Lera was sitting on the floor in the small room, moving baby clothes from one box to another. Her eighth month of pregnancy was making itself felt—her back ached, her legs were swollen—but she didn’t want to leave the work unfinished. Tiny onesies with little bunnies, soft swaddling cloths, rattles—all of it lay around her, waiting for its time.
The nursery was small but cozy. Lera had chosen a pale blue color for the walls, bought a white crib with carved headboards, and hung a mobile with plush teddy bears above it. The changing table stood by the window, next to the dresser for the baby’s things. Everything had been thought through down to the smallest detail.
Her husband, Artyom, stepped into the room, leaned against the doorframe, and looked around.
“Not bad,” Artyom said with a nod, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You placed the table well.”
Lera lifted her head and smiled.
“Really? I was thinking maybe it would be better to move it to the other wall…”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Artyom turned around and went back to the living room without even offering to help gather the scattered things. Lera sighed and continued sorting the baby clothes by size. She was used to it by now—her husband never really got involved in the details. He nodded approvingly when needed, and that was where his participation ended.
The phone rang while Lera was sorting the crib covers. Her mother-in-law’s name appeared on the screen—Tamara Ivanovna. She called every day, sometimes twice a day. Lera grimaced but answered.
“Hello, Tamara Ivanovna.”
“Lera, hello. So, how are things? Sitting in that nursery again?”
“Yes, I’m finishing the final touches. I arranged the toys, put the cover on the mattress…”
“Oh, why do you need all that nonsense?” her mother-in-law interrupted. “A child grows quickly. In six months you’ll throw all of it away. Why waste money?”
Lera pressed her lips together. This was far from the first conversation on this subject.
“Tamara Ivanovna, I want the baby to have everything beautiful and comfortable.”
“Comfortable!” her mother-in-law snorted. “You should have saved the money instead. When I was raising our Artyom, there were no toys for a thousand rubles, no designer cribs. And nothing happened—he grew up a normal person.”
Lera rolled her eyes and moved away from the crib, settling into the chair by the window. There was no point arguing. Tamara Ivanovna always knew better than everyone else how to live, what to buy, and how to raise children.
“Yesterday I saw those swaddling cloths you bought in the store,” her mother-in-law continued. “Three times the price! What for? Buy ordinary cotton ones. Soviet children slept in them, and they were fine.”\
“All right, Tamara Ivanovna,” Lera replied tiredly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Do think. Otherwise later you’ll complain that there isn’t enough money.”
After the call, Lera placed the phone on the windowsill and looked outside. The autumn wind was driving yellow leaves across the courtyard, and the sky was covered with gray clouds. Her mood was ruined instantly. Her mother-in-law had a talent for destroying all her enthusiasm with a single phone call.
The next day, Lera was busy in the nursery again. She arranged undershirts on the shelves, hung a terry hooded towel shaped like a duckling on the hook, and placed jars of baby powder and cream on the dresser. Everything looked sweet and homely. Lera imagined how she would bathe the baby, change his diapers, rock him to sleep—and her heart felt warmer.
Artyom looked into the room closer to evening, glanced at the shelves, and nodded.
“Looks good. Well done.”
“What do you think—should we buy a night-light too?” Lera asked. “So I won’t have to turn on the overhead light when I get up at night.”
“Sure, if you want. You know better what’s needed.”
Artyom left again. Lera frowned. “You know better” was her husband’s standard phrase for every question connected with the baby. As if it concerned only her.
A week later, the doorbell rang. Lera opened the door and froze on the threshold. Tamara Ivanovna was standing on the landing with a huge bag in one hand and a folder of documents in the other. Her face was beaming, her eyes shining with excitement.
“Lerochka, hello! Well, are you happy to see me?”
“Hello, Tamara Ivanovna,” Lera mumbled in confusion. “You didn’t say you were coming…”
“Why should I warn you? I’ll be here all the time now!”
Her mother-in-law walked into the apartment without waiting for an invitation, dropped her bag on the hallway floor, and unzipped her jacket.
“Where’s our Artyom? Still at work?”
“Yes, he’ll be back in an hour.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll tell you everything right away. Sit down, I have news!”
Tamara Ivanovna went into the living room, settled herself on the sofa, and patted the spot beside her. Lera slowly sat down on the edge of the sofa, feeling anxiety rising inside her.
“So listen,” her mother-in-law began, opening the folder. “I sold my apartment! We closed the deal yesterday, I got the money. Now I’m moving in with you permanently!”
Lera blinked several times, trying to process what she had heard.
