Katya sat on the windowsill of her two-bedroom place, looking down into the courtyard where teenagers in sneakers were kicking a soccer ball around. A couple of times it nearly smashed into someone’s window, but the boys only laughed, like the whole neighborhood belonged to them. Katya sighed—she used to run around like that too, without worries, without fear. Now, each day of her life had become a never-ending checklist of responsibilities and explanations.
The problem wasn’t the apartment—if anything, it was her pride and joy. Her grandfather had left it to her in his will, and within these walls she felt at least a little safe. The problem was that Dima moved in with his suitcase, and right behind him, like a shadow, came his mother—Tamara Ivanovna. In the first months of their relationship Dima had seemed lighthearted and funny, the kind of man who could make her laugh until she cried. But the moment he moved into Katya’s place, he turned into a wind-up toy—speaking in his mother’s phrases, repeating her opinions as if they were his own.
Tamara Ivanovna didn’t “drop by.” She invaded.
“Did you even wash the floors today?” she barked the second she crossed the threshold, without even taking off her boots.
Katya dried her hands on a towel and kept her irritation in check.
“It’s clean, Tamara Ivanovna.”
“Clean is when the kitchen smells fresh, not like cutlets. Do you know what it smells like in here?” She inhaled theatrically. “Like a cheap dinner.”
Dima giggled as if it were the joke of the century. Katya shot him a look, but as usual he didn’t catch the hint.
“Mom, stop it,” he said, yet there wasn’t a shred of firmness in his voice. “Katya’s trying.”
“Oh, she’s trying,” his mother rolled her eyes. “In our day we didn’t ‘try.’ We did things the right way.”
Katya clenched her teeth. If this weren’t her apartment, she would’ve slammed the door long ago. But leave? Where would she go? This place was her inheritance—her only real asset.
Am I really going to let them turn it into a hallway people pass through? she kept thinking.
That evening, over tea in the kitchen, Tamara Ivanovna started her usual song again.
“Katya, let’s be honest. Why do you need this apartment? You’re young—you need money. We’ll sell it, buy a bigger three-bedroom, because this little cave of yours is pointless.”
Katya smirked.
“My ‘little cave,’ huh? Funny—because you seem awfully comfortable sitting in my ‘cave’ every single day.”
“Are you getting smart with me?” her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes.
“No. I’m reminding you that legally, this apartment belongs to me.”
Dima jumped in immediately.
“Katya, why so sharp? Mom means well.”
“For your mom, ‘meaning well’ means I sign whatever she puts in front of me,” Katya’s voice trembled, but there was a new hardness in it.
“Girl,” Tamara Ivanovna sneered coldly, “the man is the head of the family. And the man is my son.”
“If your son is the head, then why is he sitting there in silence while you hand out orders?” Katya fired back.
Dima’s brow tightened. “Katya, you’re crossing the line.”
“Crossing the line?” Katya stood up. “Fine. Then tomorrow we start with this: the only keys to the apartment will stay with me.”
For a heartbeat the room went dead quiet. Tamara Ivanovna turned pale with outrage.
“So that’s how it is,” she said in an icy voice. “You’re throwing us out?”
“I’m throwing strangers out of my apartment.”
“Strangers?” Dima repeated, stunned.
“And who am I to you?” Katya asked, her voice shaking but her gaze steady. “The maid? The wallet? Or your wife?”
Tamara Ivanovna sprang to her feet so fast the chair screeched.
“Dima—either you put her in her place right now, or I’m never coming here again.”
Katya made a small, dry sound.
“That would be the best news I’ve had all week.”
Dima’s eyes darted between his mother and his wife.
“Mom, just… wait… Katya, why are you starting this? We’re family…”
“Family?” Katya stared straight at him. “Then decide—are you with me or with her?”
The night was unbearable. Katya lay on her side of the bed listening to Dima toss and turn.
“Katya, please,” he whispered. “Mom isn’t the enemy. She just wants to help.”
“Help?” Katya gave a bitter little laugh. “If she could, she’d sell me along with the apartment.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“I’m not. Dima, she sees me as nothing but a piece of paper with my name on the deed.”
He let out a heavy breath.
“I don’t want to choose between you.”
“And I don’t want to live like my voice doesn’t matter.”
She turned to face the wall.
The next day Tamara Ivanovna came back—this time with a folder in her hands.
“Here, Katya,” she said in a brisk, businesslike tone. “The documents are inside. Just sign a power of attorney and we’ll handle everything like civilized people.”
Katya laughed, but it came out too loud, almost hysterical.
“Do you even hear how that sounds? ‘Just sign,’ right? So I end up on the street?”
“Not on the street,” her mother-in-law corrected. “In a new apartment.”
“In an apartment you pick. With money I’m expected to hand over voluntarily.”
“You’re behaving selfishly,” Tamara Ivanovna said sharply. “Think about the family’s future.”
