All Amazing Babies

He sat on the cold metal bench, wrapped in a worn-out cloak—once worn while working as a master at the housing office. His name was Nikolai Andreevich. A pensioner, widower, father of a single son, and, as he had once thought, a happy grandfather. But all of that collapsed one day.

When his son brought Olga home, Nikolai felt a chill inside. Her energy was too sharp, her gaze too icy, hidden behind a charming smile. She didn’t shout or cause scandals—she simply and subtly pushed everything out of the man’s life that stood in her way. Nikolai felt it immediately, but by then, nothing could be changed.

First, his belongings disappeared: books were moved to the attic, his favorite chair became “unnecessary,” and then the kettle vanished. Then came the hints: “Dad, maybe you should go for walks more often? The air is good for you.” Soon, the suggestion came: “It might be better for you in a retirement home or with Aunt in the village.”

Nikolai didn’t respond. He simply gathered what little remained of his things and left. No accusations, no tears, no pleas—just pride and pain, buried deep in his heart.

He wandered the snow-covered streets, like an invisible man. Only one bench in the park became his support—a place where he once walked with his wife, and later with his young son. There, he spent hours, staring into the emptiness.

One particularly cold day, when the frost bit his face and his eyes blurred from the cold and sorrow, a voice called out:

— Nikolai? Nikolai Andreevich?

He turned. Before him stood a woman in a warm coat and headscarf. He didn’t recognize her immediately, but memory kicked in—Maria Sergeevna. His first love. The one he lost because of his job, and then forgot, marrying Lydia.

She was holding a thermos and a bag of homemade pastries.

— What are you doing here? You’re freezing…

That simple question, filled with care, warmed him more than any coat. Nikolai silently took the thermos of tea and the buns. His voice had long gone, and his heart ached so much that even tears wouldn’t come.

Maria sat down next to him as if no time had passed between them, as if it had frozen in place.

— I sometimes walk here, — she started gently. — And you… why are you here?

— It’s just a familiar place, — he smiled faintly. — This is where my son took his first steps. Remember?

Maria nodded. Of course, she remembered.

— And now… — Nikolai sighed, — he’s grown, got married, settled into an apartment. His wife said, “Choose—me or your father.” He chose. I don’t blame him. The young have their own worries.

Maria remained silent, only looking at his reddened hands, cracked from the cold—so familiar and yet so lonely.

— Come to my place, Nikolai, — she suddenly suggested. — It’s warm, we’ll eat, tomorrow we’ll figure out what’s next. I’ll make you soup, we’ll talk about everything. You’re not a stone, you’re a person. And you shouldn’t be alone.

He didn’t move for a long time. Then, he quietly asked:

— And you… why are you alone?

Maria sighed. Her eyes grew glassy.

— My husband died long ago. My son… passed away before he was born. After that—life, work, the pension, the cat, and knitting. All in a circle. You’re the first in ten years I’ve had tea with, not in solitude.

They sat there for a long time. The passersby thinned out, and the snow fell softly, as if trying to muffle their pain.

The next morning, Nikolai woke up not on the bench, but in a cozy room with daisy curtains. The air smelled of pies. Outside, the winter frost covered the trees. And inside, there was a strange sense of peace, as if someone had returned his right to life.

— Good morning! — Maria came in with a plate of cheese pancakes. — When was the last time you had homemade food?

— About ten years ago, — Nikolai smiled. — My son and his wife mostly ordered food.

Maria didn’t ask questions. She just fed him, covered him with a blanket, and turned on the radio in the background—so it wouldn’t be so quiet.

Days passed. Then weeks. Nikolai seemed to come alive again. He fixed chairs, helped around the house, and told stories about his work, how he saved a colleague from a gas explosion. And Maria listened. As she cooked him soup from his childhood, washed his socks, and knitted scarves, she gave him what he hadn’t felt in a long time—care.

But one day, everything changed.

Maria was returning from the market when she noticed a car at the gate. A man stepped out, and Nikolai would have called him his son. Valery.

— Hello… Excuse me… Do you know if Nikolai Andreevich lives here?

Maria felt her heart tighten.

— And who are you to him?

— I… I’m his son. I’ve been looking for him. He left, and I didn’t know… Olga left. It turns out, all this time… — he lowered his head. — I won’t lie. I was a fool.

Maria looked at him closely.

— Come in. But remember: your father is not an object, not furniture. He’s not obliged to come back just because you’ve become lonely.

Valery nodded.

— I understand.

At home, Nikolai sat in an armchair with a newspaper. When he saw his son, he immediately understood—he hadn’t come for no reason. His chest ached with memories—of years, of cold, of homelessness.

— Dad… — Valery rasped. — Forgive me.

Silence hung in the room. Then Nikolai spoke:

— You could’ve said this earlier. Before the bench, before the nights under the bridge, before all of this. But… I forgive you.

And a tear slowly rolled down his cheek—heavy, like a memory, but warm, like forgiveness.

A month later, Valery offered his father to come back home. But Nikolai refused.

— I’ve already found my little corner, — he said. — It’s warm here, here I have real tea and care waiting for me. I’m not angry, I’m just tired of starting over. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting.

Two years later, Nikolai and Maria came to the park bench together. They held hands, brought bread for the birds, and drank tea from the same thermos. Sometimes they were silent. Sometimes they talked about everything.

One day, standing in the middle of the street, Nikolai looked up at the sky and quietly said:

— Life is a strange thing. They kick you out of your home, and it feels like everything inside has fallen apart. But then someone comes—not from the doorstep, but from the warmth of the heart—and gives you a new home—not of walls, but of love.

Maria hugged him.

— So it was worth it that we met. Even if it happened on a bench in the park.

Nikolai and Maria lived peacefully. They didn’t rush to register their relationship, they didn’t call each other husband and wife. But in their home, there was family—unseen but felt in everything. The morning began with the sound of a samovar, the smell of fresh tea, and Maria’s voice humming at the stove. Their connection wasn’t in words but in deeds—in every look, in every movement.

But one day, in the spring, Valery came to the house. Not alone—he had a boy, around eight years old.

— Dad… — he began cautiously. — This is Sasha. Your grandson. He wanted to see you.

Nikolai froze. The boy looked up at him trustingly and a little shyly. He held a drawing in his hands: an old house, a tree, two figures on a bench.

— This is you and Grandma Maria, — he said. — Dad told me. Now I want to have a grandfather.

Nikolai knelt down, hugged the child, and felt warmth return to his chest.

From that day, Sasha became part of their life. He didn’t just play in the garden—he brought the house to life. Nikolai started making things again: swings, a toy boat, even fixing an old radio. And in the evenings, he read fairy tales to his grandson, just as he had once done for his son.

One day, watching them, Maria quietly said:

— Kolya, you’re living again. Not just existing—living.

He took her hand tightly and pressed it to his cheek.

— Because of you.

In the fall, Nikolai took an important step. He brought a marriage application to the registry office. He and Maria got married in front of four people—Valery and Sasha were present. No pomp, no dress or banquet. Just two people who found each other after a long journey.

When the registry office worker smiled and remarked that it was a bit late, Maria answered:

— Love has no age. Either it’s there, or it isn’t. And for us, it is. And we made the right choice.

Years passed. Nikolai started writing. From old, worn notebooks, his life story was born—from childhood in a postwar yard to his work as a housing office master, from losing Lydia to exile, and then—meeting Maria. He wrote it all down for his grandson, so he would remember: life isn’t always fair, but there will always be light in it.

Sasha read these notes with bated breath.

And when he turned sixteen, he said:

— Grandpa, I want to make a book out of your notes. So people will know: you can’t abandon your loved ones, you can’t be blind to other people’s pain. You need to know how to forgive. And know how to leave when there’s pain.

Nikolai silently nodded. There was no greater pride for him.

One day, Olga unexpectedly came to the house. She had lost weight, with gray hair and empty eyes.

— I’m sorry, — she said. — I lost everything. The man I left for turned out to be nothing. Health left, well-being left… I thought back then that you were standing in Valery’s way. But now I realize: you were his foundation.

Nikolai stared at her for a long time.

— I’m not angry, — he finally said. — But I won’t invite you in. Because in this house, there is kindness. And you brought cold. And now you want to warm yourself where you never felt warmth. It doesn’t work that way. I wish you peace—but not here.

And he closed the door.

Ten years later, Maria left quietly. She didn’t wake up in the morning. The room smelled of lilies of the valley—her favorite flowers. Nikolai sat next to her, holding her hand, whispering words of thanks. He didn’t cry. He just whispered:

— Thank you. I’ll come soon. Wait for me.

Neighbors, acquaintances, and children from the playground came to the funeral. Everyone knew Marusya—kind, quiet, always ready to offer tea and a shoulder to lean on.

Sasha wrote the book. He called it:

“The Bench Where Life Began”

He dedicated it to his grandparents. The book found thousands of readers. People wrote letters, thanking for the honesty, for the truth, for believing that even in old age, you can find love and a home.

And Nikolai… lived a little longer. One day, he just lay down on that same bench, where it all began. He closed his eyes. And saw: Maria was walking through the snow. Smiling. She said:

— It’s time to go home, Kolya.

He smiled and took a step toward her.

Epilogue.

Now, on that bench, there is a small plaque:

“Here everything changed. Here, hope was born.
Don’t pass by the elderly—they also need love.”

Every evening, grandchildren sit here, holding the hands of their grandmothers and grandfathers. Because love isn’t in grand ceremonies. It’s in saying:

“I found you. Now you’re not alone.”

Where’s my dinner?” came the hoarse voice from deep inside the apartment as soon as Marina stepped over the threshold.

She froze, still wearing her coat, and sighed heavily. The workday had been especially tough — her boss had overloaded her with reports, the bus had broken down, and she had to walk three stops in the cold autumn rain. And waiting at home was Viktor, who had been out of work for a month after a layoff and had been growing more irritable with each passing day.

“Vitya, I just got off work,” Marina replied tiredly, finally taking off her soaked coat. “Let me at least change and catch my breath.”

“I asked where my dinner is?” Viktor stood up from the couch, where he had been watching TV all day. “I’m hungry as a dog, and here you are with your excuses!”

Marina silently went to the kitchen and turned on the light. The fridge was empty — she hadn’t had time to buy groceries after work. In the sink, a mountain of dirty dishes piled up, which Viktor, as usual, hadn’t bothered to wash.

“Vitya, there’s nothing in the fridge,” she said, returning to the room. “I’ll run to the store…”

“Again?” he interrupted her, jumping up from the couch. “More excuses? I’ve been waiting all day, and you haven’t even bothered to buy food?”

He walked up to her, and Marina could smell the alcohol on him. Viktor had been drinking since lunchtime.

“I’ve been working,” she said quietly, stepping back. “And you could’ve gone to the store yourself, since you’re at home.”

Those words seemed to light a fuse. Viktor grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her.

“Are you giving me orders?” he hissed, spitting. “I said I need dinner! I’m hungry! Now!”

Marina broke free from his grip and backed into the wall.

“Touch me again, and I’ll tell my brother everything! And the last thing you’ll see, darling, will be the trunk of his car!”

Viktor froze. Fear flashed in his eyes. Stanislav, Marina’s brother, had a certain reputation in the city. A few months ago, he had already hinted to Viktor that he was watching how he treated his sister. And those hints had been pretty clear.

“You… You wouldn’t dare,” Viktor mumbled, but his voice no longer had the usual confidence.

“Think so?” Marina asked coldly. “Stas was just asking about us.”

Viktor stepped back, muttering something unintelligible. Marina walked past him into the bedroom, feeling her knees tremble. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t tolerate his behavior any longer. A month without work had turned Viktor into some kind of bitter beast, taking out his anger on her.

In the bedroom, she closed the door and pulled out her phone. Her finger hovered over her brother’s number. No, it was too early. But if Viktor tried to hit her again… Marina sighed and put the phone back. She didn’t want to involve her brother in her problems, but she wasn’t going to tolerate abuse either.

From the kitchen came the sound of breaking dishes — Viktor had apparently decided to take out his anger on the plates. Marina closed her eyes. She knew this was just the beginning. And the longer Viktor stayed unemployed, the worse the situation would get.

Friday evening came unexpectedly fast. For Marina, the week had passed in constant tension — every day coming home had become scarier. After that incident, Viktor had kept himself in check, but his eyes, full of hidden malice, spoke for themselves. He was waiting for the moment to get even.

That evening, Marina stayed late at work — finishing her quarterly report. She didn’t even have time to warn Viktor. When she returned home, the apartment greeted her with an unusual silence.

“Maybe he went somewhere?” she thought hopefully, carefully taking off her shoes at the doorstep.

On the kitchen table, there was a note hastily written by Viktor: “Went to Sergey’s. Don’t wait.”

Marina exhaled with relief. An evening without his complaining and demanding looks was a real gift. She quickly took a shower, changed into comfortable clothes, and settled on the couch with her phone. Finally, she could have a peaceful conversation with her friend Lena, who had been trying to reach her for a week.

“Marinka! I thought you disappeared!” Lena chattered happily as soon as she heard Marina’s voice.

“Sorry, been busy with work,” Marina didn’t want to get into the details of her home life. “How are you? How’s everything with Andrei?”

The conversation stretched on. For the first time in a long time, Marina felt relaxed, laughing at her friend’s jokes. She completely lost track of time and didn’t hear the sound of the front door slamming shut.

“…And then I tell him: ‘If you don’t stop your antics, you can forget about…’”

Suddenly, her phone was ripped from her hands. Marina jumped and looked up. Viktor was standing in front of her, flushed, with a wild gleam in his eyes. He reeked of fresh alcohol.

“So this is how it is?” he hissed, squeezing her phone in his hand. “I come home, and you’re here having fun? No dinner, no cleaning, just talking on the phone?”

“Vitya, give me the phone,” Marina said firmly, standing up from the couch. “And don’t yell at me. You wrote that you weren’t coming back.”

“I wrote ‘don’t wait’!” he yelled. “That means ‘don’t sit and wait for me, go do what you’re supposed to’! Where the hell is my dinner?”

“I’m not your servant,” Marina replied, trying to stay calm. “If you’re hungry, I can make something. But don’t you dare yell at me.”

Viktor scoffed, his face twisting into an unpleasant grin.

“Don’t dare?” he asked again. “Don’t dare?! Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?”

He threw Marina’s phone onto the couch and took a step toward her, raising his hand. There was nothing human left in his eyes — only drunken rage.

“I’ll teach you some respect,” he growled.

But this time, Marina didn’t back down. In one swift motion, she grabbed her phone and jumped toward the window.

“Touch me, and Stas will be here in twenty minutes,” she said, already dialing her brother’s number.

“Drop the phone!” Viktor lunged toward her. “I said drop it!”

Marina shook her head and held the phone to her ear. She heard the dial tone, then a familiar voice:

“Marinka? What’s wrong?”

“Stas, come over,” she said, keeping her eyes locked on Viktor. “He’s at it again…”

“On my way,” her brother said shortly before hanging up.

Viktor stopped in the middle of the room. His face turned pale, and his hands dropped. It was as if he sobered up instantly.

“What have you done?” he whispered.

“What I should have done a long time ago,” Marina answered, sitting back down on the couch. “Now sit and wait. Stas will be here soon.”

Viktor helplessly glanced around, as if looking for a way to escape. But he knew — he couldn’t hide from Stas. He would find him anywhere.

All that was left was to wait. Viktor collapsed into the chair, covering his face with his hands. Marina stared out the window, knowing that in a short while, her brother’s headlights would appear. She didn’t feel fear or regret — only exhaustion and the strange sense that the point of no return had already passed.

Twenty minutes of waiting felt like an eternity. Viktor sat in the chair, nervously tapping his fingers on the armrests. Marina stood by the window, watching the empty street. The apartment was silent, except for the ticking of the wall clock.

