In the hallway, right on the soft, light-colored rug, three pairs of чужих autumn boots stood in a neat row. Gray slush slowly dripped from their soles, seeping into the expensive beige fibers and leaving behind dark, ugly stains.
Yana froze in the doorway, still clutching her keys. For a moment, she didn’t move. From the spacious living room came the delicate clinking of porcelain cups, muffled laughter,
and the heavy, smoky smell of cured sausage mixed with a sharp, overly sweet perfume that made her throat tighten.“Go on, have some marshmallows, girls, don’t be shy!” rang out a loud, familiar voice.
“My Oleg is such a good boy. As soon as he moved to this city, he said, ‘Mom, I’ll take care of everything myself!’ He picked all the furniture, had the parquet installed…
And that Yana of his? Well, she just lives off it all like a queen. What can you expect from her?”Yana’s grip tightened around the handle of her leather bag.
Slowly, carefully, she took off her coat, trying not to make a sound, and stepped toward the open living room door.And just two days earlier, on Wednesday, she had practically begged Oleg to stop this visit.
That evening, they had been sitting in the kitchen. Oleg pushed his plate away too quickly and cleared his throat.“Yana… there’s something. Mom called. She’s coming Friday morning. Staying for the weekend.”
Yana set down her fork. Her appetite vanished instantly.“Oleg, tell me you said no. I have a major project due tomorrow. Two important client calls on Saturday. I physically won’t be able to sit at home and entertain her.”
“What was I supposed to do?” he muttered, rubbing his chin nervously. “She already bought the ticket. It’s non-refundable.”“Then call her now,” Yana said firmly. “Put her on speaker.”
He hesitated, then dialed. She answered almost immediately.“Hello, my dear son! Already missing me?” came the cheerful voice.“Mom, listen… this weekend won’t work. I’m overloaded at work, and Yana is too—”
“What do you mean it won’t work?” she snapped instantly. “I’m coming to see my own son, and he’s going to work? Take time off! Nothing will collapse without you.”“I can’t, Mom…”“Then your wife can take care of me!” she cut in sharply.
Yana leaned closer.“Good evening, Raisa Pavlovna. We won’t be home this weekend.”There was a brief pause.“Oh, Yana dear… so busy now, are you?” she said with a trace of mockery.
“That’s fine. Leave me the keys, and I’ll stay by myself. I can even dust a little.”“That won’t work for us,” Yana replied calmly.The call disconnected.
On Friday morning, Oleg picked his mother up from the station and rushed off to work. Yana woke to the sound of cabinet doors slamming in the kitchen.
When she stepped out, she saw Raisa Pavlovna unloading frozen fish and cheap margarine into her refrigerator.“I’m making a proper breakfast,” she declared. “Not this grass you eat.”
“Please don’t touch my food,” Yana said, taking the margarine back.The woman only pursed her lips and turned away.And now… it was evening. Yana stood in her own living room, facing strangers.
Three elderly women sat around her antique oak table. In front of them was her delicate porcelain set—a wedding gift from her grandfather.
Bright plastic bags were piled nearby, and slices of greasy sausage lay directly on the linen tablecloth, crumbs scattered everywhere.“Oh, what thick curtains!” one of the guests exclaimed.
“Of course!” Raisa Pavlovna said proudly. “Oleg spent half his salary on them!”Yana took a slow breath and stepped forward.“Good evening. May I ask what’s going on here?”
The conversation stopped instantly. Three pairs of eyes turned toward her.“Oh, Yana. You’re back already?” Raisa said with a faintly condescending smile. “I just invited my friends over for tea. Showing them the apartment.”
“I can see that,” Yana said quietly.Her gaze shifted to the corner. Her work files and drawings—carelessly stacked on the floor.“Why did you touch my documents?” Her voice was calm, but icy.
“They were ruining the view!” Raisa waved dismissively. “You scattered your papers everywhere. We have respectable people here.”
The guests exchanged uneasy glances.
“Raisa, maybe we should go…” one of them muttered, already standing.Within a minute, they were gone.Silence fell over the apartment.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Yana said, pointing toward the door. “You’re going to pack your things and leave. Now.”
“What?!” Raisa burst out. “How dare you! I came to see my son—you should be the one leaving!”At that moment, the door opened. Oleg stepped inside.
He froze. His eyes moved across the stained tablecloth, the messy room, the scattered documents.“Yana… what happened?” he asked quietly.
“Your mother turned this place into a show,” Yana replied evenly. “And threw my work onto the floor. I asked her to leave.”
“She’s lying!” Raisa cried immediately. “She was throwing me out!”
Oleg said nothing for a few seconds. Then he walked to the shelf, opened a drawer, and took out a thick blue folder. He placed it on the table.
“Open it, Mom.”She hesitated, then flipped it open. At the top: “Property Purchase Agreement.” Her finger traced the lines until it stopped at the buyer’s name.
Yana Viktorovna.The date—two years before Yana had even met Oleg.Raisa’s face went pale.“This… this must be a mistake…”
“I never told you I bought it,” Oleg said quietly. “You just assumed. And I didn’t argue.”
Silence.“Pack your things,” he added.Half an hour later, the apartment was empty.Yana opened the windows. Fresh air slowly pushed out the stale smell.When Oleg returned, he placed a glass of water in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.Yana rested her hand over his. No more words were needed.From that day on, Raisa Pavlovna never crossed their threshold again.
She complained to others that her son had “fallen under his wife’s control,” but neither Yana nor Oleg cared.
For the first time, their home was truly peaceful.
