«I’ll come in whenever I wantI have the keys,» my mother-in-law declared as she barged into our bedroom at five in the morning.
The scrape of the lock made me freeze, clutching a damp cloth in my hand. Id been scrubbing at a sticky jam stain left by Irene Borislavna, and I knew that sound all too well.
Pasha was still asleep. Sunday, half-eight in the morning.
The door swung open, and there she stood. In one hand, a string bag stuffed with something green; in the other, the leash of her tiny, perpetually trembling terrier.
«Lerka, still asleep?» she chirped, stepping over the threshold. «Brought you some fresh dill from my garden.»
I straightened up, tension coiling in my spine.
«Good morning, Irene Borislavna. We *were* asleep. Or rather, Pasha was.»
She ignored me and floated toward the kitchen. The dog gave a half-hearted yap and trotted after her.
«I was quiet! Whats with the tone? I was at the market early and thought Id drop by. Better than you buying that supermarket rubbish full of chemicals.»
I followed. My one slow morning of the week, the one Id been clinging to, was crumbling before my eyes.
«Wed have managed. Or you couldve called. Wed have come down.»
Irene Borislavna turned, her gaze sharp and assessing. It slid over my old t-shirt, bare feet, and tangled hair.
«Lerka, dont be silly. Why should you come down? Ive got keys.»
She said it like she was bestowing some grand favour. As if those keys didnt open *my* flat, but the gates of heaven itself.
That evening, I finally worked up the nerve. Pasha was sprawled on the sofa, half-watching some series, idly scratching his stomach.
«Pash, we need to talk about your mum.»
He sighed without looking away from the screen.
«Ler, again? She just brought some dill.»
«She walked into our flat at half-eight on a Sunday without so much as a knock. Used *her* keys. Thats not normal.»
«Whats the big deal? Shes family. Not some stranger.»
I sat beside him, snatched the remote, and turned off the telly. The sudden silence made my next words louder.
«Pasha, this is *our* home. *Our* space. I want to walk around naked if I feel like it. I want to wake up to an alarm, not a scraping lock.»
«Oh, come off it,» he grimaced. «Naked? Really? Mums just looking out for us.»
«Then she can leave her looking out on the doorstep. Or at least call first. Lets ask her to give the keys back.»
Pasha flinched like Id scalded him.
«Have you lost your mind? Take Mums keys? Thats an insult! She sacrificed everything for me, and Im to snatch them back like some ungrateful brat? Shed think were cutting her out!»
«And right now, shes cutting *us* out!» I snapped.
He stared at me like Id suggested robbing a bank. There was fear in his eyes, and worsecomplete incomprehension. To him, Mum with keys was as natural as the sun rising in the east.
A week later, I woke to the bedroom light flicking on.
Five in the morning.
Irene Borislavna stood in the doorway, a raincoat thrown over her nightdress. She squinted against the brightness, clutching Pashas phone.
«Pasha, you forgot this,» she whispered conspiratorially. «Saw you leave for work, and there it was on the side. Knew youd need it.»
I sat up, pulling the duvet to my chin. My heart hammered in my throat. Pasha mumbled something sleepily and rolled over.
Without a glance at me, she tiptoed to his side of the bed and set the phone down. Then she cast a critical eye around the room.
«Goodness, its dusty in here, Lerka. You really ought to wipe down the shelves.»
And with that, she left. The front door clicked shut behind her.
I sat under the harsh light, staring at my sleeping husband. He hadnt even stirred. He didnt grasp what had just happened. That the line hadnt just been crossedit had been erased.
When he finally woke and Icalmly, carefullytold him about the late-night visit, he just waved me off.
«Ler, she meant well. Worried about me.»
«Pasha, she walked into our *bedroom*. At *five*.»
«So? She wasnt naked. Shes *family*.»
That same day, I called her myself. My hands shook, but my resolve didnt.
«Irene Borislavna, good afternoon. I wanted to talk about this morning.»
«Yes, Lerka?» Not a flicker of guilt in her voice.
«Please dont come over unannounced. Especially not that early. Especially not to our bedroom.»
A heavy silence. Then, icy and indignant:
«Honestly, girl, I dont understand your attitude. I raised my son, poured my lifes savings into this flat. So remember this: Ill come in when I pleaseIve got the keys.»
The line went dead.
I looked at Pasha. Hed heard every word. But he looked away.
«Nothing to say?» I asked when the dial tone became unbearable.
He shrugged, studying the wallpaper like it held the secrets of the universe.
«What do you want from me? You provoked her. Pressed her buttons. Of course she reacted like that.»
«Provoked her? By asking her not to barge into my bedroom?»
«You couldve been *nicer*,» he finally met my eyes. No support there. Just weariness and irritation. «Youre never happy. Mum tries, and you…»
I didnt listen to the rest. Turned and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind me.
That night, a wall went up between us. He didnt follow, didnt apologise, didnt try to talk. Just slept on the sofa, sighing loudly.
A week passed. Irene Borislavna stayed away. But her presence lingeredin Pashas tight-lipped silence when I suggested going out, in his hushed phone calls («Just Mum»).
I felt like a stranger in my own home.
By Wednesday, Id caught a cold. My throat burned, my head throbbed. I took sick leave, dragged myself home, and decided a hot bath was the best medicine. I sank into the water, lavender salts melting around me, half-dozing.