“What do you mean… permanently?”
“Just like that!” Tamara Ivanovna smiled broadly. “I’ll live with you and help with the baby. You’re giving birth for the first time, you have no experience. I know everything. I’ll teach you.”
Lera felt her heart begin to beat faster. A two-room apartment. One bedroom for her and Artyom, the second room was the nursery. Where was her mother-in-law supposed to live?
“Tamara Ivanovna, but our apartment… It’s small. Two rooms. We’ve already set up the nursery…”
“Exactly!” her mother-in-law interrupted, without losing enthusiasm. “That’s where I’ll live—in the nursery. The baby will be in your room at first anyway. Why would he need a separate room in the first few months?”
Lera opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. Her mother-in-law continued as if she didn’t notice her shock.
“I’ve already thought it all through. We can move the crib into your bedroom for now. There’s enough space there. And I’ll put my things in the nursery. Convenient, isn’t it?”
“But I spent so much time…” Lera started.
“Oh, come on, it’s nothing terrible! We’ll move everything back later, when the baby grows up. Right now the main thing is that I’m nearby. You won’t manage on your own. You need help.”
Tamara Ivanovna placed the documents on the coffee table and leaned back against the sofa, clearly pleased with herself.
“And you know what else I think?” her mother-in-law added, lowering her voice into a confidential tone. “Maybe you shouldn’t exhaust yourself so much with the baby at all. Give birth, leave him at the maternity hospital for a couple of weeks, let them look after him there. And in the meantime, I’ll settle in and prepare everything properly. You’ll be tired after giving birth. You’ll need to rest.”
Lera jumped up from the sofa so abruptly that her head spun. She grabbed the armrest to keep from falling.
“What?!” Lera breathed. “What did you just say?”
“I don’t mean anything bad,” Tamara Ivanovna waved her hand. “I’m just thinking about your comfort. The first days are the hardest. Why should you immediately fuss over a newborn? I’ll help. I’m experienced. You don’t know anything about raising children.”
Lera stood in the middle of the room and stared at her mother-in-law, unable to believe her ears. Blood rushed to her face, her fingers clenched into fists. Was Tamara Ivanovna seriously suggesting that she leave her newborn in the maternity hospital so she could take over the nursery?
“Tamara Ivanovna, this is my child,” Lera said in a low voice. “And I’m not abandoning him anywhere.”
“Who said anything about abandoning?” her mother-in-law protested. “I’m talking about help! You’re young, inexperienced, it will be hard for you. And I know how to do it properly. I raised Artyom on my own, without all these modern gadgets. And look, he grew up a good man.”
Lera turned around and left the room, unable to continue the conversation. She locked herself in the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and placed her hands under the stream. It was hard to breathe, and her thoughts were tangled. Was this really happening?
Her mother-in-law had sold her apartment. She intended to live with them. In the nursery. The room Lera had been preparing for two months. And she was even suggesting that Lera abandon the baby in the maternity hospital.
Footsteps sounded behind the door.
“Lera, why are you offended?” Tamara Ivanovna’s voice sounded displeased. “Come out, let’s talk normally.”
“I need to be alone,” Lera replied, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“Well, here we go. Pregnant women are always so nervous. Fine, I’ll put the kettle on.”
Lera heard her mother-in-law go to the kitchen and exhaled. She needed to wait for Artyom. He had to decide something. This was his mother; let him explain to her that this was impossible.
When Artyom came home from work, Tamara Ivanovna was already making herself at home in the kitchen. She had brewed tea, sliced bread, and taken sausage out of the refrigerator.
“Mom!” Artyom said in surprise. “Where did you come from?”
“Surprise, son!” Tamara Ivanovna hugged Artyom and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going to live with you now. I sold the apartment. I’m moving in permanently.”
Artyom frowned.
“What do you mean permanently? We didn’t discuss this…”
“What is there to discuss? I’ll help with the baby. Lera won’t manage on her own. She has no experience. I know everything. I’ll teach her how to change diapers properly, feed him, put him to sleep. It’ll be easier for you!”
“But where are you planning to live?” Artyom looked around as if searching for a catch.
“In the nursery. The baby will be in your bedroom at first anyway. Why does he need a separate room?”
Lera stood in the kitchen doorway and silently watched the conversation. Artyom scratched the back of his head, looked at his mother, then at Lera.
“Well… In principle, Mom is right. The baby really will sleep with us for the first few months. Maybe it really would be more convenient…”
Lera could not believe her ears. Artyom was agreeing. Just like that. He hadn’t even asked her opinion.
