— Listen, Anton, I’m tired of repeating the same thing over and over! — Nastya’s voice sounded exhausted, but firm. — Your mommy is perfectly capable of heating up her own lunch. I didn’t sign up to be a servant in this house!
Anton froze in the doorway as he was taking off his jacket. He had never heard that tone from his wife before. Usually Nastya endured it, kept quiet, bit her lip, and continued doing what needed to be done. But now she was standing in the middle of the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him as if she could see right through him.
— What happened? — he asked cautiously, hanging his jacket on the hook.
— What happened? — Nastya repeated with a bitter little smile. — Nothing special. I just realized something important today.
She turned toward the stove and switched off the burner under the pot. Her movements were sharp, nervous. Anton knew those signs: his wife was truly furious, but she was doing everything she could to control herself.
— Nastyusha, let’s talk calmly…
— Calmly! — she spun around to face him. — I’ve been behaving calmly for six months! Six months of staying silent, enduring it, pretending I enjoy serving your mother from morning till night!
There it was. His mother-in-law. Lyudmila Sergeyevna had moved in with them three months earlier after renovations began in her apartment. “Just for a couple of weeks, children,” she had said then. Weeks turned into months, and the rental apartment she had been staying in during the renovation had conveniently been vacated and rented out to other tenants.
— My mother tries not to interfere…
— Not to interfere? — Nastya leaned against the table, and Anton saw how tired his wife looked. Dark circles under her eyes, a thinner face, constant tension in her shoulders. — Anton, I get up at six in the morning and make her breakfast because Lyudmila Sergeyevna, apparently, is used to eating fresh syrniki. Then I make lunch, which she usually doesn’t even touch because she goes out with her girlfriends to some new restaurant. In the evening there’s dinner, cleaning, laundry…
— I help you…
— On weekends! — Nastya’s voice broke into a shout, but she immediately pulled herself together. — You help on weekends. And on weekdays? On weekdays your mother is home all day, but vacuuming or washing the dishes is beneath her dignity.
Anton said nothing. He knew his wife was right. He knew it, but he did not want to admit it. His mother had always been special, used to a certain level of comfort. After his father’s death, she had lived alone, hired a housekeeper, and could afford not to think about everyday chores.
— Today I came home early, — Nastya continued more quietly, looking out the window. — I wanted to surprise you and bake your favorite cherry pie. I walk into the apartment, and there… — she fell silent, and Anton saw her fists clench.
— What was there? — he asked, feeling anxiety rise inside him.
— Your mother. With some man. They were drinking wine in our living room, on our sofa. Music was playing, they were laughing…
— So what? Mom has the right to a personal life…
— Anton! — Nastya turned sharply toward him, and in her eyes he saw something new, unfamiliar. Determination. — I don’t care about her personal life! Let her date whoever she wants, let her have fun! But not in my home while I’m working myself to exhaustion to pay utility bills that have doubled since she moved in here!
Footsteps sounded from the hallway. Lyudmila Sergeyevna, a tall, elegant woman of fifty-eight, appeared in the kitchen doorway. She wore an expensive dress, had a fresh manicure, and her hairstyle was clearly from a salon.
— What is all this shouting? — she looked Nastya over with barely concealed contempt. — Antosha, I told you that a girl from a simple family would never be a match for you.
— Mom, don’t start…
— I’m not starting anything. I’m stating a fact. — Lyudmila Sergeyevna walked to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of mineral water. — A normal wife is happy when she can create comfort for her husband’s family. But this one…
— This one, — Nastya interrupted her, steel ringing in her voice, — is tired of being an unpaid housekeeper. Lyudmila Sergeyevna, your renovation ended two months ago. When are you planning to return to your apartment?
A pause fell over the room. Lyudmila Sergeyevna slowly placed her glass on the table and straightened to her full height.
— Anton, are you going to allow this person to speak to your mother like that?
— Nastya is right, — Anton said, unexpectedly even to himself. — Mom, we agreed it would only be for a couple of weeks…
— So you’re choosing her? — Lyudmila Sergeyevna’s voice became dangerously quiet. — You prefer this… this country bumpkin over the woman who gave birth to you, raised you, gave you everything?
