“Go to Your Beloved Daughter, to the House You Gave Her!” I Told My Mother-in-Law When She Arrived to “Stay for a While”
Forty minutes before the doorbell rang, Sergey suddenly climbed up to the top shelf of the wardrobe in the small room and began taking down my boxes of documents and winter clothes. He put one on the desk, carried the second into the bedroom, and then asked whether we could move the printer somewhere else for a while.
I stood in the doorway watching my husband clear space in an apartment that had belonged to me long before we ever met.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Mom’s coming over after lunch.”
“To visit?”
Sergey hesitated before answering.
“Natasha, let her get here first. Why are you getting worked up in advance?”
It was that phrase—“let her get here first”—that bothered me. For some reason, an ordinary family lunch was being prepared as though the decision had already been made and all that was left for me to do was discover it.
The House Everyone Considered Family Property
Sergey and I have been married for nine years. I bought the apartment three years before our wedding, when I was living alone. It was an ordinary two-bedroom apartment without any expensive renovations, but it was mine. After we got married, Sergey moved in with me. We ran the household together, split expenses, and never argued about who had the right to how many square meters.
My mother-in-law, Lyudmila Pavlovna, owned not only an apartment in the city but also a proper house in a nearby suburb. It wasn’t a summer cottage but a fully livable home with heating, three rooms, and a veranda. For years, Sergey helped his mother maintain it: he brought building materials, met repairmen, and fixed the gate. His younger sister, Inna, came less often and usually didn’t stay long.
A year and a half ago, during Sunday lunch, Lyudmila Pavlovna announced:
“I transferred the house to Inna. Everything was finalized yesterday.”
Sergey put down his fork.
“What do you mean, transferred it to Inna?”
“I gave it to her. Vladik is growing up, and their apartment is cramped. They’ll move there by summer.”
My husband had obviously heard about this for the first time.
“Mom, you said you’d decide later what to do with the house.”
“Well, I decided. Why do you need it? You already have a place to live.”
Sergey automatically glanced at me. I said nothing. The house belonged to Lyudmila Pavlovna, and she had every right to give it to her daughter. She had even completed the transfer through a notary. But the comment about Sergey already having a home bothered me.
Apparently, in her mind, my apartment had already been counted as Sergey’s property.
When Inna and her family moved in, her brother spent two weekends transporting boxes, assembling shelving, and helping move furniture. I didn’t object. A move only happens once.
Except it didn’t end after that one time.
A Gift for the Sister, Responsibilities for the Brother
After the move, almost every inconvenient problem involving the house somehow ended up becoming Sergey’s responsibility again. Sometimes someone needed to pick something up from a hardware store, sometimes a repairman needed to be met during working hours, and sometimes a heavy package had to be brought from the city.
Once, Inna messaged him saying that a repairman could only come on a weekday and that Sergey should probably meet him.
Sergey refused because he had work.
Ten minutes later, his mother called.
“Seryozha, surely you can take a couple of hours off.”
I worked from home and could hear the conversation from the kitchen.
“I can’t, Mom. Let Inna reschedule.”
“It’s inconvenient for her too. You’ve become strange lately. Helping your own sister is suddenly a problem.”
Sergey didn’t go in the end, but he walked around in a gloomy mood all evening.
A week later, we were getting ready to visit my parents. We had already gotten dressed when Inna sent him a message. The storage period for her order at the store was about to expire, so Sergey needed to pick up the packages “on the way.”
“On the way” meant a detour of almost forty kilometers.
“Tell her you can’t,” I said.
“She already paid for it.”
“Then she can arrange delivery.”
Sergey looked at his phone and sighed.
“Mom’s going to start calling now.”
“Are you an adult man or the on-call driver for the house your sister was gifted?”
He was offended by the way I phrased it, but he didn’t go pick up the order.
Later, I finally asked him why he was still the one maintaining a house that had been gifted to Inna.
“Mom’s used to it,” Sergey replied. “I’ve always helped.”
“Then Inna will have to get used to the fact that owning a house means more than simply receiving it as a gift.”
After that, Sergey began rushing over less often whenever they called, and I thought the issue was gradually fading away.
I was wrong.
