My mother-in-law diminished my motherhood every day, but when I repeated her words, Artyom’s face suddenly turned pale

That evening, when my mother-in-law forcibly took the baby from my hands, I realized for the first time that these were no longer pieces of advice—it was war.

On Wednesday, at six o’clock in the evening, three quick knocks sounded at the door of our small apartment again. I knew who was standing there. Raisa Petrovna had never waited for an answer; if I did not open the door immediately, she would press the handle down as if it were her house.

Mila was sitting on my lap in a wooden chair in the kitchen. A yellow cotton bow, sewn by my own hands, was attached to her small neck. I had made this bow from a piece of an old curtain, and every time I saw it, I remembered how I had sewn it during a sleepless night while Artyom was at work.

I opened the door.

“Again I found you locked in?” Raisa said instead of greeting me. “Are you the child’s mother or a prison warden?”

“Hello, Raisa Petrovna. If you had called beforehand, I would have opened the door faster.”

“Are you giving me lessons now?” She put her bag on the floor and went straight into the kitchen. “Where is Mila? Why is she wearing this terrible bow?”

“Because I like it.”

“You like it? The child needs comfort, not your whims. Give her to me.”

She spread out her arms. I pressed Mila to my chest.

“Wash your hands first.”

Raisa’s lips froze.

“Are you teaching me sense?”

“I am taking care of the child’s health.”

“You have been a mother for two months and have already become a doctor.”

At that moment Artyom came out of the room. His shirt collar was open, and a dark stripe of sweat showed on his neck. At the sight of him I felt relief, but that feeling disappeared immediately.

“Mother, don’t start,” he said.

“I’m starting?” Raisa turned toward him. “Your wife keeps the child in her arms all day, does not open the windows, does not feed her properly, and now asks me to wash my hands!”

“You really should wash your hands, Mother,” Artyom said quietly.

Suddenly silence fell. That one sentence made me happy, but only for a second.

“Fine,” Raisa muttered. “Apparently I am not a guest here, but a criminal.”

The bathroom faucet sounded. I kissed Mila on the forehead and thought to myself that perhaps this time Artyom had finally understood how far everything had gone.

But ten minutes later Raisa was standing in front of me again.

“Why doesn’t the child sleep during the day?”

“She did sleep.”

“It doesn’t look like it. Her eyes are sunken.”

“A newborn’s eyes are shaped like that.”

“You have an answer to every question, but not one correct answer.”

Artyom was sitting on the sofa and looking at his phone. His finger was no longer moving across the screen. He was listening.

“How are you dressing her?” Raisa touched Mila’s foot. “It’s cold.”

“It is twenty-four degrees in the room.”

“Are you raising the child with a thermometer?”

“If necessary, yes.”

Raisa suddenly snatched Mila’s hand from me. The movement was so quick that I stepped back.

“Enough,” she said. “I will take her away before this woman completely ruins the child.”

“Let go of her,” I said.

“Are you threatening me?”

“No. I am setting a boundary.”

“She is my granddaughter too!”

“She is my daughter.”

Artyom stood up, but there was still that old uncertainty in his voice.

“Nika, Mother simply wants to help.”

“Help is when they ask for it.”

Raisa hugged Mila to her chest. The baby immediately began to cry. Her little face turned red, and the yellow bow tilted beside her ear.

“You see?” Raisa said like a victor. “She wants to be with me.”

“She is crying because you forcibly took her away from a stranger.”

“Artyom, listen to how she talks to me!”

I looked at my husband.

“Now you have to make a choice. Either you stand beside me, or you leave me alone in this quarrel.”

Artyom opened his mouth, but did not have time to answer. The phone lying on the kitchen shelf flashed. An unknown number appeared on the screen.

Raisa immediately stopped shouting.

Artyom looked at the phone, and the color drained from his face.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Nobody.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

The call ended. A few seconds later it rang again.

This time Artyom picked up the phone and went into the hallway. He did not close the door completely. I heard only his whisper:

“I told you it was too early… no, she knew nothing… the documents are with me…”

Raisa Petrovna stood in front of me and pressed Mila as if she were hiding a secret instead of a child.

I stepped closer.

“What documents was he talking about?”

“Ask your husband,” she answered coldly.

Artyom returned from the hallway. In his hand he held a small black folder that I had never seen before.

“Nika,” he said, “we need to talk.”

“Now.”

“Not here.”

“Then where?”

He put the folder on the table. He nervously checked the clasp with his fingers.

Raisa looked toward the window, as if she were waiting for someone in the street.

“Artyom, tell her,” she said quietly.

“I can’t yet.”

“If you don’t tell her now, you won’t be able to tell her later.”

Coldness ran down my throat.

Artyom reached toward the folder and touched the clasp…

The folder’s clasp opened precisely when someone knocked on the door again.

Artyom jumped.

“Don’t open it,” Raisa said.

“Who is it?” I asked.

In response, a woman’s voice came from the other side of the door:

“Mrs. Veronica, I am attorney Elene Kavtaradze. I urgently need to speak with you.”

