Oksana looked up from her laptop and froze. In the kitchen doorway stood Tamara Ivanovna with a huge suitcase and a triumphant smile.

“Oksanochka, hello, dear! Well, I’m here!” her mother-in-law stepped into the apartment without waiting to be invited. “My Yegorushka asked his mom to come help you. He says you’ve gotten completely swamped—no time to get the house in order.”

Oksana slowly closed her laptop. She had been working from home for three years, and their small two-room apartment was arranged to suit her work perfectly. She did not need any help.

“Tamara Ivanovna,” she asked calmly, “did Yegor actually invite you?”

“Of course! We talked yesterday. He said, ‘Mom, come—stay with us.’ I thought I’d surprise you.”

The surprise worked. Oksana felt anger rising. Yegor had done it again—agreed to something without consulting her, just to avoid upsetting his mother.

Tamara Ivanovna immediately began criticizing the apartment.

“Oh dear, you’ve really let things go here. We’ll fix everything. First, let’s rearrange the furniture. This table is clearly in the wrong place.”

“This table is here because I work here,” Oksana said firmly.

“Work?” her mother-in-law scoffed. “Sitting at home? That’s not real work.”

Arguing was pointless. To Tamara Ivanovna, being at home meant being free to cook, clean, and serve.

That evening, when Yegor came home, Oksana confronted him.

“Your mother is here.”

“I thought she was coming next week…” he muttered.

“You agreed without asking me,” Oksana said coldly. “I need quiet. I work from home.”

“It’s not for long,” Yegor pleaded. “Just endure it.”

The next morning, Tamara Ivanovna began cleaning at six a.m. The noise made it impossible for Oksana to work. She retreated to the bedroom with her laptop.

All day, her mother-in-law knocked on the door, insisting she eat, criticizing her “work,” and refusing to respect her boundaries.

By evening, Oksana was exhausted.

“Your mother is stopping me from working,” she told Yegor. “She doesn’t listen.”

“Just endure it,” he repeated.

“I’m leaving,” Oksana said. “I’ll work at a coworking space.”

For days, she avoided the apartment, returning only late at night. Tension filled the home.

Then one Saturday, Oksana came back and froze. Her work table was gone. In its place stood an old sideboard. Her laptop and documents had been packed into a box and shoved under the bed.

“I moved it,” Tamara Ivanovna said cheerfully. “It ruined the look of the kitchen.”

Something inside Oksana snapped.

“You moved my furniture. My workplace. Without asking. In my apartment.”

“It’s my son’s apartment too!” her mother-in-law snapped.

“Yegor,” Oksana said, turning to her husband, “either your mother leaves tomorrow, or I do. Choose.”

Yegor hesitated.

“No,” Oksana said quietly. “I can’t endure this anymore. And you didn’t protect me. Not once.”

She packed her bag and left.

After she was gone, Tamara Ivanovna left the next day, offended and confused. Yegor remained alone in the apartment, finally realizing his cowardice had nearly destroyed his marriage.

Three days later, Oksana returned.

“I didn’t come back because I forgave you,” she said. “I came back because I want to try again. But there are conditions.”

She laid them out clearly: no guests without mutual consent, firm boundaries with his mother, and a demand that Yegor grow up and choose his wife.

“I choose you,” he said.

Together, they moved the furniture back. When Oksana’s work table was returned to its place by the window, she smiled for the first time in a week.

Their home was home again—not a battlefield.