He’s probably afraid of disappointing her. She’s always been proud of him, considered him the most successful. Her ‘golden boy.’”
“And what about you? Doesn’t it hurt?”
Arina thought for a moment. Earlier, she had told herself these were small things, not worth attention. But with every passing day, the unspoken truth weighed on her more heavily.
“It hurts,” she finally admitted. “But I don’t want to put Oleg in an awkward position.”
That evening, a surprise awaited them at home. Not only Rimma Viktorovna was sitting in the living room, but also Oleg’s sister and her husband.
“Lena! Sasha!” Oleg said happily. “What brings you here?”
“Mom called and said there would be a family dinner,” Elena smiled, hugging her brother.
Arina looked at her mother-in-law in confusion. No one had warned her about guests, and nothing had been prepared.
“I took care of everything,” Rimma Viktorovna announced proudly, noticing her confusion. “I went to the store and cooked. You get tired after work, after all.”
It would have sounded caring, if not for the tone: patronizing, with notes of superiority.
During dinner, Rimma Viktorovna shone. She told stories from Oleg and Elena’s childhood, recalling how difficult it had been to raise the children alone.
“I worked three jobs so they would never lack anything,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “And here is the result! Lenochka is a senior accountant, Olezhek bought an apartment himself and found a good job.”
Arina noticed how Oleg stiffened. But he said nothing.
“By the way, Mom told us she found an apartment,” Elena said. “Only she’s short on money.”
“Yes,” Rimma Viktorovna immediately picked up. “About two hundred thousand. I thought perhaps we could all chip in? You, Lenochka, and Olezhek.”
Arina felt everything inside her tighten. “Chip in”? They were barely making ends meet!
“Mom, I’m not sure…” Oleg began.
“What is there to think about?” Rimma Viktorovna interrupted. “You are a man, a provider. Can’t you help your mother? I gave my whole life to you, and now, when I need help…”
“We will help,” Arina intervened, unable to listen anymore. “But we need time. We are having financial difficulties right now.”
“What difficulties?” her mother-in-law asked, genuinely surprised. “You have your own apartment, no loans. Olezhek earns well. And you could try harder too, instead of working part-time.”
Elena coughed awkwardly.
“Maybe we should change the subject?”
The rest of the evening passed in strained conversation. When the guests left, Arina turned firmly to her husband.
“We need to talk.”
“Now?” Oleg asked tiredly. “I can barely stand.”
“Yes, now,” Arina insisted. “Why didn’t you tell your mother the truth? About the apartment, about our finances?”
Oleg sat down on the sofa and rubbed his face with his hand.
“You don’t understand. Mom has been proud of me all her life. I can’t disappoint her.”
“And you can disappoint me?” Arina asked quietly. “You can put me in an awkward position? You can let me look like a freeloader living off her husband?”
“I never…”
“You allow your mother to think that. And to say that. Don’t you see how she treats me? Like a servant in your house!”
“She’s just worried about me,” Oleg tried to defend his mother. “She’s used to taking care of me.”
“That isn’t care,” Arina shook her head. “That is control. And you let her control our life.”
Rimma Viktorovna entered the room.
“What’s all this noise? Olezhek, are you all right?”
“Everything is fine, Mom,” Oleg quickly answered. “We’re just talking.”
“About what?” his mother-in-law asked without ceremony.
“About money,” Arina answered honestly. “About the fact that we cannot help you with the apartment.”
“Why not?” Rimma Viktorovna planted her hands on her hips. “Oleg, explain to your wife that helping one’s mother is sacred.”
“Mom, things really are difficult right now,” Oleg began. “I can lend you a little, but two hundred thousand…”
“You could sell something,” Rimma Viktorovna suggested, looking around the room. “Or borrow. Your friends would surely help.”
“No, Mom,” Oleg said firmly, to Arina’s surprise. “We will not borrow. And we will not sell anything.”
Rimma Viktorovna pursed her lips.
“I see. This is all her doing, isn’t it? Turning you against your mother?”
