Alice had bought this apartment six years ago.
Thirty square meters in an old brick building not far from the city center. Back then, she had just started a new job with a good salary and had taken out a mortgage for twenty long years. She signed a thick stack of papers with hands trembling from excitement, but she was incredibly happy.
Her own place.
Finally her own, not rented.
She had saved for the down payment for three whole years. She had lived in a cramped room at a friend’s place, rented corners from strangers, and saved absolutely everything she could. She did not buy new clothes, making do with old things. She ate lunch only from home, bringing containers to work. She did not go to cafés with colleagues, did not go on vacation. Every ruble she earned went toward her dream.
Her mother could not help. She had raised Alice and her younger sister alone on a nurse’s small salary. Alice had achieved everything in life by herself.
From zero.
When she received the keys from the realtor, she cried right there in the empty apartment. She stood in the middle of the only room and could not believe it was real. That this was truly her home. That no one could come and say, “Pack your things. Move out by morning.”
She renovated gradually, whenever she had money. She put up the wallpaper herself, watching tutorial videos online. She bought furniture on sale and secondhand. Every item here had been carefully chosen by her, every centimeter arranged exactly to her taste.
It was her little world.
Modest, simple, but completely hers.
Safe.
She met Ilya two years ago at work, in the office. He joined their department as a new employee, an engineer. A quiet, shy guy with good manners and a gentle smile. They began greeting each other in the hallway, then chatting by the water cooler, drinking coffee together at lunch. They talked about work, books, life.
Then he invited her to the movies on the weekend.
They dated slowly for six months. Everything was calm, measured, and not bad. Ilya was attentive, polite, never raised his voice, never caused scenes. Alice liked that things with him were easy and simple, without drama or raging scandals. After several difficult and toxic relationships in the past, she wanted exactly that kind of peace and predictability.
When he cautiously suggested moving in with her, Alice did not agree right away. She thought about it for an entire week. She weighed all the pros and cons. The apartment was her sacred place, her only territory. A place where she could relax.
But he persuaded her gently, without pressure. He said he would help with the mortgage, that things were easier together, that he wanted to be close to her.
Alice believed him.
She agreed.
Ilya moved in with his few belongings. Two suitcases of clothes, an old laptop, and several boxes of technical books. Alice gave him half of the large wardrobe, cleared a shelf for him in the small bathroom, and moved her own things aside. They agreed to honestly split all expenses in half and keep a shared budget.
For the first few months of living together, everything went relatively normally. Ilya really did contribute regularly to groceries and utilities, never forgetting. He helped clean on weekends. Sometimes he cooked a decent dinner. Alice gradually began getting used to the fact that she no longer lived alone, that someone greeted her in the evening.
Then his mother appeared in their lives.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna.
A tall, heavyset woman of about fifty-five, with a straight back, a hard gaze, and the habit of speaking in a categorical tone that tolerated no objections. She came “to meet her son’s girlfriend” a month after he moved in, on a Sunday afternoon.
Alice welcomed her as politely and warmly as possible. She laid the table with a beautiful tablecloth and prepared a proper three-course lunch. She tried with all her strength to make a good impression on her future mother-in-law.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna slowly inspected the entire apartment with a critical, assessing look, asked direct questions, and almost never smiled. She sat with her back perfectly straight.
“A small apartment,” she said, finishing her tea and setting the cup aside. “Well, never mind. It’ll do for the beginning. Until you buy a proper place of your own together.”
Alice said nothing then. She did not explain to the guest that the apartment had long been her own. Hers specifically. Registered solely in her name long before she had met Ilya.
She simply nodded and stayed silent.
She did not want to ruin the first meeting.
From then on, Lyudmila Sergeyevna began visiting regularly. Once a week for sure, sometimes even more often. Always without warning, without calling. She would simply ring the doorbell on a weekend morning and say, “I dropped by for a little while, to check on you.”
Back then, she did not have keys yet.
Ilya was happy at every visit from his mother. He hugged her at the door, kissed her on the cheek, seated her at the table. Alice obediently made fresh coffee and took cookies from the cupboard. She tried to be a hospitable hostess and smile.
But Lyudmila Sergeyevna did not behave like an ordinary guest at all. She freely walked through the entire apartment as if she had every legal right to do so. She opened other people’s cupboards, looked into the packed refrigerator, and commented aloud on the order and cleanliness.
“Why did you buy such cheap dishes?” she said with disgust, examining the plates against the light. “You should have bought normal, decent ones. This is shameful.”
Or she would ask in bewilderment:
“What gloomy wallpaper you chose. You should have taken something light, beige. It’s always dark in here.”
