Daria carefully straightened the throw on the couch and glanced around her small studio apartment. Every item here had been chosen by her; every object was bought with honestly earned money. At eighteen, after her parents’ death, the girl was left completely alone with these thirty square meters in a panel building.

At first it was frightening. Utility bills, repairs, buying furniture—all of it fell on her fragile shoulders. But Daria didn’t give up. She worked as a sales clerk in a store and tutored in the evenings. She saved every ruble and planned every purchase in advance.

“I should really redo the floors,” the girl muttered, eyeing the worn parquet. “And change the wallpaper in the hall.”

In five years of living on her own, Daria turned the shabby little place into a cozy nest. Light curtains, a soft rug, bookshelves along the wall. Not fancy, but tasteful. Most importantly—everything with her own hands, without anyone’s help.

Her meeting with Alexei happened by chance. The man was buying groceries at the store where Daria worked. Tall, handsome, with kind eyes. They struck up a conversation, then started meeting, going on dates.

“You’re so independent,” Alexei said in surprise as he looked over the apartment. “At your age many people are still living off their parents.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Daria shrugged. “But now I know the value of money and hard work.”

Alexei worked as a manager at a construction company and earned a decent income. He lived with his mother in a two-room apartment and was saving up for a place of his own. He was attentive and caring, never forgot to congratulate her on holidays or bring flowers just because.

“Let’s get married,” Alexei proposed after a year of dating. “We’ll live at your place until we save up for something bigger.”

“Won’t your mother be against it?” Daria asked cautiously.

“Mom? She’ll be all for it. Says it’s time I lived separately and became independent.”

The wedding was modest; they invited only their closest relatives. Marina Viktorovna, the groom’s mother, seemed quite pleased. An older woman who worked as an accountant, she had a strict character, but treated her daughter-in-law kindly.

“You picked a good girl,” the mother-in-law told her friends. “A good homemaker and a hard worker. Alyosha is lucky to have her.”

The first months of married life were almost ideal. Alexei helped around the house, carried groceries from the store, fixed broken furniture. In the evenings the couple watched TV, planned the future, and dreamed of children.

Marina Viktorovna dropped by once a week. Usually on Sundays, bringing pies or homemade cookies.

“Dasha, what kind of flour do you buy?” the mother-in-law would ask, peering at Daria’s baking.

“Premium grade, I get it at Pyaterochka.”

“You should buy it at Auchan; the quality is better and it’s a bit cheaper.”

“Thanks for the tip, I’ll definitely try it.”

Daria tried not to take the remarks to heart. After all, the woman was older, more experienced. She surely wanted to help.

“Mom is just used to controlling everything,” Alexei explained, seeing his wife’s perplexity. “She raised me alone her whole life; she’s used to being responsible for everything. Once she gets used to the fact that I’m married, she’ll calm down.”

“I understand,” Daria nodded. “It’s just that sometimes it feels like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“Nonsense! You’re a wonderful homemaker. Mom appreciates that; she just shows it in her own way.”

But the visits from her mother-in-law became increasingly detailed. Marina Viktorovna didn’t just have tea with cookies. She would inspect the apartment, check for cleanliness, and assess the food Daria had prepared.

“There’s too much salt in the soup,” Marina Viktorovna would note at the table. “My Alyosha doesn’t like oversalted food.”

“When did you last wash the windows?” the elderly woman would ask, squinting at the glass. “They look a bit cloudy.”

Daria dutifully wrote down the advice, bought the recommended products, and rewashed windows that were already clean. She wanted to please her mother-in-law, to prove she was a worthy wife.

“Alexei, talk to your mother,” Daria asked her husband. “I feel like I’m taking an exam every Sunday.”

“Oh, come on!” he waved her off. “Mom loves you; she cares. Be patient a little—she’ll get used to it.”

But she didn’t. On the contrary, the criticism intensified. Other relatives joined in—Aunt Lidiya, Uncle Pavel, Alexei’s sister with her children.

“And who cooked this?” Aunt Lidiya would ask, tasting the mashed potatoes.

“Daria,” a nephew would answer.

“It’s too runny. You need to add less milk.”

“The meat is dry,” Uncle Pavel would observe as he chewed a cutlet. “You need to stew it longer.”

“The mirror in the bathroom is dirty,” Marina Viktorovna declared. “Dasha, when did you last wash it?”

Daria blushed, made excuses, and promised to do better. The apartment that had once been a refuge turned into a place of constant examinations. Every Sunday brought a new check against the standards of Alexei’s family.

“Pay no attention,” her husband would whisper when the relatives left. “They nitpick because they worry about me.”

“And who worries about me?” Daria asked wearily.

“I do. You know that.”

But Daria didn’t feel supported. Alexei tried to smooth over conflicts but always took his family’s side. Daria had to put up with it and smile.

