“A couple of slaps, and she’ll become sweet as silk. Let her know her place,” the mother-in-law smirked, but a few minutes later she screamed in fear.

“A couple of smacks — and she’ll be obedient. Let her know her place,” the mother-in-law smirked, but a few minutes later she screamed in fear
Kristina was standing at the stove, stirring soup, when she heard the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock. She did not even turn around. She knew who it was. Her mother-in-law had come again without warning, even though the apartment did not belong to her.
“Hello, Tamara Fyodorovna,” Kristina turned around and forced a smile.
“Hello,” the woman walked through the hallway without even taking off her shoes and headed straight for the kitchen. “Soup again? My son likes meat, and you feed him grass.”
Kristina clenched her teeth. This was already the third such “inspection” that week. Her mother-in-law behaved as if the home belonged to her, not to Kristina, who had inherited it from her late grandfather.
“The cutlets are in the oven,” Kristina answered quietly.
“Show me,” Tamara Fyodorovna opened the oven and examined the tray. “Well, at least that’s something. And did you wash the floor today?”
“I washed it yesterday.”
“Yesterday?!” her mother-in-law was outraged. “Then it’s already dirty! It has to be washed every day, otherwise the place will turn into a pigsty!”
Kristina said nothing. Arguing was pointless. Every word was taken as insolence and disrespect toward elders.
The apartment had passed to her a year earlier, when her grandfather died. He left a will clearly stating that the one-room apartment in the city center was to go to his beloved granddaughter. Kristina had been the only one who visited him during his final years and cared for him. The other relatives appeared only after the funeral, but it was too late. Everything had been arranged legally.
She and Igor had only just started dating then. Six months later, he proposed, and they registered their marriage quietly, without a noisy celebration. Kristina thought she would be happy. But she had failed to consider one factor: her mother-in-law.
From the very first day, Tamara Fyodorovna made it clear that she did not like her daughter-in-law. Too quiet, too soft, not a proper housewife at all. Igor needed a strong woman who would obey him, respect his mother, and never argue with elders. In Tamara Fyodorovna’s opinion, Kristina was a weakling who needed to be trained.
And Tamara Fyodorovna trained her. She came at any time of day, checked the refrigerator, the cupboards, and even looked into the bathroom. Criticism poured out over every little thing: dust here, a towel hanging crooked there, things folded incorrectly somewhere else. Kristina stayed silent, nodded, and fixed everything. She was afraid of quarreling with her husband’s mother and hoped that, with time, their relationship would improve.
But time passed, and her mother-in-law only became more shameless.
“Do you even feed your husband properly?” Tamara Fyodorovna opened the refrigerator and began rummaging through the food. “The milk is almost gone, there’s no cheese, no sausage either. What do you spend your money on?”
“Igor gets paid in two days. Then we’ll stock up,” Kristina said carefully.
“You’ll stock up! And what are you supposed to eat now? I always kept a full refrigerator for my husband!”
Kristina wanted to object that they were living on Igor’s single salary, which was barely enough, but she stayed silent. Her mother-in-law treated any explanation as an excuse and immediately launched into a long lecture about how women in her time knew how to save money.
“Where is Igor?” Tamara Fyodorovna asked.
“In the room. He’s working at the computer.”
Her mother-in-law went into the room without knocking. Kristina stayed in the kitchen, continuing to cook lunch. She heard muffled voices: Igor greeting his mother, her asking something, him answering briefly.
“Why are you so silent when I come to see you?” Tamara Fyodorovna’s voice grew louder. “A mother should feel that she is welcome, not merely tolerated!”
“Mom, I’m working,” Igor replied tiredly.
“Working! And your wife is running things here however she pleases, without any control! The refrigerator is empty, the floors are dirty! Do you even correct her?”
“Mom, everything is fine with us…”
“Fine?!” his mother snorted. “Are you a man or a rag? You need to keep your wife under control, not let her sit on your neck!”
Kristina froze by the stove. She felt awkward listening in, but the conversation was about her, and she could not help but hear it.
“She’s obedient as it is,” Igor said uncertainly.
“Obedient!” Tamara Fyodorovna lowered her voice to an angry whisper, but Kristina still heard every word. “For now. Later she’ll show her character, and you’ll dance to her tune. You need to be stricter with her. A couple of smacks — and she’ll be obedient. Let her know her place.”
Kristina felt her hands begin to tremble. Smacks? Was her mother-in-law seriously advising her husband to hit her?
Igor gave a short laugh. He did not object. He did not say his mother was wrong. He merely chuckled, as if he agreed.
Kristina stepped away from the stove and leaned against the wall. It became difficult for her to breathe. Did her husband really think it was acceptable to hit her? Would he actually listen to his mother’s words?
At that moment, the lock clicked quietly in the hallway. Kristina flinched and turned around. Her father had entered the apartment.
Vladimir Petrovich had arrived from another city without warning. He rarely visited his daughter, but this time he had decided to drop by. He had brought apples from his dacha and simply wanted to see her. He had spare keys, which Kristina had given him just in case.
Her father took off his jacket, hung it on the coat rack, and was about to call out to his daughter when he heard a voice from the room:
“A couple of smacks — and she’ll be obedient. Let her know her place.”
Vladimir Petrovich froze. He slowly turned his head toward the room, from where that nasty, self-satisfied voice had come. His face turned to stone.
Kristina looked out of the kitchen and saw her father. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Dad?!”