Each time, Alice clenched her teeth and kept silent. She swallowed the hurt. She did not want unnecessary scandals in the family. She thought that over time she would get used to it, learn not to pay attention, somehow endure it.
Two months later, Lyudmila Sergeyevna began coming over with keys. Ilya, without much thought, had given her his spare set “just in case, if anything happened.” Now she could enter the apartment at absolutely any moment, even when no one was home.
One day, Alice came home tired from work late in the evening and was surprised to find her mother-in-law in the kitchen. She was busily rearranging jars in the wall cabinet, putting all the groceries back in a new order according to some system of her own.
“Oh, you’re finally home,” Lyudmila Sergeyevna said indifferently, without turning around. “I’ve put things in proper order here. You had complete chaos. It was impossible to find anything.”
Alice froze in the doorway, not knowing what to say in response.
It was her kitchen.
Her personal cabinets.
Her carefully thought-out arrangement, the one she was used to.
“Thank you,” she forced out with effort, trying to remain polite. “But it was convenient for me the way it was before.”
“Convenient for her,” her mother-in-law snorted contemptuously and turned to her son. “Ilyusha, tell her that normal housewives don’t arrange food like this. It’s basic.”
Ilya shrugged guiltily.
“Mom, don’t nitpick.”
And that was all.
He said nothing else. He did not openly take Alice’s side. He did not ask his mother not to interfere in someone else’s affairs. He simply brushed it off and went into the room.
As usual.
That was when Alice finally understood that arguing was completely useless. Lyudmila Sergeyevna would do exactly what she wanted anyway. And Ilya would never contradict her, never defend his wife.
Never.
The visits became even more frequent. Lyudmila Sergeyevna started coming twice a week, then three times, then almost every other day. She stayed the whole day, from morning until evening. She cooked in the kitchen, taking up the entire space, moved furniture according to her taste, washed other people’s curtains without asking.
“I’m helping you,” she said every time Alice tried to gently hint that she could manage perfectly well on her own. “You work all day, you get very tired. I am my son’s mother. It is my direct duty to help the young couple.”
Alice acutely felt how quickly she was losing control over her own home. She would come home from work exhausted in the evening, and everything around her would be out of its usual place. Her books were arranged differently on the shelf. Her cosmetics in the bathroom stood somewhere else. Her familiar life was slowly being reshaped by someone else’s persistent hands.
She tried to speak seriously with Ilya about it.
“Your mother is here too often. I’m constantly uncomfortable. This is our apartment. We need personal space for the two of us.”
“She just sincerely wants to help,” Ilya answered calmly, without looking up from his phone. “Don’t take it so personally. She’s kind.”
“But this is my home. I want to feel completely calm and free here.”
“Our home,” he corrected her gently. “I live here too, by the way. I have for quite a while.”
Alice fell silent then.
She did not say aloud whose name was written on the apartment documents.
She said nothing.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna felt more and more confident in someone else’s apartment every day. She no longer asked; she gave Alice direct instructions. How exactly to cook, how to clean properly, what to buy at the store.
“Why did you buy this cheap laundry detergent? Buy only the one I’ve always told you about. Finally remember it.”
“Why do you have nothing but convenience foods in the refrigerator? A normal wife must cook herself every day.”
“Ilya has gotten too thin lately. You feed him very badly.”
Every word like that hit Alice’s nerves painfully. She tried with all her might not to react emotionally. She kept her face calm. But inside, exhaustion was slowly building up. Exhaustion from the constant oppressive presence. From the endless sharp remarks. From the fact that her own opinion meant absolutely nothing in her own home.
And Ilya stubbornly remained silent every time.
Every single time.
When his mother publicly criticized Alice, he looked away. When she rearranged someone else’s things without permission, he shrugged. When she made important decisions for both of them, he silently nodded.
Alice gradually began to understand clearly that she was not living with an independent adult man, but with an obedient mama’s boy. One who would never, under any circumstances, go against his mother’s will.
He would never choose his wife.
On that ill-fated Saturday, Alice woke up early in the morning, at half past six. She wanted to have a quiet breakfast alone and read her favorite book by the window. Finally, a day off. She could relax.
At exactly seven in the morning, the doorbell rang sharply and insistently. Several times in a row.
Ilya was still fast asleep in the bedroom. Alice tiredly threw on a warm robe and slowly went to open the door. Predictably, Lyudmila Sergeyevna stood outside with two huge, heavy bags of groceries.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, entering without invitation, without waiting for an answer. “I brought fresh groceries from the market. I’ll cook lunch all day. You’re lucky.”