Her cooking drew the most fire. Every dish underwent a detailed critique.

“The soup’s thin,” the mother-in-law would grimace. “You didn’t put enough potatoes.”

“The porridge is bland,” Uncle Pavel complained.

“The pie is raw inside,” Aunt Lidiya remarked.

Daria bought cookbooks, studied recipes, and tried new dishes. But the criticism didn’t stop. It seemed the relatives were deliberately looking for flaws.

“Maybe I should enroll in cooking classes?” Dasha asked her husband.

“What for? You already cook well. They’re just picky.”

“Then why do you stay silent when your mom criticizes me?”

“I don’t want to quarrel with my family. You understand.”

Daria did understand. She understood that for her husband, peace with his family mattered more than his wife’s feelings. She kept quiet and endured, hoping the situation would change sooner or later.

One evening in October, Marina Viktorovna didn’t come alone. She arrived with Aunt Lidiya and Uncle Pavel. They all looked ready for a long get-together.

“Dashulya, what’s for dinner today?” the mother-in-law asked, settling at the table.

“I made borscht,” Daria replied. “Thick, with meat, just how Alexei likes it.”

The girl had spent the entire day cooking. She chose the best meat, chopped the vegetables, and simmered the soup over low heat. She wanted, at long last, to please the demanding relatives.

“We’ll see how it turned out,” Marina Viktorovna commented skeptically.

Daria ladled the borscht into bowls and served it with sour cream and garlic pampushki. She sat down last, heart pounding as she awaited their reaction.

Marina Viktorovna scooped up a full spoonful and tasted it. Her face immediately twisted.

“Ugh!” the mother-in-law exclaimed. “What a disgusting mess!”

“What’s wrong?” Daria faltered.

“The borscht is absolutely awful! Sour, and the meat is undercooked. How can you feed my son food like this?”

Aunt Lidiya chimed in:

“Truly, it’s dreadful. Borscht is supposed to be made with beef, not pork. That’s basic cooking!”

“Marina, you’re right! The meat is tough,” added Uncle Pavel, struggling to chew a piece. “How long did you cook it?”

Daria sat with her eyes lowered, feeling everything inside her knot up with hurt. She had spent the whole day at the stove trying to do her best. And in the end—another dressing-down.

“Dasha, how could you?” Marina Viktorovna shook her head. “Alexei works and gets tired. And you feed him this swill.”

“Mom, that’s enough,” her husband tried weakly to stand up for her.

“Enough what?” the mother-in-law flared. “Am I not telling the truth? Try this borscht yourself!”

All the months of pent-up resentment, humiliation, and helplessness suddenly burst out. The girl stood up so sharply that the chair skittered back.

“In my apartment, you don’t barge in with your own rules! If you don’t like the borscht—the door is right there!” Daria snapped, wiping her hands on her apron.

Her voice rang out so loud and resolute that everyone froze with their mouths open. Aunt Lidiya choked, Uncle Pavel set down his spoon. Marina Viktorovna stared at her daughter-in-law in astonishment.

“How dare you?” the mother-in-law finally managed.

“I dare to defend my own home!” Daria didn’t back down. “I’m sick of your criticism! This is my apartment, and I’m the mistress here!”

“Daria, calm down,” Alexei tried to intervene. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” she turned to her husband. “I’ve been putting up with humiliation in my own home for six months! Listening for six months to how I’m a bad homemaker! And you stay silent!”

“But this is my family…”

“Family?” Daria laughed bitterly. “I am your family! Those people are guests! And if guests behave improperly, they’re asked to leave!”

Marina Viktorovna flushed with indignation:

“How dare you! I am Alexei’s mother! I have the right—”

“No, you don’t!” Daria cut her off. “In my apartment, it’s my rules! If you don’t like them—then don’t come!”

“Daria, you’ve gone too far,” Alexei tried to reason with his wife.

“No, you’ve gone too far!” she shot back. “You’ve turned my home into a place of execution! Every Sunday—new nitpicking, new reproaches!”

Aunt Lidiya and Uncle Pavel exchanged glances, not knowing what to say. They clearly hadn’t expected such pushback from the quiet daughter-in-law.

“You know what?” Daria went on, feeling her momentum build. “That’s enough! I’ve had enough of your attacks! If someone doesn’t like something—there’s the door!”

“Alexei!” Marina Viktorovna pleaded. “Are you going to let your wife talk to us like this?”

Her husband hesitated, unsure whose side to take. On one side—his mother and relatives; on the other—his furious wife.

“Well, why are you silent?” Daria turned to her husband. “Or do you also think I’m a bad homemaker?”

“No, of course not…”

“Then why don’t you protect me from insults?”

“What insults?” the mother-in-law protested. “We were trying to help!”