For the next two weeks, a cold war reigned in the apartment. Rimma Viktorovna demonstratively refused to speak to Arina, while she spoke to her son with exaggerated affection. Arina tried to spend more time at work just to avoid crossing paths with her mother-in-law.
One day, returning home earlier than usual, Arina heard an unfamiliar male voice in the living room. Opening the door, she saw Rimma Viktorovna and a man with a notebook, who was writing something down as he examined the room.
“What is going on?” Arina asked.
“Arina!” her mother-in-law said in surprise. “You’re early. This is Viktor Sergeyevich, a real estate agent. We’re discussing options.”
“Options for what?” Arina asked, bewildered.
“For selling, of course,” Rimma Viktorovna replied as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “This apartment could be sold for a good price, we could add my money, and buy a three-room apartment. We’ll all live together. Why pay for two apartments?”
Arina felt her vision darken with anger.
“Are you out of your mind?” she asked quietly. “Who gave you the right to dispose of our apartment?”
“Not ours. Oleg’s,” her mother-in-law corrected her. “I am his mother, and I have the right to advise my son on what is best.”
“You…” Arina choked with outrage. “You understand nothing.”
“No, you understand nothing,” Rimma Viktorovna snapped. “I care about my son. And all you think about is separating him from his family.”
“Viktor Sergeyevich,” Arina turned to the realtor. “Please leave us. We are having a family conversation.”
The man nodded awkwardly and hurried toward the exit. As soon as the door closed behind him, Rimma Viktorovna exploded.
“How dare you throw out my guest? Do you think you are the most important person here? Don’t worry, not for long. Oleg will open his eyes and understand that his mother is more important than anyone!”
“Rimma Viktorovna,” Arina tried to speak calmly. “Let’s wait for Oleg and discuss everything.”
“There is nothing to discuss!” her mother-in-law raised her voice. “Pack your things and get out of our apartment! This is my son’s home, and I will not allow some upstart to boss him around!”
At that moment, the front door opened and Oleg walked in.
“What’s with all the shouting?” he asked, looking from his mother to his wife.
“Your mother invited a realtor to evaluate the apartment,” Arina said. “She wants us to sell it and buy a three-room apartment for everyone.”
“What?” Oleg looked at his mother in confusion. “Mom, is that true?”
“Of course it’s true!” Rimma Viktorovna cried. “I’m looking out for you. Why do you need this… this woman beside you? She can’t even cook properly! If we live together, we’ll save money, I’ll take care of the household…”
“Mom, stop,” Oleg raised his hand. “You cannot decide that for us.”
“I can! I am your mother!” Rimma Viktorovna stepped closer to her son. “And I can see she has wrapped you around her finger. She’ll probably demand alimony too when you leave her!”
“Mom, please…”
“No ‘please’! Let her get out! This is your apartment. You paid for it!”
Arina could not bear it anymore. She went to the cabinet, pulled out a folder of documents, and threw it onto the table.
“Here,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “These are the documents for the apartment. Look carefully, Rimma Viktorovna. Whose name is there?”
Her mother-in-law took the documents in confusion. Her eyes widened when she saw Arina’s name in the “owner” line.
“What kind of deception is this?” she whispered. “Oleg?”
Oleg lowered his head.
“It’s true, Mom. The apartment belongs to Arina. She bought it before we met.”
Rimma Viktorovna turned pale.
“And you… you live in her apartment? Like some dependent?”
“Don’t, Mom,” Oleg asked quietly. “We are a family. What difference does it make whose apartment it is?”
“A huge difference!” Rimma Viktorovna exclaimed. “A man should provide for his family, not sit on his wife’s neck!”
“I’m not sitting on anyone’s neck,” Oleg objected. “I pay utilities, buy groceries…”
“And that’s all?” Rimma Viktorovna shook her head. “My son… I was so proud of you. I thought you were an accomplished man, and you…”
“Enough!” Oleg suddenly shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “Enough, Mom! All my life you have told me what I should be! All my life I tried to live up to your expectations! And what came of it? It was never enough for you!”
Rimma Viktorovna recoiled, seeing her son in such anger for the first time.