— Mom, what does this have to do with choosing? It’s just…
— It’s just that I now understand what an ungrateful son you are, — she grabbed her handbag from the table. — Fine. I’ll leave. But remember, Anton, decisions like this are not forgotten.
She left the kitchen and slammed the door of her room loudly. Anton and Nastya were left alone. He looked at his wife and saw her hands trembling, saw how she was trying to hold back tears.
— Thank you, — Nastya whispered.
— I should have done this earlier, — Anton admitted, stepping toward her. — Forgive me.
But Nastya pulled away and shook her head.
— You’re thanking me too soon. Your mother won’t give up that easily. I’ve known her for three years. Lyudmila Sergeyevna is used to getting what she wants, and right now she’s simply preparing a counterattack.
— What do you mean?
— I don’t know yet. But I feel it — this is only the beginning.
And Nastya was right. The next morning, when they woke up, Lyudmila Sergeyevna was not in the apartment. But on the kitchen table lay a note written in her beautiful calligraphic handwriting: “Since I am unwanted here, I have found another place for myself. But we will see each other again. We certainly will.”
For three days they lived in a strange calm. Nastya even began to relax — she came home from work, cooked only for two, and cleaned the apartment without the usual tension. Anton tried to call his mother, but she did not answer. She replied to messages dryly: “Everything is fine. Don’t worry.”
— Maybe we should go see her? — he suggested on Saturday morning.
— Anton, your mother is an adult, — Nastya said, pouring coffee. — If she wants to talk, she’ll show up herself.
She showed up on Monday. Nastya was just getting ready to leave for work when the doorbell rang. Lyudmila Sergeyevna stood on the threshold, but not alone. Beside her stood a man of about sixty, wearing an expensive suit, with a confident posture and an attentive gaze.
— Anastasia, meet him, — her mother-in-law’s voice sounded surprisingly soft. — This is Gennady Borisovich Orlov. My… my fiancé.
Nastya felt the ground slip from under her feet. A fiancé? Lyudmila Sergeyevna had a fiancé?
— A pleasure to meet you, — Gennady Borisovich extended his hand. — Lyudmila has told me so much about you.
“Nothing good, surely,” Nastya thought, mechanically shaking his hand. His palm was dry and firm, his handshake confident.
— Are we interrupting? — Lyudmila Sergeyevna was already walking into the hallway, removing her elegant coat. — Gennady wanted to meet the family. Anton, of course, first of all.
— I’m late for work…
— Don’t worry, dear, — her mother-in-law smiled, and there was something predatory in that smile. — We’ll wait for Anton. He’ll be back from the site at ten today, won’t he?
Nastya went cold. How did Lyudmila Sergeyevna know her husband’s work schedule? Anton had not told her his schedule that week.
— I’ll call Anton, — she muttered, taking out her phone.
— I already called him, — her mother-in-law walked into the living room as if she owned the place. — My son will be here in half an hour. So don’t delay, Anastasia. Work is waiting.
It was an obvious dismissal. Nastya clenched her teeth, but she could not object — she really did have to leave. On the way to the office, she called Anton.
— Did you know your mother was coming?
— She called ten minutes ago, — her husband sounded confused. — She said she was going to introduce me to someone important. Nastya, I don’t understand what’s going on.
— I don’t understand either. But I don’t like it.
All day, Nastya could not concentrate on work. At lunch, Anton sent her a short message: “We’re talking. It’s complicated. I’ll tell you tonight.” That evening she rushed home, barely waiting for the workday to end.
Anton sat in the kitchen with a vacant expression, a cup of tea cooling in front of him.
— Well? — Nastya dropped her bag. — Tell me.
— My mother is getting married, — he raised his eyes to her. — To Gennady Borisovich Orlov. He owns a construction company. He has connections, money…
— And?
— And they are offering me the position of chief foreman on a new project. A large residential complex. The salary is three times higher than what I earn now. — Anton rubbed his face with his hands. — Nastya, this is a chance. We could finally buy our own apartment, a proper one, a big one…
— In exchange for what? — she already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.
— Mom said it’s a wedding gift for us. From both of them. But… — he fell silent.
— But what, Anton?
— They want to live here. After the wedding. Gennady is selling his country house, and Mom’s apartment is under renovation again — supposedly the upstairs neighbors flooded it. They need somewhere to live for three or four months.
