Polina carefully examined the new curtains hanging in the living room window. Light blue with a delicate floral pattern—just what she had envisioned to brighten the space and add a touch of warmth. She gently smoothed the pleats, stepped back a few paces, and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

“Sergey, what do you think?” Polina turned toward her husband, who was reclined in his favorite armchair, eyes glued to his phone screen.

“It’s fine,” Sergey muttered without looking up.

Polina hesitated. “Maybe we should have chosen curtains with a bigger pattern? Something more noticeable?”

Sergey finally glanced at the window, shrugged indifferently, and said, “What difference does it make? Curtains are just curtains.”

Polina sighed, a familiar ache settling in her chest. Lately, Sergey had grown distant—distracted as if burdened by something he wouldn’t share. She perched on the edge of the sofa and reached out to gently touch his hand.

“Is something wrong? You’ve been acting different lately.”

He hesitated, then put down his phone and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Polina, we need to talk. My mother’s retiring next week.”

“And…?” Polina raised an eyebrow, sensing the conversation was going to take an uncomfortable turn.

“She’s going to have a hard time being alone. She’s always been social, surrounded by people. Staying within four walls all day will be difficult for her.”

Polina tensed, already knowing where this was heading.

“I was thinking… maybe she could stay with us for a while. Until she adjusts to the slower pace.”

Polina clenched her fists inwardly. Larisa Arkadyevna, Sergey’s mother, had never truly liked her. Every visit brought new criticisms: Polina was too thin, her clothes were inappropriate, or the apartment wasn’t kept well enough.

“How long are we talking?” Polina asked cautiously.

“Just a month or two. At most until autumn.”

Polina exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright. But only temporarily.”

“You’re the best,” Sergey smiled, pulling her into a quick hug. “Mom will appreciate your kindness.”

A week later, Larisa Arkadyevna arrived, dragging two heavy suitcases into their apartment.

“I hope you’ve prepared a room for me,” she said sharply, inspecting the hallway with her usual critical eye.

“Of course, Mom. The guest room is all yours,” Sergey said, taking the bags and carrying them to the designated room.

Polina forced a polite smile.

“Please come in, Larisa Arkadyevna. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, but no sugar,” Larisa snapped as she brushed past Polina. “And take down those awful flowery curtains. They hurt my eyes.”

Polina bit her lip but said nothing. Just a couple of months, she reassured herself.

But those couple of months quietly stretched into six. Larisa Arkadyevna had settled in comfortably, filling kitchen shelves with her homemade jams and pickles, rearranging the living room furniture to her liking. She even threw away Polina’s favorite decorative pillows, dismissing them as “dust collectors.”

“Sergey, I can’t take this anymore,” Polina whispered one night in their bedroom. “Your mother acts like this is her apartment, not ours.”

“She’s used to running the household,” Sergey sighed. “You know it’s hard for her right now. Retirement is a tough transition.”

“At sixty?” Polina scoffed. “She threw away my porcelain figurines yesterday!”

“She didn’t throw them out. She packed them away because they took up too much space.”

“In my apartment!”

“In our apartment,” Sergey corrected gently.

“The apartment I bought before we got married, with the money from selling my grandmother’s apartment,” Polina reminded him sharply.

Sergey grimaced but didn’t reply.

“Let’s not start this again. Just be patient a little longer.”

Polina turned away and closed her eyes, feeling more alone than ever.

Soon, Larisa Arkadyevna’s criticism became openly hostile.

“You’ve over-salted the potatoes again,” she huffed during dinner, pushing her plate away. “In my day, girls were taught to cook properly by their mothers.”

“In your backward day, women were married off without their consent,” Polina snapped, immediately regretting the words.

“Sergey! Did you hear how she talks to me?” Larisa demanded. “I’m an elder; I deserve respect!”

“Polina, don’t start,” Sergey said wearily. “Mom is right—we should respect our elders.”

Polina quietly left the table, resentment boiling inside her. It felt like both her mother-in-law and husband were turning her into a stranger in her own home.

The next morning, while getting dressed for work, Polina discovered her favorite white blouse was missing.

“Larisa Arkadyevna, have you seen my blouse?” she asked, peeking into the kitchen.

“That tasteless thing? I washed it for you. You don’t know how to wash clothes, that’s why it looks like a rag.”

“But I planned to wear it today!” Polina clenched her fists.

“Buy something decent for yourself,” her mother-in-law snapped. “And it’s time you learned to dress like a proper woman, not a teenager.”

Before Polina could respond, Sergey entered the kitchen.

“What’s going on?”

“Your mother took my things without asking,” Polina said sharply.

“I’m just helping her look presentable,” Larisa retorted. “Sergey, tell her it’s inappropriate for a married woman to wear such revealing clothes.”

“A white blouse is revealing?” Polina stared incredulously.

Sergey raised his hands, trying to calm the situation.

“Let’s not argue over a blouse. Polina, wear something else. And Mom, next time ask before taking someone’s belongings.”

Polina was late for work and drained of energy all day. The apartment felt like foreign territory—every step shadowed by criticism and tension.

That evening, she met her friend Natasha at a nearby café.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Polina admitted, stirring her cold tea. “She’s turned my life into hell.”

“And Sergey?” Natasha asked.

“He’s always on his mother’s side,” Polina said bitterly. “Yesterday he told me I should respect his mother because without her, there’d be no him and no us.”

“Maybe you should live separately for a while?” Natasha suggested. “I have a spare room.”

Polina shook her head.

“This is my apartment, Natasha. Why should I leave?”

“Then have a serious talk with Sergey. Calmly, without hysteria or accusations. Tell him how uncomfortable you feel.”

