“The apartment belongs to me, Kolia,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I think you’re forgetting that little detail.” My husband set his cup down on the table so hard that coffee splashed onto the tablecloth.
“And my mother is my mother,” he replied. “She’s staying here.”
I stared at him for several seconds, wondering whether he was serious.
Unfortunately, he was completely serious. His mother, Galina, was sitting across from us in the kitchen, slowly stirring sugar into her tea. She didn’t even look up.
You would have thought the conversation had absolutely nothing to do with her.
And yet, it had all started because of her. Galina had arrived at our apartment three weeks earlier.
In theory, she was only supposed to stay for four days.
“They’re repairing the pipes in her building,” Kolia had explained. “Mom can’t stay there with all the noise and the water being shut off. Let her stay with us for a few days.”
I hadn’t objected.
Why would I?
She was his mother.
Besides, we had a guest room.
I prepared fresh sheets, emptied a drawer in the dresser, and even bought the cookies I knew she liked.
The first day went perfectly.
So did the second. On the third day, Galina started rearranging my kitchen.
“The plates should go here,” she announced, moving half the dishes. “It’s much more convenient this way.”
“I thought they were perfectly convenient where they were.” She smiled.
“You’ll get used to it.”
After she went to bed, I put everything back.
The next morning, everything had been moved again.
I said nothing.
I didn’t want to start an argument over a few plates.
But then it was the towels.
Then the curtains.
And finally, the contents of the refrigerator.
“You buy far too many unnecessary things,” she told me one Saturday as she threw away a jar of sauce that, according to her, was “taking up space.”
“Galina, that jar was brand new.”
“Then you can buy another one.”
I stared at her.
She calmly closed the refrigerator.
“A home needs order.”
A home.
Not “your home.”
Not “your apartment.”
Every day, she spoke a little more as though the place belonged to her too.
And Kolia saw absolutely nothing wrong with it.
“Just let her do it,” he kept telling me. “You know what Mom is like.”
That sentence began to haunt me.
Whenever Galina moved my things:
“You know what Mom is like.”
Whenever she walked into our bedroom without knocking:
“You know what Mom is like.”
Whenever she criticized my cooking:
“You know what Mom is like.”
Whenever she decided what we would watch in the evening:
“You know what Mom is like.”
But I knew what I was like too.
And I was starting to have enough.
The apartment had belonged to my grandmother.
When she died, she left it to me.
That had happened two years before I even met Kolia.
When we got married, he moved in with me.
But I had never made a distinction between what was mine and what was his.
I had never thrown the words “my apartment” at him during an argument.
To me, it was our home.
Until that morning.
I walked into the guest room to get some sheets and froze.
Three open suitcases were sitting on the bed.
Inside them were neatly folded clothes.
Two cardboard boxes stood on the floor.
And several of Galina’s family photographs had appeared on the dresser.
I stepped into the hallway.
“Galina?”
She appeared from the kitchen.
“Yes?”
“What is all this?”
She glanced toward the room.
“My things.”
“I can see that. Why are there three suitcases?”
She shrugged.
“Kolia brought the rest yesterday.”
My stomach tightened.
“The rest of what?”
For the first time, she looked uncomfortable.
“My things.”
“Why do you need all your things here?”
Several seconds of silence passed.
Then Kolia appeared.
He was coming out of our bedroom while fastening his watch.
“What’s going on?”
I looked him straight in the eyes.
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know.”
I pointed toward the guest room.
“Why has your mother brought practically all of her clothes here?”
Kolia sighed.
That sigh irritated me more than any answer could have.
As though I were the one creating some ridiculous problem.
“Because she’s going to stay for a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Give me a timeframe.”
“Irina…”
“A week? A month? Six months? How long?”
Galina folded her arms.
Kolia looked at her, then back at me.
“Indefinitely.”
I stood perfectly still.
“Excuse me?”
“Mom doesn’t want to go back to her apartment.”
“Since when?”
“For a few days now.”
“And when exactly were you planning to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
A short laugh escaped me.
“No. You’re telling me because I found the suitcases.”
“Don’t make such a big deal out of this.”
Those words were enough.
“A big deal?”
“Yes. We have space.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is that you decided another person was going to move into our home permanently without even asking me.”
Galina interrupted.
“I’m not ‘another person.’ I’m his mother.”
I turned toward her.
“I never said otherwise.”
“Well, it certainly seems like my presence bothers you.”
“What bothers me is discovering through three suitcases that you intend to move in.”
Kolia raised his hands.
“What do you expect me to do? Throw my mother out?”
“I expect you to talk to me before making decisions about my home.”
His expression changed.
“Our home.”
“Exactly. Our home. Which is precisely why decisions should be made by both of us.”
“Mom needs to stay here.”
“She owns her own apartment.”
Galina pressed her lips together.
“I’m alone there.”
I looked at her and softened my voice slightly.
“I understand that you don’t want to be alone. We can find other solutions. You can come here for lunch, stay for a few days from time to time, we can visit you…”
“I don’t need you organizing my life,” she replied.
“Then you don’t get to organize mine either.”
Kolia slammed his palm against the table.
“That’s enough!”
All three of us fell silent.
I had never seen him react like that toward me before.
“My mother is staying here,” he declared.
“You can’t decide that by yourself.”
“It’s already decided.”
Something inside me suddenly went cold.
“The apartment belongs to me, Kolia,” I reminded him. “Legally, it’s mine. It belonged to my grandmother long before you came into my life.”
His expression hardened.
“But my mother is my mother. And she’s staying.”
“Even if I say no?”
“Yes.”
Galina lowered her eyes to her cup.
I nodded slowly.
“Fine.”
Kolia frowned.
He had probably expected me to yell.
Maybe even cry.
I did neither.
I picked up my bag.
