**Diary Entry**
*Sunday, 8:30 AM*
“I’ll come in whenever I wantI have the keys,” my mother-in-law announced before barging into our bedroom at five in the morning.
The scrape of the lock made me freeze, the damp cloth still clutched in my hand. Id been scrubbing at the sticky jam stain left behind by Irene Borisovnas last visit, and I knew that sound all too well.
Paul was still asleep. Sunday, half past eight.
The door swung open, and there she stood. In one hand, a string bag stuffed with something green; in the other, the lead of her tiny, trembling little dog.
“Lara, still in bed?” she chirped, stepping over the threshold. “I brought you some fresh dill from the allotment.”
I straightened up, my back stiffening.
“Good morning, Irene Borisovna. Were sleeping. Or rather, Paul is.”
She ignored me and floated toward the kitchen. The dog let out a half-hearted yap before trotting after her.
“I was quiet as a mouse! Honestly. I was just passing the market and thought Id drop by. Better than you buying that shop rubbish, full of chemicals.”
I followed, watching my one lazy morning of the week crumble before my eyes.
“We couldve bought our own. Or you couldve called, and wed have come down.”
She turned, her gaze sharp and appraising. It slid over my old T-shirt, bare feet, and tangled hair.
“Dont be silly, dear. Why should you come down? Ive got keys.”
She said it like she was bestowing some grand favour. As if those keys didnt belong to *my* flat, but to the pearly gates themselves.
*That Evening*
I finally worked up the nerve. Paul was sprawled on the sofa, absently scratching his stomach as some soap played on the telly.
“Paul, we need to talk about your mother.”
He sighed without looking away from the screen.
“Not this again, Lara. She just brought some dill.”
“She let herself into our flat at half eight on a Sunday morning without so much as a knock. Used her own keys. Thats not normal.”
“Whats the big deal? Shes family. Not some stranger.”
I sat beside him, snatched the remote, and turned the telly off. The sudden silence made my next words louder.
“Paul, this is *our* home. *Our* space. I want to walk around naked if I fancy it. I dont want to wake up to the sound of a key in the lock.”
“Oh, dont be dramatic,” he scoffed. “Naked, really? Mums just looking out for us.”
“Then she can leave her looking out on the doorstep. Or at least ring first. Lets ask for the keys back.”
He jerked like Id scalded him.
“Are you mad? Take Mums keys? Thats an insult! Shes given me everything, and now Im to shut her out? Shell think were cutting her off!”
“Shes cutting *us* out of our own lives!” I snapped.
He stared at me like Id suggested robbing a bank. Fear. Bewilderment. To him, his mother with her keys was as natural as the sun rising.
*One Week Later*
I woke to the bedroom light flicking on. Five in the morning.
Irene Borisovna stood in the doorway, a raincoat thrown over her nightdress. She squinted against the brightness, Pauls phone in her hand.
“Paul, love, you forgot your phone,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I saw you leave, and there it was on the side. Brought it over. Cant have you at work without it.”
I sat up, pulling the duvet to my chin. My heart hammered in my throat. Paul grunted something sleepily and rolled over.
Ignoring me, she crossed 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, Lara. Needs a proper wipe-down.”
With that, she left. The front door clicked shut.
I sat under the harsh light, staring at my sleeping husband. He hadnt even stirred. He didnt understand what had just happened. That the line hadnt just been crossedit had been erased.
When he finally woke, and I told himcalmly, carefullyabout the visit, he just shrugged.
“She meant well, Lara. She was worried about me.”
“Paul, she walked into our *bedroom*. At five *in the morning*.”
“So? She wasnt naked. Shes *family*.”
*Later That Day*
I called her myself. My hands shook, but my resolve didnt.
“Irene Borisovna, I wanted to talk about this morning.”
“Yes, dear?” Not a flicker of guilt.
“Please dont come over unannounced. Especially not that early. Especially not to our *bedroom*.”
Silence. Then, ice-cold:
“I dont understand your attitude. I raised my boy, I put money into this flatmy lifes savings. So remember this: Ill come in when I please. *I have the keys*.”
The line went dead.
Paul had heard every word. But he looked away.
“Nothing to say?” The dial tone hummed between us.
