My mother-in-law demanded I vacate my apartment so she could move out—but my response made her reconsider for good.

Lyubov Ivanovna stood in front of her daughter-in-law’s apartment door, adjusting the collar of her expensive coat and assuming an expression of noble regret. Her carefully lined eyes shone with the determination of someone accustomed to getting her way at any cost. Sixty-three years of life had taught her many things, but the most important was that the whole world should revolve around her, like the planets around the sun.

Just a year ago, she had found family happiness with Valentin Ivanovich, a patient and accommodating man who had managed to tolerate her temper. So many years had passed since her divorce from her first husband that she had already forgotten the taste of home and male attention. But everything collapsed that morning. Valentin Ivanovich dared to contradict her, and now she, proud and unyielding, was looking for a new refuge.

The door opened and Olga appeared on the threshold: a thin woman in her thirties, with tired eyes and her hair tied back in a simple bun. She was wearing a plain housecoat and holding a towel with which she dried her wet hands.

“Hello, Olechka,” the mother-in-law’s voice sounded theatrical, with metallic tones honed by years of management work. “I came to visit you. I thought I’d stop by, see how you and my son are living, and how my grandson is growing.”

Olga silently let Lyubov Ivanovna into the apartment. The narrow hallway smelled of borscht and children’s toys. A simple coat rack hung on the wall and a worn rug lay on the floor. Lyubov Ivanovna scanned everything with a disdainful glance, as if assessing the belongings of a guilty subordinate.

“Hello, Lyubov Ivanovna,” Olga replied restrainedly, helping her mother-in-law take off her coat. “Come in, if it’s something important. I only came home for lunch; I have about twenty minutes left. Are you going to eat?”

Lyubov Ivanovna was already taking off her shoes, placing her lacquered heels perfectly aligned.

“Lunch is fine, but after. Now it’s serious business.” He paused, savoring the moment. “Darling, you have to vacate that apartment your parents left you. Kick the tenants out. I’m going to live there now.”

Olga froze; the towel slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. Surprise appeared in her eyes, immediately replaced by caution.

“What are you saying?” he asked in a low voice.

“What you heard, my dear,” Lyubov Ivanovna threw back her head, revealing the profile she had once been proud of. “There’s no room for me here, in your two-room apartment. And Valentin Ivanovich and I…” She paused meaningfully, “well, I left him myself.”

“So that’s it,” Olga narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp. “You left? I thought Valentin Ivanovich had already kicked you out, poor man. So now you’re coming for my apartment.”

“No one kicked me out!” the mother-in-law snapped, red blotches on her cheeks. “Don’t twist my words! We just decided to live in different parts of the city. You know, I’m a proud woman, and humiliation isn’t for me. If I want to, I’ll leave.” So I left.

“Okay, understood,” Olga bent down and picked up the towel. “Then why don’t you go to your own apartment?”

It was a logical question, but Lyubov Ivanovna ignored it. She straightened and spoke in a tone that brooked no reply:

—I’ll tell you in clear Russian: vacate that apartment, I’m going to live there. No need to rent it out to strangers. I have nowhere else to live now.

Olga remained silent. She knew her mother-in-law’s attitude well: a voice that brooked no disagreement, a stern expression like a marshal’s on parade. Lyubov Ivanovna’s habit of putting everyone in their place had been honed by years of running a municipal enterprise. But Olga wasn’t one to back down. If she had shown weakness when she married Igor, her mother-in-law would have taken advantage and remained on her to this day.

Olga looked at her mother-in-law and suddenly smiled, that smile that didn’t bode well.

“Well, Lyubov Ivanovna, there’s an interesting situation here,” her voice softened, almost affectionately. “The tenants paid for the apartment for a year in advance. So before you move out, you’ll have to return all the money plus a penalty. If you solve that problem, then fine: live there as long as you want. I don’t object.”

Lyubov Ivanovna paled. An expression of uncontrollable anxiety appeared on her face, which she tried in vain to hide.

—What money? What penalty?

“Well, it’s not the people who live in my apartment now that you suddenly decided to move,” Olga replied innocently, blinking. “And they have children too. I understand it’s a considerable sum. But what can I do? I’m not going to pay them out of my own pocket; we’ve already spent that money.”

“Where am I going to get that money now?” the mother-in-law protested, waving her hands dramatically.

“Well, if you really have nowhere else to go, then the station will be it,” Olga shrugged philosophically. “Or go back to your Valentin Ivanovich. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I think there’s always a chance to reconcile. By the way, I almost forgot: there’s a third option: our balcony. But only in extreme cases. It’s quite cold now, but oh well, I’ll even give you a sleeping bag.”

The mother-in-law, stunned by such bold logic, listened in silence. The situation was clearly out of her control. Something tightened painfully in her chest; it always did when the world refused to obey her will.

“Are you serious?” he barely managed to say.

“Absolutely,” Olga confirmed with a sweet, bright smile. “I’m not cheap and I’m ready to do anything for you. And the sleeping bag is excellent, very warm, and made of down. Igor took it on a winter fishing trip last year. It’s been stored in the storage room ever since.”

Lyubov Ivanovna sat silently on the hallway sofa and held her hand to her chest. Everything was turning out very differently than she had expected. Fragments of thoughts crossed her mind: about her own mortgaged apartment for a trip abroad, about Valentin Ivanovich refusing to understand her, about how to live from now on.

—You’re a scoundrel! You scoundrel, Olga! And besides, how dare you speak to your elders like that?