“Artyom,” Lera called quietly. “Can we talk?”
“Wait a second. Mom, what did you do with the money from the apartment?”
“It’s in a savings account. Don’t worry, I’m not wasteful. I’ll help you. I’ll save for my grandson.”
“Good. All right, Mom, then let’s really discuss how to organize everything.”
Lera felt everything inside her tighten. Artyom wasn’t even going to object. He had simply accepted his mother’s decision as a fact.
“Artyom, we need to talk. Alone,” Lera repeated, raising her voice.
“Come here, why all the secrecy?” Tamara Ivanovna waved her hand. “We’re family. We’ll decide everything together.”
“I don’t want anyone living in the nursery,” Lera blurted out. “I spent two months preparing that room!”
“Lerochka, don’t be stubborn,” Tamara Ivanovna said conciliatorily. “I’m not moving in there forever. When the baby grows a bit, I’ll move out. For now I’ll help you.”
“But you sold your apartment! Where will you move out to?”
“I’ll find something. Or I’ll rent. Don’t worry so much.”
Lera looked at Artyom, waiting for support. But her husband merely shrugged.
“Lera, let’s not start a conflict right away. Mom wants to help. Is that bad?”
“It’s bad that nobody asked me!” Lera’s voice trembled. “This is our apartment, our child, and someone simply shows up and announces that she’s taking the nursery!”
“Oh, you’ve become so nervous,” Tamara Ivanovna sighed. “Pregnant women shouldn’t worry like that. It’s harmful for the baby.”
Lera turned around and went into the bedroom, slamming the door loudly. She sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. Tears choked her, but she held them back. Crying was the last thing she needed right now.
A few minutes later, Artyom came into the bedroom. He sat beside her and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Lera, what’s wrong with you? Mom really wants to help.”
“Artyom, she said I should leave the baby in the maternity hospital and not take him home right away,” Lera lifted her head and looked her husband in the eyes. “Did you hear that?”
Artyom frowned.
“What? That can’t be.”
“It can. That’s exactly what she said. Word for word. That I should give birth, leave him in the maternity hospital, and meanwhile she’ll settle into the nursery.”
“Well, Mom sometimes says things like that… She doesn’t mean it seriously.”
“And what if she does?” Lera grabbed her husband’s hand. “Artyom, this is our child. I don’t want your mother telling me how to raise him. And I don’t want her living in the nursery!”
“All right, all right, I’ll talk to her,” Artyom sighed. “But let’s avoid hysterics, agreed?”
Lera nodded, though everything inside her was boiling. “Avoid hysterics.” As if she were the one who had created this entire circus.
Artyom left the bedroom, and Lera remained sitting on the bed. A strange calm suddenly came over her. Not anger, not resentment—calm. Cold and clear. Lera looked at her mother-in-law through the half-open door. Tamara Ivanovna was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and leafing through some magazine, as if nothing had happened.
The woman who seriously intended to take the place of her future child. Who had suggested leaving the newborn in the maternity hospital. And her husband had not truly been outraged. He had simply asked her not to throw a tantrum.
Lera got up from the bed and went to the wardrobe. She opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out a folder with documents. The ownership certificate for the apartment. Registered in her name. Bought three years earlier, before she had even met Artyom, with the money left after selling a room in a communal apartment that Lera had inherited from her grandmother.
The apartment was hers. Completely. No jointly acquired property, no rights for her husband or his mother.
Lera ran her fingers over the stamps on the document and suddenly felt the tension release. Everything became simpler. Much simpler than it had seemed a minute earlier.
That evening, Tamara Ivanovna announced that she would go home to pack her things for the move.
“I’ll come tomorrow with my bags and start settling in,” her mother-in-law said, fastening her jacket. “Artyom, help me move the sofa tomorrow, all right? I have a good fold-out one. It’ll fit perfectly in the nursery.”
“Yeah, all right, Mom,” Artyom nodded, walking his mother to the door.
Lera stood in the hallway and silently watched them say goodbye. Tamara Ivanovna turned to her.
“Lera, don’t be offended, all right? I really want to help. You’ll see—once you give birth, you’ll thank me for being nearby.”
Lera did not answer. She simply nodded. Her mother-in-law left, Artyom closed the door and turned to his wife.
“Well, you see? Mom is trying. She wants to be useful.”
“Yes, I see,” Lera said quietly.
“Let’s not quarrel over this. The baby will be born soon. We need support.”
“Of course.”
