— Well, Mom, make yourself comfortable — this room is yours now. Olya prepared everything so perfectly, — Oleg’s voice sounded cheerful and proprietary.
Olga stood in the middle of the hallway with a damp cloth in her hands. The heavy exhaustion from the deep cleaning was instantly replaced by burning irritation. For the last three months, she had poured all her savings and free time into renovating that small third room. She had dreamed of turning it into a private office for remote work. She had chosen the expensive wallpaper herself, paid for quality laminate flooring and a new door.
And now, in the middle of her fresh renovation, stood her mother-in-law, Nina Vasilyevna, pleased as she inspected the light-colored walls.
— It turned out very nice, son, — the woman drawled, placing her bulky bag directly on the clean floor. — The window is big, plenty of light. I’ll put my bed here, and a dresser will fit against the wall.
Olga took a deep breath, trying to calm the tremor of indignation inside her.
— Oleg, can we talk? — she asked in an even voice, looking straight into her husband’s eyes. — Privately.
Her husband sighed in annoyance but followed her into the kitchen. He immediately crossed his arms over his chest, taking a defensive stance.
— Olya, don’t start a scandal. Mom needs somewhere to live. They’re replacing the pipes in her building; there’s dust and dirt everywhere. She’ll stay with us.
— Stay with us? — Olga narrowed her eyes. — And you decided to give her my office? The room I invested my own personal money in? Why didn’t you discuss this with me?
— Because you would have started arguing! — Oleg raised his voice. — And this is my living space too! We’re married! I have the right to invite my mother. You always think only about yourself and your own comfort. You can work at the kitchen table. Nothing will happen to you.
— I bought this apartment before I met you, Oleg. You’re simply registered here, — Olga reminded him.
— There you go again, throwing your square meters in my face! — her husband snapped. — I did repairs here! I nailed down the baseboards! That means I have every right to decide how the space is used. Mom is staying in this room, and that’s final.
Olga looked at the man she had lived with for four years. He stood in front of her, confident in his impunity. He was used to her always giving in, smoothing things over, and tolerating his behavior for the sake of peace in the family.
But this time, everything was different. Her illusions vanished in an instant, leaving behind only cold, crystal-clear clarity.
— Fine, — she answered calmly. — Since you’ve already decided everything behind my back, I won’t interfere. I’ll leave you to settle in.
Oleg smirked triumphantly. He was sure his wife had simply given up and chosen to stay silent until her emotions cooled down.
— Excellent. Mom and I will go get the rest of her things. We’ll be back by Sunday evening.
Olga waited until the front door closed behind her husband and mother-in-law. She didn’t go anywhere. Instead, she took out her phone and dialed the number she needed.
An hour later, a team of strong workers in overalls came up to her apartment.
— Here’s the deal, guys, — Olga said, opening the door to her former office. — Strip everything. The laminate, the underlayment, the wallpaper, the baseboards. Take out the interior door too, frame and all. I need bare concrete.
The foreman raised his eyebrows in surprise but did not argue. The job had been paid at double rate for urgency.
Work began immediately. The workers moved quickly and efficiently. To speed up the process and release the tension that had built up inside her, Olga herself walked over to the wall, caught the edge of the thick Italian wallpaper, and yanked it down with force. A long sheet tore away from the wall with a dry crackle. In that moment, she felt not a drop of regret — only an incredible, intoxicating sense of cleansing and catharsis. Better bare walls than someone else’s arrogance on her territory.
While the workers carried neat stacks of laminate and bags of construction debris into the hallway, Olga called a locksmith. Twenty minutes later, a new, reliable lock cylinder was installed in her front door.
Then she took Oleg’s large travel bags down from the storage shelf. Methodically, she packed his clothes, shoes, and shaving things into them. She felt neither anger nor resentment. Only cold, sober calculation.
By Sunday evening, the apartment had been transformed. Her husband’s packed belongings stood in the hallway. And the third room gaped with gray concrete walls, dangling wires, and a dusty floor.
Olga was sitting in the kitchen, drinking cool mineral water, when the scraping of a key sounded in the hallway. The lock would not turn. Then came an insistent knock.
She got up without hurry, walked to the door, and opened it.
Oleg stood on the threshold with a large box in his hands. Beside him, Nina Vasilyevna was breathing heavily, holding two bags.
— Olya, what’s wrong with the lock? Why doesn’t my key fit? — her husband began irritably, trying to push his way inside.
Olga stepped back, letting them in, and pointed to the bags she had set out.
— The lock is new. And those are your things, Oleg.
— What are you up to? — his face stretched in surprise. — What things? We brought Mom!
— Come in, Nina Vasilyevna. Take a look at your new palace, — Olga said, gesturing toward the hallway and inviting her mother-in-law inside.
The woman confidently stepped forward and headed toward the third room. A second later, her outraged cry rang out from inside.
Oleg dropped the box and ran after his mother. He froze in the doorway, stunned, staring at the bare gray walls, patches of crumbling plaster, and concrete screed on the floor.
— What happened here?! Where’s the renovation?! Where’s the door?! — he shouted, turning toward his wife.
Olga calmly handed him a small piece of paper.
— Read it out loud.
Oleg snatched the note from her and began reading, stumbling over the words with indignation:
“Free living space for your mother is ready. And I no longer intend to tolerate decisions about me being made behind my back.”
— Have you completely lost your mind? — he crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor. — You ruined your own renovation! You spent a fortune!
— It was my money, — Olga answered evenly. — And I have the right to use it however I see fit. You wanted a room? You got one. Just without my comfort.
— How dare you! — Nina Vasilyevna cut in, looking around with disgust. — This place is nothing but construction dust! I’m not moving into this shed! There isn’t even a floor!
— Exactly like your attitude toward me, Nina Vasilyevna. Get used to it, — Olga replied coldly.
— You can’t throw me out! I’m registered here and I have every right to live here! — Oleg tried to assert his rights, moving toward his wife.
— Correct, you do have the right to use the apartment, — Olga answered, not frightened in the least. — So live here for now, Oleg. Share a bed with your mother. Right on the concrete. You have the right to be here, but you have no right to my renovation. And tomorrow morning, I’m filing for divorce and applying through the court to have you removed from the registration records. You’ll be able to live in this empty concrete box exactly until the court makes its decision. Stay, if you want.
Oleg looked at his wife and realized he had lost completely. His usual manipulations no longer worked. The prospect of going to court, getting divorced, and living in construction dust with his dissatisfied mother instantly knocked all the arrogance out of him. The old obedient Olya no longer existed.
Without a word, he turned around, grabbed his bags, and headed toward the elevator. Nina Vasilyevna scurried after him, loudly lamenting about ingratitude, snakes warmed at one’s breast, and ruined nerves.
Olga closed the door behind them until it clicked.
The apartment became very quiet. No one was trying to tell her how to live. No one was managing her property or devaluing her work.
She walked into the empty room with concrete walls. Yes, the renovation would have to be done again. She would have to choose wallpaper again, hire workers again. But that was a tiny price to pay for the freedom she had regained.
Olga went to the window and looked out at the evening city. Ahead lay an official divorce, court proceedings, and paperwork. But inside her, there was not a single drop of regret.
She took a deep breath. The air in her home had finally become clean.
She had reclaimed the right to be the mistress of her own life — and that feeling was truly beautiful.