Olga stood by the window, watching the first snow settle on the roofs of the neighboring houses. The apartment had come from her grandfather — a two-room place in an old brick building with high ceilings and creaking parquet floors. Her grandfather had lived there for more than thirty years, and every corner preserved his memory: the bookshelves he had built himself, the heavy table by the window, the worn carpet in the living room.
After the wedding, moving there seemed like the natural decision. They had long grown tired of their rented one-room apartment on the outskirts, and here there were two whole rooms, no rent, only utilities. Her husband agreed without much discussion. They moved their things over the weekend.
They held their first family dinner a week later. They invited her husband’s parents — her father-in-law and mother-in-law. Olga set the table and took her grandfather’s dinner service out of the cabinet. Everything was going calmly: conversations about work, the weather, and how quickly the year had flown by.
Then her mother-in-law leaned back in her chair, looked around the room, and said with a satisfied smile:
“My boy has settled in nicely — got married and immediately got an apartment! Now I’ll have a place to stay in the city too!”
The words sounded light, almost casual, but Olga felt her shoulders tense. Her mother-in-law kept smiling as she poured herself tea. Her father-in-law nodded and went back to his salad. Her husband did not react either, as if nothing unusual had been said.
Olga picked up her fork and focused on her plate. She did not want to ruin the evening. Maybe it was just an unfortunate joke. Maybe her mother-in-law had not meant anything bad.
But the words stuck in her like a splinter.
A few days later, her mother-in-law called and announced that she would stop by briefly to bring some jars of jam. She arrived at lunchtime and stayed until evening. She sat in the kitchen, asked about the neighbors, and gave advice on how to arrange the furniture in the hallway.
“It’s cozy here, of course, but the flowers on the windowsill need to be moved. There’ll be more light that way,” her mother-in-law said, adjusting the pot with the ficus.
Olga silently put the pot back in its place after the guest left.
The next visit happened three days later. Her mother-in-law brought bags of groceries.
“I decided to help. Young people never have enough money,” she explained, laying out grains, canned food, and packs of pasta on the table.
Olga thanked her, although there was already enough food in the refrigerator. Her mother-in-law stayed until late again. Her husband came home from work, had dinner, and turned on the television. His mother settled down beside him and discussed the news. Olga sat in the kitchen washing dishes, listening to the voices coming from the room.
Then the visits became more frequent. Once a week turned into twice, then three times. Her mother-in-law would arrive in the morning and stay until late evening. Sometimes she would say it was already too dark to return to the village, and she would stay overnight. Olga would make up the sofa bed for her in the living room.
One day, her mother-in-law brought a pillow.
“It’s mine. I’m used to it. I don’t sleep on other people’s pillows,” she explained, placing it on the sofa.
The next time, a pair of house slippers appeared. Her mother-in-law put them in the hallway next to her husband’s shoes.
“It’s more convenient than carrying them in a bag every time,” she said.
Olga said nothing. The slippers stayed.
By the beginning of winter, her mother-in-law was appearing almost every day. She came with bags, took out food, and started cooking. Olga would come home from work and see pots on the stove, dirty dishes in the sink, and her mother-in-law sitting at the table with a cup of tea.
“I came early and decided to make soup. Men need hot food, after all,” her mother-in-law would say.
Her husband was pleased. He praised the soup and thanked his mother. Olga ate in silence.
One evening, when her husband was late at work, Olga gathered her courage.
“Listen, maybe you shouldn’t come over so often? We manage on our own.”
Her mother-in-law raised her eyebrows.
“What do you mean, ‘so often’? I come to see my son. Or am I not allowed now?”
“Of course you’re allowed. It’s just… we need some personal space.”
“Personal space?” her mother-in-law repeated with a smirk. “My son also has a share in this apartment. I come to see him, not you.”
Olga clenched her fists under the table.
“What share? The apartment is mine. I inherited it.”
“And where does your husband live? Here. That means he has rights. And I have the right to visit my son.”
The conversation ended without resolution. Her mother-in-law left late in the evening, slamming the door behind her. Olga sat in the kitchen, staring out the window. Snow was falling in large flakes, covering the courtyard with a white blanket.
When her husband returned, Olga told him about the conversation. She hoped he would support her, that he would tell his mother to come over less often.
Her husband listened while standing in the doorway. Then he sighed.
“Mom is just worried. She wants to help.”
“Help?” Olga could not hold back. “She’s living here, not helping!”
“Don’t exaggerate. She comes over sometimes.”
“Sometimes? Every day!”
“So what? A mother has the right to visit her son.”
