When my mother-in-law called me and timidly asked if she could stay “just for a few weeks,” I almost automatically replied:
— Of course, you’re welcome.
I thought to myself, “Come on, it’ll be fine, it’s only a few weeks.” Oh, if only I had known how wrong I was…
She arrived with two big suitcases. We sat down for tea.
— You’ve lost so much weight! — she suddenly remarked, leaning toward my waist. — Our son needs a good borscht, not your… little salads.
I forced a smile.
The next morning, I realized the kitchen was no longer mine. My favorite coffee grinder had disappeared. The pots were lined up by size, like in a parade.
— So they don’t bother you, — commented my mother-in-law when I opened the cupboard, stunned.
Wearing a ruffled apron, she stirred a borscht as heavy as a cannonball: three kinds of meat, bacon, bay leaves.
— Go get ready for work, — she signaled to me. — Everything here is under control.
Alas, “under control” was not limited to the kitchen. When I came home that evening, the sofa was covered with an old brown dacha throw, and next to our family photo stood her graduation diploma in a frame.
By the third day, I was already tiptoeing. My husband buried himself in work. Even our son was unrecognizable: silent, guarded. I caught him hiding painted stones in a closet.
— Grandma said they’re trash, — he whispered.
And on Friday… I remember every detail.
I open the door — I hear crying. I enter — my son is sitting in a corner, eyes swollen, cheeks red. And my mother-in-law is standing over him, holding his drawing, yelling:
— That’s not a drawing! Normal children draw houses, not these monsters! He covered the whole paper with scribbles!
That’s when I broke down.
— In this house, he can draw all the monsters he wants. And live with his grandmother — only if she learns to accept him.
She looked at me, silent. She understood. She packed her bags and left.
— You two… don’t need my care, — she said at the door. And for the first time, I detected neither reproach nor resentment in her voice. Just fatigue. And loneliness.
Do you think I was right, or should I have tolerated her antics?
