Anna looked at him silently. A bitter smile played at the corner of her lips, the smile of someone who understands that a long ordeal awaits her. Michael tried to touch her shoulder tenderly, but she pulled away, as if the gesture had come too late. From the kitchen came Margaret’s voice, and the metallic clang of the frying pan cut through the house’s calm like a knife.

“Okay,” Anna finally said. “Let’s see how long we can ‘hold out’.”

Night fell slowly, thick and heavy. The air smelled of oil and reheated food, while Margaret’s words filled every corner of the room. She served Richard dinner, delicately placing his napkin on it and smiling contentedly, as if everything in the house had regained its “true order.” Michael watched her silently, trying to feign composure. Anna didn’t sit down at the table.

“Aren’t you hungry, my dear?” Margaret asked with feigned sweetness. “A woman must eat well, to have strength and take care of her family.”

—No, thank you. I already ate earlier— Anna lied, feeling a lump of anger in her throat.

Margaret shrugged. “Thank goodness we came,” she murmured. “Otherwise, I don’t know how you’d live in this mess.”

That night, Anna slept on the sofa. She had her back to Michael, listening to the creaking of the wood. He tried to hug her, but she pulled away.

— Anna, please… don’t be angry. They’re just tired.

— It’s not about being tired, Michael. It’s about respect. And about your inability to set boundaries.

Michael sighed deeply, unsure what to say.

The next morning, the sound of sizzling oil woke her. Margaret was already in the kitchen, immaculate, her apron tied neatly and her hair pulled back.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said without looking at her. “Don’t worry, breakfast is ready. I know what Michael likes: soft-boiled eggs and toast.”

“Michael doesn’t eat eggs anymore,” Anna replied calmly. “He has high cholesterol.”

Margaret turned sharply. “I know him better than you do. I’m his mother.”

Anna didn’t answer. She picked up her coffee cup and went out onto the porch. The fresh air smelled of damp grass and silence. In the garden, Richard was sitting on the bench, reading the newspaper. When he saw her, he glanced up for a moment and then returned to his pages.

The days passed, and the house no longer felt like theirs. The cupboards filled with jars Margaret had brought, the refrigerator overflowed with meat, and the table was covered with bottles of vitamins for Richard. Everything had a new order, strange and unfamiliar.

On Saturday, Anna mustered up her remaining courage. She found Michael in the garage, trying to fix a broken shelf.

“Michael, I can’t take it anymore,” she said without raising her voice. “This isn’t my home. It’s just a place where I survive.”

He looked down. “What do you want me to do? Kick them out?”

— No. Just make them understand that they can’t behave as if everything belongs to them.

— They’re my parents, Anna. I can’t hurt them.

“But you can hurt me, can’t you?” she replied with a sad calm. “Every day that passes you drift a little further away from me.”

Michael remained silent. His words carried more weight than any reproach.

That night, while Margaret prepared dinner, Anna silently washed the dishes. Suddenly, her mother-in-law’s voice broke the silence:

“You know, dear? Michael used to be much more organized. Since he got married, he seems to have lost his way. A woman should bring harmony to the home.”

Anna turned slowly. “And what should a man bring, Margaret? Submission? Silence?”

Margaret pursed her lips. “I just want what’s best for my son.”

“The best things aren’t imposed,” Anna said firmly. “They’re shared.”

The silence that followed was thick. Michael walked in just then and felt the tension hanging in the air.

— What’s going on here?

“Nothing, darling,” Margaret replied in a honeyed voice. “We were just talking about family.”

Anna dried her hands and left the kitchen without a word. That night she didn’t go back to the sofa. She wrapped herself in a blanket and sat in the garden shed, where the air smelled of wood and freedom.

The night breeze caressed the leaves. Laughter drifted from the house. In her hands, the teacup grew slowly cold. She thought about the years she had spent trying to be a good wife, a patient daughter-in-law, a discreet woman. About all the times she had pretended it didn’t hurt.

The next morning, Michael found her there, under the soft light of dawn.

— Anna, come inside. Mom has prepared breakfast.

She looked him in the eye. “Michael, if you say ‘Mom’s prepared’ to me again, I’m leaving. It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

— Don’t exaggerate…

— I’m not exaggerating. I simply refuse to live in a house where I have to ask permission to breathe.

Before I could answer, Margaret appeared in the doorway with a tray in her hands.

— What are you doing out here? It’s cold! Come in, I’ve made pancakes, Michael’s favorite.

Anna stood up slowly. “I’m not cold, Mrs. Margaret. I’m just tired.”

And he walked past her without adding anything else.

That afternoon, the house was enveloped in a tense calm. Margaret paced back and forth, Richard stared listlessly at the television, and Michael stood on the porch, his gaze lost in thought.

As night fell, Margaret entered the room where Anna was arranging her clothes.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a harsh voice.

“I’m looking for my space,” Anna replied calmly. “I want to know where ‘you’ ends and ‘we’ begins.”

— What nonsense is that? We’re a family!

“Being a family doesn’t mean forgetting respect,” she replied gently.

Margaret remained silent. For a second, her eyes moistened, but pride stopped her. She left without saying a word.

Hours later, Michael walked in with an uncertain gait. “They’re leaving tomorrow,” he murmured. “They decided it on their own.”

Anna didn’t answer. She just nodded, looking out the window. She didn’t feel victory, but relief.

In the morning, Margaret hugged her briefly, coldly.

“Maybe I exaggerated a little,” he admitted. “But I love Michael. He’s my son.”

—And I love him too— Anna replied. —But I live with the man he is, not the child you raised.

Margaret didn’t answer. She turned around and left with Richard.

When the car disappeared at the end of the road, Anna went out into the garden. The air smelled of rain and the beginning of spring. Michael came up behind her and hugged her gently.

— I’m sorry — she whispered.

Anna smiled weakly. “Don’t feel bad. Just understand.”

For the first time in weeks, the house breathed. The silence no longer weighed heavily: it had the sound of peace.