“In my apartment?”
Her husband frowned.
“Our apartment. I live here too.”
“You live here because I allowed it. The apartment is mine!”
“Oh, really?” His voice grew harder. “So I’m just a temporary tenant here?”
Olga closed her eyes. She did not want a fight. She did not want those words. But they came out on their own.
“That’s not what I mean. Just ask your mother to come less often.”
“I won’t. My mother is more important to me than your whims.”
Her husband went into the bedroom. Olga remained in the kitchen. She sat there until late at night, until her feet were cold. Then she lay down on the sofa in the living room. She did not feel like sleeping.
The next morning, her mother-in-law arrived early. She brought bags of things.
“I decided to stay with my son for a while. It’s cold in the village, and I’m tired of heating the stove,” she said, taking off her coat.
Olga stood in the hallway and watched her mother-in-law place her bags against the wall, hang her coat on the hook, and remove her boots.
“How long are you planning to stay?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a week, maybe longer. The weather is bad. I don’t feel like going back and forth.”
“There’s no room here. The apartment is small.”
“Small?” Her mother-in-law glanced around the hallway. “Two rooms, that’s fine. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’m not picky.”
Olga wanted to object, but her mother-in-law had already gone into the kitchen and turned on the kettle.
That evening, her husband came home and was delighted.
“Mom, are you staying long?”
“For a week, son. I’m tired of the village. I want to spend some time in the city.”
Her husband nodded and sat down at the table. His mother served dinner. Olga ate without looking up. After dinner, she cleared the dishes and went into the bedroom. Her husband stayed with his mother in the living room. Olga heard their voices and laughter.
One week turned into two. Her mother-in-law settled in: she unpacked her things, took up half the hallway wardrobe, and placed her jars and boxes on the kitchen shelves. Olga would come home from work and find her mother-in-law at her table, by her stove, in her apartment.
One evening, Olga tried to speak to her husband again.
“When is your mother leaving?”
“I don’t know. Why are you asking?”
“Because I’m tired of living as three people.”
“She’s my mother.”
“I know. But this is my apartment.”
“Again with that?” Her husband put his phone down. “I’m tired of hearing about your apartment.”
“And I’m tired of hearing that your mother is the mistress here.”
“Mom isn’t doing anything bad. She cooks and cleans. You should be grateful.”
“Grateful? For what? For being pushed out of my own apartment?”
Her husband stood up.
“No one is pushing you out. You’re just selfish. You can’t tolerate a close family member.”
“She’s close to you, not to me!”
Her husband slammed the door and went into the living room. Olga was left alone. She sat on the edge of the bed and clasped her hands together. Everything inside her was boiling, but there were no tears. Only anger and hurt.
In the morning, her mother-in-law announced that she would stay until New Year’s.
“It’s boring in the village, and it’s more fun here. We’ll celebrate the holiday together,” she said, laying the groceries she had bought on the table.
Olga said nothing. She left for work earlier than usual and returned late. All day, she thought about one thing: what to do.
That evening, when her husband had gone to bed, Olga took out the apartment documents. The inheritance certificate, the extract from the Unified State Register of Real Estate. Everything was registered in her name. The apartment belonged only to her. Her husband had no shares. Her mother-in-law had no rights.
Olga put the documents away and lay down. The decision ripened on its own. Words would solve nothing here. It was time to act.
In the morning, her mother-in-law announced over breakfast:
“I need to go back to the village for a couple of days. A neighbor asked me to help with some documents. But I’ll leave my things here so I don’t have to carry them back and forth.”
Olga nodded while finishing her porridge. Her mother-in-law packed a small bag, said goodbye to her son, and left. Her belongings remained in the hallway — two bags, a package with slippers, and a box of little jars.
Olga waited an hour. Then she methodically gathered everything into large bags and carried them to the storage room. She neatly placed them against the far wall and locked the door with the latch.
After lunch, Olga went to the multifunctional public services center. She took the apartment documents and her passport. She stood in line for about twenty minutes. When she reached the counter, she explained the situation calmly and clearly:
“I want to change the locks in the apartment. The keys may have ended up with outsiders.”
The employee nodded, accepted the application, and asked her to sign several papers. Olga signed them and received a ticket.
“When can I pick up the new keys?”
“Tomorrow after lunch. The locksmith will come in the morning and install the locks. You’ll receive a call.”
Olga thanked her and left. It was already getting dark outside. Snow crunched under her feet. The city was preparing for the holidays — shop windows glowed with garlands, and a Christmas tree was being set up in the square.