Artyom went to the door and put his hand on the handle.

“You brought an attorney?” he asked me.

“I didn’t bring anyone.”

Raisa put Mila on the sofa, and I noticed for the first time that her hands were trembling.

“Artyom, don’t open it,” she repeated.

“Why?” I asked. “If everything is normal, what are you afraid of?”

A third blow sounded on the door. This time it was stronger.

“Mr. Artyom, if the door does not open, I will call the police,” the woman said.

Artyom closed his eyes.

“Mother, you told me this would not happen.”

“It would not have happened if you had talked to her in time.”

“What should he have talked about?” I shouted.

Artyom turned the lock. Elene entered, holding a leather folder. Behind her stood a tall man with a small camera hanging around his neck.

“I am also the representative of the child’s doctor,” Elene said. “This morning we received a complaint filed in Mila’s name.”

My breath caught.

“Who filed it?”

Elene looked at Artyom.

“That is not the main thing yet. The main thing is that an attempt to take the child from your home has already been recorded.”

Raisa Petrovna rushed forward.

“This is a family matter!”

“No, madam,” Elene answered calmly. “When an infant is taken against a parent’s will, it is no longer a family joke.”

Artyom opened the black folder, but when he looked at the first sheet inside, his face changed.

“Why is this here?” I whispered.

Elene reached toward the folder.

“Because your husband must not sign until you understand in whose name all of this is…”

Elene turned the folder toward me and placed the first sheet on the table. Only Mila’s quiet whimpering could be heard in the room.

“This is a temporary guardianship agreement,” she said. “But read the last page carefully.”

I picked up the sheet. My hands were shaking so much that the letters pressed into one another.

“It says here that I supposedly cannot take care of Mila,” I said.

“That is correct,” Elene replied.

Artyom came toward me.

“Nika, listen to me. I did not want to do this.”

“Is that your signature?”

He lowered his head.

“Yes.”

Raisa Petrovna immediately joined in.

“We only wanted to protect the child.”

“From whom?” I asked. “From me?”

“You can see for yourself how you behave. You are constantly irritated, you never leave the child alone, you quarrel with everyone.”

“Because everyone enters my home without permission!”

Elene took a small device from her bag and put it on the table.

“This was recorded in your home three days ago. Your husband installed the camera in the living room.”

Artyom turned pale.

“I installed it only for safety.”

“For safety?” I repeated.

Elene pressed the button.

My voice sounded in the room, then Artyom’s, then Raisa’s.

“If Veronica does not sign, we will take the child through the court,” Raisa was saying.

“But the doctor says the child is healthy,” Artyom answered.

“They will pay the doctors and they will write the truth. You just sign. Veronica is tired at night; she will break easily.”

The recording stopped.

I looked at Artyom. There were tears in his eyes, but for the first time I no longer felt sorry for him.

“You knew?”

“Not everything.”

“You knew enough.”

Raisa struck the table with her hand.

“This recording is illegal!”

“Your son installed the camera,” Elene said. “And the device was purchased in his name. In addition, the doctor’s conclusion directly says that Mila is healthy and there are no signs of neglect on the mother’s part.”

Artyom pulled out the last sheet from the black folder.

“Mother told me to sign,” he said. “She told me that if I did not do it, you would take the child away from me and throw me out of the house.”

“I never said anything like that.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you do it?”

He could not find an answer.

Raisa Petrovna went to the door.

“Artyom, come on. Now.”

“No, Mother.”

It was the first time he had said that word firmly.

Raisa stopped.

“I did everything for you.”

“You made decisions for me. And I told everyone that you were simply caring.”

Elene took out another document.

“There is one more issue here. You, Mrs. Raisa, paid the apartment rent for the last six months, but the money came from an account belonging to your son. This is important because the statement filed says that Veronica is financially dependent on you.”

Raisa’s face tightened.

“Did you prepare all this in advance?” Artyom asked her.

“No,” Elene answered. “Mrs. Veronica prepared it. She contacted me three weeks ago, when she realized that the matter had gone beyond verbal insults.”

Artyom turned toward me.

“You were talking to an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“And you told me nothing?”

“You told your mother everything. For the first time, I spoke with myself.”

The sound of car brakes came from outside. Elene looked toward the window.

“They are here.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Social services workers and a police unit. They must check whether the child is safe.”

Raisa Petrovna froze.

“You called the police?”

“I did not,” I said. “Your statement called them.”

The doorbell rang.

Artyom sat down on a chair and held his head with both hands.

But before Elene opened the door, a message arrived on her phone. She looked at the screen and knitted her brows.

“This is already another matter,” she said.

“What happened?”

Elene turned the phone toward me. The message was from Artyom’s workplace.

His boss wrote that a large amount of money from the company’s funds was to be transferred to an unknown account, and the document confirming the transfer had been оформed in Artyom’s name.

Raisa Petrovna stared at Artyom.

“You did this too?”

Artyom stood up, but this time no one was listening to him.

Elene said quietly:

“This letter has not yet been sent to the police. But if the money really disappeared, your family war will turn into a criminal case tomorrow morning…”