“Ksenia! Where have you disappeared to? The guests have been waiting half an hour for coffee! And cut the cake into larger pieces—Vasily Timofeyevich has a sweet tooth!” Her mother-in-law’s voice, Elena Petrovna’s, ricocheted through the apartment.

Ksenia inhaled slowly, swallowing her irritation. A crowd of about ten had taken over the living room—every one of them her husband’s relatives. Sergey lounged in an armchair, as usual, spinning stories while she dashed back and forth between kitchen and hall.

“I’m coming, Elena Petrovna! I’ll bring everything right away,” Ksenia called, tugging cups from the cabinet.

For six months now, their spacious three-room home had been treated like a private family café. Every weekend someone rang to “announce” a visit—never just a visit, but a full-scale banquet.

She set a tray with the coffee pot and stepped into the living room. Conversations dipped to a hush.

“Finally!” Elena Petrovna arched her brows. “We thought coffee had been canceled.”

Loud, hearty laughter rolled over Ksenia like a wave of resentment.

“And where’s the cake?” Sergey’s uncle, Vasily Timofeyevich, asked, stroking his round belly. “We can’t sit here with empty cups.”

“I’ll bring it,” Ksenia said, forcing a smile.

In the kitchen, Sergey followed her in.

“What’s with that face?” he frowned. “You look like you’re at a funeral.”

“Sergey, I’m exhausted. It’s the same thing every weekend.”

“What do you mean ‘the same’? This is my family. They come over and you act like you’re doing them a favor.”

“I don’t mind guests,” Ksenia replied, slicing another piece of cake. “But why can’t we sometimes meet at a café? Or at your mother’s place? Her apartment is big too.”

“Ksyusha, don’t start,” Sergey slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You know how important family gatherings are to Mom. Ever since my father…”

“I know,” Ksenia cut in. “But I spend every Saturday scrubbing this place from morning to night and cooking for an army, and all I hear back are complaints.”

“Come on. Mom just wants everything perfect.”

“In my apartment,” Ksenia said quietly.

“In our apartment,” he corrected. “Now take the cake out before Mom starts again.”

A week later, the drill repeated. On Thursday, Elena Petrovna rang, chirping that they’d celebrate niece Katya’s birthday on Saturday.

“Elena Petrovna, Sergey and I have plans for Saturday,” Ksenia tried to refuse.

“What plans?” her mother-in-law sounded genuinely baffled. “Sergey said nothing. I’ve already called everyone. What are you making?”

Ksenia gripped the phone. “Nothing. We can’t host on Saturday.”

“You’re selfish!” Elena Petrovna burst out. “Katya is turning eighteen! You can’t make room in your schedule for your husband’s family?”

By the time Sergey came home from work, Ksenia was seething. “Your mother decided everything again without us!” she snapped as he stepped through the door.

“Ksyusha, why are you upset?” Sergey sighed, peeling off his jacket. “Katya only turns eighteen once.”

“We planned to visit my parents—for the first time in three months!”

“We’ll go next week,” he waved it off. “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”

Saturday arrived and with it a new wave of relatives. Ksenia, as always, planted herself by the stove—cooking, serving, clearing. Her back ached, her legs throbbed; no one offered a hand.

“Ksenia, your salad is too salty,” Sergey’s sister Natalia announced. “Last time it was under-salted. Pick a lane.”

“Your sister-in-law is so particular,” Elena Petrovna laughed. “Ksyusha, bring mineral water. And ice!”

The evening stretched on forever. Ksenia performed requests on autopilot, a smile pinned to her face. At last, everyone left. She stood in the kitchen, facing mountains of dishes.

“Mom said you weren’t very welcoming,” Sergey said, appearing in the doorway.

“Serezha, I’ve been on my feet since six. I’m tired of being the maid in my own home.”

“What do you want me to do—ban my relatives?”

“No. But they can help. Or at least bring something. Your mother always arrives empty-handed and commands like a general.”

“Mom’s back is bad; cooking is hard for her.”

“And it’s easy for me?” Ksenia’s voice rose. “I’m not twenty anymore!”

Two days later, Elena Petrovna phoned again to say she’d be coming Saturday with friends for tea. Ksenia simply nodded. “All right, Elena Petrovna. See you then.”

“And bake those honey pastries from last time—Galina Stepanovna adored them,” came the parting instruction.

Ksenia cleaned nothing. Cooked nothing. For the first time in ages, she slept until nine, then savored coffee and a book.

“Why aren’t you getting ready?” Sergey asked, staring at the unprepared apartment. “Mom and her friends are coming.”

“I remember.”

“So?”

“So nothing,” Ksenia shrugged.

“What do you mean ‘nothing’?” He stiffened. “Are you serious?”

Ksenia kept reading.

“I’m heading to work,” Sergey said, thrown off. “But I’m warning you—Mom will be upset.”