Nastya laughed. Sharply, bitterly.
— Of course. Three or four months. Then some other reason will appear. Anton, do you really not see it?
— I see it, — he stood and walked to the window. — I see that my mother is manipulating us. But, Nastya, this is a real chance to change our lives. We’ve been saving for an apartment for years, and now in six months or a year…
— In six months or a year, I’ll lose my mind, — she sat down on the chair her husband had just vacated. — Serving two people now. Cooking, cleaning, enduring your mother’s looks when she considers me unworthy of you.
— I’ll talk to her…
— You already talked to her! — Nastya’s voice broke. — And it changed nothing. Lyudmila Sergeyevna does whatever she wants, and you can’t say no to her.
Anton turned around, and Nastya saw something new in his eyes. Anger. Hurt.
— So you’re against it? Against us finally living normally?
— Living normally means living without your mother right beside us!
— She’s my mother, Nastya! My only close family! My father is gone, I barely have any relatives…
— And what am I? — she stood and came right up to him. — I’ve been your wife for three years. But somehow I always end up in second place.
They stood face to face, and it was as if a wall had grown between them. Suddenly Nastya understood — this was a trap. A perfect trap. If she refused now, she would become the one to blame for their poverty and her husband’s ruined career. If she agreed, she would become a servant once and for all, with no right to speak.
— I need to think, — she picked up her bag. — I’ll go to Rita’s and spend the night there.
— Nastya, wait…
But she had already left, closing the door behind her. In the elevator, she took out her phone and called her friend.
— Rita, can I stay with you tonight?
— Did something happen?
— It did. I’ll tell you when I get there.
Rita lived alone in a one-room apartment on the other side of the city. As Nastya rode the metro, her thoughts darted around like trapped animals. On one hand, it really was a chance. On the other, Lyudmila Sergeyevna had not arranged all of this for no reason.
— So your mother-in-law found herself a rich fiancé and is now blackmailing you with your husband’s career? — Rita said, pouring tea after Nastya finished her story.
— Looks that way.
— Are you sure this Gennady is real? Maybe it’s some kind of setup?
Nastya thought about it. Indeed, everything had happened too quickly, too conveniently.
— We need to check, — she took out her laptop. — What was his surname… Orlov. Gennady Borisovich.
Half an hour of searching online produced results. Gennady Orlov really existed, owned a construction company, and was a fairly well-known figure in the city’s business circles. But one detail made Nastya go cold.
— Rita, look. His wife died three years ago. And since then he hasn’t appeared publicly with any woman. Not one. And now suddenly there’s a wedding?
— Maybe it’s love?
— Or calculation, — Nastya continued searching for information. — On both sides.
She found an article from a year earlier. Orlov’s company had sued the city administration over a plot of land for construction. They had lost the case. Gennady had lost a major contract.
— Rita, what if…
The phone rang. Anton. Nastya declined the call. A minute later a message arrived: “Please come back. We need to talk. Mom and Gennady left. I’m alone.”
Nastya looked at her friend.
— What should I do?
— Go back. But stay alert. Your mother-in-law is definitely up to something.
Nastya returned home closer to midnight. Anton opened the door immediately, as if he had been waiting right behind it. He looked exhausted — his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled.
— Come in, — he stepped aside. — I made dinner.
There were indeed plates of pasta and salad on the table. Anton had tried; it was obvious. Nastya sat down silently and picked up her fork.
— I called my mother, — he began, sitting across from her. — I asked her directly: why all of this? The job, the wedding, moving in here.
— And what did she say?
— At first she got offended. Then… — he sighed. — Then she admitted it. Gennady really did offer me the position. But not for nothing. He needs connections in the city administration, and Mom has an old friend who works on the construction committee. Or rather, she used to be her friend. They had a falling-out twenty years ago.
— And your mother decided to reconcile them through us?
— Worse. — Anton rubbed his temples. — That woman, Nina Vasilyevna, hates my mother. But her daughter, Yulia, works at the same company as you. In accounting.
Nastya remembered her. Yulia Gromova, a quiet woman around forty, always polite, always ready to help.
— What does Yulia have to do with this?
— Mom wanted you to become friends with her. Get close to her. And then through you, she would reach Nina Vasilyevna, who would help Gennady with construction permits.