Polina thought about it. Maybe a calm, honest conversation was the only way.

When she came home, she found Larisa Arkadyevna rummaging through their bedroom closet.

“What are you doing here?” Polina asked, startled.

“Making space in the closet,” Larisa said flatly. “I have too many clothes in the guest room. Sergey said I could use some of your space.”

That was the last straw.

Polina stood frozen in the doorway, watching her mother-in-law move her belongings around.

“Stop,” she said quietly but firmly.

Larisa didn’t look up.

“Does it bother you that I’m making space for your husband’s mother?” she sneered. “You’re so selfish.”

“This is my bedroom, my closet,” Polina stepped forward. “Please leave.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, girl,” Larisa spat. “You may be my son’s wife, but you don’t deserve respect.”

“What’s going on?” Sergey appeared, drawn by the voices.

“Your mother is going through my things!” Polina said, pointing at clothes scattered on the bed.

“I just wanted to hang my clothes,” Larisa said, pursing her lips. “But your wife threw a fit. I always knew she didn’t respect family values.”

Sergey sighed.

“Polina, what’s all the noise about? Mom just asked for a little space.”

“A little space?” Polina clutched her head. “She’s taken over the guest room, half the kitchen, thrown out my things, rearranged furniture! Now she’s in our bedroom!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Sergey waved dismissively. “Mom just wants—”

“I don’t care what your mother wants!” Polina interrupted. “This is my apartment! I bought it with my own money, before we married!”

“Not this again,” Sergey frowned. “How long will you keep bringing this up?”

“I’m not bringing it up! But I won’t allow anyone to treat me like a guest in my own home!”

“See, Sergey?” Larisa said triumphantly. “She disrespects me and you. A real woman wouldn’t yell at her husband.”

Polina took a deep breath.

“Sergey, let’s talk alone.”

“So you can turn him against me?” Larisa sneered. “No, I’m staying. I have the right to know what happens in my son’s family.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do in my house!” Polina exclaimed. “You were a guest. A temporary guest. Now you act like the owner!”

“How dare you speak to my mother like that?” Sergey was outraged. “Apologize now!”

“Apologize?” Polina laughed bitterly. “For defending my home? She was supposed to stay a few months. She’s been living here six months!”

“So what?” Sergey crossed his arms. “She’s my mother. I’m not throwing her out.”

“Throwing out?” Polina smiled coldly. “She has her own three-bedroom apartment.”

“She doesn’t want to live there alone,” Sergey said sharply. “You have no heart?”

“No heart?” Polina looked around at the chaos Larisa had caused. “I’ve endured six months of your mother turning my life into a nightmare. Six months of being told I’m a bad wife, housekeeper, and daughter-in-law!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Sergey said.

“I’m not! I can’t take it anymore. Either your mother goes back, or—”

“Or what?” Sergey challenged.

Polina fell silent, unsure of what to say next. She never imagined their marriage could unravel over a household conflict.

“See, Sergey?” Larisa mocked. “She can’t even threaten properly. A weak, spineless girl who dares show character in our house? You should put her in her place.”

Something inside Polina snapped. All the humiliations, silent compromises, fear of conflict, and the need to please everyone—they exploded in her chest.

She stood tall, looking Larisa directly in the eyes.

“No, dear mother-in-law, I bought this apartment before our marriage. Pack your things. Today. I won’t let you torment me in my own home anymore.”

“What did you say?” Larisa was stunned.

“You heard me. Pack your things and leave.”

“You can’t throw my mother out!” Sergey shouted.

“I can. And I am. This apartment belongs to me. I decide who lives here.”

“I’m your husband!”

“One who never stood by my side,” Polina said bitterly. “Who watched his mother mistreat me and stayed silent.”

“You’re just petty and mean,” Larisa hissed. “Poor my son, unlucky with a wife.”

“Yes, he’s unlucky,” Polina agreed. “But a real man wouldn’t let his mother treat his beloved woman this way.” She took a breath and headed for the door. “You have two hours to pack. Both of you.”

“What?” Sergey was stunned. “Are you kicking me out too?”

“Do you want to stay?” Polina raised an eyebrow. “After everything?”

Sergey looked between his mother and wife, speechless.

“Don’t worry, son,” Larisa said smugly. “We’ll stay at my place. You’ll find a woman who respects her mother.”

Polina shook her head and left the room. Surprisingly, she felt no pain. Only relief. Like a heavy weight lifted from her soul.

Two days later, Sergey knocked.

“Polina, can we talk?”

“About what?” she crossed her arms. “How you let your mother humiliate me? Or how you never stood up for me?”

“I tried to reconcile everyone,” Sergey said quietly. “But I failed.”

“You didn’t even try,” Polina said. “You chose the path of least resistance. Mom yells, so you accommodate her. I stay quiet, so it’s fine with you.”

“I love you, Polina.”

“Love isn’t just words,” Polina said sadly. “It’s actions. You chose your mother over your wife. I respect your choice. Now respect mine.”

She closed the door and leaned against it. Tears fell, but strength surged within. Polina had reclaimed her life, her home, her dignity.

A week later, she repainted the bedroom walls lavender, hung the light blue curtains with the floral pattern again, and bought new decorative pillows. The apartment was hers once more—her sanctuary, her fortress.

A month later, Natasha introduced her to Andrei—a calm, confident man who listened attentively, valued her opinions, and never interrupted. Most importantly, he had his own apartment, and his mother didn’t live with him.

Sometimes, what feels like a loss is just the beginning of something new, something better. Polina was grateful for the lesson. She would never again let anyone cross her boundaries—not even for love.