**Mother-in-Law and Daughter-in-Law**
Tatiana Arkadyevna walked home at her usual unhurried pace. As she turned the key in the lock, she heard unfamiliar voices inside. Quietly slipping off her shoes, she tiptoed toward the kitchen.
What she saw knocked the wind out of her.
Three young women were laughing loudly at the table. At the centre, holding court like a queen, sat her daughter-in-law, Veronica. A pot bubbled on the stove, filling the flat with the rich scent of freshly made borscht—the very same borscht Tatiana had prepared that morning for supper.
“What on earth is this?” she snapped, and the kitchen fell deathly silent.
Veronica lifted her head and flashed a practised smile. “Mum, just some friends dropping by. Thought I’d treat them. The borscht is lovely, isn’t it?”
Tatiana Arkadyevna’s gaze swept over the table. Her supper—half-eaten in the guests’ plates. Her finest china—dug out from the cupboard. The fruit she’d bought for the weekend—gone from the bowl.
Veronica had been in the family nearly two years. Her son, Andrew, had fallen head over heels, and they’d married quickly. At first, they rented a flat, but when the landlord decided to sell, they’d had nowhere to go.
“Mum, please, just let us stay for a little while,” Andrew had pleaded. “We’ll find our own place soon.”
Tatiana had agreed—but laid down rules. And from the first day, she knew it wouldn’t be peaceful. Veronica was sharp-tongued, disrespectful, answering every remark with defiance. Each day brought fresh irritation.
First, it was crumbs left on the table. Then, clothes strewn about. Then, doors slamming.
“Why were you kicked out?” Tatiana had asked one evening, unable to hold back.
“The flat was sold,” Veronica shot back.
“I doubt it. Landlords give a month’s notice, not two days. Did you speak to them the way you speak to me?”
Veronica smirked, plugged in her earphones, and turned away.
The next morning, Tatiana swept up the crumbs and dumped them onto Veronica’s bed. The girl shrieked, hurling accusations. The row was spectacular.
That evening, Andrew returned from work. He listened to his mother silently, then asked, “All this… over crumbs?”
“Over respect!” Tatiana cried. “Either you live by my rules, or you pack your bags.”
Andrew promised to talk to Veronica. For a couple of days, she behaved—then the chaos resumed. Until suddenly, everything changed. Cleaning, quietness, even a homemade dessert.
Tatiana grew suspicious—rightly so. A week later, her son announced, “Mum, you’re going to be a grandmother.”
Instead of joy, dread filled her. A baby—and no home of their own. And a daughter-in-law she couldn’t stand.
“Now I see why she’s changed! You talked her into it!” she spat at Andrew. “But it changes nothing. You won’t raise a child here. I’m not retired yet.”
Her son stayed silent. And the next day, the moment Tatiana left to visit a friend, Veronica invited her pals over. The borscht was served up without a second thought.
But Tatiana came home early—and caught the party in full swing.
“This is my home, not a pub. Get out,” she said coldly. “And you, Veronica—start packing.”
Veronica walked out without a word. That evening, Andrew arrived. Seeing his wife’s suitcase by the door, he silently gathered his things.
“If you leave, don’t come back,” Tatiana warned.
But he left. For six months, mother and son didn’t speak. Only then did Tatiana Arkadyevna finally call. They met in a café. Veronica, she never spoke to again.
She became a grandmother—from a distance. And if she regretted anything, it was ever letting her daughter-in-law cross the threshold. Because respect isn’t something you earn with a pregnancy. It’s either there, or it isn’t.
