Mother-in-Law Suggests We Move Into Her Flat—But With Strings Attached — Thank you so much for the offer. It’s a generous gesture, but we’ll have to say no. My mother-in-law’s face dropped. — Why not? Are you too proud? — It’s not about pride. We’ve built our own routine. It would be stressful for the kids to switch schools mid-year, and we’re settled. Our flat has a fresh renovation—everything’s new. But your place… — Christina hesitated, then decided to be blunt. — Your home is full of sentimental things and cherished memories. The children are small—they might break or stain something. Why put ourselves through that? When Christina got home from work, her husband was waiting in the hallway. She took off her shoes, quietly went to change, then headed for the kitchen. He followed her silently. Christina couldn’t take it. — Are we starting on this again? I told you—no! Denis sighed heavily. — Mum called again today. She says her blood pressure’s up, it’s getting hard for her there, Grandad and Grandma are a real handful, acting like toddlers. She can’t cope alone. — And? — Christina took a gulp of cold water, trying to steady her nerves. — She chose to live out at the holiday home. She lets out her flat, gets the money, fresh air—she liked it out there. — She did, till she started to struggle. Now she complains about being lonely. Basically… — Denis took a breath. — She wants us to move into her three-bed flat. Christina goggled at him. — Absolutely not. — Why “no” right away? Can’t you just listen? — Denis threw up his hands. — Think about it: it’s a great area. Fifteen minutes to your office, twenty to mine. There’s a language school across the road and a nursery in the courtyard. We’d stop wasting hours in traffic! And we can rent out this place—the mortgage will pay itself. There’ll even be money left. — Denis, do you hear yourself? — Christina stood over him. — We’ve lived here for two and a half years. I chose every socket in this house! The kids’ friends are in the next building. At last, we’re home. In our own place! — Does it really matter where we live, if you just come home to sleep? We spend two hours a day getting back from work! — he retorted. — Her place is one of those beautiful old conversions—high ceilings, thick walls, you never hear the neighbours. — With a decorating job that hasn’t changed since I was at school, — Christina shot back. — Have you forgotten the smell? And the point is—it’s not our home. It’s Anna Leonidovna’s. — Mum said she wouldn’t interfere. She’d stay at the cottage, just happy knowing the flat is in good hands. Christina smirked. — Denis, do you have the memory of a goldfish? Remember how we tried to buy our own place? Her husband looked away. Of course he remembered. They’d spent seven years in shabby rented flats, saving every penny. When they finally had a deposit, Denis went to his mother. The plan was elegant: sell her huge, city centre flat and get her a nice two-bed, plus something decent for the young couple. Anna Leonidovna nodded, smiled, said: “Of course, darlings, you need to spread your wings.” They’d even lined up viewings. The dream was so close. But on the day they were to meet the estate agent, she called. — Remember what she said? — Christina pressed. — “I thought about it… This is such a posh area, lovely neighbours. How could I go to your new development, with who-knows-what kind of people? No, I won’t do it.” So we took out a hideous mortgage and bought this flat five miles out of London. On our own. No handouts from her precious postcode. — She panicked then, sure, afraid of change, getting older — Denis mumbled. — Now she’s lonely. She wants the grandkids close. — Close? She only sees them once a month when we bring groceries. After half an hour, she’s got a migraine from the noise. Six-year-old Archie stormed in, little four-year-old Lottie thudding just behind. — Mum, Dad, we’re starving! — Archie wailed. — Lottie smashed my plane! I spent ages on that! — Not true! — Lottie squeaked. — He dropped it! Christina sighed. — Okay, hands washed. Time for dinner. Dad made pasta? — I did, — Denis muttered. — And sausages. While the kids clattered round with chairs and Christina served the food, the argument died down. They didn’t revisit it until bedtime. *** Saturday, they had to drive out to the cottage—Anna Leonidovna had called in the morning, announcing that Grandad’s medication had run out and she was “having chest pains.” An hour and a half later, she greeted them at the door. At sixty-three, she looked a picture: hair perfectly styled, immaculate manicure, a silk scarf at her throat. — Oh, finally! — She offered Christina her cheek for a kiss. — Christina, have you put on a