— Lenka, you’re sitting there alone at the cottage! Uncle Vitya and Aunt Galya are coming over for a couple of weeks, okay?
I froze, the phone pressed to my ear. My mother-in-law, Tamara Nikolayevna, didn’t even ask — she just told me. As always.
— No — I whispered.
Silence fell over the line. It seemed like she was hearing this word from me for the first time in eight years of marriage.
I bought the cottage a year ago with my own money. I saved up as a freelancer — I’m a designer, I work from home.
Sixty square meters and six acres in a quiet village near Tula. A dream I spent three years building, without vacations or unnecessary expenses.
My husband, Andrey, shrugged: “If you need to…”. He’s a simple man — work, couch, TV. He immediately refused to go to the cottage: “Why would I care about your garden? I’d rather relax at home.”
I didn’t mind. On the contrary, I was happy. Finally, I would have my own space — quiet, fresh air, and no one giving advice.
The first month felt like living in a fairy tale. I painted the veranda white, planted roses, set up a studio in the workroom. The neighbors were kind — they greeted me but didn’t intrude.
Then came a call from my mother-in-law.
— Lenochka, my cousin Nina is having a birthday soon. She and her husband want to get out into nature to celebrate. You don’t mind if they stay overnight, do you?
I hesitated. Say no to my mother-in-law? She would probably sigh: “You bought a cottage and can’t even host family…”
— Of course, Tamara Nikolayevna. Let them come.
Nina arrived Friday evening with her husband Gennady. Three friends came with them, a crate of vodka, and two bags of snacks.
— Len, we’re only here briefly! — Nina kissed me on both cheeks. — Don’t worry about us, we’ll be quiet.
They were “quiet” until three in the morning. They caused chaos with the karaoke machine they brought. They smoked on my freshly painted veranda. When I went down to the kitchen in the morning, the world seemed to darken before my eyes.
Dirty dishes piled in the sink. Beer and ash on the table. The floor was muddy — someone had probably walked in with shoes on. On my new tablecloth was a huge burned cigarette mark.
— Sorry, Lenochka — Nina yawned as she appeared in my robe. — We overdid it a bit yesterday. Don’t worry, we’ll clean everything up now.
I cleaned. They left at noon, leaving an “enormous thank you” and a promise: “We’ll repay you somehow someday.”
When I complained to Andrey, he shrugged: “What did you expect? People were having fun.” My mother-in-law, on the other hand, was offended: “Nina called me the whole way, thanking me. She said your cottage is wonderful! And you’re complaining…”
Two weeks later, my mother-in-law’s brother Valera arrived with his family. Wife, two teenage kids, and the wife’s mother.
— Len, we’re only here for the weekend — Valera said cheerfully while unloading the trunk. — The kids need fresh air, otherwise, they’ll suffocate in the city.
The kids didn’t really need fresh air. They were glued to their phones and demanded Wi-Fi all day. Valera’s wife, Irina, stretched out in a deck chair with a magazine and issued instructions:
— Len, can I have tea? Len, no tissues? Len, do you have homemade jam?
I ran around like crazy. Made breakfast, lunch, dinner. Cleaned up after them. When I tried to hint that I wanted to work, Irina looked at me with wide eyes:
— What?! We’re not bothering you. Work, work!
But they were bothering me. They yelled, played loud music, slammed doors.
On Sunday evening, when they left, I noticed that my favorite mug — handmade ceramic, a gift from a friend — and my new bathroom towel had disappeared.
— Maybe you lost them? — Andrey suggested when I called him crying.
Maybe I did. Along with the last of my patience from the whole summer.
All summer, people kept coming to my cottage: my mother-in-law’s cousin with her boyfriend, Tamara Nikolayevna’s brother with grandchildren, her sister-in-law with distant relatives from Ryazan.
I stopped counting. I simply opened the door obediently, made beds, cooked, cleaned.
My cottage had become a free resort for all of Andrey’s relatives.
— Why are you silent? — my friend Katya asked on the phone. — Say you can’t host anyone.
— What should I say? — I answered tiredly. — These are my husband’s relatives. Mom will be offended. Andrey will say I’m selfish.
— And you’re going to do this your whole life?
I didn’t know. I simply waited silently for summer to end.
