“You’re not a mother—you’re a menace!”—Nastya had reached her breaking point after endless rows with her mother-in-law.
Nastya stood by the cooker, flipping pasties, when her husband walked into the kitchen.
“Nastya, my mum called today,” began Oliver. “She says you’re keeping her from seeing her grandson.”
“Complaining, was she?” Nastya replied, surprised.
“Yeah. Says you’re always making excuses. She hasn’t seen little Ronnie in a month,” he added.
Nastya wiped her hands nervously on her apron.
“Oliver… This is hard to say,” she hesitated. “Your mother… said something to me that you need to know.”
She told him everything. Oliver went pale and sank into a chair—he hadn’t expected this.
It had started a month ago. That day, Victoria—his mother—turned up unannounced, as usual. From the doorstep, she eyed the hallway with disapproval.
“What a mess! Toys everywhere! You can’t raise a child in this filth!”
Nastya forced a smile, but inside, she bristled. Ronnie had only just nodded off, and his toys were strewn about where he’d been playing. But for her mother-in-law, it was just another excuse to vent.
“Oliver!” Victoria raised her voice. “Are you a man or what? You should be telling your wife how to run a home!”
“Mum, it’s fine,” he muttered, eyes glued to his phone.
“Fine? The place looks like a tornado hit, and you’re lounging about!”
“Ronnie’s just lively,” Nastya put in calmly, though her voice betrayed tension.
“Lively! You ought to be watching him, not letting him run wild!”
The conversation circled back—as always—to how Oliver had been raised under a microscope, the perfect child. Nastya nodded along silently, but resentment simmered inside her.
“Victoria,” she finally said, “I’m raising my son my way. He’s two. He’s exploring the world.”
“Exploring? Next it’ll be scrapes and cuts, and you’ll just shrug and call it ‘learning’!”
“That’s childhood. They discover things through moving, making mistakes, experiencing.”
“No! That’s sheer laziness. What if he hurts himself badly?”
“Mum…” Oliver tried to intervene, but his mother only flared up more.
“If you can’t be a proper mother, I’ll have to think about who to report this to!”
The next day, she came again—banging on the door like always.
“Why the delay? I thought you’d gone out!” she snapped.
“I was busy,” Nastya replied evenly.
“Still these toys! Do you even clean?”
“Of course. But Ronnie plays. That’s normal.”
“Normal? In Oliver’s day—”
“Yes, I know. He was flawless. Not a speck out of place. Still can’t fry an egg, though!”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you raised a man who can’t fend for himself.”
“He works! Pays the bills! While you sit at home!”
“I’m raising a child. And I want him to be independent—not helpless like his father.”
Just then, glass shattered from the living room, followed by Ronnie’s wails. Nastya sprinted in—there he stood, his palm bleeding.
“Christ—” She scooped him up. “It’s alright, love, it’s alright!”
“See?!” Victoria hissed. “I warned you! You’re not a mother—you’re a menace! I’ll call social services!”
Nastya froze. This wasn’t just an insult—it was a threat.
“Fine. Bring an inspector. But right now—you should leave.”
From that day, Nastya changed. She didn’t slam the door—she just stopped opening it to Victoria without reason. There was always an excuse: quarantine, doctor’s orders, redecorating, Ronnie being poorly…
Once, Victoria showed up unannounced. Nastya peered through the gap.
“Oh, didn’t you get my text? Sorry—Ronnie’s got a weak immune system. Doctor’s orders—no visitors.”
“I’m not a stranger!”
“I know, but… doctor’s rules. We’ll meet again soon!”
The older woman left fuming.
That evening, Oliver confronted her.
“Mum says you’re keeping her from Ronnie. Why?”
“Because I’m scared. She threatened me with social services.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You really think she won’t report me if she’s angry again?”
He fell silent. Nastya took his hand.
“He’s our son. His safety comes first.”
“You think she’d hurt him?”
“She doesn’t see boundaries. Her ‘care’ is dangerous.”
“Alright,” he relented. “I won’t push it.”
Nastya smiled in relief. His mother had crossed a line—and now, the rules had changed.