“Maybe you should call him?” Viktor suddenly said. “Tell him everything’s fine, that we’ve made up…”

Marina didn’t respond. She heard the tremble in his voice, but it didn’t move her to pity or sympathy. Too many times, she had forgiven his actions, too many times she had believed his promises to change.

“Marina, please,” he stood up and took a step toward her. “I won’t do it again. I promise…”

“Sit down,” she said briefly, not looking at him.

At that moment, the sound of a car horn broke the silence. Marina saw a black Toyota with tinted windows pull into the driveway. Viktor jumped to the window and immediately recoiled.

“They… there are three of them,” he whispered.

Marina nodded. She knew her brother wouldn’t come alone. He always brought people with him — for moments like this.

The doorbell rang like a gunshot. Viktor flinched and backed up to the wall. Marina calmly walked to the door and opened it.

Standing on the threshold was Stanislav. Tall, broad-shouldered, in a black leather jacket. Two figures loomed behind him — just as silent and threatening.

“Hello, sis,” Stanislav said, kissing Marina on the cheek. “Where is he?”

“In the living room,” Marina replied, letting her brother inside.

Stanislav entered, and his friends followed. Viktor, seeing them, tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

“Stas, hey,” he stammered. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

“Shut up,” Stanislav interrupted him. “I didn’t come here to listen to your excuses.”

He walked up to Viktor. Viktor tried to step back, but his back was already pressed against the wall.

“Do you remember what I told you last time?” Stanislav asked in a quiet, but frightening voice. “I said that if you ever raise a hand to my sister, I’ll find you. And here I am.”

“Stas, I was drunk,” Viktor started to defend himself. “I didn’t…”

Stanislav sharply grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

“Drunk?” he asked. “Is that your excuse? You think that changes anything?”

One of Stanislav’s friends stepped closer.

“Stas, maybe we should go outside?” he suggested. “The walls are thin, the neighbors will hear.”

Stanislav nodded and released Viktor.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Viktor tried to resist, but two strong guys had already grabbed him by the arms and were leading him toward the door. Marina stood aside, watching what was happening. She knew she should stop her brother, but something inside her wouldn’t let her. Maybe it was because she had been dreaming of this moment — when someone would finally put Viktor in his place.

“Marina!” Viktor screamed as they led him out of the apartment. “Tell them! Tell them I didn’t mean it! Marina!”

The door slammed shut. Marina walked to the window and saw Viktor being shoved into the trunk of the black Toyota. Stanislav spoke to his friends for a moment, then raised his head and caught her gaze. He nodded, as if saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

The car pulled away and left the yard. Marina was left alone in the empty apartment. She knew Viktor would return. But how he would be after that conversation with Stanislav — that was another question.

Marina didn’t know how much time had passed. She sat in the kitchen, aimlessly stirring the now-cold tea. Thoughts swarmed in her mind, but none lingered for long. What should she do next? How to live after this?

The sound of a key turning in the lock made her jump. The door opened, and Stanislav quietly entered the apartment. Alone.

“Where’s Vitya?” Marina asked, getting up to meet her brother.

Stanislav took off his jacket and walked into the kitchen. He looked calm, but Marina knew that expression — it was always like that after “serious conversations.”

“He’ll be here,” Stanislav replied shortly, sitting down at the table. “Give me some water.”

Marina poured her brother a glass of water and sat across from him.

“What did you do to him?”

Stanislav shrugged.

“Nothing he couldn’t handle. We just talked. Man to man.”

Marina knew what “man to man” meant. She didn’t want to imagine the details.

“He won’t raise a hand to you again,” Stanislav continued, sipping the water. “I made sure he knows what will happen if he does.”

“And what will happen?” Marina asked softly.

“You don’t want to know, sis,” Stanislav put the empty glass on the table. “And he doesn’t want to know either.”

There was no anger or threat in his voice — only the calm certainty of someone used to solving problems his way. Marina knew what her brother did for a living, but she never asked for details. It was easier that way for both of them.

“I’m thinking about a divorce,” she suddenly said.

Stanislav looked at his sister intently.

“Are you sure?”

Marina nodded.

“Yes. It can’t be left like this. Today, he didn’t hit me only because I managed to call you. What will happen next time?”

“There won’t be a next time,” Stanislav said firmly. “I guarantee it.”

“You can’t guarantee it, Stas,” Marina replied tiredly. “You won’t be here every day. And he’s getting worse. This job situation has really taken a toll on him.”

Stanislav was silent, thinking over her words. Finally, he nodded.

“It’s up to you. But know this — I’m always on your side.”

At that moment, the front door opened again. On the threshold stood Viktor. His face was pale, a bruise was swelling under his eye, and his lip was split. He stepped into the apartment hesitantly, holding his side.

Stanislav stood up.

“Well, I’ll be going,” he said, heading for the door. “Viktor, don’t forget our conversation.”

Viktor nodded, not lifting his eyes. Stanislav hugged his sister goodbye and left, leaving the couple alone.

Silence fell. Viktor stood by the door, unsure whether to move forward. Marina looked at him — and didn’t recognize him. Where had the self-assured man she once married gone? Before her stood a broken, pitiful man who couldn’t even look her in the eyes.

“Marina, I…” he began, but she raised her hand, stopping the flow of words.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say anything. I’m leaving.”

“Where?” Viktor asked, bewildered.

“To mom’s. For a couple of days. I need to think.”

She went to the bedroom and started packing her things. Viktor followed her like a shadow, but kept his distance.

“It’s all because of him, isn’t it?” he suddenly asked. “Your brother turned you against me?”

Marina turned to him, her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and disdain.

“You still don’t get it,” she shook her head. “It’s not about Stas. It’s about you. About what you did. About what you’ve been doing to me.”

“I’ll change,” Viktor whispered. “I swear I will…”

“Yes, you’ll change, but what direction you’re going in is unclear. And I don’t want to find out the hard way.”

She left the bedroom, leaving Viktor standing in shock. A minute later, the front door slammed shut.

Viktor slowly sank onto the bed, feeling the pain from the beatings mix with the pain of realizing that he had probably lost his wife forever. And what was worse — he knew he deserved it…”

Dima had dreamed of becoming a doctor for as long as he could remember. But life seemed determined to throw obstacles in his way. First, his father died unexpectedly — a loss that knocked the solid ground out from under his feet. Then his mother fell ill: nerves and the constant struggle of working two jobs took their toll. Naturally, he failed the medical school entrance exams. And now, for the second year, he was working as an orderly at the regional hospital, still hoping that someday he would don the white coat.

The day started as usual — cleaning, transporting patients, and endless running through corridors. But after lunch, he was unexpectedly asked to see the head of the therapeutic department — Andrey Pavlovich.

“Dima, there’s a delicate matter,” the doctor began without unnecessary words, looking closely at the young man. “There’s a woman here, Lidiya Semyonovna. Very ill. She has a grandson, also named Dima — your namesake. Only… he hasn’t seen her for a long time, and she would so much like to see him at least once before she leaves us. We thought… maybe you would agree to play his role? At least for her peace of mind.”

Dima froze. A lie? And not just a lie, but a full-on masquerade?

“Andrey Pavlovich, I’m not sure… It feels wrong,” he murmured.

“Sometimes a lie can be kind,” the department head answered softly. “Think about it. For her, this will be the last comfort. And you’ll just help someone to pass away peacefully.”

Dima hesitated. His conscience whispered it was wrong. But the image of a lonely old woman waiting for her beloved grandson wouldn’t leave him alone. In the end, he nodded. The nurses quickly gathered information about the real Dima — his childhood hobbies, where he studied, favorite phrases. The strange play for the sole audience member began.

In the evening, exhausted after talking with the head doctor, Dima went to the store to buy bread and milk for his mother. She still needed help. On his way home, he unexpectedly bumped into Marina — a girl from the neighboring building who he had liked for a long time. Lighthearted, cheerful, with a smile that could melt even the grayest mood.

“Hi, Dima! Where have you been hiding?” she smiled.

The conversation started easily — about trivial things, about a movie currently playing in theaters. Unexpectedly, Dima suggested going together. To his surprise and delight, Marina agreed:

“Saturday — perfect!”

On the way home, he smiled. Just the thought of the date with Marina made the day brighter. Maybe a new chapter was really starting in his life? Maybe he would finally find his own true happiness? That thought gave him hope, helping him believe everything was still possible.

The next day, after finishing his shift and changing into civilian clothes, Dima went into Lidiya Semyonovna’s hospital room. His heart pounded as if it would burst from his chest. He was afraid they would see through him right away. But the woman — small, thin, but with lively eyes — looked at him with a long gaze and faintly smiled:

“Dimochka… you came, dear…”

Dima felt a weight lift from his heart — she believed him. He sat down next to her, and their first conversation flowed naturally. He didn’t expect to feel like anything other than an actor, but almost genuinely. Lidiya Semyonovna spoke about life, the past, death — calmly, without fear.

Each day he came more often. Brought water, adjusted her pillow, simply sat nearby. Once she asked if he had a girlfriend. Dima thought of Marina and felt a little embarrassed. Grandma smiled understandingly:

“Tell me later how the date went. I’m curious to hear about love, too.”

However, the Saturday date ended quite differently than he had dreamed. After the movie, they walked through the park, and Marina suddenly became serious.

“Dima, you’re a good guy, really. But we’re different. I want to leave, see the world, make a career… And you… you’re an orderly. It’s important work, of course, but… not for me.”

She didn’t finish, but Dima understood everything. His salary, his struggles, his uncertain future — all that had become a wall between them.

He silently walked her home. When he returned, his mother asked how it went. Dima just waved his hand:

“Nothing came of it.”

His mother sighed. She had never approved of his involvement in the “grandson” story.

“Dima, I understand you wanted to help, but it’s not our business. Other people’s hopes, other people’s expectations… Don’t take on more than you can handle.”

He was silent. Inside, he felt empty. Marina reminded him how far his life was from his dream, and his mother’s words only deepened his guilt toward Lidiya Semyonovna.

The next day, Dima came again to the old woman. He tried to look cheerful, but Lidiya Semyonovna immediately noticed something was wrong.

“What happened, grandson? Did the girl hurt you?”

And then he told her. About how he dreamed, how he was wrong, how he was too far from her dream. Lidiya Semyonovna listened, nodding, then said:

“Love, Dimochka, is different. Don’t chase the one that shines. You need the one that warms.”

Then she took out an old photo album from her bedside table.

“Take it. These are pictures of my son, Alexey… your father. Look — keep the memories. I don’t need them anymore.”

Her voice trembled, and Dima understood: today was their farewell. Not only with her, but with part of his illusions.

At home that evening, he began flipping through the album. A young man with an open smile looked out from yellowed photos. Alexey — a man he only knew by legend. Suddenly, his gaze stopped on one picture — a group photo, clearly from university. Among others stood a woman. Young, beautiful, with a broad smile… Dima froze. That was his mother.

He caught his breath. This couldn’t be a coincidence. So Alexey and his mother knew each other. So there was a connection. But if so — why had she never told anything? Why had she kept this secret all these years?

Thousands of questions swirled in his head. He had to find out the truth. Right now. He jumped up and ran home. Waiting was no longer an option.

Dima practically ran out of the hospital. What he would say to his mother — he didn’t yet know. Passing by the doctors’ lounge, he heard muffled voices. The door was slightly ajar, and he recognized Andrey Pavlovich’s tone.

“…yes, we’ll increase the dose gradually — no one will suspect a thing. We’ll blame it on worsening condition. She has a good inheritance, and this official grandson of hers is already nervous, waiting for her to ‘calm down.’”

Then another voice — sharp, nasty, clearly through a loudspeaker: “Just act decisively, Pavlovich. I’m fed up with the delays. The old woman’s time is long overdue.”

Dima’s heart stopped. A conspiracy! They were deliberately speeding her death. His own grandmother, to whom he had grown close, was in danger for the sake of an inheritance. A wave of panic overwhelmed him. But there was no time to be afraid — he had to act.

He shot out of the hospital like a bullet and rushed home. Bursting into the apartment, he immediately showed the photo to his mother:

“Mom, who is this?! Who is Alexey really?!”

Seeing the photo and noticing how pale her son was from excitement, the mother herself turned pale. Then words poured out of her like a broken dam.

Alexey was her first and only love. They were going to get married, but Lidiya Semyonovna, his mother, was categorically against the union. She believed her son deserved someone ‘above,’ not a simple girl from the outskirts.

When his mother became pregnant, Alexey offered to leave. He wanted to protect his beloved from family pressure. But their happiness was cut short by tragedy — he died in an accident when Dima was not yet a year old. Left alone, without means or support, she had to temporarily give the child to an orphanage while she looked for work and strength to start over.

She wrote to Lidiya Semyonovna, asking her at least to acknowledge the grandson, but the woman, crushed by the loss of her son and her pride, never replied.

Listening to his mother, Dima felt the old world crumble and a new one arise in its place. Lidiya Semyonovna — his real grandmother! And now they wanted to take her life!

“Mom, we have to help her!” he said decisively.

Late at night, when the hospital corridors emptied, Dima and his mother quietly entered Lidiya Semyonovna’s room. She was weak but clear-minded.

“Dimochka… And who’s with you?” she whispered, noticing the woman nearby.

“Lidiya Semyonovna… It’s me… Katya…” his mother said with a trembling voice. “You don’t remember me? I loved your Alyosha… And this is your grandson. Your real grandson — Dima.”

In a few minutes, they tried to tell everything: about the past, the conspiracy, the mortal danger. The old woman’s eyes widened in shock, then filled with tears.

“My dear grandson… And you’re here, Katyenka…”

But there was no time for explanations.

“Grandma, we have to leave. Right now!” urged Dima.

They quickly gathered a few things, gently helped Lidiya Semyonovna stand, and led her out through the service exit where a taxi awaited. Along the way, she didn’t let go of Dima’s hand, as if afraid to lose him again.

That night was crazy and at the same time happy for all three — a woman who had lost her family found it again, and two generations, separated by years and secrets, finally found each other.

Several months passed. Andrey Pavlovich and his accomplice were investigated — thanks to the testimony of a nurse whom Dima trusted with his suspicion.

Lidiya Semyonovna slowly but surely recovered. In the small apartment of Dima and his mother, she felt something she hadn’t known for many years — love, care, belonging. For the first time in his life, Dima understood the meaning of the word “family.”

In the evenings, grandmother told him stories about his father, showed childhood photos. That’s how he learned the face of a man who was so close to him, but had long remained only a stranger’s legend. His mother also seemed to come alive, freed from the secret she had carried for years.

One day, the phone rang. The screen showed the name — Marina.

“Hi, Dima. I was thinking… Maybe we could meet?” she hesitantly suggested.

Dima smirked a little.

“Sorry, Marinachka, I’m busy. I have a completely different life now.”

And indeed — he had not only found new love, but also met a girl who understood him — Katya, a student at the medical college. She didn’t demand much, only was ready to be by his side.

In the warm atmosphere at the family table in the evening: his mother fussed with tea, grandmother told a funny story, and Katya looked at Dima with understanding and warmth. He looked around at all of them — and felt what true happiness was.

Yes, he was still not a doctor, and the white coat hung in the closet as a symbol of an unrealized dream. But today he knew one thing for sure: true purpose is not a profession or a career, but the people who love you. And he had found his path — the path of family, faith, and truth.

He was no longer the lost boy he once was. He had become grown-up, steadfast, strong. And was ready to face each new day with hope, love, and an open heart.

Seven in the morning. Who the hell could be calling at seven on a Saturday morning? Marina groped for the phone on the nightstand without opening her eyes.

— Hello?

— Marinushka, dear, it’s me, Valeria Petrovna. Mikhail Semyonovich and I are already on our way up to you. Don’t worry, we have the keys.

Marina sat up in bed as if shocked by an electric current. Her mind wasn’t fully awake yet, but something in her mother-in-law’s voice made her uneasy. She sounded way too cheerful for such an early hour.

— Valeria Petrovna, who… who is Mikhail Semyonovich?