“Olezhek…”
“Don’t call me that,” Oleg said quietly but firmly. “I am not a little boy. I am a grown man. And yes, my wife bought the apartment herself. So what? I am proud of her. She did well. And I am not ashamed to have such a wife.”
Arina looked at her husband in astonishment. For the first time in all the years of their marriage, she saw him so decisive, so… strong.
Rimma Viktorovna sank onto a chair and covered her face with her hands.
“Disgrace… What a disgrace…”
“There is no disgrace,” Oleg said wearily. “There is only your pride, Mom. You can’t accept that I’m not as successful as you dreamed.”
“I always wanted the best for you,” Rimma Viktorovna whispered.
“No,” Oleg shook his head. “You wanted me to fit your idea of what was best. Those are different things.”
That evening, Rimma Viktorovna packed her things and left for her sister’s place on the other side of town. Oleg walked her to the taxi, and when he returned, he silently sat on the sofa beside Arina.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long silence. “I should have explained everything to Mom a long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you?” Arina asked quietly.
Oleg sighed.
“It’s complicated. Mom always expected more from me. After the divorce from my father, it was as if she decided to prove to everyone that she could cope, that her children would be the most successful. It was easier for Elena. She really did study well and build a career. But I… I’m ordinary. Average. And I always felt like I disappointed her.”
“But you don’t have to be someone else,” Arina took his hand. “You are a good person, Oleg. Reliable, kind. Is that not enough?”
“For Mom, yes,” he smiled bitterly. “She needs achievements she can boast about to her friends.”
They talked deep into the night. For the first time in a long while, they truly opened up to each other. Oleg told her how, as a child, he had been afraid to bring home a B, how his mother forced him to study music even though he had no ear for it, how she always compared him with the more successful children of her acquaintances.
“I got used to hiding my failures,” he admitted. “It was easier to lie than to see disappointment in her eyes.”
“And that’s why you didn’t tell her about the apartment,” Arina understood.
“Yes. Stupid, isn’t it?”
“No,” Arina shook her head. “I understand. But we need to learn to be honest with each other. And with the people around us.”
A week passed. Rimma Viktorovna did not call or come by. Oleg tried several times to contact her, but she rejected his calls. Finally, he went to his sister’s place to speak with his mother in person.
He returned thoughtful.
“How is she?” Arina asked.
“Offended. She thinks we betrayed her,” Oleg sat down at the table. “She says she doesn’t want anything to do with us anymore.”
“At all?”
“Until we apologize,” he smiled faintly. “Can you imagine? She’s waiting for an apology.”
“And what do you think?”
Oleg looked at Arina.
“I think I will not apologize for living my own life. For the first time in my life.”
The next day, Oleg came home with unexpected news.
“I’ve been offered some side work. I’ll be doing drawings from home in the evenings. It’s decent money.”
“Why?” Arina was surprised. “Our finances aren’t that bad.”
“I want to help Mom,” Oleg answered. “Not because she demands it, but because I decided it myself. She worked all her life, providing for Lena and me. Now it’s my turn to help her.”
Arina looked at her husband carefully.
“You’ve changed.”
“For the better?” he smiled.
“Definitely,” she nodded. “And you know, I also want to help your mother.”
“Really?” Oleg was surprised. “After everything she said?”
“She is your mother,” Arina replied simply. “And despite all her flaws, she loves you. In her own way, but she loves you.”
A month later, when the first money from the side work came in, Oleg suggested inviting his mother to dinner. Arina agreed.
Rimma Viktorovna arrived guarded, but tried to maintain her dignity. Dinner passed in a tense atmosphere until Oleg said:
“Mom, I found additional work. And Arina and I decided to help you with the down payment for an apartment.”
Rimma Viktorovna looked up in surprise.
“You? But why?”
“Because we are family,” Oleg answered. “And family should support one another. Not command, not pressure, but support.”
“I don’t understand,” Rimma Viktorovna murmured. “After everything I said…”
“We’re not holding a grudge,” Arina said. “We all make mistakes. The important thing is to be able to admit them and move forward.”
“And one more thing,” Oleg added. “While you’re looking for an apartment, you can live with us. If, of course, you promise not to invite realtors without our knowledge.”