He shrugged, studying the wallpaper.
“What do you expect? You provoked her. Pushed her. Of course she reacted like that.”
“Provoked her? By asking her not to barge into my *bedroom*?”
“You couldve been softer,” he muttered. “Youre never happy. Mum tries, and you”
I didnt listen. I turned and shut the bedroom door firmly behind me.
That night, a wall went up. He didnt come after me. Didnt apologise. Just slept on the sofa, sighing loudly.
*Wednesday*
I caught a cold. Throat raw, head splitting. Took a sick day. Decided a hot bath might help.
I was nearly dozing when I heard itthe scrape of a key in the lock.
I froze. Paul wasnt due back for hours.
The door creaked open. Then her singsong voice:
“Now then, Jellybean, lets see how our Laras keeping house. Bet its dusty again.”
I sat motionless in the cooling water. Heard her rummaging through the fridge. Tsking.
“Empty. What do they even eat? Poor Paul must be starving.”
She was *right there*. Beyond the flimsy bathroom door. The helplessness was suffocating. This was meant to be *my* home. My fortress. And *she* had walked right in.
I waited until she moved to the kitchen, then slipped out, wrapping myself in a robe.
She was in the living room, inspecting my books.
“Oh, Lara! Youre home?” No shame. “I brought you chicken broth. Healing stuff. Paul said you were poorly.”
She gestured to a jar on the coffee table.
“Thanks, but you shouldnt have,” I croaked. “I *asked* you to call first.”
“Dont be silly! I wanted to help! Who else will look after you? Pauls at work, and here you are, all alone.”
She reached for my forehead. I flinched.
“Dont.”
*That Evening*
When Paul returned, I was ready. I told him everythingthe fear, the humiliation, the bloody broth.
He listened silently. Then:
“I dont get what your problem is. Mum brought you soup. She *cares*. You always see the worst. Maybe the issue isnt herits *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.
So I made mine.
*The Next Morning*
As soon as Paul left for work, I grabbed my phone. My hands were steady. Typed: *Emergency lock change. 24/7*. Hit *call*.
The locksmith arrived within the hour. A burly bloke with tired eyes. Worked quickly, silently. The drills whine was music. Every screech a shout of freedom.
When he finished, he handed me two shiny new keys.
“There you go, love. Jobs done.”
I took them. Solid. Real. *My* fortress keys.
I paid, and the door clicked shut behind him. Firm. Final. I turned the lock. Then again.
Perfect.
*That Evening*
I waited for Paul like a soldier bracing for attack. Cooked dinner. Tidied. Rehearsed my speech.
He came in exhausted, slung his briefcase onto a chair.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” I held out a key. “This is yours. I changed the locks.”
He blinked at it. Then at me.
“You *what*?”
“I decided. I wont have anyone walking into our home uninvited. *No one*.”
His face darkened.
“Youyou did this behind my back? Youve *locked out my mother*?”
“Ive protected our family. Our *home*.”
“Youve *broken* this family!” 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. Said it allthe fear, the betrayal. He didnt hear. Just ranted about duty, respect, my *heartlessness*.
Thena sound.
A scrape. A frustrated jiggling of a key that wouldnt turn. Then banging.
“Paul! Lara! Open up! Whats wrong with the door?!”
Paul froze. Looked at me. At the door. His mothers furious pounding.
He exhaled. Walked over. Turned the new lock.
She stormed in, wild-eyed.
“What have you *done*?!” She jabbed a finger at me. “Youve *shut me out*! After all I”
“Mum.” Quiet. Firm.
She gaped.
“What? Do you *see* what shes”
“I see,” he said, steel in his voice. “I see my wife had to do this because no one listened. Least of all *me*.”
He turned to her.
“This is *our* home. Mine and Laras. And you *will not* walk in uninvited again. Understood?”
She stared, mouth open.
“Paul”
“No. Im a grown man. *I* decide who comes into my home. Now please leave.”
She bristled. Glared at me. Then spun on her heel and left.
Paul shut the door. Turned to me. Tears in his eyes.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I was blind.”
He pulled me into his arms. And I knewId won.
Not just the lock.
Id won back my husband. Our family.
*Our life*.