— Oh, dear, he’s the appraiser! We agreed with Igoryochka yesterday… Oh, it seems he didn’t tell you? Well, no worries, we’ll explain everything now!

The line went dead. Marina stared at the phone, feeling a tight knot form inside her. An appraiser? What kind of appraiser? And most importantly — why?

Next to her, Igor was snoring soundly after last night’s party. Marina shook him by the shoulder.

— Igor! Igor, get up immediately!

— Mmm… what… Marin, let me sleep…

— Your mother is coming here with some appraiser! What does this mean?

Igor opened one eye, and Marina saw something in it… fear? guilt? He quickly turned away.

— I don’t know… probably something about grandma’s inheritance…

— Igor, look at me. LOOK AT ME!

He reluctantly turned around. Marina had known her husband for five years and could easily tell when he was lying. And he was lying now.

The doorbell interrupted their conversation. Or rather, not a doorbell — a long trill, like someone decided to play Mendelssohn’s Wedding March on the doorbell.

Marina threw on a robe and went to open the door. Through the peephole, she saw her smiling mother-in-law and an unfamiliar middle-aged man with a briefcase.

— Marinushka, my sunshine! — chirped Valeria Petrovna as soon as the door opened. — How are you? How do you feel? Don’t worry, we’ll be quick and everything will be fine!

She walked into the hallway without asking permission and gestured for the man to follow her.

— Meet Mikhail Semyonovich Krylov, a real estate appraiser. A very experienced specialist, he’s been working for about twenty years.

Mikhail Semyonovich extended his hand and looked at Marina with an apologetic smile. It was clear he felt uncomfortable.

— Hello… Honestly, I thought you knew…

— Knew what? — Marina’s voice grew harsher. — Valeria Petrovna, please explain what is going on.

— Oh, what is there to explain! — waved her mother-in-law. — Igor and I decided to arrange a deed of gift. So that everything is honest, fair. The apartment is good, big, and what if something happens… God forbid, of course! But you never know…

Marina felt the blood drain from her face. The apartment was bought with her money. Money she had saved for three years working sixty hours a week in an advertising agency. Money from selling her mother’s jewelry after her death. Every ruble of that apartment was hers.

— Igor! — she shouted. — COME HERE!

Her husband appeared in the hallway, pulling on jeans. His eyes darted nervously, guilty.

“The apartment is mine!” — the mother-in-law brought an appraiser at 7 am. The daughter-in-law’s response shocked everyone

— Igor, dear, — the mother said softly, — tell your wife how we talked yesterday. She’s a smart girl, she’ll understand everything.

— Mom, I told you, we should’ve talked to Marina first…

— Oh, nonsense! What’s there to fuss about between family! And besides, Mikhail Semyonovich took the time and made an appointment with us…

Marina raised her hand, stopping the flow of words.

— Stop. Everyone stop. Mikhail Semyonovich, with your permission, I want to see the documents. Both yours and the appraisal request.

The appraiser glanced at Valeria Petrovna, then at Igor.

— Well… the request was submitted by your husband… as a co-owner…

— Co-owner? — Marina felt something break inside. — Igor, what did you tell them?

— I… well… we are married… it’s our common property…

— NO! — Marina shouted so loudly everyone flinched. — Not common! The apartment is registered in my name. In MY name alone. According to the purchase contract, with MY money!

She went to the bedroom and came back with a folder of documents.

— Mikhail Semyonovich, here is the certificate of ownership. See? The sole owner is Ivanova Marina Andreevna. Now show me the document that gives my husband the right to dispose of MY apartment.

The appraiser carefully examined the papers, then looked guiltily at Igor.

— I… Sorry, but here it really shows only one owner. If the spouse does not give consent…

— Marinushka, — Valeria Petrovna’s voice grew syrupy, — why are you acting like a stranger? We’re one family! And think about it yourself — what if something happens to you? You never know… Igoryochka might end up with nothing!

— What if something happens to Igor? — Marina retorted. — Am I supposed to go out on the street?

— Oh, come on! — her mother-in-law threw up her hands. — I’m his mother! I won’t let anyone hurt my son! And you… you’re young, beautiful, you’ll marry again…

Silence fell so heavy you could hear the ticking clock in the kitchen. Marina looked at her mother-in-law, then at her husband. Pain showed on his face, but he was silent.

— I understand, — Marina said quietly. — Mikhail Semyonovich, sorry for the trouble. No one will be appraising anyone. There will be no deeds of gift.

— But Marinushka…

— Valeria Petrovna, — Marina’s voice turned icy, — you brought a stranger into MY apartment at seven on a Saturday morning to appraise MY property without MY consent. To force me to give MY apartment to YOUR son. Am I right?

— Well… it’s not that categorical…

— Exactly that. And do you know what that’s called? Fraud. And extortion.

Valeria Petrovna flushed crimson.

— How dare you! I’m a mother! I care about my son’s future!

— You care about the apartment. A free apartment. — Marina opened the door. — Mikhail Semyonovich, all the best. Sorry for wasting your time.

The appraiser hurriedly gathered his papers.

— It happens… Goodbye.

When he left, Marina closed the door and turned to her mother-in-law.

— Now let’s speak frankly. Valeria Petrovna, have you ever invested a single kopek into this apartment?

— What does money have to do with it! It’s about family!

— Family? Fine. Igor, — she turned to her husband, — explain how you could make arrangements with your mother about MY apartment behind my back?

Igor swallowed.

— Marin, well… Mom worries… she thinks about the future…

— What future? About throwing me out of my own apartment?

— Not that! — Valeria Petrovna couldn’t take it anymore. — You see how he is! Soft, kind… Any woman would deceive him! And the apartment — it’s at least some guarantee!

— A guarantee from me, huh? — Marina laughed bitterly. — So I’m a threat?

— Well… things happen… divorces…

— Oh, I see! — Marina clapped her hands. — So you’re already planning our divorce! And want to protect your son in advance!

— Marinushka, what are you talking about! What divorce! We only want the best!

— The best? You want me to give the apartment, bought with my money, to your son. So I’ll live there like a tenant. Is that your “best”?

Valeria Petrovna pressed her lips tight.

— You’re ungrateful. Igor married you, gave you his last name…

— STOP! — Marina shouted. — That’s enough! Igor, — she turned to her husband, — you have two minutes to choose. Either you tell your mother right now that the apartment is mine and will remain mine, or you both get out of here.

— Marin, don’t be so hot-headed… let’s talk calmly…

— Calmly? CALMLY?! You burst into my apartment with an appraiser to take away my home, and I’m supposed to stay calm?

— Not take away, but… transfer the ownership…

— IN YOUR NAME! That’s taking it away!

Igor looked confused, glancing between his mother and wife.

— Mom, maybe it’s really not worth it… we can do it later…

— Later won’t come! — Marina cut him off. — Igor, I want to hear from you right now: whose apartment is this?

— Well… yours, of course…

— And whose will it be?

— Yours…

— And I won’t put anyone else on the deed?

— You won’t…

Valeria Petrovna looked at her son in horror.

— Igor! What are you saying! She’s wrapping you around her finger! You’re a man!

— He’s a man who respects his wife’s rights, — Marina said firmly. — Or should respect. Valeria Petrovna, it’s time for you to go.

— What — go? I’m his mother! I have the right…

— You have the right to visit us by invitation. At a time convenient for US. Not to barge in early in the morning with strangers.

— Igor, do you hear this? She’s kicking me out!

Igor fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot.

— Mom, maybe… come later…

— Later? — Valeria Petrovna exploded. — I have been here for you all my life! I raised you alone! I sacrificed everything! And this… this bitch…

— OUT! — Marina yelled. — OUT OF MY HOUSE!

— Don’t you dare shout at me!

— I will shout! THIS IS MY HOME! And if you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police!

Marina grabbed the phone.

— Hello, police? I have a domestic disturbance, unlawful entry…

— What are you doing! — Igor snatched the phone from her. — No police!

— Then get out with your mommy.

— What — get out? Marin, I live here…

— You lived here. Until you decided to take away my apartment.

— But I didn’t want to… Mom said…

— Mom said! — Marina mocked. — You’re thirty-two, Igor! Thirty-two! And you still listen to mommy!

Valeria Petrovna took her son by the arm.

— Igoryochka, let’s go. It’s not worth dealing with such… ungratefulness. I have a sofa at my place.

— Fine, — said Marina. — Make yourselves comfortable on the sofa. And leave the keys.

— What keys?

— The ones you used to get in here without permission.

Igor reluctantly put the keys on the nightstand.

— Marin, this is silly… where will I live?

— That’s your problem. My problem is to protect my property from encroachments.

— But we’re husband and wife!

— Husband and wife are a partnership based on trust. And you betrayed that trust.

Igor looked at her, confused.

— Marin, it can’t be like this… because of an apartment…

— Not because of the apartment. Because of lies. Because you decided my matters without me. Because your mother’s opinion is more important to you than your wife’s.

— But she’s my mother…

— And who am I? A servant?

Valeria Petrovna pulled her son toward the exit.

— Igor, don’t humiliate yourself! Look how she’s become! She’s lost her mind over the apartment!

When the door closed behind them, Marina leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor. Her hands trembled, her chest burned. Five years of marriage. Five years she thought she had a family.

But it turned out — she had an apartment. And that was apparently the main thing.

The phone rang around eight in the evening. It was Igor.

— Marin, hi… How are you?

— Fine.

— Listen… I thought… maybe we argued for nothing?

— Igor, did you think that yourself or did your mother?

— Myself! Honestly! Marin, let’s make up… I didn’t mean to hurt you…

— What did you want then?

Pause.

— Well… Mom worries about my future…

— Uh-huh. So again mom.

— No, not again! I understand myself that I shouldn’t have decided without you…

— Igor, answer honestly: if I had agreed this morning to transfer the apartment to you, would you have minded?

Long silence.

— Well… I wouldn’t have minded…

— I see. Igor, until you understand the difference between a wife and a temporary tenant, we have nothing to talk about.

— Marin, it’s not like that…

— Exactly like that. Good night.

She hung up and turned off the phone.

Outside, the city lights burned. Somewhere in one of the apartments, Valeria Petrovna was explaining to her son what a bitch his wife was. Somewhere else, Igor was thinking about how to return to the warm apartment without losing his mother’s approval.

And here, in her apartment, sat Marina. Alone. But in her own place. Bought with her money, her labor, her sacrifices.

And for the first time in many years, she felt truly free.

In the morning, she would change the locks. Then call a lawyer — to find out how to protect herself from situations like this in the future. And also think whether it’s worth tying her life to a man who at thirty-two still can’t choose between his wife and his mother.

But that’s tomorrow. Today, she just sat in her apartment, drank tea, and thought that sometimes losing a family is the only way to save yourself.

Money, of course, isn’t the most important thing in life. But when it comes to protecting your own dignity, even an apartment can become a fortress.

And Marina was ready to defend her fortress.

Anya had always felt like a stranger in her own home. Her mother clearly favored her older sisters — Vika and Yulia — showing them much more care and warmth. This injustice deeply hurt the girl, but she kept her resentment inside, constantly trying to please her mother and get at least a little closer to her love.

“Don’t even dream of living with me! The apartment will go to your sisters. And you’ve looked at me like a wolf cub since childhood. So live wherever you want!” — with these words, her mother kicked Anya out of the house as soon as she turned eighteen.

Anya tried to argue, to explain that it was unfair. Vika was only three years older, and Yulia five. Both had finished university paid for by their mother; no one had rushed them to become independent. But Anya had always been the odd one out. Despite all her efforts to be “good,” in the family she was loved only superficially — if that can be called love at all. Only her grandfather treated her kindly. He was the one who had taken in his pregnant daughter after her husband abandoned them and disappeared without a trace.

“Maybe Mom is worried about my sister? They say I look a lot like her,” Anya thought, trying to find an explanation for her mother’s coldness. She had tried several times to have an honest talk with her mother, but each time it ended in a scandal or a tantrum.

But her grandfather was a real support to her. Her best childhood memories were linked to the village where they spent summers. Anya loved working in the garden and vegetable patch, learned to milk cows, bake pies — anything to delay going back home, where every day she was met with contempt and reproaches.

“Grandpa, why does no one love me? What’s wrong with me?” she often asked, holding back tears.

“I love you very much,” he answered gently but never said a word about her mother or sisters.

Little Anya wanted to believe he was right, that she was loved, just in a special way… But when she turned ten, her grandfather died, and since then the family treated her even worse. Her sisters mocked her, and her mother always sided with them.

From that day on, she never got anything new — only hand-me-down clothes from Vika and Yulia. They mocked her:

“Oh, what a fashionable top! Wipe the floor or for Anya — whatever’s needed!”

And if their mother bought sweets, the sisters ate everything themselves, handing Anya just the wrappers:

“Here, silly, collect the wrappers!”

Her mother heard it all but never scolded them. That’s how Anya grew up as a “wolf cub” — unnecessary, always begging for love from people who saw her not just as worthless but as an object of mockery and dislike. The harder she tried to be good, the more they hated her.

That’s why, when her mother kicked her out on her eighteenth birthday, Anya found work as a hospital orderly. Endurance and hard work became her habit, and now at least she was paid — though little. But here, no one hated her. If you’re not met with malice where you’re kind, that’s already progress. That’s what she thought.

Her employer even gave her a chance to get a scholarship and train as a surgeon. In the small town, such specialists were sorely needed, and Anya had already shown talent while working as a nurse.

Life was hard. By twenty-seven, she had no close relatives. Work became her whole life — literally. She lived for the patients whose lives she saved. But the feeling of loneliness never left her: she lived alone in a dormitory, just like before.

Visiting her mother and sisters was a constant disappointment. Anya tried to go as rarely as possible. Everyone would go out to smoke and gossip, and she would go to the porch to cry.

One day at such a moment, a colleague — orderly Grisha — approached her:

“Why are you crying, beautiful?”

“What beautiful… Don’t mock me,” Anya answered quietly.

She considered herself plain, a gray mouse, not even noticing that at almost thirty she had become a petite charming blonde with big blue eyes and a neat nose. The awkwardness of youth had disappeared, her shoulders straightened, and her light hair, tied in a strict bun, seemed to want to break free.

“You’re actually very beautiful! Value yourself and don’t hang your head. Besides, you’re a promising surgeon, and your life is shaping up well,” he encouraged her.

Grisha had worked with her for almost two years, sometimes giving her chocolates, but this was their first real talk. Anya cried and told him everything.

“Maybe you should call Dmitry Alekseevich? The one you recently saved. He treats you well. They say he has many connections,” Grisha suggested.

“Thanks, Grish. I’ll try,” Anya replied.

“And if that doesn’t work, we can get married. I have an apartment, won’t mistreat you,” he said jokingly.

Anya blushed and suddenly realized he was serious. He saw not a pitiful orphan, but a woman who deserved love.

“All right. I’ll consider that option too,” she smiled, feeling for the first time in a long time that she was not a “workhorse” or unnecessary, but a beautiful young woman with everything still ahead of her.

That same evening, Anya dialed Dmitry Alekseevich’s number:

“This is Anya, the surgeon. You gave me your number and said I could contact you if there were problems…” she began and hesitated.

“Anya! Greetings! How wonderful that you finally called! How are you? Although, you know, let’s better meet. Come over, we’ll have some tea and talk about everything. We, older folks, like to chat,” the man warmly replied.

The next day was Anya’s day off, so she went to see him immediately. She honestly told him about her situation and asked if he knew anyone in need of a live-in caregiver.

“You understand, Dmitry Alekseevich, I’m used to hard work, but now I feel like I just can’t take it anymore…”

“Don’t worry, Anechka! I can get you a surgeon’s job in a private clinic. And you’ll live with me. Without you, I wouldn’t be here now,” he said.

“Oh, of course, Dmitry Alekseevich, I agree! But your relatives won’t mind?”

“My relatives come only when I’m gone. They only care about the apartment,” the man replied sadly.