“Mom Will Stay With Us for a Little While”
At the end of October, Lyudmila Pavlovna began clearing out her city apartment. Sergey helped her move a chest of drawers and took several boxes to a storage room.
“Is she renovating?” I asked.
“No. She wants to rent the apartment to a woman she knows for the winter.”
“And where will she stay?”
“Maybe at Inna’s house.”
That sounded logical. The house was heated, his sister had a guest room, and it wasn’t far from the city.
A few days later, my mother-in-law wrote in the family group chat that the tenant would move in on November first. Inna reacted to the message with an emoji. Sergey didn’t write anything.
That evening, he cautiously asked me:
“If Mom stays with us for a few days, you don’t mind, right?”
“For a few days, no. Why not at Inna’s?”
“Vladik has lessons with a tutor right now. They’re using the guest room.”
“All right. We can manage for a few days.”
Lyudmila Pavlovna had occasionally stayed overnight with us before, so there seemed to be nothing to argue about.
But on Sunday morning, Sergey changed the bedding on the sofa in the small room and then began clearing out the wardrobe.
I still hadn’t managed to get a proper explanation from him when the doorbell rang.
My mother-in-law was standing on the landing.
Beside her were a large suitcase, a travel bag, two shopping bags, and a folding laundry drying rack.
Sergey grabbed the suitcase by the handle.
Lyudmila Pavlovna walked inside, took off her coat, and handed it to her son.
“Hang this up, please. You didn’t throw away my slippers, did you?”
I looked at all her belongings.
“Lyudmila Pavlovna, how long are you staying?”
“Until the end of February for sure. Then we’ll see. Maybe I’ll stay another month. If the woman behaves properly in my apartment, why should I throw her out?”
Sergey placed the suitcase against the wall.
“You knew about this?” I asked him.
“Mom mentioned the winter.”
“And you told me ‘a few days.’”
My mother-in-law took off her gloves and put them on the shelf beside the mirror.
“Natasha, why are you interrogating me right away? I’m not a stranger. How much do I need? There’s a sofa, there’s a wardrobe. I even brought groceries.”
She nodded toward the bags, as though several jars and a package of grains somehow transformed a four-month stay into an ordinary visit.
A Decision Made Behind My Back
I asked Sergey not to move her things out of the hallway and suggested we go into the kitchen.
Lyudmila Pavlovna sat at the table and began explaining how conveniently everything had been arranged. Her apartment had already been handed over to the woman renting it, and she had received the first month’s rent.
At Inna’s place, meanwhile, things were supposedly “too cramped.” Vladik was preparing for exams, Inna’s husband got up early, and the guest room was occupied.
What bothered me most wasn’t even that.
It was the timing.
“When did you decide you were going to live with us?”
My mother-in-law looked at her son.
“About two weeks ago.”
Sergey immediately objected.
“I said we needed to discuss it.”
“You said, ‘We’ll figure it out, come over.’ That’s why I rented out my apartment.”
He fell silent.
At that moment, I understood why for two weeks I had been hearing phrases like “maybe” and “a few days.”
Sergey had never clearly agreed to let his mother stay for four months, but he hadn’t told her no either. And he had only told me the part that made it sound as though there was nothing worth arguing about.
“I work in the small room two days a week,” I said. “My desk, documents, and equipment are in there. I never agreed to give up that room until spring.”
“I won’t bother you,” Lyudmila Pavlovna replied. “I’ll fold the sofa up in the morning and open it again in the evening. What’s the problem?”
“It’s inconvenient for me.”
My mother-in-law straightened in her chair.
“Does Sergey have any say in this house at all?”
“Of course he does. That’s why decisions about our life are made by both of us. But you can’t move another person into our home for several months without my consent.”
“Listen to the way you talk,” she scoffed. “‘Move someone in.’ I came to stay with my own son.”
“You came to an apartment that belongs to me.”
Sergey quietly said my name, clearly preparing to ask me not to escalate the situation, but this time I didn’t let the conversation get redirected.
“When you gave the house to Inna, you said Sergey didn’t need anything because he already had a home. When furniture needed moving in that house, repairmen needed meeting, or purchases needed collecting, Sergey was the first person you called. And now, somehow, Inna doesn’t have room for you, but space in my room has already been cleared.