“Hello, my daughter,” he said quietly, without taking his eyes off the door to the room. “Who is that?”
“That’s… my mother-in-law,” Kristina whispered.
Vladimir Petrovich nodded. Without rushing, he walked into the room. He stopped in the doorway and looked at the woman who was still standing near Igor with a pleased expression, as if she had just given her son the most valuable advice.
“Good afternoon,” he said evenly.
Tamara Fyodorovna turned around and flinched. In front of her stood a tall man of about fifty, with a hard, unreadable gaze. She immediately understood that this was Kristina’s father, and confusion flashed across her face.
“Hello,” she mumbled, trying to force a smile. “You are… here to see your daughter?”
“To see my daughter,” Vladimir Petrovich confirmed. He stepped into the room, and Tamara Fyodorovna involuntarily stepped back. “Vladimir Petrovich. Kristina’s father.”
“Very nice to meet you,” the mother-in-law’s voice trembled. “Tamara Fyodorovna. Igor’s mother.”
“I know,” Kristina’s father slowly looked around the room, paused on Igor, who was sitting pale-faced at the computer, and then looked back at the mother-in-law. “I heard your conversation. Very interesting advice you give your son.”
Tamara Fyodorovna turned pale.
“I… we were just… it wasn’t serious…”
“Not serious?” Vladimir Petrovich raised an eyebrow. “Smacks are not serious?”
“Well, I meant it figuratively! It was just an expression!” she waved her hands, trying to justify herself. “You misunderstood!”
“I understood perfectly,” Kristina’s father crossed his arms over his chest. “You are suggesting that my son-in-law should beat my daughter so that she becomes ‘obedient.’ Did I hear that correctly?”
“No! That’s not what I meant! Vladimir Petrovich, you’re exaggerating!”
“I am not exaggerating,” he took a step closer, and Tamara Fyodorovna stepped back again, bumping into a chair. “And do you know what? You will no longer appear in this home.”
“What do you mean?!” she tried to sound outraged, but her voice shook treacherously. “This is my son’s apartment!”
“No,” Vladimir Petrovich cut her off sharply. “This is my daughter’s apartment. She inherited it from her grandfather. Your son is registered here, but Kristina is the owner. And as her father, I have every right to throw out anyone who threatens her.”
“I didn’t threaten her!”
“You did. And I heard it,” he turned to Igor. “You heard what your mother said too. And you agreed. Did I understand that correctly?”
Igor remained silent, staring at the floor.
“I asked you a question,” Vladimir Petrovich repeated. “Do you agree that a wife can be beaten?”
“No… I… it was…” Igor stumbled, not knowing what to say.
“So you did not object when your mother suggested it. That means you agreed,” Kristina’s father nodded. “Understood.”
He looked again at Tamara Fyodorovna, who was standing by the wall with her face twisted in fear.
“You are leaving now. And you will never come back here again. Leave the keys on the table.”
“What keys?! I don’t have any keys!”
“Leave the keys,” he repeated in an icy tone. “Otherwise, I will call the police and explain that an outsider is illegally entering my daughter’s apartment.”
Tamara Fyodorovna began to tremble. She reached into her bag, took out a set of keys, and threw them loudly onto the table.
“Here! Take them! But I am still Igor’s mother, and he—”
“Your son is an adult,” Vladimir Petrovich interrupted her. “If he wants to see you, he can come to your place. But you will not appear in this home again. This is your final warning.”
He walked to the door and opened it wide, pointing to the exit. Tamara Fyodorovna grabbed her bag and rushed toward the door, almost colliding with Kristina, who was standing in the hallway with wide-open eyes.
“Remember this,” her father stopped her at the threshold. “If I find out that you tried to come in here again or threatened my daughter, I will file a report against you. For threats and for entering someone else’s home. Do you understand me?”
The mother-in-law nodded without looking at him and darted out of the apartment. The door closed behind her with a dull thud.
Vladimir Petrovich stood for a moment, looking at the closed door, then turned to his daughter.
“Kristina, let’s go to the kitchen.”
They went into the kitchen, and her father poured himself some water from the kettle. His hands were calm, but Kristina could see how tense his shoulders were.
“Dad…”
“Why didn’t you tell me she was behaving like this?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to worry you. And… I thought that over time everything would get better…”
“People like that do not change,” Vladimir Petrovich said firmly. “They only become more brazen if you allow them to. Do you understand what she wanted? She wanted your husband to beat you.”
Kristina lowered her eyes. Tears burned her eyelids, but she held them back.
“And your husband,” her father continued, “did not object. He didn’t say a single word against it. Do you understand what that means?”
“I understand,” she whispered.
Vladimir Petrovich put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders.
“You live in your own apartment. This is your home. No one has the right to come here without your permission and teach you how to live. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, Dad.”
Igor never came out of the room that entire evening. Vladimir Petrovich stayed the night and unfolded the sofa in the living room. In the morning, he left, but before that he had another conversation with his son-in-law. It was short and harsh. Her father made it clear that if anything threatened Kristina, he would return. And next time, he would not be so polite.
After that, Tamara Fyodorovna never appeared in the apartment again. She called her son, but spoke carefully, choosing every word, as if afraid someone might be listening. She no longer gave Igor advice on how to “train” his wife.
Kristina still lived with her husband, but something inside her had changed. She was no longer afraid. Because she knew that behind her stood her father, who would not allow anyone to hurt her.