“I’m going to work.”
“Irina…”
“We’ll talk tonight.”
I closed the door behind me.
During my entire drive to work, one sentence kept repeating in my head.
“Even if you say no.”
That was what truly hurt.
It wasn’t Galina.
It wasn’t the suitcases.
It wasn’t even the possibility of having to live with her.
It was realizing that my husband believed my opinion could simply be ignored.
That afternoon, I called my sister Marina.
I told her everything.
“So what are you going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Yes, you do.”
I stayed silent.
My sister knew me far too well.
“You just don’t want to admit it to yourself yet,” she added.
When I came home that evening, I found something that made everything suddenly much clearer.
My desk was gone from the small room I used as an office.
In its place stood an armchair, a lamp, and several boxes belonging to Galina.
My desk had been dismantled and left in the hallway.
“What happened here?”
Galina came out of the kitchen.
“I needed the space.”
“And my desk?”
“Kolia said we could put it in your bedroom.”
I felt my hands begin to tremble.
“Is Kolia here?”
“He went to the supermarket.”
I took a slow breath.
“Galina, I want you to put my things back the way they were.”
“Don’t be childish.”
I stared at her.
“I’m not being childish.”
“I need to feel comfortable too if I’m going to live here.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
“What problem?”
“You’ve already decided that you live here.”
Her face hardened.
“My son told me I could stay.”
“Your son doesn’t own this apartment.”
“He’s your husband.”
“Yes.”
“Then he has rights.”
“He has the right to have an opinion. He does not have the right to give away rooms in an apartment that doesn’t belong to him.”
Galina fell silent.
Kolia returned twenty minutes later.
The moment he saw my dismantled desk, he understood something had happened.
“What is it now?”
“I want you to put my desk back together.”
“Irina, we can put it in our bedroom.”
“No.”
“Mom needs space.”
“Your mother already has an entire bedroom.”
“She wants a little corner where she can read.”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.
“And so your mother can have her little reading corner, I’m supposed to lose the place where I work?”
“You can work at the kitchen table.”
“No.”
“You always say you can work anywhere.”
“And you always say the sofa is comfortable. Why don’t you start sleeping there tonight?”
He stared at me in surprise.
Galina’s eyes widened.
“What are you talking about?”
“If your mother’s needs come before mine, maybe you should start sharing more things with her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not.”
I took out my phone.
“I spoke to a lawyer this afternoon.”
The room went completely silent.
Kolia turned slightly pale.
“A lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To find out exactly what my rights are regarding this apartment.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. I’m simply making sure you can never again tell me that something is ‘already decided’ when it concerns my property.”
Galina stood up.
“Kolia, I don’t want to cause problems.”
That surprised me.
It was the first time I had heard her say anything like that.
But Kolia was too angry to stop.
“You see what you’ve done? Now Mom feels guilty.”
I looked at him.
“No, Kolia. You created this situation.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You could have come to me and said, ‘My mother feels lonely. Can we talk about the possibility of her living with us?’ And we would have discussed it.”
I pointed toward the suitcases.
“Instead, you moved her in behind my back and then told me my opinion didn’t matter.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“That is exactly what happened.”
“She’s my mother.”
“And I’m your wife.”
He didn’t answer.
“I’m not asking you to choose between her and me,” I continued. “I’m asking you to understand that you don’t have the right to make decisions for me.”
A long silence followed.
Then Galina spoke.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Kolia turned sharply toward her.
“Mom, no.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I have my own apartment.”
“But you said you felt lonely.”
“I do.”
Her voice had changed.
For the first time since she arrived, she didn’t sound controlling.
She simply sounded tired.
“But I don’t want you two destroying your marriage because of me.”
Kolia gave me a bitter look.
“Mom isn’t the one destroying our marriage.”
“You’re right,” I replied. “You are.”
That night, he slept on the sofa.
The next morning, Galina started packing.
I didn’t throw her out.
I even offered to help.
While we were folding some of her blouses, she looked at me.
“Maybe I made myself a little too comfortable here.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
“Maybe.”
“I thought Kolia had explained everything to you.”
I looked at her.
“Explained what?”
“That I wanted to stay.”
I stopped folding.
“He told you I agreed?”
Galina remained silent.
That was enough of an answer.
“He told you we had discussed it?”
“He told me there wouldn’t be any problem.”
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Suddenly, I understood that Kolia had put both of us on opposite sides while he made all the decisions himself.
When Galina left that afternoon, Kolia barely spoke to me.
For two days, we lived like strangers.
On the third day, he sat across from me in the kitchen.
“Mom told me you two talked.”
“Yes.”
“She says I handled everything badly.”
“She’s right.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I thought that if I asked you, you’d say no.”
That admission was worse than I expected.
“So you decided not to ask me.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“And you thought that was okay?”
“No.”
For the first time, he didn’t try to defend himself.
“I was afraid of leaving my mother alone.”
“That, I can understand.”
“But…”
“But you can’t solve her loneliness by taking away my right to make decisions about my own life.”
Kolia took a deep breath.
“I know.”
We didn’t fix everything that night.
And I didn’t forget what had happened overnight either.
Trust doesn’t work that way.
But we established one very simple rule.
No one would ever move into our apartment unless we both agreed.
Not his mother.
Not my family.
No one.
Galina went back to her apartment.
Kolia started visiting her twice a week, and on Sundays we had dinner together.
We also helped her sign up for a few activities at a cultural center near her home.
At first, she refused completely.
A few months later, she enjoyed them much more than she was willing to admit.
But I never forgot that morning in the kitchen.
Not because I had been forced to remind my husband that the apartment belonged to me.
But because that day I understood something much more important:
Sharing a home with someone does not give them the right to make decisions for you.
And being family does not turn a “no” into a “yes.”