Alice silently stepped aside.
She was now fully awake.
She realized that her peaceful day off had ended before it had even properly begun.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna marched energetically straight into the kitchen and began taking vegetables, meat, grains, and spices out of the bags. She occupied absolutely every free space on the table. She loudly turned on the stove and pulled out pots.
Alice silently made herself a cup of instant coffee and wanted to slip unnoticed into the room. But her mother-in-law stopped her sharply.
“Alice, come here immediately. Help me peel a kilogram of potatoes. It’ll take too long alone.”
It was not a friendly request at all.
It was a clear order.
Her tone allowed no objections.
Alice slowly took a deep breath.
“Lyudmila Sergeyevna, I would really like to just rest today. It’s finally the weekend.”
“What rest?” the woman asked in genuine surprise, not even turning around. “We need to cook urgently. Or do you want Ilya to sit hungry all day? You don’t think about your husband at all?”
Alice wanted to say that Ilya was a grown man and could easily cook for himself.
But, as always, she remained silent.
She obediently took a dull knife and began slowly peeling cold potatoes over the trash bin.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna confidently gave orders in the kitchen as if it were her rightful territory. She opened every cabinet one after another, pulled out heavy pots, and loudly criticized the placement of things and dishes.
“Why are the frying pans even kept here? It’s terribly inconvenient. They absolutely need to be moved properly.”
She immediately began methodically rearranging all the dishes her own way. Alice watched in silence and felt something inside her chest painfully tighten more and more.
Finally, Ilya woke up. Sleepy, he came out into the noisy kitchen wearing a wrinkled home T-shirt.
“Mom, you’re already here so early?” he asked, slightly surprised, stretching.
“Of course I’m here,” Lyudmila Sergeyevna answered briskly. “Someone has to make sure you eat healthy food properly and regularly.”
She warmly hugged her son and gently seated him at the table like a child. Alice continued stubbornly peeling the slippery potatoes in silence, acutely feeling completely unnecessary in her own apartment.
After a heavy breakfast, Lyudmila Sergeyevna actively started a deep cleaning. She took the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and began loudly vacuuming the rugs. Then she thoroughly wiped dust everywhere. She constantly commented aloud on every thing she found.
“It’s very dirty under the sofa. How do you even clean, I wonder?”
“This ugly vase should have been thrown in the trash long ago. Terrible bad taste.”
“The curtains clearly haven’t been washed in ages. I’ll take them down right now and wash them properly.”
Alice sat in the corner of the sofa with an open book in her hands and did not read at all. She simply stared blankly at one spot, watching as a completely foreign person unceremoniously controlled her things, her home, her life, her space.
By lunchtime, Lyudmila Sergeyevna finally finished cooking. She laid the table with a pretty tablecloth. She loudly called her son to the table.
“Ilyusha, come quickly and eat while it’s hot.”
She did not call Alice at all.
Alice got up by herself and silently approached the set table.
The three of them ate lunch in silence. Lyudmila Sergeyevna animatedly told Ilya something about the neighbors. Alice remained silent the entire time, eating completely mechanically, tasting nothing.
After lunch, her mother-in-law unexpectedly took her son into the next room. She closed the door. Alice heard them speaking quietly there. She could not make out the exact words, but she sharply sensed the growing tension in Lyudmila Sergeyevna’s voice.
Then the voice became noticeably louder. The woman no longer restrained herself, no longer whispered.
“I am tired of her acting like the mistress here, doing whatever she wants,” Lyudmila Sergeyevna said sharply and clearly. “It’s time to throw her out of here. Do you hear me?”
Alice literally froze in place.
She stood in the narrow hallway and simply could not believe her own ears.
Throw out.
Her.
From her own apartment, which she had bought herself.
She waited tensely for Ilya to surely object now. To tell his mother that this was completely wrong and unfair. That Alice was the legal owner here. That the apartment was her personal property.
But Ilya stubbornly remained silent.
Alice heard only a long, very eloquent silence.
She slowly walked into the kitchen on unsteady legs. She sat heavily at the empty table. Her hands were trembling slightly.
Everything inside her boiled with pain. Hurt, rage, deep disappointment. But she forced herself to calm down. To breathe slowly and evenly. To think coldly and soberly.
There would be no hysterics and tears.
No humiliating scenes.
No shouting.
She would act much smarter.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna and Ilya came out of the room a few minutes later. Her mother-in-law looked very pleased with herself. Ilya looked embarrassed and guilty.
“Alice, we urgently need to have a serious talk,” he began uncertainly.