“And how do the elders talk to me?” the daughter-in-law immediately retorted. “You see, they have no shame.”

Just then, the front door opened and Igor appeared on the threshold: a tall man in his thirties, with kind eyes and a tired expression. Seeing his mother half-shocked and his wife on the defensive, he was a little surprised.

—Mom, what are you doing here? Normally, they can’t drag you here with a stick.

“Well, son,” the mother-in-law immediately sought an ally and tried to win him over. “I came here with a problem, and your shameless wife is kicking me out.”

Igor looked at Olga in surprise:

—Olya, is it true?

“Yes, of course it’s true. Unfortunately, a bitter and confusing truth,” Olga replied calmly. “Your mother insists on moving into the apartment my parents left me. Since it’s occupied and Mom doesn’t have the money to evict the tenants, I offered her your old sleeping bag and the balcony. She doesn’t like it—then the station. Or, finally, Valentin Ivanovich. By the way, Mom stubbornly refuses to return to her own apartment and won’t say why.”

Igor blinked in bewilderment and then muttered:

—Mom, this all sounds very strange…

“Whose side are you on, son?” the mother-in-law suddenly brightened.

“I just came to eat. Problems are best solved on a full stomach,” Igor shrugged.

Lyubov Ivanovna sighed heavily and exclaimed:

—Have it your way! But I won’t go away that easily. You have to help me solve my problem.

“You’re right,” Olga replied kindly. “I can even serve you some tea. And, by the way, my lunch offer is still valid.”

Half an hour later, Lyubov Ivanovna was sitting in the kitchen, staring into a cup of tea and reflecting gloomily on life. The small kitchen was cozy despite its simplicity: a floral vinyl tablecloth, an old refrigerator decorated with children’s drawings, a pot of geraniums in the windowsill. All of this contrasted sharply with her own apartment’s expensive furniture and crystal chandeliers.

She understood that her plan to take over her daughter-in-law’s apartment had failed spectacularly. But Lyubov Ivanovna wouldn’t be herself if she gave up so easily. She stubbornly stayed in the kitchen until nightfall, waiting for Igor and Olga to return from work. In the meantime, she drank the entire supply of tea in the house: black, green, and even herbal, which she normally didn’t like.

Finally, the family was together again. Lyubov Ivanovna’s grandson, Sashka, an eight-year-old boy with lively eyes and always disheveled hair, joined the company. He was the only one truly pleased to see his grandmother.

“Grandma!” she shouted happily, throwing herself at his neck. “What are you doing here? Are you moving in with us?”

While Lyubov Ivanovna was chatting with her grandson, telling him stories and playing with toys, Olga called Igor into another room.

“Igor, I don’t like this story,” Olga began, lowering her voice. “Do you have Valentin Ivanovich’s phone number?”

—Yes. Why?

—Then call him. We have to solve this problem once and for all. We’re not going to throw your mother out at the station. And I said the thing about the balcony in a fit of rage.

Igor then called Valentin Ivanovich.

—Hello, Valentin Ivanovich. You haven’t lost your wife, have you?

“Yeah, something like that. I kind of lost it.” The man’s voice sounded tired. “We had a big fight this morning. She mortgaged her apartment to go on vacation abroad. I, of course, didn’t agree. Now it’s too late to fix it: she’s racking up serious interest, and she thought I’d pay off the loan. Naturally, I refused. So she left. Is she with you?”

—Yes, Valentin Ivanovich, he’s with us looking for a place to live.

—Okay, okay. I’m on my way.

When Valentin Ivanovich appeared at the door—a short, gray-haired man in a simple coat and worn boots—Lyubov Ivanovna greeted him with a furious glare.

—Valentin! What are you doing here?

“Lyuba, let’s go home. Enough with the concerts.” He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away.

—No! I thought you’d do anything for me, but you backed down even on such a small thing.

Lyubov Ivanovna, realizing that everyone would try to convince her now, was preparing for another dramatic scene. But then her son ruined all her plans.

“I’ve already called a taxi,” Igor said firmly. “Valentin Ivanovich, take her home. Otherwise, she’ll really go to the station.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Lyubov Ivanovna tried to start the first act of her planned scene.

“Well, if she doesn’t want to go home, then you, Valentin Ivanovich, will have to leave her at the station,” Igor said. “I suppose that’s what she wants.”

At that moment, Lyubov Ivanovna understood that the jokes were over. No one was going to tease her, persuade her, or indulge her whims anymore. In her son’s eyes, she saw a determination she hadn’t noticed before, and Valentin Ivanovich looked at her sadly, but without his former gentleness.

“All right, all right, take me wherever you want, you scoundrels,” she said, feeling something break inside her.

“Valentin Ivanovich, don’t let her go again,” Olga begged, seeing them off at the door. “She’s like a little girl.”

When the door closed behind them, the apartment fell silent. Igor hugged his wife by the shoulders and they stood in silence in the hallway. Behind the wall, the children’s laughter could be heard: Sashka was playing in his room, oblivious to the adults’ dramas.

“Do you think we did the right thing?” Igor asked quietly.

“And what else?” Olga replied. “Sometimes you have to be firm so people understand your limits.”

Outside, the taxi door slammed shut, and Igor went to the window. Downstairs, Valentin Ivanovich was carefully helping Lyubov Ivanovna into the car. She continued to talk heatedly, gesticulating, but he listened patiently, nodding occasionally.

“I hope he comes to his senses,” Igor said, moving away from the window. “And if not, then so be it. Everyone chooses their own path.”