For the first time that evening, Rimma Viktorovna smiled.
“I promise.”
Over the following weeks, the atmosphere in the home gradually changed. Rimma Viktorovna still tried to give orders, but she was no longer as forceful. Oleg was no longer embarrassed to object to his mother when she crossed boundaries. And Arina discovered that her mother-in-law had good qualities too — for example, she knew a lot about plants and helped revive the houseplants.
One morning, Arina entered the kitchen and saw Rimma Viktorovna chopping vegetables for a salad.
“Can I help?” Arina offered.
“You may,” her mother-in-law nodded. “Just chop them smaller. It tastes better that way.”
They worked in silence, but this silence was no longer hostile.
“You are a good homemaker,” Rimma Viktorovna suddenly said. “I was wrong about you.”
Arina looked at her mother-in-law in surprise.
“Thank you.”
“And thank you for not holding a grudge,” Rimma Viktorovna continued. “At my age, it is hard to admit mistakes. But I admit it — I was wrong.”
“We all make mistakes,” Arina answered gently. “What matters is not that, but what we do afterward.”
Rimma Viktorovna nodded.
“I am proud of Oleg. Truly proud now. Not because of an apartment or money, but because he found the strength to stand up to me. Not everyone could do that.”
“He loves you very much,” Arina said. “And he always wanted your approval.”
“And instead of supporting him, I pressured him,” her mother-in-law sighed. “I thought it was right, that this way he would achieve more.”
“It’s not too late to change everything,” Arina smiled. “We have plenty of time ahead.”
That evening, when Oleg came home from work, he found an astonishing scene: his mother and wife were cooking dinner together, calmly chatting and even laughing about something.
“What is happening?” he asked, hardly believing his eyes.
“Dinner is happening,” Arina smiled, stirring something in a pot. “Your mother shared a vegetable stew recipe.”
Rimma Viktorovna waved her hand in embarrassment.
“Nothing special, just an old family recipe.”
Oleg looked from his wife to his mother with disbelief.
“You… made peace?”
“Let’s say we are learning to understand each other,” Arina answered diplomatically.
“Your wife turned out to be wiser than I am,” Rimma Viktorovna unexpectedly admitted. “She does not hold resentment.”
Oleg could not hide his surprise.
“Mom, are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” Rimma Viktorovna nodded. “It took me time to admit my mistakes. I always thought I knew best. It turned out I did not always know.”
At dinner, the atmosphere felt unusually light. They discussed apartment options for Rimma Viktorovna, and to Oleg’s surprise, his mother listened to Arina’s advice for the first time.
“I found a small one-room apartment not far from the park,” Rimma Viktorovna said. “The neighborhood is quiet and green.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Arina approved. “And close to us.”
“Yes, only three bus stops from you,” Rimma Viktorovna nodded and added with a slight smile, “Don’t worry, I won’t show up without warning.”
Oleg laughed.
“Mom, are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“Very funny,” Rimma Viktorovna snorted, but without her old offense. “Even an old dog can learn new tricks.”
Two months later, Rimma Viktorovna moved into her own apartment. Oleg and Arina helped her with repairs and furnishing. Contrary to Arina’s fears, her mother-in-law did not try to control the process and even asked for their opinion several times.
When the main work was finished, they held a small housewarming party. Elena and her husband came, along with several of Rimma Viktorovna’s friends and Arina’s colleague, Veronika.
“I can’t believe this is the same terrifying mother-in-law you told me about,” Veronika whispered, watching Rimma Viktorovna treat the guests. “She looks… normal.”
“People change,” Arina shrugged. “Sometimes you just need to give them a chance.”
When the guests had gone, Rimma Viktorovna called Arina over.
“I want to show you something.”
She took an old box from the cabinet and opened it. Inside were childhood photos of Oleg and Elena, some notes, small souvenirs.
“These are my treasures,” Rimma Viktorovna said. “My whole life is here.”
She carefully took out a yellowed photograph.
“This is me with their father when we had just gotten married. He was as quiet and calm as Oleg. I loved him for that. And then… then I started nagging him for the same thing.”
