09/25/2025
I came home at the wrong time—or just in time—to catch my mother-in-law in her element. Trying on my jewelry came with a running commentary about her plans for my property. And then—a call to the lawyer.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna was standing before the mirror in the dressing room, squinting at her reflection. An ivory cashmere suit flattered her figure. She had important talks scheduled with potential investors today—she needed to look impeccable.
“Andrey, have you seen my diamond earrings? The ones Dad gave me for my thirtieth?” Tatyana called out.
Andrey—a tall brunette with a gentle gaze and his perpetually half-finished cup of coffee in hand—peeked into the dressing room.
“I think they’re in the top drawer of the jewelry box. That’s where you always put them.”
Tatyana opened the box and took out the earrings. Their cool gleam always gave her strength. Her father had taught her to value real things—not flashy, but genuine, with history and meaning.
“Mom’s dropping by today,” Andrey said casually. “She asked for the spare keys. Says she wants to plan a surprise.”
Tatyana frowned.
“Another ‘surprise’ from your mother,” she muttered, snapping the lid shut.
“Tanya, don’t start,” Andrey sighed. “She’s just trying…”
“Trying her best. For whom?” Tatyana said quietly but distinctly. “Every visit turns into a marathon of reproaches. As if I should apologize for achieving anything on my own.”
“She’ll get used to it. She just needs time,” Andrey said, hugging her.
“Three years of marriage is ‘a little time’?” Tatyana replied, soft but cold, slipping out of his arms. “All right. I’m off.”
Outside, a well-kept garden greeted her—she had designed it herself and planted every bed with her own hands. The house, built to her design, had become an embodiment of her will and taste. At thirty-three she owned a design studio, invested wisely, and was steadily building a life of her own—and she had no intention of straying from that path.
She’d met Andrey at a charity gala—cultured, calm, with a warm smile. Everything was wonderful… until she appeared. Lyudmila Sergeyevna.
She would never forget the first visit. Her mother-in-law looked around the interior, narrowed her eyes, and said:
“Imagine that—so young, and you already have so much… I worked at a school my whole life. My pension is a pittance.”
From then on came a string of barbed remarks. A new dress—“How much did that cost, about the price of an apartment?” Vacation plans—“I haven’t seen the sea in ten years… And my son isn’t an oligarch.”
Tatyana kept quiet. Her father had always taught her: “Don’t prove anything to anyone. Just be yourself.” And she was. She worked, loved, built. But the more surely she stood on her own feet, the more poisonous her mother-in-law’s words became.
That evening, tired, Tatyana drove home. The phone rang.
“Tanya, I’m sorry, I’m running late. Emergency meeting,” Andrey said apologetically.
“All right. Don’t worry,” she answered calmly.
As she neared the house, Tatyana noticed a light in the living-room window. An old Zhiguli (Lada) stood by the gate—the visitor was obvious.
“Perfect,” Tatyana muttered. “Just what I needed.”
She slipped in silently and went upstairs. From the bedroom came the rustle of fabric mixed with a tuneful humming.
Tatyana cracked the door—and froze.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna stood before the mirror, turning a sapphire necklace over in her hands—the wedding gift from Tatyana’s parents. The matching earrings were already on her. An open jewelry box lay on the bed. A satisfied, almost dreamy smile played on her face.
“I’ll sell these baubles,” she murmured. “Put the money into an apartment… And finally go to the seaside. Enough of being a poor mother. Time to live for myself.”
At that moment Tatyana stepped forward. A floorboard creaked. Her mother-in-law turned.
And Tatyana said evenly:
“Don’t you think, Lyudmila Sergeyevna, that other people’s jewelry pairs poorly with other people’s houses?”
A pause. A heavy silence.
Then Tatyana took out her phone and dialed:
“Ivan Yuryevich? Good evening. Please prepare an authorization to recall the spare keys. And, possibly, a separate property agreement.” 👇👇
