“Mom, maybe Grandma should just leave and disappear,” Masha said, her voice sharp and defiant. “Honestly, it would be better for everyone.”

The words hung in the air like shattered glass. Her mother froze, halfway through wiping the kitchen counter, her hand trembling slightly. The silence that followed was deafening.

Masha stood her ground, arms crossed, eyes burning with frustration. She wasn’t just angry—she was exhausted. Months of passive-aggressive comments, judgmental glances, and whispered criticisms from Grandma had built up like pressure in a sealed jar. Today, it exploded.

Her mother turned slowly, her voice low and steady.

“Masha, I know things have been hard. But she’s still my mother. And yours.”

Masha looked away, jaw clenched. She didn’t want to cry, but the lump in her throat betrayed her. She wasn’t trying to be cruel—she just wanted peace. A space to breathe. A home that didn’t feel like a battlefield.

Her mother sighed, setting the cloth down.

“We’ll talk. All of us. But don’t shut the door before we’ve tried to open it.”