So they started living together. Two years passed, and a romance blossomed between her and Grisha, often continuing over cups of tea. But Dmitry Alekseevich didn’t like Grisha and never missed a chance to tell Anya:

“Sorry, dear, but Grisha is a good guy, just weak and too impressionable. You can’t rely on someone like that. Try not to get too attached to him.”

“Oh, Dmitry Alekseevich… It’s too late. We’ve already decided to get married. By the way, he jokingly proposed to me two years ago. And now I’m pregnant…” Anya joyfully announced, almost glowing with happiness. She had learned this news recently but immediately added, “But you’re still very important to me! I’ll visit every day. You’re like family to me.”

“Well, Anyutka… I’m not feeling well. Here’s what we’ll do: tomorrow we’ll go to the notary, and I’ll register a house in the village in your name. You’ve always loved rural life. Maybe it will be your dacha… or you can sell it if you want.”

He hesitated, not finishing his sentence, and frowned.

Anya tried to object: it was too much, he would live a long time yet, better to leave the house to his children. Although in the last two years they had visited him only once. But Dmitry Alekseevich was adamant.

Anya was shocked when she found out that the house was in the very village where her beloved grandfather had lived! His house had long been demolished, the plot sold, and strangers lived there now. But the fact she now had her own little corner there stirred warm feelings and memories.

“I don’t deserve this, but thank you very much, Dmitry Alekseevich!” she sincerely thanked him.

“Only one thing: don’t tell Grisha the house is in your name. And don’t ask why. Can I ask this of you?”

He looked serious, and Anya nodded, promising to comply. How to explain the origin of the house to Grisha was still an open question, but she could say she had reconciled with her mother.

Later, Anya learned that Dmitry Alekseevich, besides suffering stroke consequences, also had cancer. He refused surgery. In the end, Anya helped organize his funeral and moved in with her future husband.

Problems began closer to the seventh month of pregnancy — by then they had already lived together for six months.

“Maybe you should work a bit? Before the baby is born,” Grisha suggested.

By that time, Anya had temporarily left the clinic where Dmitry Alekseevich had gotten her a job. She thought she could live on savings, counting on Grisha’s support. But his words surprised and hurt her.

“Well… maybe…” she answered uncertainly. It was unpleasant since she bought the groceries, and Grisha turned out to be stingy. But the child was growing in her belly, and she didn’t want to give up the wedding.

But a week before the scheduled celebration, while Grisha was not home, an unfamiliar woman entered their apartment with her own key.

“Hello. I’m Lena. Grisha and I love each other, and he’s just afraid to tell you. So I’ll say it: you’re no longer needed,” said a tall, skinny blonde confidently and assertively.

“What?! Our wedding is in a few days! We’ve paid for everything!” Anya stammered in confusion. She had taken on most of the expenses to hold a modest celebration at a café.

“I know. No problem. Grisha will marry me. I have connections at the registry office; we’ll arrange everything quickly,” Lena brazenly declared, as if it was already decided.

Lena didn’t plan to leave. When Grisha appeared, he only muttered:

“Anya, sorry… Yes, it’s true. I’ll help with the baby but can’t marry you.”

“We’ll do a paternity test,” Lena added, putting her hand on Grisha’s shoulder.

“What paternity test?! You’re my first and only!” Anya shouted and rushed at him with fists.

“She’ll scratch you up, silly! She’s almost thirty but acts like a little girl!” Lena scoffed.

Grisha stood silently, not defending Anya, just awkwardly looking down. It became clear: everything depended on Lena; he was just a passive observer.

Anya began packing her things. There was no point fighting for a man who easily gave up on her. Lena added that she and Grisha had dated long ago — she was married then but now free. Anya was just a temporary replacement until the “dream woman” was available.

She could have demanded explanations from Grisha, but what was the point if he let Lena come and do it for him?

“So the house came in handy after all,” Anya thought.

The house really was good, though it had no running water. But the stove was excellent — her grandfather had taught Anya everything needed for village life. It was livable. Only how to give birth alone? Well, there was still time; she would figure something out.

Firewood was stocked, the shed was sturdy, and even snow lay in front of the entrance, ready to be cleared. The woodpiles were full — a real find in such cold!

It was good Dmitry Alekseevich had introduced her in advance to the neighbors as the new mistress and wife of his son. No unnecessary questions.

Anya, of course, called her mother and sisters. As usual, they didn’t disappoint — they advised her to give the baby to an orphanage and “next time don’t get involved with just anyone before the wedding.” They also gossiped about how Grisha hadn’t returned the money for the wedding, half of which she had paid.

But no one knew about the house. Now Anya could hide from everyone and gather herself.

It was terribly cold; she didn’t even take off her down jacket. But when she began raking the coals in the stove, she noticed the poker hit something hard.

Anya took off her gloves and pulled out a wooden box that had been blocking the firewood. It was neatly sealed, with large letters on the lid: “Anya, this is for you.” She recognized the handwriting immediately — Dmitry Alekseevich’s.

Inside were photos, a letter, and a small box. Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope and began to read:

“Dear Anechka! You should know that I was your grandfather’s brother. And one of those he asked to take care of you.”

From the letter, it became clear: many years ago there was a serious rift between the grandfather and Dmitry, but before dying, the elder brother found him and asked him to find Anya after she turned eighteen. He also left her an inheritance that his daughter would hardly ever give away.

Dmitry could not find Anya immediately — her mother and sisters hid her address. But fate brought them together in the hospital when he was undergoing treatment and she was his doctor. He wanted to tell her everything earlier but didn’t have time. So he decided to give her the house that her grandfather had bought from him while alive, knowing his daughter would never leave anything to the granddaughter.

Another shock awaited in the letter: it turned out her mother was not her biological mother. Anya was the daughter of her late sister, whom she hated and envied. In the photo — young mother and father, smiling, hugging a little girl. Anya survived because she was with her grandfather on the day of the accident.

In the box lay five-thousand-ruble notes left by the grandfather. Touching them warmed her heart. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Now she and her baby were safe!

When Anya lit the stove, it seemed to her that all her fears, betrayals, and resentments disappeared in the flames. She would start over — for the baby and for herself.

Of course, in time she would forgive those who hurt her. But she was done with them. This house would be her refuge.

Dmitry Alekseevich always said a good house should belong to someone who values it. He said he built it in his youth with his own hands, from the best materials.

“Not a house, but a wonder! It will stand for two hundred years!” he often repeated. The village was reachable by bus — two stops away.

Yes, the pay was low, and help with the baby was still uncertain. But the main thing — she had a roof over her head, savings, a profession. She was young, beautiful, and she would have a son!

For the first time, Anya felt she was truly a happy person.

Lisa knew that planning a wedding was a nerve-wracking business. She had read articles about it, listened to friends. But no one warned her that the biggest problem wouldn’t be the cost of the restaurant or choosing a photographer, but her future mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna. The woman seemed to have made it her mission to turn every day of preparation into a test of endurance.

“This dress doesn’t suit you,” Valentina Petrovna declared when Lisa showed her photos of the wedding outfit. “It’s too revealing. In our family, brides dressed more modestly.”

Lisa clenched her phone in her hand, feeling her jaw muscles tense. The dress was quite decent—covered shoulders, floor length. But she didn’t argue.

“All right, Valentina Petrovna. I’ll think about it.”

“And this menu of yours…” the mother-in-law continued, flipping through restaurant printouts. “Who’s going to eat these foreign salads? People are used to proper food. Olivier, herring under a fur coat. Everyone understands that.”

Maxim, Lisa’s fiancé, sat nearby in silence. Sometimes he nodded to his mother, sometimes he gently stroked Lisa’s hand to reassure her. When Valentina Petrovna went to the kitchen to brew tea, he whispered:

“Don’t pay attention. Mom’s just worried. She wants everything to be perfect.”

“Maxim, your mother criticizes every decision we make,” Lisa replied quietly. “The dress, the menu, the flowers, the music. Only the guests are left, and I’m sure she’ll find something to say about them too.”

“Oh, come on. She means well.”

Means well. Lisa had heard those words a hundred times already. When Valentina Petrovna objected to fresh flowers in the bouquet—means well. When she demanded to invite her friends whom Lisa didn’t even know—also means well. Apparently, in Valentina Petrovna’s mind, doing good meant turning someone else’s wedding into an expression of her own ideas of how things should be.

The guest list became the next battlefield. Lisa had carefully put it together—relatives, friends, colleagues. Forty people, just as planned. But Valentina Petrovna made her own adjustments.

“And where is my cousin Klavdiya Ivanovna?” the mother-in-law asked, studying the list. “And neighbor Uncle Petr? He’s lived next to us for forty years.”

“Valentina Petrovna, we agreed on a small wedding,” Lisa explained. “The restaurant is designed for a certain number of people.”

“Then remove someone from your side. My relatives must not be offended.”

Maxim was silent again. Lisa looked at her fiancé, hoping for support, but he looked away. In the end, they had to exclude two of Lisa’s friends to make room for distant relatives of Valentina Petrovna, whom Lisa had seen maybe twice in her life.

The day before the wedding, when Lisa thought all major decisions were made, Valentina Petrovna called with new demands.

“Lisa, dear,” the mother-in-law’s voice was syrupy, but Lisa had learned to detect a catch in that tone. “I looked at the seating chart. They put me at the edge. That’s not right.”

“Where would you like to sit?”

“Next to the newlyweds, of course. I am the groom’s mother. The most important guest after you.”

Lisa closed her eyes and counted to ten. The seats next to the couple were given to the bride’s parents and the witnesses. Logical and traditional. But apparently, Valentina Petrovna thought traditions should bend to her wishes.

“All right,” Lisa gave in. “We’ll figure something out.”

“That’s my girl. I told you—it all must be right.”

“Right,” according to Valentina Petrovna, meant a complete reshuffle of guests. Lisa’s parents moved one seat over, the witness was moved across the table. It wasn’t very comfortable, but the mother-in-law was pleased.

On the morning of the wedding, Lisa woke up to a call. The clock showed half past six. It was Valentina Petrovna.

“Lisa, sorry for the early call. I have something important.”

Lisa sat up in bed, trying to fully wake up.

“I’m listening.”

“I was thinking about Maxim’s speech. He must thank me for his upbringing. And also say that without a mother’s blessing the family won’t be happy.”

“Valentina Petrovna, Maxim wrote the speech himself. We’ve rehearsed it several times.”

“Rehearsals don’t matter! Content is what counts. Write down what he must say.”

Lisa wrote it down. Then rewrote it when Valentina Petrovna called back in half an hour with additions. And the third time, the mother-in-law called from the hairdresser’s to check if Maxim would remember to mention family traditions.

“Did your mother call?” Maxim asked when they met at the registry office.

“Three times. With important corrections to your speech.”

“Oh, that. Well, I’ll say something suitable. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry. Another classic Maxim phrase. As if problems disappear if ignored. But today was the wedding, and Lisa decided not to worry—at least for a few hours.

The ceremony at the registry office was solemn. Lisa recited her vows, looking into Maxim’s eyes, forgetting for a few minutes all the problems with preparation. This was why they had started all this—to officially become a family. But when it was the bride’s turn to speak, Valentina Petrovna sighed loudly.

Not just sighed, but loud enough for everyone to hear. And shook her head as if doubting what was happening. Lisa faltered for a second but continued the vow. Maxim pretended not to notice.

After the ceremony, the guests went to the restaurant. Valentina Petrovna commented on the car decorations all the way.

“My niece’s flowers were prettier. And the ribbons wider.”

At the restaurant, the banquet began. Lisa hoped that her mother-in-law would behave more restrainedly at the table. But Valentina Petrovna clearly believed that a wedding was the perfect place to voice opinions.

“The salad is oversalted,” the mother-in-law announced after tasting the appetizer. “And what kind of sauce is this? Too spicy. Who came up with this?”

Guests nearby exchanged glances. Lisa felt her face flush. Maxim smiled, pretending his mother was just expressing her opinion about the food. Although everyone else heard the criticism clearly.

“Valentina Petrovna, would you like to try the fish?” Lisa offered, hoping to distract her mother-in-law.

“The fish isn’t bad. But the garnish is raw. The cook must be young and inexperienced.”

The toastmaster tried to entertain the guests with games and toasts. Valentina Petrovna participated actively, but each game was accompanied by comments about how such entertainment was done at weddings in their family. Naturally, better.

“Our toastmaster was a real actor,” the mother-in-law told the guest at her table. “Not like now. Young people don’t know how to organize celebrations.”

Lisa clenched a napkin in her hand, trying to keep smiling. Maxim leaned over to his wife from time to time and whispered:

“Hold on a bit more. It’ll be over soon.”

But it seemed Valentina Petrovna was just getting started. After the main courses, the toastmaster invited guests to give wishes to the newlyweds. Several friends gave warm speeches. Lisa’s parents wished happiness and mutual understanding. And then Valentina Petrovna stood up.

“May I have a word?” she addressed the toastmaster. “On behalf of the groom’s family.”

“Of course!” the host rejoiced. “The floor is given to the groom’s mother!”

Valentina Petrovna stood, took a glass, and scanned the hushed guests. Lisa felt her heart beat faster. Something in the mother-in-law’s expression suggested the speech would not be ordinary.

“Dear guests,” Valentina Petrovna began solemnly. “Today is a special day. My son Maxim has found a life partner.”

So far, so good. Lisa relaxed a little.

“Maxim is my golden boy. Smart, hardworking, caring. That’s the son I raised.”

Guests nodded in agreement. Maxim smiled modestly.

“And now he has a wife. Lisa.”

Valentina Petrovna turned to the bride, and something unkind flashed in her eyes.

“I hope Lisa will learn to cook with age. She can’t just sit in the office all the time. Family requires care, not a career.”

The hall froze. Lisa felt her cheeks flush. Valentina Petrovna continued, oblivious to the silence:

“A man needs a homemaker, not an office worker. To cook soup, clean the house, have children—that’s true female happiness. And these modern girls only think about work.”

Several guests exchanged confused glances. Someone nervously chuckled, unsure whether it was a joke or the mother-in-law was serious. Valentina Petrovna, encouraged by the reaction, went on.

“Of course, Lisa is still young and silly. But I will teach her right from wrong. Show her how a real wife should behave. The husband is the head of the family, the wife is his helper.”

Lisa’s friends sat with stone faces. The bride’s parents lowered their eyes to their plates. Maxim looked down at the table, clearly hoping his mother would stop herself. But Valentina Petrovna was in her element.

“I had university friends like that—all careerists. And where are they now? Lonely old maids. And I raised a wonderful son, created a strong family. Because I knew the priorities.”

Lisa slowly got up from the chair. The bride’s movements were calm, almost too calm. Valentina Petrovna, absorbed in her speech, didn’t notice what was happening in the hall.

“So I wish the young couple understanding. Maxim, be stricter with your wife. And you, Lisa, obey your husband and mother-in-law. Then the family will be strong.”

Lisa walked over to the table with the cake. The three-tiered beauty stood on a separate table, decorated with creamy roses and bride and groom figurines. The bride carefully removed the top tier with the decorative figures and took it in her hands.

The guests watched Lisa’s every move but didn’t yet understand what was happening. Valentina Petrovna finished the toast and raised her glass:

“To the newlyweds! To family traditions!”

At that moment, Lisa approached her mother-in-law and silently smashed the creamy top tier of the cake right into Valentina Petrovna’s face. White cream with roses smeared across the mother-in-law’s cheeks, nose, and forehead. Pieces of sponge stuck in her hair.

Valentina Petrovna screamed in surprise and recoiled so sharply that she fell back into her chair. Maxim turned pale and froze with his mouth open. The hall fell into complete silence for several seconds.

The first to clap was a young guy from Lisa’s friends. Then several others joined. Then the applause spread among the guests, exploding into an ovation mixed with whistles and cheers of approval.

“Bravo!” shouted someone from the table.

“About time!” added another voice.

