Olga lined up three yogurt cups — raspberry, peach, and blueberry. In that exact order. Rules are rules. The yogurts stood tightly together. Proper. Neat.
The sound of a key in the lock broke the silence. Viktor had come home from work earlier than usual.
“Ol, you home?” her husband peeked into the kitchen and immediately reached for the fridge.
“No, I’m not here,” Olga was sorting grains and didn’t even turn around.
“Why so gloomy?” Vitya grabbed the blueberry yogurt — the last one in the row — and sat down at the table.
“Where are the bank papers? I left them on the table.”
“Oh, those,” Viktor hesitated. “In the study. I was looking through some things there.”
Olga frowned even deeper. Something in his voice didn’t sound right. She went to the study. The desk drawer wasn’t fully closed. Olga pulled it open and froze. Under the folder with the bank documents was some paper with a stamp. She took it out.
A certificate of registration. Tamara Markovna Vorontsova. Registered at the address… their address. Date — three weeks ago.
“Vit!” Olga stormed into the kitchen, waving the document. “What is this?!”
Viktor choked on the yogurt.
“Ol, I can explain…”
“Explain?! You registered your mother in our apartment?! Without telling me?!”
“She’s an elderly woman, she needs guarantees…”
“What guarantees?” Olga slammed her palm on the table. “We bought this apartment together! Did you ask me? No!”
“Mom worries about the future…”
“And I don’t? Mom worries, but your wife doesn’t?”
Viktor was silent. Olga looked at him, boiling inside. Thirty years together! She had scrimped on everything so they could buy this apartment. Thirty years! And now this — behind her back…
“How long have you been planning this?”
“Ol, it’s just a formality.”
“Formality?” her voice trembled. “Registering someone in our apartment is just a formality?”
“It makes Mom feel calmer. She’s afraid she’ll end up alone, without a roof over her head…”
“And I should be afraid there will be a third owner in our apartment?”
Olga clenched the document in her hand. Viktor lowered his eyes guiltily.
“Does Tamara know that I found out?”
“Not yet.”
“Perfect!” Olga threw the paper on the table. “Just perfect, Vit.”
He reached out to her.
“Ol, don’t be mad. Mom didn’t mean any harm.”
Olga recoiled.
“It’s not about Mom! It’s you! You did this behind my back! You lied to me for three weeks!”
“I didn’t lie…”
“And what do you call it then?” Olga threw up her hands. “Withholding? A little secret? I’m just speechless, Vit!”
Olga left the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door loudly. Her heart was pounding. She had never expected such betrayal from Vitya. For the first time in thirty years of marriage, she wanted to howl from hurt. The phone rang. On the screen: “Tamara Markovna.” Of course!
“Hello, Olechka! How are you?” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded overly sweet.
“Fine,” Olga replied dryly.
“And I have news! I’ll stop by tomorrow. I want to bring my things, make some space for me in the wardrobe, okay?”
Olga nearly choked.
“What shelf?”
“Well, of course,” a note of superiority appeared in her mother-in-law’s voice. “I have the right now. Didn’t Vitenka tell you? I’m registered at your place.”
“I know already.”
“That’s great! Then expect me tomorrow. And don’t forget to make soup, I love your borscht.”
Olga hung up. So that’s what it was! Not just registration — she planned to move in! No way!
The next morning Olga took the day off and went to the public services center. There she was told: without the consent of the second owner, the registration is illegal.
“I need a lawyer consultation,” she said firmly.
An hour later, Olga was already sitting in Anton Sergeyevich’s office, showing him the apartment papers.
“Registration without your consent is invalid,” the lawyer confirmed. “I’ll prepare a statement. The procedure will take about a week.”
“Do it,” Olga nodded.
In the evening she returned home and calmly started cooking dinner. Viktor hovered nearby, glancing at her guiltily.
“Ol, are you still mad?”
“No,” she smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
“Really?” Viktor brightened.
“Absolutely. I’ve sorted it all out.”
Viktor froze.
“Sorted out what?”
“You’ll find out,” Olga shrugged. “Let’s have dinner.”
On Saturday she invited Tamara Markovna to dinner. The latter arrived with a huge bag.