The next day, the locksmith arrived at ten in the morning. He was a young man with a toolbox. He worked quickly and without unnecessary questions. An hour and a half later, new locks had been installed on the door. The locksmith handed Olga two sets of keys, asked her to sign the receipt, and left.
Olga closed the door and turned the key. The click sounded new — louder, more confident. The old keys remained on the shelf in the hallway. Useless pieces of metal.
That evening, her husband came home as usual. He climbed to the third floor, took out his key, and inserted it into the keyhole. The key would not turn. He frowned and tried again. Still nothing.
He rang the doorbell. Olga opened the door.
“Why doesn’t my key fit?”
“I changed the locks.”
Her husband froze on the threshold.
“What do you mean, changed them?”
“I called a locksmith and had new ones installed. Here’s your key.”
Olga held out one set. Her husband took it, examining the new keys.
“Why?”
“Security. Who knows who might have had the old keys.”
“Who could have had them besides us?”
Olga said nothing. Her husband entered the apartment and took off his jacket.
“You did this because of my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?” He turned around. “You changed the locks so my mother couldn’t get in?”
“Exactly.”
“She doesn’t have keys! She rang the doorbell every time!”
“Now she definitely doesn’t.”
Her husband threw his bag onto the floor.
“Do you understand what you’re doing? She’s my mother!”
“I understand. But this is my apartment.”
“Again?” His voice grew louder. “How many times can you repeat the same thing?”
Olga took a folder with documents out of her bag and placed it on the table.
“Look. The inheritance certificate. The extract from the register. The apartment is registered only in my name. You don’t have any share. You live here because I allowed it.”
Her husband took the documents and skimmed them. His face turned pale.
“So you think you have the right to throw my mother out?”
“I do. And I’ve already used that right.”
“You can’t behave like this!”
“I can. The law is on my side.”
Her husband hurled the documents onto the table.
“So the law matters more to you than family?”
“My peace matters more to me. Your mother turned my life into hell. I’m tired of tolerating it.”
“Mom didn’t do anything wrong!”
“She moved in here without asking. She considers this apartment hers. She says you married well because you got housing. Is that normal?”
Her husband said nothing. He turned toward the window.
“Mom just wanted to be closer to her son.”
“At my expense. In my apartment. Without my consent.”
“You could have put up with it.”
“I could have. But I don’t want to.”
Her husband turned back around.
“What am I supposed to tell my mother now? That my wife changed the locks and won’t let her into the house?”
“Tell her the truth. Or don’t tell her anything. I don’t care.”
The conversation ended. Her husband went into the bedroom and slammed the door. Olga stayed in the kitchen. She made tea and sat by the window. Outside, the snow kept falling without stopping.
Two days later, her mother-in-law called. Olga saw the name on the screen and did not answer. Her husband answered himself.
“Son, I’ll be there in an hour. Open the door. My hands will be full.”
“Mom, wait. There’s a situation…”
“What situation? I’m already on the bus!”
Her husband hesitated and looked at Olga. Olga shrugged.
“Mom, it’s better if you don’t come today.”
“Why? I told you I was coming back.”
“Olga changed the locks.”
Silence hung on the line.
“What do you mean, changed them?”
“They installed new locks. Your keys won’t work.”
“And where are my things?”
“In the storage room.”
His mother was silent for a moment. Then her voice became sharp:
“Tell that ungrateful woman that I’m coming anyway. I’ll take my things. And I’ll have a proper talk with her!”
Her husband looked at Olga. Olga shook her head.
“Mom, don’t. Let’s do it another time.”
“What do you mean, another time? I’m already on my way!”
“Then come. But Olga won’t open the door.”
“Let her try! I’ll call the police!”
“The apartment is hers. On paper. The police won’t do anything.”
His mother cursed and hung up. Her husband placed the phone on the table.
“Are you happy?” Olga asked.
“No. But I’m not going to argue either. I’m tired.”
An hour later, the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent. Olga went to the peephole. Her mother-in-law stood behind the door with two large suitcases.
“Open up!” her mother-in-law shouted. “I know you’re home!”
Olga did not answer.
“Do you hear me? Open this instant!”
Silence.
Her mother-in-law rang again. Then she began pounding on the door with her palm.
“Have you completely lost your nerve? This is my son’s home! Open the door!”
Olga stood in the hallway and listened. Her husband came out of the room.
“Maybe you should open it? Talk to her?”
“No.”
“Olga…”
“No. If you want to, open it yourself.”
Her husband did not move. His mother continued knocking.
“I’ll call the police! Let them teach you how to treat people!”
