“You’ll always be poor, stuck renting some dingy flat,” her mother-in-law used to say. Now that same woman rents a room in Ksenias castle.

“Could we change these curtains?” Alyona Petrovnas voice behind her was as thick and heavy as the wine-coloured velvet drapes she so despised. “This shade its oppressive. Makes the room feel dreary.”

Ksenia turned slowly. She had chosen that fabric herselfrich, deep velvet that perfectly complemented the cream walls and antique dresser. It had been a small victory, her own design triumph.

“You dont like them?”

“Oh, dont take it personally, dear. Beggars cant be choosers, as they say. Just voicing my thoughts. Am I not entitled to an opinion in my own sons home?”

Ksenia studied her mother-in-law. The woman stood with her bony arms crossed, surveying the room with faint disgust.

Her room. The very one Ksenia and her husband had given her in their new estatetheir so-called “castle,” as Dimitri had joked, gazing at the turrets Ksenia had dreamed of since childhood.

“Of course you are, Alyona Petrovna.”

“Good. For a moment, I thought Id need permission just to breathe in here.”

Twenty years. Two decades had passed, yet nothing had changed. Only the backdrop was different.

Once, it had been a rented one-bedroom flat with floral wallpaper. Now, it was a sprawling home, every inch earned through their hard work.

“I just want a bit of cosiness,” Alyona added, running a finger along the polished dresser. “Dust. Needs wiping. Not that youd noticeyou and Dimitri spent so many years in other peoples hovels.”

Something tightened inside Ksenia. Not pain. Just familiarity. Like phantom aches in a long-amputated limb.

She remembered.

The day they moved into their first flatsmall, on the outskirts, with a leaky tap and creaky floorboards. They had been giddy with happiness.

Then Alyona arrived. She took one look at their modest life, pressed her lips together, and delivered her verdictnot to her son, but straight to Ksenia.

“Youre poor, and youll drag him down with you. Mark my words: youll never have anything of your own.”

Ksenia had stayed silent then. What could she have said? A twenty-year-old girl, in love and convinced love would conquer all.

And it had. It just cost her twenty years. Two decades of relentless work, sleepless nights, pawning two engagement rings, and one risky IT venture that finally paid off.

Alyona, meanwhile, had lost everythingfirst her husband, then her spacious central flat after investing in a scam recommended by some “high-society lady.” The hunger for easy money and status left her with nothing.

“Dimitri says you gave me the best guest room,” Alyona mused, drifting to the window. “Overlooking the garden. So I can watch you toiling with those roses, I suppose. A reminder of my place.”

“Your place is here now,” Ksenia said firmly. “With us.”

“My place, dear, was in my own home. This is temporary charity. A grand gesture so everyone sees what a saintly wife my son has. So forgiving.”

She turned, and in her eyes, Ksenia saw the same cold, venomous disdain from twenty years ago.

“Just hope your castle isnt made of cards, Ksenia. Falling from this height would hurt.”

That evening, over dinner, Alyona circled back to the curtainssubtly, addressing only Dimitri.

“Dimitri, love, Ive been thinking Youre a man of status now, running your own company. Clients must visit. The house should reflect that. These dark rooms theyre oppressive.”

Ksenia set down the salad. Her hands didnt shake. Shed learned that long ago.

“Mum, we like it,” Dimitri said gently. “Ksenia chose everythingshe has brilliant taste.”

“Practical taste,” Alyona corrected, bestowing a patronising smile. “Durable, unfussy. A virtue in lean times. But now now you can afford lightness. Elegance. I have a decorator friendbrilliantwho could advise.”

Ksenia felt cornered. Refuse, and shed be stubborn, uncaring. Agree, and shed concede her own taste worthless.

“Ill think about it,” she replied evenly.

“Nothing to think about, dear. Best act before the whole house drowns in this bourgeois dreariness.”

The next day, Ksenia walked into the kitchen and froze.

Her spice jarscollected from around the world, arranged just sohad been shoved aside. In their place stood Alyonas porcelain tea set, the last relic of her old life.

“Just tidying,” Alyona said behind her. “Your clutter was chaotic. A man needs order at home. It soothes him.”

Ksenia silently moved her spices back.

“You shouldnt have. Id have done it.”

“Oh, Im sure. You always do everything yourself. Strong woman. But strong women make weak men. You carried everything, so Dimitri never had to. He shouldve been the leader from the start.”

The blow landed deep.

All those yearscoding beside him, sleepless nights, pitching investorserased in a sentence. Apparently, shed weakened him.

That evening, she tried talking to Dimitri. He listened, hugged her.

“Ksenia, come on. Shes old, shes lost everything. She just wants to feel useful. Are jars really worth fighting over?”

“Its not about the jars!” she snapped. “Its her erasing everything I am!”

He sighed. “She doesnt know you yet. Give her time.”

He didnt understand. He loved her, but he didnt see the poison in his mothers words. He saw her tragedy, not her cruelty.

That night, Ksenia stared at her gardenevery rose planted by her hands. This house was her fortress, proof Alyona had been wrong.

Now the enemy was inside. And she wouldnt leave. Shed take this victory too.

Enough.

The breaking point came on Saturday. Returning home, Ksenia heard unfamiliar voices on the terrace.

Alyona sat in her favourite chair, gesturing to a sleek woman.

“an alpine rock garden here. Those old-fashioned roses must go. A lawnopen, modern!”

Ksenia froze in the ivy-covered archway, unseen.

“Genius,” the strangerthe “decorator”purred. “This place lacks sophistication. Well transform it. Dmitri will adore it.”

Something inside Ksenia snapped. Quietly. Finally.

Her garden. Hers. Every bud nurtured, every disease fought. Not just plantsher creation.

And theyd decided its fate without asking.

Enough.

She didnt confront them. Just turned, got in the car, and drove away.

No anger. Just cold clarity.

She called an estate agent. “Oliver, I need a luxury rental. Immediate occupancy. VIP terms.”

Three hours later, she returned. Dimitri was home; tense murmurs came from the kitchen. She placed keys and a contract on the table.

“Good evening. Alyona, Raissa. Discussing my garden, I see.”

Raissa flushed. Alyona stiffened.

“Just sharing ideas, dear. For everyones benefit.”

“Of course,” Ksenia smiled, ice in her voice. “Dimitri, Ive solved the problem.”

He blinked. “What problem?”

“Your mothers discomfort. Shes rightshe needs her own space.” She opened the contract. “A luxury apartment. Ten minutes away. Viewings tomorrow at ten. All arranged.”

Silence.

Dimitri looked between them, speechless. Alyona paled.

“Youre throwing me out?”

“Hardly.” Ksenias smile didnt reach her eyes. “Im giving you freedom. From my curtains, my spices, my roses. Decorate however you likewell cover it.”

A flawless move. Not an evictiona gift. Refusing would admit it was never about comfort, but control.

Dimitri tried laughing it off. “Ksenia, love, this is absurd. Mum, she didnt mean”

Alyona cut in, voice sharp. “Youd allow this? Your own mother, cast out?”

“Its my home too,” Ksenia said calmly. “And Im not casting. Im upgrading.”

That night, Dimitri pleaded for compromise. She packed Alyonas things as he spoke.

“Twenty years, Dimitri. Twenty years of her telling me Im nothing. You heard curtains. I heard my life being trampled.”

She faced him. “This house is our fortress. Not a battleground. Choose.”

He fell silent. Understanding, at last.

The move took three days