Valentina Petrovna sat in shock, wiping cream from her face with a napkin. Cream had even gotten into her ears and on the collar of her dress. The bride and groom figurines lay on the floor next to her chair.

“Lisa! What are you doing?!” Maxim finally managed to say.

Lisa calmly put the rest of the cake on the table and headed for the exit. The bride’s movements were measured, without fuss or hysteria. The wedding dress rustled on the parquet floor, the veil fluttered behind her. Lisa reached the hall’s door, turned, and looked at the guests.

“Sorry for the disturbance. Please continue the celebration.”

The bride left the restaurant and stepped outside. The fresh evening air pleasantly cooled her heated face. Lisa sat down on a bench near the restaurant entrance and took a deep breath. Inside, she felt a strange relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

A few minutes later, Maxim ran out of the restaurant. The groom’s face showed a mixture of confusion, anger, and disbelief.

“Lisa! Are you crazy? How could you do that to my mother?”

Lisa looked at her husband calmly.

“If you wouldn’t stop your mother—I will defend myself.”

“But she’s my mother! You shouldn’t do that! In front of everyone! At our wedding!”

“Maxim, your mother humiliated me in front of the guests for half an hour. She said I was stupid, incompetent, that a career is bad. And you stayed silent.”

“But Mom didn’t mean to hurt you! She was just sharing her opinion!”

“Sharing her opinion?” Lisa stood up from the bench. “Maxim, your mother called me a silly girl who needs to be taught right and wrong. In front of all our friends and relatives. And you think that’s okay?”

“Well… maybe she didn’t express herself very well…”

“Not very well? Maxim, we plan to live together. If you can’t protect your wife from insults by your own mother, what kind of husband are you?”

Maxim was speechless and confused. Sounds and conversations of the guests came from the restaurant. The celebration continued—but without the newlyweds.

“Lisa, come back. Apologize to your mother, and everything will be fine.”

“Apologize? For what exactly?”

“Well… for the cake. It didn’t look good.”

“And who should your mother apologize to? For humiliating me at our wedding?”

Maxim was silent again. The answer was obvious—Valentina Petrovna was not going to apologize. And her son was not going to defend his wife from his mother’s attacks.

“I see,” Lisa said quietly. “Then I’m going home.”

“How home? We have a wedding! The guests are waiting! And the wedding night!”

“What wedding night, Maxim? After what happened today?”

Lisa called a taxi through an app on her phone. The car arrived quickly. Maxim stood nearby, not knowing what to say. The bride got into the car and left, leaving the groom alone near the restaurant.

At home, Lisa carefully took off her wedding dress, hung it in the closet, and changed into home clothes. She turned on the kettle, brewed herbal tea, and sat at the computer. Online she found information on how to annul a marriage in the first days after registration.

It turned out the procedure was quite simple. Lisa printed out a sample application and carefully filled in all the fields.

Maxim called several times, but Lisa did not answer. Then messages arrived:

“Lisa, what are you doing? Mom is shocked. The guests are asking where the bride is.”

“Mom says she’s ready to forgive you. Just apologize nicely.”

“Lisa, answer! We got married today!”

Lisa read the messages and turned off her phone. Tomorrow morning she would go to the registry office to file for annulment. And she would sell the wedding dress online—maybe she’d find a girl luckier with the groom’s family.

Outside, an ordinary evening of an ordinary day began. No one suspected that somewhere in the restaurant the wedding continued without the bride, while the culprit of the celebration calmly drank tea at home, planning a new life without her mama’s boy husband and his uncontrollable mother.

Marina adjusted the blanket over the sleeping Dima’s face and slowly climbed the stairs. The key turned with difficulty in the lock. The hallway was dim, with an unfamiliar woman’s jacket hanging on the coat rack and women’s boots on the floor. From the bedroom came muffled voices — her husband Denis’s voice and an unfamiliar woman’s.

“My marriage was a mistake,” Denis said irritably. “I was with Marina out of pity. Now it’s going to be different with you.”

The woman giggled — a high, broken sound, like a bird’s trill.

Marina slowly sat down on a chair in the hallway. Dima stirred, sensing his mother’s tension. At her feet was a bag with baby things — shirts, diapers, tiny socks. Six days ago she had given birth to a child, and today she returned to a stranger’s home.

Three years ago, life had seemed completely different. The school where she taught Russian had become her second home. It was there she met Denis three years ago — he had come to teach math and lead preparation courses for the Unified State Exam. Tall, with attentive eyes, he always carried a book. “I read on the subway,” he explained, and it seemed so right.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his — attentive eyes with little wrinkles at the corners. Everyone in the teachers’ lounge immediately noticed their attraction. Lilya, the history teacher and her best friend, teased:

“Our new math teacher is checking you out!” Marina blushed, feeling shy. She had always been a “good girl.” After her parents’ divorce, her grandmother raised her with strictness and respect for traditions. “The most important thing for a woman is family,” she repeated. And Marina believed. So sincerely that even at thirty-two, her dreams were simple: a little house, a husband, a child.

Denis courted her beautifully. He picked her up after work, brought coffee during breaks, read Brodsky’s poems to her. At their first kiss under the school streetlight, she felt — this was the very happiness she had dreamed of. “You’re special,” he said. And she believed.

“Marry me,” he said six months later, offering a simple gold ring. “I know we’ll be happy.” The wedding was modest, at a café near the park. They rented a small apartment. A tiny kitchen where they drank tea in the evenings, a couch where they fell asleep holding each other, shelves with their shared books — Marina felt like nothing else was needed for happiness.

When the pregnancy test showed two lines, she couldn’t wait for the evening to tell her husband. Denis spun her around the room, gently laid her on the couch:

“Now you’re the main treasure,” he said seriously, stroking her belly. “Our champion must grow up in peace.”

But a week later, he started insisting:

“Quit your job. You need to focus on yourself. I’ll provide for everything.”

Marina hesitated. A teacher’s salary was small but gave stability and independence. But Denis was adamant. “I’m a man, I must take care of you,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

And she believed. She wrote her resignation, cleared her desk in the teachers’ lounge, said goodbye to colleagues. Director Valentina Sergeevna just shook her head: “The door is always open if you change your mind.”

The first months of pregnancy felt like a fairy tale. Denis came home with bags of fruit, massaged her tired feet, kissed her growing belly. He called their future son “our champion,” made plans. Marina melted with happiness and didn’t notice how every day she depended more on her husband — financially, emotionally, completely.

At the seventh month, everything began to change. At first subtly, then increasingly obvious. Denis started staying late at work.

“You need to rest more,” Denis kissed Marina on the forehead and adjusted the pillow behind her back. “I bought peaches, your favorite.”
“You’re late today,” Marina rubbed her huge belly. “The baby already went to sleep, didn’t wait for daddy.”
“Olympiad kids,” sighed Denis, arranging fruit in a bowl. “Regional round is coming up. The principal asked to help the laggards.”
Marina nodded. The seventh month was hard — swelling, back pain, constant fatigue. Days dragged slowly in the empty apartment. TV, books, social media, cooking — that was her whole world now.

At first, she didn’t notice the changes. So what if he didn’t kiss her in the morning, didn’t ask how she felt, forgot to buy milk… Fatigue, work, stress — it happens to everyone. She tried to be the perfect wife — cooked his favorite dishes, complained less about morning sickness, smiled more.

But when coming home late — sometimes past ten p.m. — became the norm, something inside her warned.

“Maybe I should come to your work?” Marina suggested at breakfast. “I miss the school.”

Denis choked on his coffee:

“Why? You can’t overexert yourself. And the subway, the crowd… No, Marina, don’t even think about it.”

She remembered that evening in minute detail. Denis went to the shower, leaving his laptop on the kitchen table. The screen blinked — a message arrived. Marina glanced at the notification out of habit. Inna: “I miss you, my dear.”

Something inside broke. Her hands trembled as she opened the chat. Hundreds of messages, photos, hearts. “Sweet dreams, my dear,” “Tomorrow same time?” “Miss you to the point of shaking.” And photos — a young woman with long red hair. “You are my light,” Denis wrote. “I have never been so happy,” he admitted. “Soon we will be together,” he promised.

The bathwater was still running. Marina closed the laptop and walked to the window. Inside her, something seemed to shatter — into tiny, prickly shards piercing her heart with every breath.

She said nothing to Denis. Not that evening, not the next day. She had no strength for a scandal or to leave. Where to go with a huge belly? What money to live on? What would people say? She felt trapped — helpless and dependent.

She kept silent. Pretended nothing was happening. Cooked dinners, washed shirts, kissed him goodnight. Then the contractions began — two weeks early.

Dima was born strong and healthy. Marina looked at his tiny face and felt something change inside her. As if with the child, a new Marina was born — one who would no longer tolerate lies.

On the day of discharge, she waited for her husband all morning. The nurse had already finished the paperwork when a message arrived: “Urgently called to the college. Can’t come. Take a taxi or find someone.” No apologies, no explanations.

Marina called her friend Lilya. She arrived within the hour, with balloons and a toy for Dima.

“Is everything okay?” Lilya asked, packing Marina’s things into her old Lada.

“Everything’s fine,” Marina lied, looking out the window. “Denis is just busy today.”

Lilya’s apartment was small but cozy. Lilya gave Marina and Dima the living room sofa, taking the fold-out bed in the kitchen herself.

“Maybe you should call him?” Lilya asked while helping make the bed with clean sheets. “He’s probably worried.”
“I doubt it,” Marina carefully laid sleeping Dima in a makeshift cradle made from a large basket. “But yes, it’s time to move on.”

The next day she packed baby things, folded diapers and shirts into a bag, and a strange calm took hold of her. As if everything was happening not to her, but to someone else. Dima, as if sensing his mother’s mood, slept quietly, occasionally smacking his lips in sleep.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Lilya insisted.

When they arrived at the building, Marina suddenly asked:

“Don’t see me off. I’ll manage on my own.”

The entrance smelled of familiar dampness and cabbage from the first-floor apartment. Marina slowly climbed the stairs with the baby. Opening the door, she entered and immediately heard muffled voices from the bedroom.

“Denis?” Marina called, shifting awkwardly with the bag and child in her arms.

Her husband came out, buttoning his shirt. His face was irritated, his gaze sliding past her.

“Marina, you understand, I have a different life now. I can’t drag you and your son along!” Denis said without looking at her. “I need to think about myself.”

Her heart tightened into a lump. The air suddenly thickened, impenetrable. “Your son,” echoed in her mind. Not long ago, Denis said “our champion,” and today — “your son.”

 

From the room came a woman’s voice: “Honey, who’s there?”

Marina did not shout. Did not make a scene. Now it was absolutely clear. Her husband had another woman. And neither she nor the child was needed.

She simply quietly left the apartment, gently closing the door behind her. A stranger’s life. Strange people. Strange pain.

Dima woke and whimpered. Marina pressed him to her chest.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, barely believing her own words. “It’s going to be okay.”

Lilya’s sofa creaked with every movement. Marina lay looking at the ceiling, listening to her son’s steady breathing. In the morning she woke up a different person.

“I’m filing for divorce,” she said at breakfast, spreading butter on bread. Her voice did not falter.

Lilya set down her cup:

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. And I’m going back to work.”

That same day, Marina filled out the court application, visited child services, found a lawyer’s contacts. Action gave her strength. Every step was like a brick in a house being rebuilt.

Then she called the school principal and arranged a meeting.

“Marina Sergeevna!” the school principal Valentina Sergeevna greeted her with open arms. “We need you so much! I just have a half-time position and sixth-grade classes.” Lilya helped find a nanny — her aunt, recently retired and adored children.

Valentina Sergeevna, learning of Marina’s situation, expedited the paperwork for a service apartment on the first floor of the school dormitory. Now she had her own registration and housing from work — small but her own. Marina wiped windows, arranged the few belongings while Dima slept in the stroller.

“For us, the most important thing is stability and independence,” she whispered, hanging diapers.

Denis didn’t show up at the divorce hearing. Of course he didn’t. Divorce, responsibility, a son — too mundane for him.

He sent a lawyer who monotonously explained that “his client does not deny obligations but is in difficult circumstances.” The judge — a middle-aged woman with a tired face — monotonously read the decision:

“Considering the defendant’s absence… in accordance with article… dissolve the marriage… order alimony of one quarter…” The alimony was arranged, but Marina did not count on it. In the evenings, after putting her son to bed, she sat at the laptop. At first writing guides for her students, then articles for pedagogical journals and educational websites: “Effective Methods for Preparing for the Literature Unified State Exam”… “A Systematic Approach to Studying Russian Poetry”… “Text Analysis: A Step-by-Step Algorithm”…

One day she tried recording a video lesson.

“You have talent,” Lilya said after watching the recording. “Try sending it to educational platforms.”

She was noticed — invited to host webinars, develop teaching materials for an online platform. The money came — small but steady.

The first webinar fee was small but earned by her. She spent it on a new crib for Dima. The second — on winter boots for herself. The third bought a colorful bedspread to hide the worn sofa. Then followed other orders — articles, video lessons, reviews of textbooks.

“Marina Sergeevna, can I ask a question?” Katya, an honor student from 9B, stayed after class. “I saw your lessons on ‘Znayka.’ It’s so cool! How do you manage everything?”

Marina smiled:

“When you know what you work for, you find both strength and time.”

In the evening, bathing Dima in a small tub, she caught her reflection in the mirror — a thinner face, but eyes alive and shining. Nothing like three months ago.

“You know, baby,” she whispered, kissing her son’s wet crown, “I think we’re managing.”

Two years passed. That morning started with the usual bustle. Marina packed Dima’s things while he focused on assembling his new puzzle.

“Mom, look, it’s a rocket!” the boy proudly held up a piece. “It’s going to fly to space!”
“It definitely will,” Marina kissed his head. “And now we’re going to Anna Petrovna’s kindergarten. Mom has an important day today.”

The teachers’ lounge smelled of fresh coffee and pastries. Open House Day was always a little celebration.

“Nervous?” Lilya adjusted Marina’s blouse collar. “They say a commission from the education department will come. They want to include your guide in the federal program.”

Marina smiled:

“Not anymore. I like sharing what I know.”

The classroom was full — parents, colleagues, methodologists. Marina gave a lesson on Silver Age poetry. Students raised their hands, argued, quoted poems. Her blog “Living Lesson” was now known by thousands of teachers across the country.

“What unites these poems?” Marina swept her gaze over the class and froze. Denis stood in the doorway. A worn jacket, a receding hairline, a folder with documents under his arm. Their eyes met, and time seemed to stop.

She finished the lesson mechanically. Applause, congratulations, handshakes — all in a fog. Denis waited in the corridor.

“You look good,” he said instead of greeting. “I saw your webinars. Impressive.”

“Thank you,” Marina crossed her arms. “What brings you here?”

He stepped closer:

“I want to see my son.”

Marina looked at her ex-husband. Memories flashed in her mind: empty apartment, lonely evenings, his mocking “my marriage was a mistake”…

“You know,” she looked him straight in the eyes, “Dima has a family. Me. And we’re doing well.”

“You can’t forbid me from seeing my son!” Denis raised his voice. “I have rights!”

“And Dima has the right to stability and love,” Marina replied calmly.

She turned and walked down the corridor. Her back was straight, her step confident.

“Marina!” Denis called after her.

She turned:

 

“I have to pick up my son from kindergarten. We’re going to the planetarium today.”

A week later, messages started arriving from Denis. At first demanding: “We need to talk,” “He’s my son.” Then pleading: “I didn’t realize what I was losing,” “Let’s start over.”

Marina silently deleted them without reading to the end. Only when a long message came saying Inna had left him (“that bitch said I’m not worth her”), she smirked and showed the phone to Lilya.

“Well, well,” her friend chuckled, “finally someone smarter than you.”

“Hey!” Marina playfully nudged her elbow. “I’m not stupid either. Just trusting.” In the evening, after another flood of messages from Denis, she took out the registry office certificate and sent him a photo: Dima’s birth certificate, where the “father” field was blank, and the surname was hers.