Then I heard it.
The scrape of a key in the lock.
I froze. My heart plummeted. Pasha? Nohe wouldnt be back for hours.
The door creaked open. Rustling. A familiar little yap.
«Come on, Tinky, lets see how our Lerkas keeping house,» she trilled. «Probably dust everywhere.»
I sat motionless in the cooling water. Heard her moving through the flat, opening the fridge, tutting.
«Knew it. Barely a scrap in here. What do they even eat? Poor Pasha must be starving.»
She was metres away, just beyond the thin bathroom door. I imagined it swinging open, and terror seized me.
The helplessness was physical. This was meant to be my home, my fortress. And the enemy had walked right in while I was vulnerable.
When her footsteps retreated to the kitchen, I slipped out, wrapped myself in a robe, and edged into the hallway.
Irene Borislavna stood in the living room, inspecting my bookshelf.
«Oh, Lerka, youre home?» Not even a flicker of shame. «Brought you some chicken broth. Healing stuff. Pasha said you were poorly.»
She gestured to a jar on the coffee table.
«Thank you, but you didnt need to,» I rasped. My voice barely worked. «I *asked* you to call first.»
«Dont be sillywere *family*!» She flapped her hands. «I just wanted to help! Who else will look after you? Pashas at work earning money, and youre here alone, sick.»
She reached for my forehead. I jerked back.
«Dont.»
That evening, when Pasha returned, I was steeled for battle.
I told him everythingthe fear, the humiliation, the mocking jar of broth.
He listened in silence. Then:
«Ler, I dont get what your problem is. Mum brought you soup. She *cared*. And you only see the bad. Maybe its not her. Maybe its *you*.»
I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Beside me, my husband snored softly. The man who shouldve been my shield. But hed made his choice.
And I made mine.
Next morning, the moment Pasha left for work, I grabbed my phone. My hands didnt shake. I searched: *Locksmith. Urgent. 24/7.* And hit *call*.
The locksmith arrived within the houra burly bloke with tired eyes. He worked fast and quiet. The drills whirring sounded like music. Every screech of metal was a cry of freedom.
When he finished, he handed me two shiny new keys.
«There you go, love. Jobs done.»
I took them. They felt heavy. *Real.* The keys to my fortress. I paid him, and the door clicked shut behind him with a solid, final sound. I turned the lock. Then again.
Perfect.
For the first time in months, I felt safe.
I spent the day waiting for Pasha like a soldier braced for an ambush. Cooked dinner. Tidyed. Rehearsed my lines.
He came home exhausted, slinging his briefcase onto a chair.
«Hey.»
«Hey.» I stepped forward, held out one key. «This is yours. I changed the locks.»
He blinked at it. Then at me.
«You *what*? Why?»
«Because I decided to. No one walks into our home uninvited. *No one*.»
His face darkened.
«Youyou did this behind my back? Youre locking out my *mother*?»
«Im protecting our family. Our home.»
«Youre *destroying* it!» he shouted. «What do I even tell her?»
«The truth. That her sons a grown man with his own life.»
We yelled. I didnt back down.
I poured out everythingthe fear, the betrayal. He didnt hear. He ranted about duty, respect, my *coldness*.
Then, mid-row, we heard it.
A scrape. A frustrated jiggling. A key fighting a lock that wouldnt yield. Then*bang bang bang*fists hammering the door.
«Pasha! Lerka! Open up! Whats wrong with the door?!»
Pasha froze. Looked at me. At the door. At his mothers voice, rising hysterically. Cornered.
The banging grew frantic.
«I *know* youre in there! Open this door! Lerka, this is *your* doing, isnt it?!»
Pasha took a deep breath. Walked to the door. I stood rooted, heart suspended.
This was it.
He opened it. Irene Borislavna stood there, wild-eyed, face twisted with fury.
«What have you *done*?!» she shrieked, jabbing a finger at me. «Locking me out like some»
«Mum,» Pasha said, quietly.
She stopped. Blinked.
«What Mum? Do you see what shes»
«I do,» his voice was steady, but there was steel in it now. «I see my wife had to do this because no one listened to her. Least of all *me*.»
He turned to face her fully.
«This is *our* home. Mine and Lerkas. And you will *never* walk in uninvited again. Understood?»
She gaped at him.
«Pasha»
«No. Im a grown man. I decide who comes into my home. Now please. *Leave*.»
He said it calmly. But the finality in his tone made her step back. She shot me a look of pure venom, spun on her heel, and left.
Pasha closed the door. The new lock clicked. He turned to me. His eyes were wet.
«Forgive me,» he whispered. «I was blind.»
He pulled me into his arms. And I knew: Id won.
I hadnt just changed the locks.
Id gotten my husband back.
Id fought for our family.
And our *life*. And our *life*.
The silence that followed was thick, but it was ours. No intrusions, no unannounced entriesjust the quiet hum of a home finally at peace.
Days passed. Irene Borislavna didnt call. Pasha didnt defend her absence.
One evening, he brought home flowerssmall, clumsy, the kind men buy when theyre trying to say more than sorry.
We sat at the kitchen table, like we used to, and talked. Really talked.
He told me hed given her new keys. When she earns the right to use them, he said, shell get them back.
I nodded, tears warm behind my eyes.
And for the first time since wed moved into this flat, I fell asleep before himdeep, unguarded, safe.