Katya pushed back her chair and stood.
“And you think about the fact that I’m part of this family too. Or am I just a temporary option—until you find someone ‘more suitable’ for Dima?”
“Well, if you understand that already…” Tamara Ivanovna threw at her with a poisonous smile.
“Mom!” Dima shouted. “Why would you say that?”
Katya felt tears burn behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“Everything’s clear,” she said firmly. “If anyone brings papers into my home again and demands my signature, the door will close for good.”
“Are you threatening me?” Tamara Ivanovna squinted.
“No,” Katya snapped. “I’m warning you.”
When Tamara Ivanovna left and the door slammed, a thick silence filled the apartment. Dima sat down on the couch and covered his face with his hands.
“Do you realize you’re making everything harder?” he muttered.
Katya looked at him, worn out.
“And do you realize I have nothing left to lose except this apartment?”
He stayed silent. And that silence hurt worse than any yelling.
For the first time, Katya felt like her entire life was hanging by a thread.
Katya still couldn’t understand how she had ever agreed to that wedding. At first they’d planned something quiet: a registry office, a couple of witnesses, dinner at home. But the moment Tamara Ivanovna found out the date, everything went off the rails.
“A wedding isn’t for you—it’s for the family!” she declared, waving a notebook full of notes. “I already booked a restaurant.”
“But we weren’t going to spend that kind of money,” Katya said timidly.
“Don’t talk,” her mother-in-law snapped. “A girl’s job is to look pretty and smile. The rest is decided by the elders.”
Katya turned to Dima, hoping he’d at least defend her. He only shrugged.
“Katya, Mom’s right. It’s once in a lifetime.”
Once in a lifetime? Katya thought. With that attitude, let’s hope it really is.
The wedding day began with a fight.
“And what is that dress?” Tamara Ivanovna protested when she saw Katya in a simple, light white dress. “What are you, going to prom?”
“I like it,” Katya answered calmly.
“You like it!” her mother-in-law clapped her hands in outrage. “It’s cheap! In photos you’ll look like a teenage girl, not a bride!”
Katya tried to smile.
“At least it’s comfortable to dance in.”
“What matters more—comfort or propriety?”
Dima, watching from the couch, finally added his two cents.
“Mom, enough. Let Katya decide.”
“Oh, let her decide,” Tamara Ivanovna said with a sharp little laugh. “Then let her pay for the wedding too.”
Katya exhaled. It felt like the wedding had been lost before it even started.
At the restaurant everything looked like a dream that belonged to someone else: huge bouquets, endless toasts from distant relatives Katya had never met. Everyone applauded, laughed, ate salads, as if it were their celebration.
When it was time for the first dance, Katya noticed Dima constantly stepping away to take calls. His mother kept summoning him—first to an aunt, then to some “very important acquaintance.” They started dancing late, and Katya felt like a doll being pulled by strings.
“Why are you so tense?” Dima whispered, holding her by the waist.
“Because I understand this party isn’t for us,” she replied through a fixed smile.
“Oh, stop,” he mumbled. “Everyone’s happy, and that’s what matters.”
Everyone except me, Katya thought.
After the wedding, life quickly turned into routine.
“Katya, you’re ironing his shirts wrong,” her mother-in-law announced on the third day.
“And how is it ‘right’?” Katya asked.
“With love,” the woman answered sweetly and cruelly at the same time.
Dima chuckled, though his eyes looked tired.
That evening at dinner, Katya felt like a servant for the first time. She kept running between the stove and the table while Tamara Ivanovna sat like a queen, straightening napkins.
“Dima, do you see?” she said. “The girl tries, but nothing works.”
“Mom, don’t start,” Dima mumbled.
“I’m not starting—I’m stating facts. Tell me, son, what kind of soup is this? Watery!”
Katya set the pot down on the stove with a hard clang.
“If you don’t like it, cook it yourself.”
“How dare you talk back in my house?” her mother-in-law shrieked.
“In my house,” Katya corrected, her voice breaking into a shout.
Dima sat there looking guilty, like a schoolboy in a parent-teacher meeting.
The peak came one morning when Dima returned from work gloomy and began cautiously.
“Katya, we need to talk.”
“About the apartment again?”
He sighed heavily.
“Dad’s in trouble. The business is falling apart. Mom says—”
“Stop,” Katya cut him off. “I knew you’d bring up your mom.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” he snapped. “We’re family. We have to help.”
“You call it ‘helping’—selling my inheritance?”
“So what then?” Dima threw up his hands. “You know we don’t have money.”
Katya gripped the back of a chair until her fingers turned white.
“Dima, will you ever remember you have a wife—not just a mother?”
“Here we go again…” he looked down. “You take everything like an attack.”
“And how else should I take it when you’re trying to take my last security away?”
Dima slammed his fist on the table.