“Brought my things,” the mother-in-law explained. “And my own bedding. I don’t like sleeping on someone else’s.”
“How thoughtful,” Olga smiled.
At dinner Tamara went all out:
“Now we’ll live like one family! I’ve already picked out the room — the one you call a study.”
“Mom, we didn’t discuss this,” Viktor began to worry.
“What’s there to discuss? I’m registered here, I have every right!”
Olga stood up and took a folder from her bag.
“Tamara Markovna, here is the decision recognizing your registration as invalid. As of tomorrow, you’re no longer registered here.”
“What?!” the mother-in-law turned crimson. “Vitya, what does this mean?!”
“Ol, what have you done?” Viktor stared confused at his wife, then at his mother.
“Restored justice,” Olga answered calmly. “Without my consent, the registration is illegal. I didn’t give that consent.”
“How dare you?!” Tamara Markovna pounded her fist on the table. “Vitya, tell her!”
Viktor stayed silent, staring into his plate.
“Take your things, Tamara Markovna,” Olga pointed at the bag. “The move is canceled.”
“Vitya!” the mother-in-law jumped up. “Are you going to let her treat me like this? I’m your mother!”
Viktor sat with his head down. Olga looked at him calmly.
“Mom, Olya is right. I should have talked it over with her.”
“Talk it over? With your wife? About your own mother?” Tamara Markovna clutched her chest. “My blood pressure! My pills! Where are my pills?”
She rummaged through her purse. Viktor jumped up.
“Mom, calm down. I’ll get you some water.”
“No water!” the mother-in-law cut him off. “Take my things and drive me home! I won’t stay here another minute!”
Olga crossed her arms.
“Excellent idea.”
When the door closed behind Viktor and his mother, Olga sat in the armchair and exhaled. Her hands were shaking, but she’d done it. She couldn’t be fooled. She had worked her whole life, bent her back for this apartment. No one would take her home away.
Viktor returned two hours later. Entered quietly, as if afraid.
“Ol…”
“How’s your mom?” Olga interrupted. “Calmed down?”
“Not really. Says I’m a traitor.”
“And you?”
“And I…” Viktor rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know, Ol. She’s my mother. She’s getting old.”
“And that’s why you decided to secretly register her in our apartment?” Olga shook her head. “Do you know what hurt me the most? Not that you did it. That you hid it from me.”
Viktor sat down next to her.
“I was afraid you’d be against it.”
“Of course I would!” Olga threw up her hands. “And so what? Lying to me was the best solution?”
“I didn’t want to lie. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“And now you do?”
He shook his head.
“Now I’ve ruined everything.”
They sat in silence. Then Olga quietly asked:
“Why didn’t you tell her the truth? That I was the one who canceled the registration?”
“Wasn’t it you?”
“No, Vit. The law canceled it. Because it’s illegal without my consent. You broke the law, not me.”
Viktor sighed.
“Mom says she’ll be left alone. That no one needs her.”
“So she decided to move in here?”
“I didn’t think she’d actually move in!”
“Seriously?” Olga smirked. “Then why the registration?”
“For the future…” he faltered. “If something happens to me.”
“Vit,” Olga took his hand. “Your mom was testing us. Registration is the first step. Then the move. Then control over everything. I’m not against helping her. But living with her — no.”
Viktor was silent for a long time, then nodded.
“You’re right. I chickened out. Forgive me.”
“I can forgive cowardice. But not deceit.”
“So what now?”
Olga stood up.
“Now there are rules. First: no secrets. Second: your mother lives in her own place. We help, we visit, but she lives separately. Third: all important decisions — together.”
“And if I disagree?”
“Then choose: either me, or your mother in this apartment.”
He raised his eyes to her.
“Ol, is this an ultimatum?”
“I’m putting the dots on the i’s, Vit. Thirty years of marriage, and suddenly this trick. How can I trust you now?”
Viktor’s phone rang. On the screen: “Mom.”
“Not going to answer?” Olga asked.
Viktor looked at the phone, then pressed “decline.”
“I’ll call her later,” he said. “First, we need to come to an agreement.”
Olga nodded.
“Correct. We’re family. There must be no secrets between us.”