bit? Or is it that blouse? — Good afternoon, Anna Leonidovna. The blouse is loose, — Christina swallowed the barb. Inside, her mother-in-law’s parents sat dozing in the lounge in front of the TV. Christina said hello, but they barely acknowledged her. — Cup of tea? — Anna Leonidovna headed for the kitchen. — I’ve got some biscuits, bit stale. Haven’t been shopping, my legs ache. — We brought cake, — Denis set a box on the table. — Mum, let’s talk about the flat… Anna Leonidovna instantly perked up. — Yes, Denis, please. I can’t keep up anymore. Lovely air here, nature—of course, I have to look after them. But winters are dreadful. So boring! And the flat just sits there, tenants wrecking everything. It breaks my heart! — The tenants seem decent, Mum—a family, — Denis put in. — Decent! — she scoffed. — Last time I checked, the curtain was crooked. And it didn’t smell like home. So I thought, why are you stuck out in the suburbs? Move into my place—there’s plenty of room. Christina exchanged glances with her husband. — Where would you live, Anna Leonidovna? — she asked bluntly. Her mother-in-law looked surprised. — Well, here of course. With my parents. Sometimes I’ll come in—to get check-ups at the surgery: everyone knows me at our clinic. — “Sometimes” meaning how often exactly? — Christina pressed. — Oh, a couple of times a week. Or maybe I’ll stay a whole week if the weather’s bad. My room is there, my bedroom—don’t give it to the kids, let them have the big one. My bedroom should be left as is. Just in case. Christina bristled. — So, you want us to move into the three-bed flat, but keep one bedroom reserved for you? So me and the kids get the other two rooms? — Why would you lock it? — Anna Leonidovna looked shocked. — Use it if you must. Just don’t touch my things. Or the showcase—that’s all crystal. The bookshelves, too. Denis, you remember what I said: nobody touches the library! Denis shuffled. — Mum, if we move, we’ll need to sort things, make a children’s room, put up beds… — Why beds? There’s a perfectly good sofa—your dad bought it. Why waste money? Christina stood up. — Denis, can we talk outside? She didn’t wait for an answer, just walked out onto the porch. Denis followed, casting nervous glances at the door. — Did you hear all that? — she hissed. — “Don’t touch the sofa”, “my room”, “I’ll pop in for a week”. Do you get what this means? — Christina, she’s just anxious about change… — No, Denis! We’re just free caretakers for her property! We couldn’t even move a wardrobe! She’ll be dropping in whenever she likes—she’s got a key—telling me how to hang curtains, make soup, and change the beds! — But it’s closer to work… — Denis protested weakly. — I don’t care! I’d rather spend two hours in traffic than give up my own home, where I’m in charge. Denis stared at his shoes. He knew she was right. The urge for the easy solution had clouded his mind. — And remember what happened last time with the flat? She bailed because “prestige” was more important than us. Now she’s just bored—she wants us nearby for entertainment, someone to nag. At that moment, Anna Leonidovna appeared in the doorway. — What are you plotting out here? Christina turned to face her. — We’re not going to intrude. We won’t be moving in. — Nonsense, — Anna Leonidovna snapped. — Denis, are you just going to let your wife make all the decisions? Denis looked up. — Mum, Christina’s right, — he said firmly. — We’re staying put. We have our own home. Anna Leonidovna pinched her lips together. She understood she’d lost, but wasn’t about to admit it. — Suit yourselves. I was only trying to help. Live your lives, sit in your traffic jams. Just don’t come running to me later. — We won’t, — Denis promised. — We’ll be off now, Mum. Need anything from the chemist? — I don’t need anything from you, — she declared, turning on her heel and slamming the door. They drove back in silence. The city traffic finally cleared, though their neighbourhood was still jammed. — Are you cross? — Christina asked at the lights. Denis shook his head. — No. I just imagined Archie jumping on that “dad’s old sofa” and Mum having a heart attack. You’re right. It was a bad idea. — I’ll always help out, Denis, — she said gently, squeezing his knee. — We’ll bring food, medicine, get a carer if it really gets tough. But we’re keeping our own place. Distance: it’s the secret to a happy family. — Especially with my mum, — Dennis joked. *** Of course, Anna Leonidovna bore a grudge against her daughter-in-law and son. It turned out she’d already evicted the tenants, certain they’d move in. For a month, she pestered Denis by phone. He stood firm. Turns out, it’s not that hard to just say “no” when it needs to be done.