Artyom put his arm around Lera’s shoulders and kissed her temple. Then he went to watch television. Lera remained standing in the hallway, looking at the closed nursery door.
The next morning, while Artyom was at work, Lera went downstairs to the concierge. Aunt Vera was sitting at her little desk, solving a crossword puzzle.
“Vera Petrovna, hello.”
“Oh, Lerochka!” the concierge lifted her head and smiled. “How’s the belly? Soon now, right?”
“In a month. Vera Petrovna, I have a request.”
“I’m listening.”
“Don’t let anyone into the apartment without my permission. Under any circumstances. Even if they say I asked them to come. Only if I call you personally and ask.”
Vera Petrovna frowned.
“Did something happen?”
“I don’t want extra guests. Pregnant women need peace.”
“I understand. All right, Lerochka, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone in.”
Lera went back up to the apartment. She sat in the nursery on the chair by the window and looked at the crib, the mobile with teddy bears, the neatly folded swaddling cloths. All of this had to remain here. For the child. Not for her mother-in-law.
Closer to noon, the doorbell rang. Lera looked through the peephole. Tamara Ivanovna was standing on the landing with two huge suitcases and several bags.
“Lera, open up!” her mother-in-law shouted. “I’m here!”
Lera did not open. She simply stood behind the door and listened as Tamara Ivanovna knocked and rang the bell.
“Lera! Are you deaf? Open the door! I told you I was moving in today!”
Silence.
“Lera, stop this nonsense! Open immediately!”
Lera picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button, connecting to the speaker on the landing.
“Tamara Ivanovna, the nursery is meant for the child. You will not be moving in with us.”
“What?!” her mother-in-law’s voice rose by several octaves. “What kind of stunt is this?”
“No stunt. I’m simply not giving the nursery to anyone else. I wish you luck. In your life. Not in mine.”
“How dare you?! I’ll call my son. He’ll put you in your place right now!”
“Call him.”
Lera disconnected the intercom. She went to the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and placed her hand on her belly. The baby kicked from inside, as if in support. Lera smiled.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang. Artyom. Lera answered without rushing.
“Lera, what are you doing?!” her husband shouted. “Mom just called me and said you didn’t let her in!”
“That’s right. I didn’t.”
“What do you mean you didn’t let her in? You were home!”
“I was. And I stayed home. But Tamara Ivanovna didn’t.”
“Lera, she’s my mother! You have no right to treat her like that!”
“I do. This is my apartment. It’s registered in my name. I decide who lives here.”
Artyom fell silent. Then he exhaled.
“Listen, let’s talk calmly when I get home. Mom didn’t mean anything bad. She just…”
“She just suggested I abandon the baby in the maternity hospital so she could take the nursery,” Lera interrupted. “Yes, I remember. Artyom, I don’t want to discuss this. The decision has been made.”
“You can’t just kick my mother out!”
“I can. And I already have. See you tonight.”
Lera hung up. The phone immediately rang again. Artyom. Lera turned off the sound and put the phone in the nightstand drawer.
For the next two days, her husband tried to convince her. He called ten times a day, came home from work gloomy, tried to talk, persuade, and explain that his mother hadn’t meant anything bad, that Lera was exaggerating, that they needed to be more tolerant.
“Mom didn’t mean it badly,” Artyom repeated for the third time that evening. “She just has her own view of raising children.”
“One that includes suggesting we leave a newborn in the maternity hospital?”
“Artyom, look me in the eye. Do you really think your mother was joking?”
Her husband looked away. He was silent for a moment.
“All right, maybe Tamara Ivanovna was serious… But we can simply ignore her advice. Let her live in the nursery, and you do things your own way.”
“No. The nursery is for the child. Not for your mother.”
“Lera, you do understand that Mom has no home now, don’t you? She sold her apartment!”
“That was her decision. I didn’t ask her to sell her apartment and move in with us.”
“You’ve become unbearable!” Artyom finally snapped. “Selfish!”
Lera silently got up from the sofa and went into the bedroom. She locked the door. Artyom knocked, demanding that she open it, but Lera went to sleep, turning on white noise on her phone so she wouldn’t hear him.
In the morning, Artyom left for work, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. Lera drank tea, had breakfast, and then went into the nursery. She straightened the blanket in the crib and spun the mobile. Everything was in its place. No suitcases. No fold-out sofas.
The phone rang. Her mother-in-law. Lera pressed decline. It rang again. Decline. A third time. Lera blocked the number.
A week later, Artyom began coming home later and later. He said he was held up at work, that there were many projects. Lera didn’t ask questions. She simply prepared the nursery, bought the last little things, and read books about newborns.
