The Mother-in-Law I Stopped Answering the Door For
Artyom and Tanya’s wedding was just around the corner. Their parents were finally due to meet, and the bride’s mother, Zoya Sergeyevna, came to stay for the weekend. That evening, they gathered around the table in the groom’s mother’s modest three-bedroom flat on the outskirts of Yaroslavl. They discussed wedding plans, shared jokes, and reminisced about their younger days. The next morning, as Zoya prepared to leave for the train station, Tanya walked her out.
“So, what do you think of Artyom?” Tanya asked.
“Lovely lad,” her mother smiled thinly before sighing heavily.
“Mum, what’s wrong?”
“Just… stay away from his mother. There are things about her you don’t know yet.”
Tanya stared in confusion but didn’t press further. It wasn’t until a week later that she understood.
When Tanya told Artyom she didn’t want to live with his mother, he just shrugged.
“Don’t worry. I already told her she’s on her own. I’m with you.”
Artyom’s mother, Larisa Dmitrievna, had retired early. She’d spent her son’s childhood in the skies—a flight attendant. Her pension was decent, but never enough for all her little luxuries. So she’d decided: her son would shoulder the burden now.
“I raised you, gave you an education. Now it’s your turn,” she announced when he turned just twenty-three.
He agreed—on one condition. She wouldn’t interfere in his life.
Larisa Dmitrievna agreed easily. Her son had never been particularly close to her anyway. He’d been raised mostly by her parents while she jetted off on flights or chased fleeting romances.
For five years, Artyom dutifully paid the bills, keeping her in expensive creams, shopping sprees, and holidays—all for herself.
At thirty, he brought Tanya home. His mother greeted her with a bright smile and the words, “Lovely, you’ll be staying here. Plenty of space.”
But in her mind, she thought, “Finally, someone to clean the kitchen.”
At first, Tanya admired her mother-in-law—sophisticated, lively, charming. But after three days, Zoya left with a grim farewell:
“Tanya, be careful. That woman’s a master of masks. She only thinks of herself.”
Half a year later, it became clear she was right.
Larisa Dmitrievna fell in love. A man named Vadim appeared out of nowhere and promptly moved in. Then, one spring day, she delivered an ultimatum:
“You have two weeks to move out. I’m selling the flat.”
“What?!” Artyom was stunned.
“I’m moving to Vadim’s place in Sochi. This flat’s mine—a gift from my parents. It’s all legal.”
Artyom didn’t argue. He packed up and moved with Tanya into rented digs. His mother vanished after selling the flat, not even hugging him goodbye.
A month later, she announced she’d remarried. Two months after that—a seaside flat with a view. Two years passed without a word.
Then she returned.
“Vadim left me. The money ran out, and he vanished. I never should’ve sold the flat. Help me, son. I’ve got nowhere to go—”
“You’re not living with us,” Artyom said flatly. “And I won’t rent you a place.”
“You owe me!” she shrieked. “I’m your mother!”
“I learned from the best,” he replied calmly.
First, she crashed with one friend, then another. But the money—and the friends—dried up. So she came back to him.
“Get a job,” he said. “Rent a room.”
“Don’t you feel sorry for me?”
“No,” he smirked. “You remind me of the grasshopper… the one who sang all summer.”
Yet Larisa Dmitrievna found a way out. No, not work. She simply remarried—to the first man with a flat who’d have her.
But that’s another story entirely.