“Help?” Daria looked at Marina Viktorovna with contempt. “In six months I haven’t heard a single kind word! Only criticism and reproach!”

“We wanted you to learn…”

“Learn what? To grovel before you? To tolerate rudeness in my own home?”

Daria walked to the front door and opened it pointedly:

“Please leave my apartment. All three of you.”

“Daria, don’t do this,” Alexei asked.

“I must,” his wife cut him off. “And you can go with them too if you don’t like my rules.”

The words sounded like an ultimatum. Alexei realized his wife wasn’t joking. Determination to see it through shone in her eyes.

Marina Viktorovna, Aunt Lidiya, and Uncle Pavel slowly rose from the table. Their faces showed a mixture of hurt, surprise, and confusion. They clearly hadn’t expected such resistance from the quiet bride.

“Well then,” the mother-in-law said coldly, “now we know who you really are.”

“And I know who you are,” Daria replied calmly. “People who come to someone else’s home not as guests but as inspectors.”

The relatives walked silently into the hallway and got dressed. As she left, Marina Viktorovna threw out:

“Alexei, think carefully about the person you’ve tied yourself to.”

“Mom,” her son said quietly, “Daria is right. You really went too far.”

The mother-in-law looked at her son in surprise but said nothing. The door closed, leaving the spouses alone.

A heavy silence fell. Alexei sat at the table, staring at the half-eaten borscht. Daria stood by the window, calming down after the emotional outburst.

“You really kicked them out,” her husband said at last.

“I did. And I don’t regret it.”

“What if they never come back?”

Daria turned to her husband:

“Do you want them to? After everything that happened?”

Alexei thought for a moment. Indeed, his mother and relatives had behaved inappropriately. They had turned his wife’s home into a place of constant exams and humiliation.

“No,” he answered honestly. “I don’t. I’m tired of watching them hurt you.”

“Then why did you keep silent before?”

“I didn’t want to quarrel with my family. I thought they’d get used to it with time and stop nitpicking.”

“They wouldn’t have,” Daria shook her head. “On the contrary, they would have gotten even bolder.”

The following weeks passed in unusual quiet. Marina Viktorovna didn’t call and didn’t drop by. Aunt Lidiya and Uncle Pavel disappeared as well. Daria finally felt like the mistress of her own home.

“It’s so nice when no one criticizes your cooking,” the woman said, serving her husband dinner.

“I agree,” Alexei nodded. “And the borscht, by the way, was tasty. I don’t understand what Mom was picking at.”

“That it wasn’t she who cooked it. That’s the whole secret.”

A month later, Marina Viktorovna finally called. Her voice sounded restrained, without the usual demanding notes.

“Alexei, may I come over? I miss my son.”

“Mom, of course. But I’m warning you—no remarks to Daria. Otherwise I’ll ask you to leave.”

“I understand,” the mother-in-law answered quietly.

The visit went surprisingly peacefully. Marina Viktorovna praised the food, asked about their affairs, and didn’t make a single critical comment. Daria watched the changes in her behavior with surprise.

“Thank you for the tea,” Marina Viktorovna said as she left. “The pies were very tasty.”

“Come again,” Daria smiled. “Just let us know in advance.”

After her mother-in-law left, the spouses discussed the visit.

“Mom has changed,” Alexei noted. “She’s more polite, more tactful.”

“Because she understood boundaries,” his wife explained. “Before, she thought she could dictate the rules in my home. Now she knows that’s not the case.”

Gradually, relations with the relatives improved. Marina Viktorovna came by less often, but the visits became pleasant. Aunt Lidiya and Uncle Pavel also changed their tone and stopped criticizing the hostess.

“You put them in their place the right way,” Daria’s friend told her. “They’d gotten way too bold.”

“I simply protected my home,” the woman shrugged. “Everyone has the right to be respected in their own apartment.”

Alexei changed too. He became more attentive to his wife’s feelings and less likely to take his relatives’ side in disputes. He realized that a family is, first of all, the spouses—not the extended kin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t defend you before,” he said one evening. “I didn’t understand how hard it was for you.”

“The important thing is you understand now,” Daria replied. “Better late than never.”

The apartment once again became the cozy refuge it had been before marriage—a place where one could relax without fearing criticism or judgmental looks. Daria cooked what she and her husband liked, without glancing over her shoulder at the relatives’ opinions.

That evening when she first stood up to her mother-in-law became a turning point. Daria realized she had the right to protect her boundaries, even if others didn’t like it. One’s own home should remain a fortress, not a battlefield.

“I will never again allow myself to be humiliated in my own home,” the woman thought while making dinner. “Better they take offense than I tolerate rudeness.”

It was an important lesson for everyone involved in the family drama. The relatives understood that every person has boundaries. Alexei learned to put his wife’s interests above the desire to please his mother. And Daria gained confidence in herself and in her right to be respected in her own home.