One evening, Artyom came home and silently packed a bag. Lera stood in the bedroom doorway and watched her husband fold his clothes.
“Are you leaving?”
“To Mom’s. For now. Tamara Ivanovna rented an apartment. It’s hard for her alone. She needs support.”
“I see.”
“Maybe you’ll come to your senses. Before it’s too late.”
“Artyom, the nursery remains a nursery. If you want to live with your mother, then live with her. I’m not holding you back.”
Her husband zipped the bag and went into the hallway. He paused by the front door.
“You’re really letting me go just like that?”
“You’re leaving on your own.”
“Because of Mom!”
“Because you chose her. Not me. Not our child.”
Artyom shook his head and walked out. The door closed with a quiet click. Lera stood in the hallway for a while, then returned to the bedroom. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Strange. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to call him and beg him to come back. There was only silence and peace.
Two weeks later, Lera checked into the maternity hospital. She gave birth alone. Artyom didn’t come, although Lera sent him a message. He read it and did not reply.
The birth went normally. A boy. Three kilograms two hundred grams. Healthy, with a loud cry and clenched little fists. Lera looked at her son and could not tear her eyes away. Tiny. Defenseless. Hers.
On the third day after the birth, a text message came from Artyom: “How is the baby?”
Lera replied: “Everything is fine. He’s healthy.”
“Have you chosen a name?”
“Yes. Maxim.”
“Good name.”
There were no more messages. Lera did not write first. She was discharged from the maternity hospital on the fifth day. She called a taxi and came home with her son in her arms. She went up to the apartment, took off her outdoor clothes, and dressed Maxim in a clean onesie.
The nursery greeted her with the fresh smell of washed swaddling cloths and silence. Lera placed her son in the crib and wound up the mobile. The plush teddy bears began to circle under a quiet melody. Maxim yawned and closed his eyes.
Lera sat down on the chair by the window and looked at her sleeping child. No suitcases. No strangers. Just a nursery where a child lived.
Artyom came a week later. He rang the doorbell, and Lera opened. Her husband looked tired and drawn. He stood on the threshold with a bag of toys.
“I brought gifts for the baby,” Artyom said quietly.
“Come in.”
Artyom took off his shoes and went into the nursery. He approached the crib and looked at sleeping Maxim.
“He looks like me,” her husband smiled.
“Yes.”
Artyom stood there for a while, then turned to Lera.
“Mom wants to see her grandson.”
“No.”
“Lera…”
“No, Artyom. Not now. Maybe someday later. But not now.”
“Tamara Ivanovna is still his grandmother.”
“The grandmother who suggested leaving him in the maternity hospital.”
Artyom pressed his lips together. He nodded.
“All right. I understand.”
Her husband stayed for another half hour. They talked about their son, about vaccinations, about how Lera was managing alone. Artyom offered help. Lera refused. When he was leaving, he stopped by the door.
“Maybe I could come back? We could try again?”
Lera looked at Artyom for a long moment.
“You chose your mother over your family. I’m not offended. But there’s no need for you to come back. Maxim and I are fine together.”
“Lera, this is some kind of nonsense…”
“No. This is honesty. You’re not ready to protect your family from your own mother. That means we’re not on the same path.”
Artyom wanted to say something, but remained silent. He left. Lera closed the door and leaned her back against it. She exhaled.
A month later, Lera was sitting in the nursery, feeding Maxim. The baby suckled, snuffling and occasionally opening his eyes. Rain was falling outside, droplets running down the glass. It was cozy. Peaceful.
Her phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number: “This is Tamara Ivanovna. Artyom said you had a boy. I want to see my grandson.”
Lera read it and placed the phone face down. She did not answer. She did not block the number. She simply ignored it.
Maxim finished eating, let go of her breast, and pressed his nose against Lera’s arm. He snuffled softly, falling asleep. Lera stroked her son’s head and looked at the crib. White, with soft bumpers and a blue checkered blanket. Above it, the mobile with teddy bears was turning. On the dresser stood jars of cream, baby powder, and wet wipes. On the shelves were stacks of undershirts, baby pants, and socks.
A nursery. A real one. For a child. Not for a mother-in-law with suitcases and demands.
Lera stood up, carefully placed sleeping Maxim in the crib, and covered him with a blanket. She stood there for a while, looking at her son. Maxim snuffled, twitched his little hands in his sleep, and wrinkled his nose.
The home was quiet. Peaceful. Hers.
And no one would ever again tell her what to do with her own child.