“Not now,” she answered calmly, without raising her eyes. “We’ll discuss everything this evening.”
He was surprised by such a reaction, but silently nodded.
The rest of the day dragged on unbearably endlessly. Lyudmila Sergeyevna was still in the apartment and did not go anywhere. She cooked, cleaned, talked nonstop. Alice no longer helped her. She sat in her room, looking out the window at the street.
Carefully planning her next steps.
By evening, her mother-in-law finally got ready to go home. She warmly hugged her son goodbye in the hallway and gave Alice a dry nod.
“Well, that’s it. I’m finally leaving. Ilyusha, be sure to call me tomorrow morning.”
The door closed.
They were left alone in silence.
Alice got up from the sofa and walked decisively into the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and took out a thick folder with important documents. She returned to the kitchen and placed the folder on the table.
“Ilya, sit down. We really do need to talk seriously.”
He obediently sat across from her. He looked at the folder with obvious confusion.
Alice opened it. She took out the certificate of ownership and placed it on the table in front of him.
“Look at this document carefully.”
He took the paper and read it. Slowly, he raised his eyes to her.
“This is your apartment. Only in your name.”
“Mine,” Alice confirmed firmly. “Bought exclusively with my money long before we met. Registered only in my name. I pay the mortgage alone.”
Ilya was silent, not knowing what to say.
“I heard what your mother said today. That it was time to throw me out of here.”
He suddenly turned pale.
“Alice, that’s not at all—”
“Do not interrupt me,” she stopped him calmly. “I am not throwing a tantrum. I am simply explaining simple facts. There is only one owner in this apartment. Me. And all decisions about who lives in this apartment are made exclusively by me.”
“I understand everything, but Mom didn’t mean to hurt you…”
“Your mother meant exactly that. To throw me out of my own home. And you stayed silent while she said it. You did not say a single word in my defense.”
Ilya guiltily lowered his eyes.
“I just didn’t know what to say to her.”
“Exactly. You didn’t know. Because you were never on my side. You always chose your mother, not me.”
“That’s not true at all,” he objected weakly.
“It is exactly true. For two years, I endured constant interference. For two years, you could not directly tell your mother that this was my apartment. For two years, you allowed her to control my life.”
“Alice, let’s discuss everything calmly…”
“That is exactly what we are doing,” she replied coldly. “I am very calm right now. And I have made my final decision.”
She stood up from the table and went to the window. Then she turned to him.
“I want you to leave. You and your mother. Right now.”
Ilya jumped up sharply.
“What?! But where am I supposed to go?”
“To your mother’s, of course. That’s exactly what she has wanted for a long time. She thinks I’m a bad housewife, that I don’t feed you properly. Let her cook for you every day now and keep order herself.”
“Alice, this is complete nonsense! We can solve everything calmly!”
“No,” she said very firmly. “We can’t. Because you don’t want to solve anything. You want me to keep silently enduring it. You want your mother to keep coming here and dictating the rules. You want me to live in my own apartment like a guest.”
“I promise I’ll tell Mom to come over less often…”
“You won’t tell her anything. You never told her anything. And you certainly won’t start now.”
Ilya was silent. He desperately searched for the right words and could not find them.
Alice took his apartment keys out of her pocket. She placed them on the table with a clink.
“Pack your things. You have exactly one hour.”
“Alice, listen to me…”
“One hour, Ilya. I’ve said everything. There is nothing more to discuss.”
She went out onto the small balcony. She closed the door behind her. She stood there, looking down at the evening city below. Her hands were still trembling slightly. But inside, she felt surprisingly calm.
An hour later, Ilya had packed all his things. Two large bags and a box of books. Everything he had brought here two years ago.
He stood in the doorway, looking at Alice. He wanted to say something.
He said nothing.
“Call me when you cool down a little,” he asked quietly at last.
“I won’t call,” Alice answered firmly. “Goodbye, Ilya. Forever.”
He walked out the door.
The door closed quietly.
Alice was left completely alone in absolute silence. She sat down on the soft sofa. Slowly, she looked around.
Her apartment.
Her home.
Her life.
Her choice.
The documents were still lying on the table. The certificate of ownership in her name.
She picked it up and read it carefully again.
She smiled.
Bitterly, but she smiled.
There is only one thing worse than loneliness.
When people are planning to “throw you out” of your own home.
When you lose yourself trying to please other people.
When you forget that you have the right to say no.
Alice stood up. Slowly, she walked through the entire apartment. She opened all the windows wide.
Fresh evening air rushed into the room.
She was alone.
But she was free.
Finally free.
And it was her choice alone.
The right choice.