“Arina, bake a cabbage pie for dinner tomorrow,” Lyudmila Vasilievna said as she walked into the kitchen and took her usual seat. “I haven’t had good pastries in ages. You’re always cooking something unfamiliar.”
Arina turned from the stove, where she was frying cutlets. Her mother-in-law adjusted the sleeves of her familiar burgundy sweater, her expression disapproving as always.
“I’m allergic to cabbage, Lyudmila Vasilievna,” Arina replied calmly, flipping a cutlet. “I can’t make it.”
“What do you mean, *can’t*? I asked you, and you’re refusing?” Her voice rose. “In my day, daughters-in-law respected their elders!”
“This isn’t about respect,” Arina said, moving the pan aside. “It’s about health. If I cook cabbage, I’ll get sick. If you really want it, you’re welcome to make it.”
“Make it myself?” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “That’s your job! You’re the lady of the house — or so I thought. And I don’t believe this allergy. You just don’t want to bother with the dough!”
“Laziness has nothing to do with it,” Arina said, turning to face her. “I cook and clean every day. But I won’t put myself at risk for a pie.”
At that moment, keys jingled in the hallway. Mikhail had come home. Instantly, Lyudmila Vasilievna’s tone softened.
“Misha, you’re just in time,” she said. “Your wife refuses to make a simple pie I asked for. So disrespectful!”
Mikhail removed his jacket and glanced toward the stove, where Arina stood silently.
“Arina, why won’t you make the pie?” he asked.
“I’m allergic to cabbage, Misha. I explained that.”
“Come on,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just a pie. Mom’s asking nicely. Arina, can’t you just do it?”
Arina looked at both of them. Something inside her shifted.
“No. I won’t bake it,” she said quietly, removing her apron. “You can have dinner without me.”
She went to the bedroom and closed the door. Through the wall, she could hear them chatting over dinner — calmly, as if nothing had happened. She lay on the bed, tears silently soaking into the pillow.
The next morning, Arina rose early. The apartment was quiet. Mikhail sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, scrolling his phone.
“Misha, we need to talk,” Arina said as she sat across from him. “About your mother.”
He looked up, surprised. “What about her?”
“I’m tired,” Arina said. “Tired of being judged, corrected, and ordered around in my own home.”
“Mom’s just set in her ways,” Mikhail shrugged. “She doesn’t mean harm.”
“It’s more than that. This was supposed to be our home. But I feel like a guest. Maybe it’s time for her to have a separate space — her own apartment. We can even help with the rent.”
Mikhail’s face hardened. “You want to send my mother away?”
“I want us to have space to live without tension.”
“No. Absolutely not,” he said, standing up. “She cooks, she helps—”
“She doesn’t,” Arina interrupted. “I do everything while she criticizes me. And you defend her every time.”
“I won’t listen to this,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “She’s staying. End of discussion.”
The door closed behind him with a cold clang. Arina stood alone, looking at the half-finished coffee on the table.
Not long after, Lyudmila Vasilievna entered the kitchen.
“Well, that was quite a show,” she said. “Did you think Mikhail would take your side?”
Arina stayed quiet, sipping tea.
“You see? He understands who’s in charge here. You’re lucky to have me. So today, you’ll clean the apartment thoroughly — windows, floors, everything.”
Arina placed the kettle down with more force than intended.
“I want this place spotless,” her mother-in-law continued. “You walk around like the queen of the house, but look — the mirror’s dirty!”
“The house is clean,” Arina said softly.
“Clean?” Her voice grew sharp. “You’re lucky I don’t report how you talk to me!”
Something inside Arina snapped.
“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t. I’ve stayed quiet too long. I cook, clean, and stay respectful — and still get nothing but complaints. That ends now.”
Her mother-in-law was taken aback. “How dare you speak to me like that?”
“I dare,” Arina said. “Because this is *my* apartment. Bought before I met Mikhail. I let you stay here — for free. No rent, no groceries, nothing. And I’ve had enough.”
There was silence.
“You will not give me orders. If anything, it’s you who should be saying thank you. And if things don’t change, you may need to find another place.”
Lyudmila Vasilievna opened her mouth but no words came out.
“Respect should go both ways,” Arina added. “And lately, I’ve seen none from you.”
With a stomp, her mother-in-law turned and left the room. Arina heard her calling Mikhail, complaining. Arina calmly finished her tea and got ready for work.
That evening, Mikhail stormed in.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “You insulted my mother? Threatened her?”
“I didn’t threaten anyone,” Arina said. “I told her the truth. And I reminded her this is my apartment.”
“We’re married. What’s yours is mine!”
“No. This was mine before we met. And I won’t live like this anymore.”
“She only asked for help!”
“She gave orders. And you stood by, always taking her side.”
“She’s my mother!”
“Then maybe you should live with her,” Arina said, walking to the door. “But not here. I’m choosing peace. You should, too — wherever that may be.”
Lyudmila Vasilievna came into the hallway, startled. The door stood open.
“What’s happening?”
“You have half an hour to gather your things,” Arina said, calmly.
Mikhail stood frozen. But Arina felt light — for the first time in a long while.
She had finally stood up for herself.