At noon sharp, the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Elena Petrovna with five impeccably dressed friends, lips painted, suits impeccable.

“Come in,” Ksenia said, gesturing toward the living room.

Her mother-in-law surveyed the hall, frowned, said nothing. The women rustled out of their shoes.

“Ksyusha, are you unwell?” Elena Petrovna asked with sugary concern. “You don’t look good.”

“No, Elena Petrovna. Fit as an ox,” Ksenia smiled.

The guests drifted into the living room; Elena Petrovna beelined for the kitchen.

“Where’s the table? Where are the treats?” came the indignant cry. “Did you forget we were coming?”

Ksenia stepped into the kitchen, arms folded. “I didn’t forget.”

“Then why is nothing ready?” Elena Petrovna threw up her hands. “The guests are waiting!”

“This is my apartment. And I’m done serving you,” Ksenia said, calm but firm.

Elena Petrovna recoiled, clutching her chest. “What?! How dare you?”

“I dare,” Ksenia straightened. “I’ve put up with these endless gatherings long enough. I cooked, cleaned, and listened to your complaints. Enough.”

“You… you…” sputtered the older woman. “Ungrateful! Sergey rescued you from nothing! He married someone like you!”

“No one rescued me from anywhere. This apartment is mine—bought long before Sergey.”

A whisper rippled from the living room.

“We’ve done so much for you!” the mother-in-law pressed on. “We accepted you, loved you like our own. And you—”

“And me what?” Ksenia’s gaze didn’t waver. “I became your maid? Your cook? Your waitress?”

“Ladies, we’re leaving,” Elena Petrovna snapped, marching to the entryway. “I won’t tolerate such insults!”

“That’s not even an insult,” Ksenia said evenly. “And yes—leave. All of you. And don’t come back without an invitation.”

Her friends scurried toward the door, stealing frightened glances at Ksenia. Trembling with rage, Elena Petrovna jammed on her shoes.

“You’ll regret this!” she flung over her shoulder. “Sergey will hear about it!”

The door slammed. Ksenia exhaled. A strange, clean quiet spread through her. She returned to the couch and picked up her book.

Sergey burst in around three, face flushed. “Are you out of your mind?” he shouted from the threshold. “Mom is in tears! Her friends are scandalized!”

“Hello, Seryozha,” Ksenia said calmly, setting the book aside.

“Don’t ‘hello’ me!” He tore off his jacket and hurled it onto the armchair. “Why did you humiliate my mother?”

“I humiliated no one. I said I won’t host endless gatherings in my apartment anymore.”

“Our apartment!”

“No, Sergey—mine. You live here because I let you.”

He paced like a caged animal. “So now my family isn’t allowed in our home?”

“They’re allowed,” Ksenia nodded. “By invitation. And without expecting a royal feast.”

“You’re selfish!” he burst out. “You only think of yourself! What about family? Tradition?”

“What tradition, exactly?” Ksenia rose to face him. “Exploiting my hospitality? Demanding spreads? Critiquing every dish?”

“No one critiques you!”

“Sergey,” she stepped close, voice low, “for six months I’ve heard nothing but ‘too salty,’ ‘not salty enough,’ ‘the pie is wrong,’ ‘the coffee is cold.’ I’m done.”

“Sorry my family isn’t perfect!” He flung his arms. “They’re still my family—and you owe them respect!”

“And where is your respect for me?” she asked softly. “When did you last ask what I want? Maybe I don’t want to spend every weekend serving your relatives.”

“A normal wife is happy to host her husband’s family!”

“A normal husband protects his wife, not conscripts her as free help.”

He faltered, then muttered, “Fine. Mom’s coming Sunday. You’ll apologize.”

“No,” Ksenia said, steady. “I won’t.”

“You will,” he raised his voice, “or else—”

“Or else what?” she lifted an eyebrow.

“Or else I’ll go to my mother’s!”

“Excellent idea,” Ksenia said, unexpectedly bright. “Pack your things.”

He froze. “What?”

“Pack. And go to your mother’s,” she repeated. “I’ve had enough, Sergey. Enough of being your family’s doormat. Enough of hearing what a terrible wife I am. Enough of your lectures.”

“You’re… you’re kicking me out?” he stammered.

“Yes. And you know what?” She squared her shoulders. “It’s the best decision I’ve made in years.”

“You’ll regret this,” he growled, stomping to the bedroom.

Half an hour later he emerged with two bags. “This isn’t over,” he warned. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t,” Ksenia said quietly, closing the door behind him.

Left alone, she wandered through her rooms. For the first time in ages, the air felt fresh; the space felt like hers. She put on her favorite music and smiled. Tomorrow would be different—no shouting, no demands, no need to placate anyone else’s whims. Tomorrow would finally belong to her.