The phone rang a minute later. Marina calmly declined the call and put it on silent. Dima played with blocks on the carpet, scrunching his forehead amusingly from concentration.

“You know, son,” Marina sat down beside him, helping build a tower, “sometimes the best answer is silence.”

The laptop screen glowed on the table — an unfinished webinar for high school students, an application for a teaching contest, a letter from a publisher offering to write a textbook.

The small apartment was filled with evening sounds: the washing machine humming, water flowing through pipes, children’s voices from the playground outside the open window. Their new life — simple but real.

“We’ll manage, won’t we?” Marina asked her son.

Dima smiled happily and handed her a block.

— If you don’t take your son to his father tomorrow, I will throw both of you out of the house! I don’t want to deal with your snot and tears at night! Do you understand me?

The words struck Veronika like a slap, stinging her cheeks more painfully than a smack. She was sitting on the edge of their shared bed, her back to Stanislav, rocking the feverish, restless Kirill who was asleep. The three-year-old boy was breathing heavily, sweat covered his forehead, and from his chest came occasional plaintive, strained sobs — not a tantrum, but the agonizing cry of a sick child. The fever didn’t go down despite the medicine given an hour ago. Veronika felt with her hand how hot his little body was, and her own heart clenched with helplessness and anxiety. Behind her, on his half of the bed, her husband was tossing and turning, grinding his teeth.

She knew he wasn’t asleep. She heard his irritated snorting, sharp turns from side to side, demonstratively shaking the mattress. This had been going on for a good hour since Kirill’s temperature rose again and he began crying in his sleep. Stanislav was silent, but the air in the bedroom literally crackled with his restrained rage. Veronika instinctively tried to muffle the sounds, holding her son tighter, whispering some incoherent consolations in his ear, but the fever and pain did their work — Kirill could not calm down.

And then — an explosion. He didn’t just say it — he growled it, jumping out of bed so sharply that the springs creaked in protest. Veronika flinched and turned around. Stanislav stood in the middle of the room, lit by the dim nightlight — tall, tense like a stretched string. His usually handsome face was now distorted with anger. His eyes flashed like lightning. In his hand, he clenched a pillow — his pillow, which he apparently had just torn off the bed.

Veronika hadn’t even managed to say a word when he threw the pillow forcefully against the opposite wall. A dull thud — and the pillow slid down in a shapeless heap on the floor. The gesture was so unexpected, so wild in this quiet night room filled only with a child’s cry and her own anxious breathing, that Veronika froze for a moment. Was this the same Stas who six months ago carried Kirill on his shoulders in the park, laughed at his clumsy attempts to throw the ball into the hoop, patiently read the same tractor book to him ten times in a row? The same one who promised her before the wedding that Kirill was like his own son, that he had always dreamed of a boy and was ready to become a real father to him? Three months of official marriage had erased that idyllic picture completely, as if it had never existed. The mask of the perfect stepfather and loving husband had fallen off, revealing an ugly, selfish core.

 

Stanislav stepped toward the bed, looming over her. His shadow fell on her and the child — large, threatening.

— I asked you, do you understand me? — he hissed, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper that sent chills down Veronika’s spine. — I’ve had enough of these nightly concerts! I work, I need to rest, not listen to this howling! Tomorrow! And I don’t want to see his face here! Take him to his daddy, let him babysit!

Veronika slowly lifted her eyes to him. The shock began to fade, giving way to cold, ringing indignation. She hugged her son tighter, as if trying to protect him not only from illness but also from this wave of hatred coming from the man who had recently sworn love to both of them.

— Stas, are you out of your mind? — she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. — What father? You know perfectly well that Igor lives a thousand kilometers away, he saw Kirill only once in his life, when he was a month old. He pays alimony irregularly, after scandals. He doesn’t care about his son, you know that well! Where would I take him? Especially now, when he’s sick!

She said what was obvious, what they had discussed many times before the wedding. Stanislav always agreed, nodded sympathetically, sighed, called Igor an irresponsible bastard, and promised that he, Stas, would never be like that, that Kirill was his son. Where did all that go?

— That’s not my problem! — Stanislav cut her off, with no sympathy in his voice, only icy irritation. — I don’t care where his daddy lives or what he wants or doesn’t want there. I only care that I can’t sleep in my own house because of your child! You’re the mother — so solve the problem. If you want to live here — get rid of him. Out of sight, out of mind. Tomorrow morning pack his things — and off you go. To daddy, grandma, boarding school — anywhere! But no more of him here!

He looked down on her, his jaws clenched tight, his eyes showing that same expression of disdainful superiority she had begun noticing more and more in recent weeks whenever he was displeased. And now the object of that displeasure, of that disdain, was her sick, helpless son. And herself.

Stanislav’s words — “boarding school — anywhere!” — hung in the stale bedroom air like a poisonous fog. Veronika looked at him, and there was no more confusion in her eyes. Deep inside, a cold, furious fire was burning. Boarding school. Her son. Her sick, little Kirill. This man, her husband, had just suggested sending her child to a boarding school because he disturbed his sleep. Realizing this didn’t just hit her — it scorched her through and through, burning the last remnants of illusions, the last grains of hope that this was just a moment of weakness, bad mood, fatigue. No. This was his true face, and it was disgusting.

— You… — she began, and to her own surprise, her voice sounded even, without a tremble, only with icy notes that made Stanislav twitch his shoulder slightly. — Did you really say that? About boarding school?

He hesitated for a moment, possibly not expecting such a calm, almost steely reaction. But he quickly recovered, putting on the mask of righteous anger again.

— So what? — he snorted, crossing his arms defiantly. — I’m just offering options. If you can’t handle your child yourself, maybe there are people who can do it professionally? I’m not obligated to put up with this every night! I married you, not your problems with your… offspring.

“Offspring.” The word cut Veronika to the core. He had never spoken like that before. Always “Kiryusha,” “sonny,” “our boy.” Now — “offspring.” She slowly, very carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping Kirill, began to get up from the bed. Every movement was deliberate, full of inner resolve.

— You know, Stas, — she said, now standing in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes, now almost on the same level, — I think I made the biggest mistake of my life believing you. When I decided you could become part of our family with Kirill.

She stepped aside toward the dresser where her things and some children’s clothes lay. Stanislav watched her, his face tensed.

— What are you planning? — he asked, a worried note creeping into his voice. He apparently expected tears, pleas, excuses, but not this cold calmness and action.

— I’m planning to do what I should have done much earlier, — Veronika replied without turning around. She pulled out a drawer and took out her travel bag, which she hadn’t used for a long time. — We’re leaving. Right now.

Stanislav let out a short, angry laugh.

— Where do you think you’re going in the middle of the night with a sick child? Running to mommy to complain? She’ll throw you out herself when she finds out you left your husband because of a child’s crying.

Veronika turned, the bag in her hand looked unexpectedly heavy.

— It’s none of your business where I go, — she cut him off. — The main thing is to get as far away from you as possible. I won’t let you humiliate me or my son anymore. You’ve shown your true face, Stas. And it disgusts me.

She moved toward the crib standing in the corner, intending to take Kirill’s warm jumpsuit. Then Stanislav lunged at her, grabbing her arm above the elbow. His fingers dug into her skin like a vice.

— I said, you’re not going anywhere! — he growled in her face, his eyes narrowing with rage again. — You’re my wife! And you’ll do what I say!

For a moment, Veronika was scared. His face was too close, twisted with anger, his grip painful. But the fear was quickly replaced by a flash of fury. She jerked her arm sharply, and to his surprise, he didn’t hold her. The strength born of desperation and maternal instinct was unexpected.

— Don’t you dare touch me! — her voice broke into a scream, but it was a scream not of fear, but of rage and warning. — If you touch me or my son again — you’ll regret it badly, Stas! Very badly! I’m not that defenseless sheep you apparently thought I was!

Stanislav stepped back, stunned. He looked at her like a stranger. This woman, who had always been so soft, so compliant, now stood before him like a fury, ready to protect her child at any cost. Her eyes burned with such fire that he involuntarily felt uncomfortable. He realized he’d gone too far, that direct aggression wouldn’t work now. And he instantly changed tactics.

A suffering grimace appeared on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed as if carrying all the burdens of the world on his shoulders.

— Nika, what are you saying? — his voice suddenly became coaxing, almost pitiful. — I’m not doing this out of spite. I’m just tired, my nerves are shot. Work is hard, I don’t get enough sleep… And Kirill crying on top of that… I love you both, you know that. Didn’t I take care of you? Didn’t I try to be a good husband and father? Remember how good we were before… before all this.

He tried to take her other hand, but she pulled it away as if from fire.

— Don’t, Stas, — she said tiredly but firmly. — No need for these plays. I understand everything. Your love and care were just a game while it was convenient for you. While Kirill was healthy, obedient, and didn’t cause you “inconvenience.” But as soon as he got sick, as soon as some patience and sympathy were required — all your “love” evaporated. Only naked selfishness and irritation remained.

— What are you talking about? — Stanislav started getting angry again, seeing his attempt to play on guilt failed. — You’re just a bad mother, that’s all! You can’t calm your own child! You probably do it on purpose to annoy me! To show who’s boss here! You thought I’d dance to your tune and your brat’s? No way! I’m a man, and in my house it will be the way I say!

He raised his voice again, his face beginning to flush. But Veronika was no longer afraid. She looked at him with cold contempt. Every word he said only strengthened her conviction in the rightness of her decision. She saw through him — his immaturity, his egocentrism, his inability to feel basic compassion. The mask was completely torn off. Underneath was a monster.

— Bad mother? — Veronika repeated quietly, but her voice carried such blatant, icy sarcasm that Stanislav involuntarily recoiled. She took another step toward the dresser, ignoring his attempts to resume accusations. — Am I a bad mother because my child got sick and cries? Or because I ignored for three months how you turned from a “loving stepfather” into an irritated, selfish tyrant?

She turned to face him, her gaze direct, harsh, leaving no room for his manipulations.

— Let’s remember, Stas. Who begged me to move in faster because “he couldn’t wait for us to become a real family”? Who swore to Kirill, looking him in the eyes, that he would be the best dad in the world? Who took him on weekends to the zoo and amusement rides, took pictures hugging him and posted them with captions like “my favorites”? Was all that a lie? Just a show to get me?

Stanislav curled his lips in a contemptuous sneer. The mask of a loving man slid off completely, revealing the face of a cynic tired of pretending.

— And you believed that? — he snorted. — Well, then you’re even dumber than I thought. Of course, it was a game. Men have to tell women what they want to hear, especially if a woman has… a baggage. I thought you understood that. I expected after the wedding you’d somehow calm your puppy down, keep him in check. So he wouldn’t interfere with my life.

— Keep in check? Interfere with life? — Veronika shook her head, overwhelmed by a strange, cold calmness, as if she was watching a disgusting scene from the outside.

— He’s three years old, Stas. He’s a child. And he was the perfect child — quiet, obedient. Until you started hissing at him for every fallen block, until you started grimacing demonstratively when he laughed too loud. He just got sick! His temperature is almost 40, he’s in pain, scared! And you… you suggest throwing him out or sending him to a boarding school!

— Yes, I suggest it! — Stanislav barked, losing control again. — Because I’m fed up! Fed up with your child, his snot, his toys all over the apartment, his night screams! I’ve put up with it for three months, pretending to be a dad, enough! I want a normal life! I want silence! I want my wife to belong to me, not to be forever busy with her brood!

Kirill whimpered again in the corner — softly, plaintively, as if reacting to the adults’ shouting. Stanislav threw an angry look at him.

— See! It’s starting again! Can’t stand it!

— I hear it, — Veronika answered calmly, approaching the crib and adjusting the blanket on her son. She didn’t look at Stanislav, but every word was addressed to him. — I hear my sick child crying. And I hear you too, Stas. And I finally understood what kind of person I brought into our home. What kind of monster I almost made the stepfather to my son. Thank you for this revelation. It came late, but better late than never.

She straightened and looked at him again. There was no hatred in her eyes, only cold, ice-like disgust and firm determination.

— You’re right about one thing. This can’t go on anymore. This circus really needs to end.

Stanislav looked at her, not fully understanding what was happening. He was used to women in such situations either crying, yelling, or trying to appease him. But Veronika stood before him calm, collected, as if having made a final decision. And that scared him more than any scream. He felt he was losing control, that his usual tricks — pressure, accusations, attempts to evoke pity — no longer worked. She looked at him as if he no longer existed for her as a close person, as if he was just an unpleasant obstacle in her way. And that annoyed him even more.

 

— Circus? — Stanislav shifted from foot to foot, his fists involuntarily clenched. He felt the ground slipping from under his feet. This cold, distant Veronika was unfamiliar to him and scared with her impenetrability. He expected anything — hysteria, pleas, even insults back — but not this icy statement of fact. — Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re going to leave me, your husband, because of a child’s tantrums? Who would want you with that… baggage? You think there’s another fool like me ready to put up with someone else’s son?

He tried to put as much venom and contempt as possible into his words, wanting to hurt her, make her doubt, fear the future. He wanted to see at least a shadow of fear or a glimmer of regret on her face. But Veronika slowly walked to the wardrobe and took out a small sports bag. She opened it on the bed next to the sleeping Kirill and methodically began packing children’s things: a couple of spare bodysuits, warm pants, socks. Her movements were calm, almost mechanical.

— You know, Stas, — she said without turning her head, her voice just as even and cold, — just a few hours ago, I probably would have been scared of your words. I would have thought about how hard it would be alone, how awkward in front of my parents, what acquaintances would say. But you cured me of all those fears so quickly and efficiently. You showed me something much scarier — life with a person capable of such meanness, such cruelty towards a defenseless child. Life with you. And compared to that, everything else seems like a trifle.

She zipped up the children’s bag, then took her own bag lying on the floor, and calmly began packing the essentials for herself: change of underwear, jeans, sweater, hygiene items. Stanislav watched her, and helpless rage boiled in his chest. He didn’t know what to do. Shout? He had already shouted. Threaten? His threats no longer seemed to work. Grab her, stop her by force? Something in her icy calm, her straight back, her determined gaze told him this would be a bad idea. That she really was capable of what she warned about.

— So that’s it? — he croaked, feeling his mouth dry. — You’ll just take off? Erase everything we had? Because I just want to get some sleep in my own house?

Veronika turned, the bag in her hand. She looked him straight in the eyes, and her gaze was full of such cold, annihilating contempt that Stanislav involuntarily shrank.

— There was nothing between us, Stas, — she said clearly, each word falling like an ice drop. — There was an illusion that you so carefully created. And that I, foolishly, took at face value. And you want to sleep? Well, now no one will bother you. Sleep peacefully. Enjoy the silence. Enjoy your home, where there is no more room for “snot and tears.”

She went to the crib carefully, so as not to wake the child, picked up the sleeping Kirill. The little boy murmured something in his sleep and snuggled close. Veronika adjusted his hat.

— And about your ultimatum… — she paused, looking at his face twisted with anger. — “If tomorrow you don’t take your son to his father, I will throw both of you out of the house! I don’t want your snot and tears at night!” Remember? I understood, Stas. I understood everything perfectly. Consider your wish granted. We’re leaving. Only you’re not throwing us out. We’re leaving ourselves. From you.

She moved to the door. Stanislav watched her go, his face crimson, his jaw muscles twitching. He wanted to shout something, do something, but the words stuck in his throat. He saw her retreating back, the fragile figure with the child in her arms, and understood it was the end. Complete and unconditional. He lost. Not to her — to himself, his anger, his selfishness.

When Veronika was already in the hallway, putting on shoes and throwing on her jacket, he still found the strength to squeeze out:

— And where are you going now? Do you think someone’s waiting for you with open arms?

Veronika, already opening the front door, paused for a moment. She didn’t look back.

— That’s none of your business anymore, Stas, — her voice came calmly and detachedly, as if speaking to a stranger. — For me, you no longer exist.