“You only think about yourself!”
“And you only think about her!”
The silence that followed was heavy—like the air right before a storm.
That evening Tamara Ivanovna appeared again, clearly ready to strike.
“Dima told me you refuse to sell. Fine, Katya, I understand—hard to let go. But listen: if the business collapses, you’ll end up broke too.”
“Better broke than erased,” Katya replied coldly.
“Oh, how proud,” her mother-in-law rolled her eyes. “Pride is a luxury for women with rich husbands. And your husband… well, he tries.”
“Thanks for admitting that much,” Katya shot back.
Dima tried to intervene.
“Girls, let’s stay calm…”
“Girls?” Katya exploded. “What am I to you—some schoolkid?”
She felt everything inside her tearing at once—anger, hurt, disappointment, all tangled together.
“If you bring documents here again,” she said, staring straight at her mother-in-law, “I’ll call the police.”
“Threatening me?” Tamara Ivanovna jumped up.
“No. Protecting my home.”
That night Katya couldn’t sleep for a long time. Tears came on their own, but for the first time in ages she felt something strange in her chest—not fear, but resolve.
She understood there would be another scandal ahead, maybe divorce, maybe court. But for the first time in a long time, she felt alive.
If I give in now, they’ll grind me into dust. If I stand my ground, I’ll still be myself.
And as she closed her eyes, she whispered to herself:
“Tomorrow, a new game begins.”
Morning began with the apartment door swinging open without a ring. Tamara Ivanovna walked in like the owner. Behind her came Dima with a guilty face, and his silent father.
Katya was already waiting. On the table lay neatly arranged documents: their marriage certificate, proof of ownership of the apartment, her passport.
“Well, Katya,” her mother-in-law began, pulling off her gloves. “I hope you’ve changed your mind. We’re all adults here.”
“I have,” Katya said calmly, pouring herself tea. “I changed my mind about tolerating this circus.”
Dima frowned.
“Katya, don’t start again…”
“It’s not me starting, Dima,” she said coldly. “It’s you who refuse to stop.”
His father cleared his throat, embarrassed.
“Sweet girl, let’s do this peacefully…”
“Peacefully?” Katya gave a short laugh. “Peacefully is respecting someone else’s home. What you do is ‘family-style’—meaning at my expense.”
“You’re ungrateful!” Tamara Ivanovna flared up. “We accepted you into the family and you—”
“And I didn’t apply,” Katya cut her off. “Family is when people protect you—not use you.”
Dima stood up and slammed his fist on the table.
“Enough! You want me to choose?”
“That’s exactly what I want,” Katya said firmly.
He looked at his mother, then at Katya. His face twisted with anger and self-pity.
“Fine. Then… I choose Mom.”
Katya felt something snap inside her. But oddly, she also felt lighter.
“Perfect,” she said. “Then both of you pack up. Leave the keys on the table.”
“You have no right!” Tamara Ivanovna screeched. “This is the family’s apartment!”
“This is my grandfather’s apartment,” Katya replied evenly. “And the documents say it belongs to me. Want to argue? We’ll do it in court.”
His father stood and looked at his son with tired eyes.
“Come on, Dima. This conversation is over.”
“I’ll be back!” Tamara Ivanovna yelled from the doorway.
“Only if I decide to open the door,” Katya answered.
The door slammed shut. Silence flooded the apartment so thick her ears rang.
A week later, the summons arrived: Dima filed for divorce. Tamara Ivanovna tried to claim half of the apartment, but the judge, after flipping through the paperwork, said dryly:
“The apartment is the personal property of Ekaterina Sergeyevna, received as inheritance. There are no grounds for division.”
Tamara Ivanovna jumped up.
“That’s unfair! We put so much into it!”
“So much?” Katya couldn’t hold it in and laughed. “Into my nerves—sure. But thankfully, nerves aren’t divided fifty-fifty.”
Even the judge couldn’t suppress a slight smile.
After the hearing, Dima tried to speak to her outside.
“Katya… maybe we still could—”
“No, Dima,” she interrupted. “I loved you. But you sold everything you had for your mother’s approval. You’ve got nothing left except her voice in your head.”
“But I wanted everyone to be okay…”
“And the only one who ended up not okay was me.”
She turned and walked away. Inside she felt empty, but for the first time in a long while—calm.
That evening Katya sat alone in the kitchen. The kettle hummed, night pressed against the window. She took her favorite mug, poured boiling water, and suddenly realized she was smiling.
The apartment was quiet. No mother-in-law. No nagging. No endless “you have to.”
Just her. And her home.
She took the first sip and said out loud:
“Well, Grandpa… I held my ground.”
And for the first time in a long time, she felt it—a new life was beginning.
The End.
If you enjoyed this story, be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss new heartfelt stories—and leave a comment. It’s always interesting to hear what you think!