Nastya slowly lowered her fork. So this whole performance — the moving in, the scandals, the reconciliation — was needed only to use her as a tool in someone else’s game.
— Your mother has outdone herself, — she stood up from the table. — And you? Did you know about this?
— No! I swear, I only found out today when I pressed her. — Anton also got up. — Nastya, I refused. I told my mother that we would not take part in her schemes.
— And she just accepted it?
— She… she said I would regret it. That I was throwing away the chance of a lifetime because of stupid principles.
Nastya walked to the window and looked out at the night city. The lights glowed like distant stars. Somewhere out there, in one of those buildings, Lyudmila Sergeyevna was sitting and planning her next move. Because people like her did not give up after the first refusal.
— Anton, I’m scared, — she admitted quietly. — Your mother won’t stop. She’ll find another way.
— Then we’ll move, — he hugged her from behind. — We’ll rent an apartment in another district, change the locks, change phone numbers…
— Run away? — Nastya turned toward him. — Run from your mother our whole lives?
— What else can we do?
And then a thought came to Nastya. A crazy, risky thought, but perhaps the only right one.
— We need to speak to Nina Vasilyevna, — she said. — Personally. Tell her everything. Warn her.
— Why?
— Because if Lyudmila Sergeyevna plans to use me, then she has a backup plan. Maybe through Yulia directly, maybe some other way. But Nina Vasilyevna needs to know that her old acquaintance has resurfaced. And not with good intentions.
Anton silently considered it. Then he nodded.
— All right. Tomorrow we’ll find her contact information.
The next morning Nastya came to work early. Yulia was already sitting at her desk, sorting papers.
— Good morning, — Nastya approached her. — Yulia, may I ask you a personal question?
— Of course, — the woman raised her head and smiled.
— Is your mother’s name Nina Vasilyevna Gromova?
The smile vanished instantly. Yulia tensed and put down her pen.
— How do you know that? — her voice became wary.
— It’s a long story. Can we talk after work? It’s important. It concerns your mother and… my mother-in-law.
Yulia studied her for a moment, then slowly nodded.
— All right. Six o’clock, by the main entrance.
That evening the three of them — Nastya, Anton, and Yulia — met in a small café near the office. Nastya told them everything: from Lyudmila Sergeyevna moving in to Anton’s recent conversation with her. Yulia listened silently, her face hardening with every minute.
— So Lyudmila has decided to use our family again, — she finally said. — Just like twenty years ago.
— What happened twenty years ago? — Nastya asked.
— Your mother-in-law, — Yulia spoke slowly and deliberately, — stole my mother’s fiancé. Or rather, she didn’t steal him — she framed my mother. She arranged everything so that my mother looked like a cheater. Her fiancé broke off the engagement, and my mother almost took her own life. Later she learned the truth, but it was too late. The man had gone abroad, and they never saw each other again.
— My God, — Nastya breathed.
— My mother forgave, forgot. But she hated Lyudmila Sergeyevna. And if she finds out that woman is plotting something again… — Yulia took out her phone. — I need to call my mother. Right now.
The conversation was short but substantial. Yulia quickly explained something, listened to the answer, and nodded. Then she handed the phone to Nastya.
— My mother wants to speak with you.
The voice on the phone was firm and confident:
— Anastasia, thank you for warning me. Lyudmila always believed that everyone around her owed her something. It’s time to teach her a lesson. Gennady Orlov will get his permits, but only if he immediately cuts all ties with that woman. I will call him today.
— But…
— No “buts.” Lyudmila has used people all her life. It is time to stop her.
Three days later, Anton received a message from his mother. Short and furious: “You ruined everything. Gennady called off the wedding. I hope you’re satisfied.”
— Satisfied? — he repeated to Nastya. — I don’t know. But I definitely feel relieved.
Nastya hugged him and pressed herself against him.
— We handled it, — she whispered. — Together.
And for the first time in a long while, the apartment felt like a real home to her. Their home. A place where no one else would dictate the rules, manipulate, or use them.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna no longer called. She did not write. She disappeared from their lives as suddenly as she had once burst into it.
And Nastya understood the most important thing: sometimes you should not endure, should not stay silent — you must act. Even when it is frightening. Especially when it is frightening.