“And nobody even asked me.”
Lyudmila Pavlovna abruptly stood up from the table.
“So you’re throwing me out?”
“I’m saying that you are not moving in here for four months.”
“And where am I supposed to go? My apartment is rented out.”
That was when I finally said the words that had probably been sitting in my head for a long time.
“Go to your beloved daughter—to the house you gave her!” I told my mother-in-law when she arrived to “stay for a while.”
Lyudmila Pavlovna grabbed her travel bag, although the suitcase remained against the wall.
“Wonderful. Now I know exactly how I’m treated in this house.”
“Mom, enough,” Sergey suddenly said.
She turned toward him.
“What do you mean, ‘enough’?”
He took out his phone.
“I’m calling Inna right now.”
Even the Big House Suddenly Became Too Cramped
Inna didn’t answer immediately.
Sergey went into the small room but left the door open, so I could hear part of the conversation.
His sister quickly listed her reasons. Vladik had lessons. The guest room was full of boxes. Her husband got up early. Their mother would be bored there alone during the day.
Sergey listened and then asked:
“Inna, when I spent two days helping you move in, that room was empty. What exactly is in there now that can’t be cleared out?”
A few minutes later, he came back into the kitchen.
“Inna will clear the room. I’ll drive Mom there.”
Lyudmila Pavlovna frowned.
“I’m not going there. It’s inconvenient for me.”
“Mom, you gave them the house because you said there was plenty of space and it was close to the city. You’ve been telling everyone that for a year and a half.”
“I’m not obligated to live there just because I gave them the house!”
“No, you’re not. But Natasha isn’t obligated to have you stay here all winter either.”
My mother-in-law went into the hallway to call Inna. She spoke quietly but angrily.
A few minutes later, she asked Sergey to take her suitcase to the car.
He carried out the bags as well, then folded up the drying rack and took it out last.
Just before leaving, Lyudmila Pavlovna suddenly asked:
“At least I can keep the spare keys, right? In case you ever need something.”
Long ago, we had given her a set in case something happened while we were away. After today’s conversation, that suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.
Sergey looked at me and said:
“Mom, you’d better give the keys back.”
“Why?”
“Because the apartment belongs to Natasha, and it’s her decision.”
My mother-in-law took the key ring from an inner pocket of her bag and placed it on the shelf beside the mirror.
When the door closed behind them, I picked up the keys and put them in the chest of drawers.
Then I returned the boxes to the top shelf of the wardrobe and put the printer back where it belonged.
What Happened Afterward
Sergey came home that evening.
The argument had continued at Inna’s house without us. She had indeed cleared the guest room and moved the boxes into storage, but she was unhappy that their mother had suddenly been presented to her as a done deal.
“Didn’t she do exactly the same thing to you?” I asked.
Sergey sat down across from me and stared at the table for several seconds.
“She did. Except instead of telling you immediately, I decided I’d somehow sort everything out myself.”
“And you sorted it out beautifully.”
“Yeah. I know.”
He didn’t ask me to forget what had happened.
A couple of days later, he said on his own that he wasn’t going to keep driving to his sister’s house every time she sent him a message.
If Inna needed a delivery, a repairman, or some heavy work done, she could arrange it herself.
Helping occasionally was fine.
Being the permanent unpaid handyman was not.
The first test came two weeks later.
Inna messaged him saying an order for the house needed to be picked up from the city.
Sergey replied:
“I can’t today. Arrange delivery.”
His phone began ringing almost immediately.
His mother’s name appeared on the screen.
Sergey looked at the incoming call, lowered the volume, and continued eating dinner.
Lyudmila Pavlovna stayed with her daughter for a little over a month.
Then the woman renting her apartment moved out earlier than expected, and my mother-in-law returned home.
The first time she visited us after that incident was in the spring, for Sergey’s birthday.
She arrived without a suitcase—just a small handbag and a box of pastries.
She took off her shoes, hung up her coat, and walked into the kitchen.
After dinner, she called a car through an app herself and went home.
And the spare set of keys has remained in my chest-of-drawers drawer ever since.