Arina looked closely at the photograph: a young, smiling Rimma Viktorovna beside a tall man who looked so much like Oleg.
“I did not want to repeat my mother’s fate,” her mother-in-law continued. “She lived her whole life in poverty, submitting to her husband. I swore that my children would live better, achieve more. And in the end, I drove my husband away and exhausted my children with my expectations.”
“You wanted what was best,” Arina said gently.
“Yes, but I did it the wrong way,” Rimma Viktorovna smiled bitterly. “You know, when Oleg first brought you to meet me, I immediately saw that you were stronger than him. And that frightened me. I was afraid you would push him around, the way I once pushed his father around.”
“I never…”
“Now I understand that,” her mother-in-law nodded. “You don’t suppress him. You support him. You give him room to be himself. Something I never did.”
She carefully placed the photographs back into the box.
“Thank you, Arina. For loving my son as he is.”
That night, lying in bed, Arina told Oleg about the conversation with his mother.
“I never thought she could change like that,” Oleg admitted. “Did you use some kind of magic?”
“No magic,” Arina smiled. “Sometimes people need to face the truth in order to change. Your mother is a strong woman. She managed to admit her mistakes, and that is worth a lot.”
“You know,” Oleg said thoughtfully, “all my life I tried to meet her expectations, afraid to disappoint her. But in the end, when I stopped being afraid and simply became myself, she started respecting me.”
“Because true strength is not in obeying, but in remaining yourself,” Arina took his hand.
“You taught me that,” Oleg pulled her closer. “And I am grateful to you for it.”
Six months later, their relationship with Rimma Viktorovna had turned into what could be called a real family. The mother-in-law came to visit once a week, helped with household chores, but never imposed her opinion. And when she came, she always called in advance and asked whether it was convenient.
One evening, as the three of them sat at dinner, Rimma Viktorovna suddenly announced:
“I signed up for computer courses for retirees.”
“Really?” Oleg was surprised. “You always said that wasn’t for you.”
“I said a lot of things,” Rimma Viktorovna waved him off. “A person should develop at any age. I don’t want to fall behind life.”
Arina and Oleg exchanged smiles.
“And I’m also planning to go to the seaside next month,” Rimma Viktorovna continued. “A friend invited me to Anapa. Why not?”
“Mom, that’s wonderful!” Oleg said sincerely.
“And you?” Rimma Viktorovna looked at them. “What are your plans?”
Arina and Oleg exchanged another glance, this time with a different expression.
“Actually, there is news,” Oleg said. “I was offered a promotion at work. I’ll be leading a small department.”
“Congratulations!” Rimma Viktorovna exclaimed. “I always knew you were capable of more.”
“And also,” Arina added, “they returned me to full-time at the archive. So our finances are now completely fine.”
“You see how everything works out,” Rimma Viktorovna nodded with satisfaction. “Everything is for the best. Even that scandal with the apartment.”
They laughed, remembering how absurdly everything had begun.
“And most importantly,” Rimma Viktorovna said, suddenly serious, “I finally understood that a home is not walls, but people. It doesn’t matter who owns the apartment. What matters is that people who love one another live in it.”
Oleg took both his mother’s and his wife’s hands.
“My beloved women have finally found common ground. Now I am definitely the happiest person in the world.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Rimma Viktorovna grumbled, though there were tears in her eyes. “Better pour me more tea.”
And all three of them laughed, knowing that the hardest part was already behind them, and ahead there was only good.
Of course, Rimma Viktorovna sometimes slipped back into old habits — trying to command, giving unsolicited advice. But now she herself, as well as Oleg and Arina, knew how to stop in time, how not to let small disagreements grow into a serious conflict.
And the apartment where everything had started remained Arina’s property. But now that no longer mattered. Because the greatest wealth was not in square meters, but in the ability to hear one another, respect the feelings of loved ones, and find compromises even in the most difficult situations.
And if someone had asked Arina what had helped them overcome all their difficulties, she would have answered simply:
“Honesty. Love. And time, which heals even the deepest wounds.”