Olga took out her phone and dialed the police.
“Hello. I’d like to report a disturbance. At the address… a woman is knocking on the door, threatening us, and refusing to leave.”
The dispatcher clarified the address and promised to send a patrol. Olga hung up.
Her mother-in-law fell silent. Apparently, she had heard through the door. Then she spoke more quietly, almost pleading:
“Son, come out. Let’s talk. I’m your mother.”
Her husband looked at Olga. Olga nodded. He took the key and opened the door.
His mother burst into the hallway and looked Olga up and down.
“What do you think you’re doing? How dare you not let me into the house?”
“This is my home. I decide who comes in.”
“Yours?” Her mother-in-law snorted. “My son lives here! That means I have rights too!”
“No. You don’t.”
“Son, do you hear what she’s saying? Tell her!”
Her husband was silent.
“Tell her!” his mother repeated, grabbing him by the sleeve.
“Mom, the apartment is registered in her name. Legally. I have no rights to it.”
“What do you mean, no rights? You’re her husband!”
“Inheritance isn’t divided. Even in marriage.”
His mother recoiled.
“So you’re on her side?”
“I’m just explaining the law.”
“The law!” His mother waved her hand. “And where is your conscience?”
“I have a conscience too,” Olga interrupted. “And it tells me that I am not obligated to live as three people in a two-room apartment.”
“Three people? I wasn’t planning to stay forever!”
“You brought suitcases. Apparently, you were planning to stay for a while.”
Her mother-in-law looked at the suitcases by the door.
“I… I thought I’d visit. Until New Year’s.”
“Until New Year’s, then until spring, then until summer. I know how these things go.”
“Ungrateful woman!” Her mother-in-law clenched her fists. “My son provided you with an apartment!”
“Your son got an apartment because of me. Not the other way around.”
“How dare you!”
“I dare because it’s the truth.”
Her mother-in-law turned to her son.
“Are you going to listen to her insult me?”
Her husband sighed.
“Mom, go home. Please.”
“What?! You’re throwing me out?”
“I’m asking you to leave. It won’t work for all of us to live here together.”
“So your wife is dearer to you than your mother?”
Her husband did not answer. His mother stood there, staring at him. Then she sharply grabbed the suitcases.
“Fine. I’ll remember this. When you need help, don’t come to me. I won’t set foot here again!”
“Your things are in the storage room. Take them,” Olga said.
Her mother-in-law went into the storage room and pulled out the bags. Her husband helped carry them to the door. His mother put on her coat without looking at Olga.
“Son, you can always come to me. You know where to find me.”
“I know, Mom.”
His mother left. The door closed. Olga turned the key and slid the chain into place.
Her husband stood in the hallway, staring at the floor.
“Are you happy with how this ended?” he asked.
“No. But there was no other way.”
“We could have reached an agreement.”
“We tried. It didn’t work.”
Her husband went into the room. Olga remained alone. She went to the kitchen and made tea. She sat by the window. The snow had stopped. The sky had cleared, and stars had appeared.
The phone rang. Her mother-in-law. Olga declined the call. Then another call came. And another. Olga blocked the number.
That evening, her husband came into the kitchen.
“Mom called. She was crying.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you really sorry?”
“Yes. But it doesn’t change the situation.”
“Maybe it should have been handled differently?”
“How? By asking? I asked. By explaining? I explained. Your mother didn’t want to hear me.”
Her husband poured himself water and drank it.
“What happens now?”
“We live. Like before. Just the two of us.”
“And if Mom gets sick? If she needs help?”
“We’ll help. But not here.”
Her husband nodded and returned to the room.
Olga sat in the kitchen until late at night. She thought about what had happened. Did she regret it? No. Had she done the right thing? Yes.
The apartment had become her home again. Without someone else’s things in the hallway. Without someone else’s advice in the kitchen. Without someone else’s claims on her life.
A week later, her mother-in-law called her husband. She said her resentment had passed. That she was ready to forgive. That she wanted to come for the holidays.
Her husband relayed the conversation to Olga. Olga answered briefly:
“She can visit, yes. For a couple of hours. But she won’t stay overnight.”
Her mother-in-law did not come.
Olga celebrated New Year’s with her husband, just the two of them. They set the table and turned on the television. They congratulated each other. Her husband was quiet, but he was no longer angry. He had accepted the situation.
And Olga finally felt that the home belonged to her. That no one would say how lucky her husband had been to settle in so well. That no one would dictate where to place the flowers or what to cook for dinner.
Her grandfather’s apartment returned to silence and peace.
Just as it should have been from the very beginning.