The door closed behind her. It didn’t slam — the lock just clicked quietly. Stanislav was left alone in the bedroom, where a few minutes ago passions had boiled. Now there was deafening, oppressive silence, which he so longed for. But this silence brought no relief. It was empty, cold, hostile. He looked around: the disturbed bed, the pillow he threw by the wall, the empty crib. He was alone. And that realization was much scarier than any child’s cry. The rage boiling inside him began to be replaced by emptiness and a dull, muffled hatred of himself, which he would never admit. He got what he demanded. Silence. And absolute, ringing loneliness…

— Sveta, here’s the thing. Mom needs help: the balcony windows have to be washed — she can’t manage it herself anymore. And groceries need to be bought for the week, the list is quite long. Can you go today?

Kirill entered the kitchen wearing casual sweatpants and a crumpled T-shirt, radiating that relaxed weekend vibe. He went to the water filter, poured himself a glass, barely noticing his wife as usual. Svetlana was sitting at the small table by the window, slowly sipping her morning coffee. Sunlight played on the tablecloth in whimsical patterns, but her gaze was focused somewhere inward.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been asked for something like this. It had started with innocent errands: “Sveta, pass some bread to Mom,” “Can you drop by with some medicine?” Then it turned into regular trips across town with heavy bags, thorough cleanings at her mother-in-law’s, and even minor repairs that Anna Lvovna insisted “only someone young and agile could do.” Meanwhile, Kirill hardly ever showed up to his mother’s place. He always had things to do, was tired, or simply “didn’t feel like it.” “Well, you’re free,” he’d say, and Svetlana would sigh and go. She dragged bags, cleaned, fixed things, patiently listening to her mother-in-law’s complaints about her health, prices, neighbors, and… how “poor Kiryusha got the short end of the stick.”

— Kirill, — her voice sounded surprisingly calm, but there was steel in it, enough for him to turn his head. — I’ve already told you. I’m your wife, not your mother’s assistant, and certainly not a free housekeeper. If Anna Lvovna needs help, especially something serious like this, why don’t you go yourself? You have the day off, don’t you? Or did you forget?

Kirill blinked, confused. Usually, conversations like this ended with Svetlana agreeing after a little persuasion.

— Well… I thought you… — he stumbled, frowning. — It’s not difficult! Women’s work — washing windows, buying groceries… You know better than me how to handle this.

Svetlana grimaced, and that smirk promised trouble.

— “Women’s work?” — she repeated sarcastically. — Interesting. So carrying five-kilogram bags of potatoes and then hanging out on the seventh floor scrubbing dirt off windows is now exclusively a woman’s duty? And you’ll be resting at home, saving your strength to settle comfortably on the couch in the evening?

 

Tension in the room grew. Kirill sharply set his glass down on the counter. His face began to redden.

— What are you starting again? I just asked! You know, Mom is alone, her age, it’s hard for her! Instead of help — hysterics!

— Hysterics? — Svetlana raised an eyebrow. — So my unwillingness to be a slave is “hysterics”? Listen carefully.

— What else?

— I’m your wife, not a running girl! If your mommy needs help — you should go and help yourself!

— What does that have to do with me? I told you…

— She’s your mother. Yours. And if she’s really struggling, it’s your duty as a son to help her. Or do you think the son should dump all this on his wife? By the way, I’m not asking you to help my mother. Her problems are mine, and I handle them myself. So, darling, take the list, the rag, the bucket, and go to your mother. You can even use my gloves if you don’t have your own. I’ll take care of my own business. No more of these “requests” will be accepted. Got it?

Kirill looked at her like she was an alien. The familiar order was breaking down. Svetlana always gave in. But now — coldly, decisively, without options.

— Do you even understand what you’re saying?! It’s disrespect for elders! For my mother! — he raised his voice, stepping forward.

Svetlana didn’t flinch.

— No, Kirill. This is self-respect. Basic self-respect. If you don’t understand this — that’s your problem.

She stood up, calmly walked around the table, and left the kitchen, leaving him alone among the sunlit spots, broken comfort, and a sudden thought: the world was no longer so comfortable.

Kirill wasn’t going to give up. He followed her into the living room where Svetlana deliberately sat down with a book. He stopped in the doorway, clenching his fists, his face burning with anger.

— You just decided to refuse like that? — he hissed. — Decided you don’t have to listen to my requests? To my mother? Is that normal for a wife?

Svetlana slowly lowered the book.

— And you think it’s normal, Kirill, to shift your son’s duties onto your wife? — she asked without raising her voice. — You talk about your mother, but somehow forget that she’s yours. She has a son. An adult, healthy one, with a day off. Why does this son send his wife instead of helping himself, while he plans to spend the day on the couch?

— Because before no one minded! — Kirill almost shouted, stepping sharply into the room. — You always helped, and everything was fine! What’s changed? Maybe you think you have a crown on your head now or imagine yourself special?

— What’s changed is that I can’t do it anymore, — Svetlana answered calmly. There was no anger in her voice — only deep, long-accumulated fatigue. — I’m tired of being a convenient helper for both of you, not a full human being. Tired that no one considers my time, strength, or desires. You say: “You always agreed.” But have you ever thought about what it cost me? How many times I sacrificed my plans, my rest, even my health, just to please you and your mother?

Kirill snorted and waved his hand as if shooing away a pesky fly.

— Oh, here come the sacrifices again! A real saint martyr! Nobody forced you. You went willingly. So you must have been comfortable with it!

— I went because I wanted to keep peace in the family, — Svetlana said bitterly. — Because I hoped you’d appreciate it, feel how much I do. But you took it for granted. As if I’m obligated to serve all your relatives. And you know what’s interesting? My mother has never once asked you to come help her with windows or the garden work. Even though it’s hard for her too. She understands that we have our own life. But your mother, along with you, somehow sees me as a kind of free resource to use on demand.

 

— Don’t compare them! — he snapped, his face twisted with anger. — My mother always tried for us! And now, when she asks for help, you behave like this? That’s just selfishness!

— And who’s going to think about me if not me? — Svetlana looked him straight in the eyes, without fear or guilt. Only confidence and resolve. — You? Who doesn’t even notice how I look after the next “help” to your mother? Or Anna Lvovna, who after cleaning starts telling how the neighbor’s daughter-in-law even bakes pies every day? No, Kirill. That stage is over. I will no longer be a doormat everyone wipes their feet on, hiding exploitation behind words like “duty” and “help.”

Tension grew. Kirill felt himself losing control. His usual status, his right to command and influence — everything was collapsing before his eyes. He was used to Svetlana being soft and compliant. But this woman with cold eyes and a firm voice was throwing him off balance.

— You’re just ungrateful! — he gasped, outraged. — We come to you with all our hearts, and you… You appreciate nothing! You don’t care about our feelings!

 

— Oh, feelings! — Svetlana laughed, but there was no joy in that laugh. — When was the last time you cared about my feelings, Kirill? When I crawled home after a whole day at your mother’s, and you just said: “Good. Did everything get done? Well done.” My needs? My need to rest, to simple human attention — was that taken into account? No. It’s much easier to have a wife who silently does everything she’s told.

Kirill paced the room like a trapped beast. His usual tactics of pressure, accusations, and reproaches didn’t work. It only made him more furious.

— Fine, — he finally stopped, breathing heavily. — If you don’t want to be nice about it, it’ll be different. Now you’ll hear my mother’s opinion!

He took out his phone and quickly dialed. Svetlana sat calmly, a slight shadow of contempt on her face. She knew this move — the “heavy artillery” of the mother who’s always on the son’s side.

After a few seconds, Anna Lvovna’s displeased voice came through:

— Kiryusha, why are you calling so early? I’m just measuring my blood pressure, trying not to worry.

— Mom, can you imagine what’s going on?! — he began loudly so Svetlana could hear every word. — I asked Sveta to go help you with windows and groceries, like usual. But she threw a tantrum! She says you’re my mother, so I should go and “work hard” myself, and she’s not a running girl! Can you imagine?

A heavy silence hung. Svetlana smiled inwardly. She knew how her mother-in-law liked to show outrage with pauses.

— Whaaat? — finally Anna Lvovna stretched the word out, voice full of fake surprise and triumphant indignation. — So she said that? About me?!

— Yes, Mom, exactly! — Kirill took over. — She says you’re my mother, not hers, and I should take care of you! And she’s tired! Nonsense! I’m shocked!

— Well, Kiryusha, young people… — the mother-in-law’s voice became plaintive. — I thought the daughter-in-law was like family… But she’s like that…

— Give me the phone, — Svetlana asked evenly.

Kirill looked at her like a winner.

— Afraid? Want to apologize to Mom?

— Give me the phone, — she repeated, and in her voice was such cold certainty that he wilted a bit and handed her the phone, putting it on speaker.

— Hello, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana began calmly, professionally. — I heard your conversation and want to clarify the situation.

— Svetočka, dear, what’s wrong with you and Kiryusha? He’s so upset… Why are you like this with him? And with me… We’re family.

— Anna Lvovna, if you really need help, especially physically demanding help like washing windows and carrying groceries, then you need to ask your son, — Svetlana continued firmly. — He has the day off, he’s healthy, and it’s his duty as a son to take care of his mother. I’m his wife, not your housekeeper.

— Sveta, dear, you’re the lady of the house… — the mother-in-law sang, now with a note of irritation. — Kiryusha is a man, he has other tasks. He provides for the family…

— I work too, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana interrupted. — And my day off is just as valuable. I’m not going to do regular work for your family for free. If it’s hard for you to clean, you can hire a cleaning service. That’s a real solution.

— Cleaning service?! — Anna Lvovna was outraged. — To let strangers into the house? People will judge! They’ll think son and daughter-in-law forgot about me!

— I don’t care what strangers think, — Svetlana replied firmly. — I care about my right to my own life and rest. And I won’t allow myself to be manipulated anymore, hiding behind age or supposed frailty. If Kirill is ashamed to help his mother himself or thinks it’s beneath his dignity — that’s his problem, not mine.

A tense silence hung on the line. Only the heavy, uneven breathing of Anna Lvovna was audible.

— So that’s how it is? — she finally hissed, and there was no softness left in her voice. Only cold anger and resentment. — Decided to show who’s boss in the house? Well, Svetočka… I won’t leave it like that. If you’re against family, against order, against respect for elders — I’ll come myself and settle it. We’ll have a serious talk. You’ll learn how to behave!

With a loud click, she hung up. Kirill shot Svetlana a victorious look: now we’ll see how long you stick to your guns. And she just put the phone on the table. She was ready. It was only the beginning.

Forty minutes later, the house was rocked by a sharp, insistent knock — as if they were trying to break down the door. Kirill, who had been nervously pacing, rushed to open it. Svetlana stayed in her chair, though inside she was trembling. But her resolve was iron — she wouldn’t show weakness.

— Mom! Finally! You have no idea what happened here! — Kirill shouted from the hallway, full of indignation and righteous outrage.

Anna Lvovna entered the living room like a hurricane. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes blazing, scarf half-slipped from her shoulders. Everything about her screamed readiness for battle.

— Come here, girl! — she lunged at Svetlana, who calmly stood up to meet her. — What do you think you’re doing?! How dare you boss my son around?! How dare you talk to me like that?!

— Hello, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana replied, keeping her outward politeness, which only made the mother-in-law more furious. — Glad you came. Now we can talk calmly, without misunderstandings.

— Talk?! — she shrieked. — I have nothing to discuss with a woman who’s rude to her husband’s mother! We took you into the family, and you turn out to be a snake! And where was Kiryusha when you said that?

 

— He was right there, Mom! — the son supported her. — He says I should wash your windows myself! That she’s not obliged! Can you imagine?

— I didn’t just “say that,” Kirill, — Svetlana calmly corrected. — I told the truth. You’re this woman’s son. So it’s your duty to care for her. And if you think your wife should do it for you — then you’re either lazy or not a man at all.

— How dare you?! — Anna Lvovna gasped. — My son works! He has no strength! And you sit at home doing nothing!

— I work too, Anna Lvovna, — Svetlana’s voice hardened. — And I earn no less than your son. And my home is not a free service center for your family. You raised a man who can’t make decisions without you. And I’m tired of being part of this system, where I’m forever a helper and a scapegoat.

Her words hit like slaps. Kirill faltered, unsure what to say. His mother trembled with rage.

— I gave him my whole life! Didn’t sleep nights! And you come in ready-made and judge me?!

— Precisely because you gave him everything, he remains a dependent child, — Svetlana didn’t give her a chance. — He should have become independent long ago. But you preferred to keep him on a short leash. And I will no longer be part of this family theater.

Kirill finally exploded:

— Shut up! — he shouted, stepping forward. — You crossed all boundaries! My mother is a saint! And if you don’t like it, you can leave! I choose my mother! She’s the only one I have, and there are plenty like you!

Those words were the final blow. Svetlana looked at him with a long, cold stare.

— Fine, Kirill, — she said quietly but firmly. — You made your choice. And now I know what you’re worth. I want nothing to do with you or your mother. Pack your things. Or you can go to her right away. I don’t care. This nightmare is over.

She turned away, making it clear the conversation was finished. Behind her, the hysterical shouting of mother and son continued. But Svetlana no longer listened. She looked out the window where a new day was beginning. A huge burden lifted from her shoulders. Ahead was the unknown. But there was freedom. And behind her were two people who lost not just a daughter-in-law or wife — they lost their chance for a normal life, finally closing themselves off in their toxic union.

From this moment on, I’ll tell you more in detail!” Nastya murmured with interest, carefully wiping dust and cobwebs off her face. True chaos reigned in her temporary hideaway.

Sitting in that awkward position was extremely uncomfortable: she felt like sneezing, and her legs had long fallen asleep. But even such discomforts she was willing to endure in order to learn the truth about her husband’s intentions.

Boris was talking loudly on the phone, completely unaware that his wife was at home. He had just entered the apartment, even though he was supposed to be at work. His voice was so distinct that Nastya, who happened to be home during the day, could hear every word. And yet, he apparently had no inkling of her presence – as she had hidden in the closet.

Nastya had returned home specifically for the folder with documents that six-year-old Polina – the little hooligan – had tossed upstairs a week ago. The girl had merely been playing “hide and seek” with her mother’s important papers as a joke. It was probably her way of grabbing the attention of the parents she rarely saw. “Let them search together and then praise me,” the little one had decided.

The documents had gotten wedged between the wall and the cupboard, and now, to retrieve them, she had to move the heavy furniture. Nastya had repeatedly asked her husband to help her, but he constantly found new excuses: either he was busy, or tired, or promised to do it tomorrow.

“I’ll call my brother on my day off – I can’t manage on my own anyway,” Boris declared once again, demonstrating his infantile approach to matters.

Nastya, however, was of a completely different temperament – active and decisive. Therefore, when her boss demanded the contracts for the latest deals, she made the only correct decision: drive home personally and sort out this problem.

“I’ll bring them right now!” she confidently told her boss and set off for home.

“Long overdue! You’ve been feeding me promises for a week now!” grumbled the displeased boss.

To Nastya’s own surprise, she managed to shift the cupboard. Perhaps the strength came from her anger toward her husband. Besides the folder, she found several long-lost items and a thick layer of dust.

“I’ll quickly run the vacuum, then head to work,” the woman thought. “Let Boris put the cupboard back in the evening.”

However, her plans were interrupted by a sudden sound – Boris had entered the apartment while still talking on the phone. He was entirely absorbed in his conversation.

“What is he doing here?” Nastya wondered, crouched with the folder in her hands.

Her curiosity grew when she caught snippets of the conversation. It turned out that Boris had deliberately taken time off work so that no one would interrupt his “delicate conversation.”

“What delicate conversation?” Nastya pondered, straining to listen.

Now, leaving her hiding place would have been reckless. Nastya decided to stay hidden and find out with whom exactly her husband was having these “delicate” conversations.