In September, after a two-week break, I came to the cottage — and I was stunned.
Someone had broken the window in the veranda. They ripped the lock off the shed and took the new lawnmower. The house was in chaos — furniture overturned, belongings scattered, some pantry food missing.
I stood in the middle of this disaster, crying.
The local police officer arrived and shrugged:
— It’s the season. This happens here every week. Empty lots, so people break in. Get stronger locks.
Locks… But who would return the thirty-thousand-ruble lawnmower? Who would pay for the new glass?
I called Andrey. He sighed:
— Well, you wanted the cottage. You should’ve picked a gated community.
I didn’t have money for a gated community.
That evening, my mother-in-law called:
— Lenka, your window was broken, right? I told Uncle Vitya, he’ll fix it. They were planning to come anyway, to help.
Something snapped inside me.
— No — I said.
— What do you mean “no”? — Tamara Nikolayevna didn’t understand.
— I don’t want Uncle Vitya to come. And I don’t want anyone else at my cottage anymore.
A deadly silence fell on the line. Then my mother-in-law spoke in an icy tone:
— Are you crazy? Someone wants to help!
— I don’t need help — I clenched my fists. — I’ll call a professional.
— But you don’t have money for a professional! — she raised her voice. — Vitya will do it for free!
— I’ve already paid with my patience — I exhaled. — The burned tablecloth, the stolen mug, the lawnmower, which probably your relatives also took.
— What are you talking about?!
— The truth. Your relatives spent the whole summer at my place. They lived, they messed things up, broke things, stole things. And I stayed quiet because it was “inconvenient.” I won’t do it anymore.
My mother-in-law gasped:
— How dare you?! That’s family!
— My family is me, Andrey, and our cottage, which I bought with my own money. And I won’t let anyone in anymore.
I hung up the phone.
My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. But inside, there was a strange sense of relief.
Andrey called half an hour later. His voice guilty:
— Len, mom is crying. She says you insulted her.
— I told the truth.
— You know… these are family. You can’t do that.
— I can — I said firmly. — And I will. Either the cottage is my territory, where I let in only who I want, or I sell it.
— You’ve gone mad! — Andrey exclaimed. — Sell the cottage over some…
— Because they don’t respect me — I interrupted. — Neither you, nor your mother, nor all this “family.” To you, I’m just a free hotel with a maid.
Andrey was silent.
— Think about it — I said. — I’m calling a professional. With my own money.
The window was replaced in two days. I changed all the locks. And I even installed a security camera at the gate.
My mother-in-law didn’t call for two weeks. Andrey was gloomy but didn’t argue — he must have realized I wasn’t joking.
Then the neighbor, Marina Petrovna, appeared at the cottage. An elderly woman who lived three lots down.
— Sorry for interfering — she said — but I wanted to warn you. All summer, people kept coming to your place in droves. My husband and I saw it — trash everywhere, noise late into the night.
When the window was broken, we saw the car. A gray “devyatka,” we wrote down the license plate.
I froze:
— And?
— The thing is, this car came to you before. There was a heavyset man inside. He went into your shed.
Uncle Vitya. He had a gray “devyatka.”
I didn’t start an argument. I simply blocked my mother-in-law’s number. And I told Andrey that if he wants to see his parents — fine, but without me.
— You realize this is a divorce? — he asked quietly.
— I know — I nodded. — If relatives who rob my cottage are more important to you than I am — then yes, divorce.
He looked at me for a long time, then sighed:
— I’ll talk to your mom. And to Uncle Vitya too. Let him return the lawnmower.
They returned it. With mumbled apologies and indignation: “We thought you wouldn’t mind, since you weren’t using it anyway…”
I stayed silent. I just closed the gate behind them.
A year has passed. Andrey comes to the cottage on weekends — helps with chores, quietly chops wood, paints the fence. Our relationship is slowly recovering.
My mother-in-law doesn’t talk to me. Sometimes she sends greetings through her son: “Say hello from me.” I don’t mind. I’m much calmer.
And the cottage is quiet. My roses, my veranda, my studio. And not a single unwelcome guest.
You know what I realized? The word “no” isn’t selfishness. It’s a boundary. One I should have set a year ago.