The next day Viktor went to see his mother. Returned three hours later with red eyes.
“Was it hard?” Olga asked, pouring tea.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Viktor sat down at the table. “She cried. Said I betrayed her. That she did everything for me all her life… And I…” He waved his hand.
“And you what?”
“I told the truth. That you and I are husband and wife. That we have a shared apartment. And that I was wrong to do everything behind your back.”
Olga set a cup in front of him.
“And how is she?”
“Offended. Said I’m whipped. That I chose you over my own mother.”
“And did you choose?”
Viktor looked into her eyes.
“I chose fairness, Ol. Thirty years we’ve been together. Everything split equally. I was wrong.”
Olga smiled.
“You know, I feared a different answer.”
“What kind?”
“That you’d say: ‘I chose you, not Mom.’ That would be wrong. There’s no need to choose between us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We can help your mom. Visit her. Even take her to the dacha in summer. But we must live separately.”
Viktor nodded.
“That’s exactly what I told her. But she thinks you turned me against her.”
“She’ll get over it,” Olga shrugged. “The main thing is you understand now.”
For a week they lived under tension. Tamara Markovna didn’t call. Viktor was nervous, but held on.
On Saturday morning the doorbell rang. His mother-in-law stood on the threshold with a cake.
“Hello,” she said dryly. “May I come in?”
Olga stepped aside.
“Of course, Tamara Markovna. Vit’s home.”
She went into the kitchen. Viktor jumped up.
“Mom? What happened?”
“Nothing,” she put the cake on the table. “I thought about it and…” she hesitated. “In short, I was wrong.”
Olga and Viktor exchanged glances.
“Sit down, Mom,” Viktor pulled out a chair.
Tamara Markovna sat down, straightened the folds of her skirt.
“I got carried away. You’re right, son. You and Olga have been together for so many years. This is your apartment. And I… I got scared of old age. Of loneliness.”
“Mom, we’re always here,” Viktor took her hand.
“I know,” she sighed. “But sometimes it feels like I’m a burden to everyone.”
“Don’t say such nonsense, Tamara Markovna,” Olga sat across from her. “No one thinks of you as a burden. It’s just that everyone needs their own space.”
“Yes, you’re right, Olya,” the mother-in-law suddenly smiled. “I’m too used to bossing around. Raised Vitia alone all my life, made all the decisions myself. And now…” she spread her hands. “Now I have to learn to live differently.”
They had tea with cake. Tamara Markovna told them about her neighbor who helps her with cleaning.
Olga suddenly said:
“Vitya and I have long wanted to renovate your apartment. The wallpaper is old, the plumbing leaks.”
“Why?” the mother-in-law tensed.
“So you’d be comfortable. So you wouldn’t think of moving anywhere.”
Tamara Markovna thought for a moment.
“But I don’t have money for repairs.”
“We’ll help,” Viktor said. “Olya’s right. We’ll make a good renovation. And we’ll visit more often.”
When his mother left, Olga hugged her husband.
“Well done. You handled it.”
“We handled it,” he corrected. “You know, I’ve understood a lot these days.”
“For example?”
“That you can’t build one person’s happiness on another’s misery. I wanted the best for Mom, but I went about it the wrong way.”
“And I realized that sometimes you need to fight for what’s yours,” said Olga. “Even if you’re afraid of hurting your loved ones.”
A month later they finished renovating Tamara Markovna’s apartment. Put up light wallpaper, installed new plumbing, bought a comfortable sofa. His mother bloomed, became calmer. They often visited her now. And she visited them — but only as a guest.
One evening, while sorting through papers, Olga came across that very registration document that started the whole commotion.
“Look,” she showed it to Viktor. “What started it all.”
He glanced at the paper and tore it up.
“And how it ended. No more secrets.”
Olga smiled.
“None. And no one will take our home away.”
“You know what’s most amazing?” Viktor asked. “Mom really is better now. She’s stopped being afraid of everything.”
“Because she understood: we’re nearby. But each in our own home.”
They sat on the couch, holding hands. It was raining outside. Their home remained their fortress. And in that fortress, the rules were set by them together — husband and wife. As it should be in a real family.