“Go ahead, dictate the number – I’m writing it down,” Boris continued. “Of course, I’ll call you later! How could I not report back? Yes, I’ll tell everything!”

After a short pause, he spoke again, this time more formally:

“Hello! Can I have a paternity test done at your facility?”

At those words, Nastya froze, overcome with shock.

“What?!” she whispered, unable to believe her ears. “Come on, explain in more detail! What is he up to? What kind of test is this? Whose paternity? Is he doubting that Polina is his daughter? Or does he have someone else?”

Meanwhile, her husband continued his conversation:

“Understood. And how much will it cost? And how fast will I get the results? That expensive? This is nothing but a rip-off! I understand, it’s not just a regular blood test… I’m not a child who needs everything explained to me! Okay, how long does the procedure take? Yes, understood. And what materials are needed? Hold on, I’ll write it all down…”

Nastya stood, holding her breath, recording every word Boris said. Her thoughts raged: should she come out now and give her husband a good dressing down or wait and listen until the end? His intentions seemed obvious, but one important question remained: who was the subject? Could it be that there really was someone else besides their daughter?

After finishing the call with the clinic, Boris immediately redialed his mother. Now everything became clear – the first call had been to her. Boris’s tone took on the apologetic air familiar to Nastya when he spoke with his strict mother. It was a reminder of his childhood, when a stern woman had raised her two sons with particular severity. Though he loved his mother, it seemed Nastya believed he feared her a bit. And now, by all appearances, he was executing her orders, coordinating every move with her.

“Hello, Mom, I found out everything. Yes, I just called. They explained what needs to be done. But can you imagine the price they asked for? I’m just in shock! How can they rip people off like that? We’re only trying to learn the truth. We have that right,” Boris began, clearly already feeling guilty.

After waiting for his mother’s response, he continued, “Thank you, Mom! I knew you’d help with the money. Without that, Nastya would immediately suspect something amiss. She’d ask where I spent so much money. And you know I’m not good at lying.”

His words completely threw Nastya off balance.

“He’s not good at lying! Truly!” she whispered, barely holding back her indignation. “And who is this sly one that makes you suspicious? Spill your secrets, you scoundrel! Lay all your cards on the table!”

Nastya needed to find out whom her husband suspected – was it Polina, their daughter, or was it a child born out of wedlock? The answer could change everything.

She recalled how she had met Boris. It had happened purely by chance. He had approached her in a bar where Nastya, along with her friends, was celebrating receiving their diplomas. They were having such a carefree time, dancing with such bright energy that those around them applauded.

“Girls, hooray! We’re now lawyers!” they joyfully exclaimed, infecting everyone around with their enthusiasm.

And then a rather modest young man, watching their merriment from afar, invited Nastya for a slow dance. From the very first moment, he charmed her with compliments, declaring that he had never met a more beautiful woman.

From that moment, their romantic acquaintance began. Boris wooed Nastya with special passion, repeating daily that he was madly in love and couldn’t imagine life without her. However, Nastya was not in a rush to tie the knot, so she agreed only two years after their meeting.

For her, family was not the main goal in life. She dreamed of a career, of achievements, and financial independence. But fate had other plans: a year after their wedding, she learned she was pregnant. Polina was born – a little girl they both cherished with all their hearts. Nastya had always felt that Boris was even more attached to their daughter than she was. He spoiled her immensely, forgave all her mischief, and allowed almost everything. Their resemblance shocked all their acquaintances – they were like two peas in a pod. “There’s no need for a DNA test here,” people often said when they saw them together.

So why, then, was Boris now beginning to doubt his paternity? These thoughts tormented Nastya. Had these doubts haunted him since Polina’s birth? Or was it not about their daughter at all?

Her head pounded from the tension. It turned out that she knew nothing about the man with whom she had spent so many years.

“Mom, you really came up with something clever with this test,” Boris continued, outlining his intentions. “Of course, before taking such a serious step, one must be one hundred percent sure that Danilka is my son. I have no doubts about Polina – she’s like a sister to me. But this boy… He doesn’t resemble me at all, and that raises concerns.”

“Traitor! When did you ever have such doubts?” Nastya, still hidden behind the cupboard, seethed.

“So there really is a child on the side. Lika and Danilka… What an interesting life you have, Boris! And I thought you loved us – me and our daughter.”

Nastya took a deep breath, striving to remain calm even though inside she was boiling with anger. Meanwhile, Boris continued talking with his mother:

“Yes, Mom, you’re right. Before making a decision – to leave for Lika and the child – I have to be sure that he is indeed mine.”

Nastya had long suspected that her mother-in-law was meddling in their relationship, trying to sow discord between her and Boris. The woman clearly harbored little love for her granddaughter Polina, unlike her elder son’s children. Polina, sensing this, also did not strive to get close to grandma Zhenya. She much preferred spending time with her parents.

Realizing that not only was Boris cheating on her, but he had also managed to father a child on the side, was a true shock to Nastya. And his plans to leave her and their daughter for a new family – that surpassed all her expectations.

The woman was so stunned by what she had heard that she was even afraid to move. If her husband noticed her now, she would simply lose control. The only way out seemed to be to kill him on the spot. But to prevent that, she needed to calm down quickly, gather her thoughts, and weigh all her options. Only then could she decide how to take revenge on this traitor.

“Mom, you know, after the incident with Sergey from our department, when his wife claimed during the divorce that their son wasn’t his, I started to treat this matter with caution. That was a long time ago. And it’s as if you read my mind. If everything is confirmed, a new life awaits me – with a new wife and the son I’ve always dreamed of.”

With these words, Boris left the apartment, and Nastya finally managed to get out from behind the cupboard and stretch her numb legs. In her hands she still clutched the folder with documents that needed to be delivered to the office. That was exactly what she would now do, and on the way she would decide on her next actions. For what she had learned promised nothing but divorce, property division, and a life for Polina without a father, whom the girl adored.

In the toughest moments of life, Nastya always switched to rational thinking. That trait had helped her overcome stressful situations many times. And now, during her ride to work, her mind began working exactly that way.

She recalled the argument with her future mother-in-law that had taken place a week before the wedding. The reason had been trivial, but Evgenia Alekseevna had not held back and revealed her true attitude toward her daughter-in-law:

“Who are you? Where did you come from? You spoil everything! You’re turning my son against me!”

At that time, Nastya had only silently endured the attacks.

“Angela – now that’s a different matter! She’s such a good girl, she loves Boris! And you… Where did he ever find you?”

“Angela! Of course, it’s her!” Nastya suddenly realized. “Lika from Boris’s conversation – that’s Angelika! The very ‘good girl’ who perfectly fits under the control of the mother-in-law.”

This discovery made the woman shake her head. Now everything was falling into place: her mother-in-law had never refused to realize her dream of having that very girl by her son’s side.

“So, war it is!” Nastya declared confidently aloud. “I never officially declared it, but I have been preparing for it from the start.”

After that pre-wedding quarrel, Nastya had even refused to accompany Boris to the registry office. Convincing her had been extremely difficult.

“Alright,” she had said then. “But I have one condition. It’s the guarantee that one day you – like your dear mother – won’t betray me.”

“I agree to anything!” Boris had passionately replied. “I’m not going to betray you!”

“Then let’s finalize the purchase of the apartment we chose today. We have the money – what’s there to wait for? Let’s register it in my name. Before the wedding. Do you trust me? If not, let’s draw up a notarized contract specifying the amount you invested. I’ll never cheat you, but if anything happens – you’ll have a document. Agreed?”

“Yes! Write it down!”

Nastya quickly drafted the text of the contract, noting that she would sign it at the notary’s office the next day. However, she never remembered it again afterward. That document held no legal force, but the apartment purchased before the marriage remained her personal property.

Back then, they were happy and didn’t anticipate any betrayal. Now, having handed the folder with documents to her boss, Nastya headed to the lobby with its soft sofas and green plants, where the staff could relax. There she dialed her mother-in-law’s number.

“Hello?” replied Evgenia Alekseevna in noticeably gruff tones.

“Listen carefully! Unlike your son, I don’t need to wait for the paternity test results. I already know he is cheating on me,” Nastya stated calmly.

“What? How can you be so sure?” Evgenia Alekseevna exclaimed, startled.

“That doesn’t matter. What is important is: I do not know where your Lika and her child live, and I’m not interested. But starting today, Boris will no longer live in my apartment. And I will file for divorce today,” the woman asserted firmly.

“What—your apartment?! Have you lost your mind? This is a shared apartment! Boris invested just as much as you did!” Evgenia Alekseevna protested angrily. “If you’ve decided to divorce, then prepare for property division!”

“No, this apartment belongs solely to me. And we won’t share it. Perhaps Boris never told you because he was afraid of your negative reaction. But that’s your problem.”

“What are you even saying? This is just stupid lying!” the mother-in-law refused to believe.

“I’m not lying; that’s just not in my nature. The facts are: we bought the apartment before the wedding, and it’s registered entirely in my name. With your family, one must always be on guard – that’s why I took care of myself in advance. See? It wasn’t for nothing!”

“This just can’t be! I’ll call Boris right now and find out everything!” Evgenia Alekseevna fumed.

“Please, do. And tell him that his belongings can be picked up from the neighbors this evening. Polina and I will go to my parents’ place, so as to avoid scenes that might traumatize the child.”

After hanging up, Nastya decided it was time to go home and get rid of everything that reminded her of the traitor. The divorce papers could be filed later – it was now quite easy, just a matter of opening the internet and acting.

When Boris returned home after work, a surprise awaited him. He had expected a serious conversation, unable to believe that Nastya could really do such things. He even had his excuses prepared, but reality exceeded all his expectations.

There was a new lock on the door, and next to it a note informing him that his belongings were in apartment No. 17.

Gathering his bags, Boris went to his mother’s place. Lika and her son were temporarily living with her, and living with them would be strange, especially considering that the paternity test had not yet been done, and there was no certainty that Danilka was his son.

“How could you so foolishly lose your money?” Evgenia Alekseevna shouted at him. “Where will you live now? With me? And what, are you planning to drag Lika and the child here?”

“So far, there’s no other option. We’ll figure something out later,” Boris shrugged.

“You’ve already ruined everything once! Now you have to deal with it on your own. You’re left without a home and money. And you know what? I’ve never liked your Nastya from the very first day I met her. What a despicable and unprincipled person she is! I won’t let this go!”

“Yes, unprincipled,” Boris agreed, lowering his head. “She once promised me…”

Evgenia Alekseevna stared at her son with concern while he nonchalantly dined at her kitchen table. His wife had just kicked him out of the house, yet he behaved as though nothing special had occurred.

“Mom, why are you looking at me like that? Who else but you was pushing me against Nastya? Who was trying to set me up with Lika after all these years? And now you say that we are blameless?” Boris remarked between bites.

“How dare you blame your own mother for everything! Come on, son, keep it up! Say that I wished you harm, not happiness!” Evgenia Alekseevna couldn’t contain her emotions. They bubbled within her, making her visibly agitated.

Everything was going terribly wrong. But, as they say, water wears away stone. Once, three years ago, on the occasion of Boris’s daughter’s third birthday, the old story took a new turn.

Then, after a small celebration of Polina’s birthday, Boris decided to drive his mother home.

“Son, do you remember Angelika?” his mother asked casually, glancing out the car window at the houses passing by.

“Angelika? Of course I do. But isn’t she married? As far as I know, everything is fine with her,” Boris replied in surprise, having long forgotten about the girl he had dated before Nastya.

“No, Boris, things aren’t fine with her. Quite the contrary – terribly bad. Her husband turned out to be a scoundrel, abandoned her without money. Thank goodness they didn’t have children,” Evgenia Alekseevna answered sadly. “Now she lives with her mother.”

“How do you know all this? Do you still keep in touch with Antonina, her mother? Why, Mom? Wasn’t one person enough in the past?” her son reproached.

“We never really stopped communicating. You know, I owe Antonina my life. If it weren’t for her, I’d be sitting behind bars because of debts,” sighed Evgenia.

“Come on, stop dredging up the past! That was a long time ago. Forget it and don’t talk to her anymore. She’s a real manipulator. And she keeps you on a short leash!”

“It’s not that simple, son…”

—

Evgenia Alekseevna’s thoughts drifted back fifteen years. At that time, she was working as an accountant in a shady private company. At first, it seemed she had hit the jackpot – her salary was twice as high as in a government job. However, it soon became clear why.

The woman had to turn a blind eye to numerous legal violations by the management. Not only did she silently observe them, but she also signed documents that could have landed her behind bars. One day, they simply set her up, claiming that she owed the company a large sum.

How she managed to get out of that situation, Evgenia still did not understand. She had to borrow money to cover the debt. And then Antonina – a neighbor she only knew superficially – entered the scene. After the death of her general husband, the woman was left with considerable savings, and she readily agreed to lend the needed sum.

Antonina practically latched on to Evgenia, making her her constant assistant. Every day she called her over: sometimes to help with household chores, sometimes to go shopping together, or just to chat. Evgenia complied without protest because she knew – only this woman was willing to wait patiently until she repaid her debt.

“I’m not rushing you, Zhenya. You’ll pay back the debt gradually. I understand – you have two sons and a useless husband who just sits at home. Where would you get money from? If he were even a little useful, I wouldn’t have to put up with him by my side. Kick him out!” Antonina admonished, watching Evgenia mop the floor in her spacious apartment.

Six months later, Evgenia’s husband indeed left her. Perhaps he realized that his wife had completely succumbed to the domineering neighbor. Or maybe he simply found someone else – a woman who was always there, baking pies and listening attentively.

One day, Evgenia invited Antonina along with her daughter Angelika to her birthday. The girl was turning eighteen then. She turned out to be quite enterprising and immediately took an interest in Boris. From that moment, Antonina began actively matchmaking her daughter with Evgenia’s younger son.

“Zhenya, imagine what a pair they would make! Your Boris is smart and easygoing – the ideal qualities for a husband. And studying at the institute shows his prospects. Of course, I would have preferred someone else for my daughter, but she fell in love with Boris. What can you do,” Antonina coaxed, trying to use her influence over Evgenia on her son.

Boris, young and carefree, paid some attention to Angelika for a couple of months. But fate intervened – he met Nastya. Although the future wife took a long time to commit, keeping him in the dark for almost two years, Boris never gave up.

Antonina came to despise Evgenia for allowing her son to choose another. She held her responsible for Boris’s decision to marry Nastya.

“I remember, dear, that you never returned the full sum to me. I can take you to court. All the receipts are in order,” she threatened Evgenia.

“What can I do, Tonya? He just doesn’t listen to me. But I will work off my debt to you. Ask me anything – I’ll do it,” Evgenia A. nearly burst into tears.

Eventually, the situation subsided. After Boris’s wedding, Evgenia learned that Angelika had also gotten married.

—

Years later, Antonina reappeared in Evgenia’s life, announcing that her daughter had divorced. The reason – unrequited love for Boris.

“They must be together, and that is not up for discussion! How to achieve that – I don’t care. You are a cunning woman; come up with something so that my daughter never cries alone again!” Antonina ordered enthusiastically, waving old receipts in Evgenia’s face.

Antonina did everything possible to bring Boris and Angelika together again, who now called herself Lika.

“Sounds simpler and is trendier!” she explained when visiting Boris’s mother.

Boris was already there – a situation deliberately set up by his mother-in-law had led to their meeting. The table was overflowing with food and drinks, and the former lovers found themselves in a romantic setting.

“Well, I’m off. My friends have invited me to the theater,” Evgenia Alekseevna said with a smile, leaving them alone.

“Good for you! You did the right thing! If they end up together, I’ll burn all the receipts and forget about the interest,” Antonina praised over the phone.

“Enough already! You’re getting on my nerves!” Evgenia snapped, hanging up.

But Boris soon reconciled with Nastya and no longer wished to see Lika, despite all his mother’s insinuations.

Evgenia tried to influence him by other means. She said that Nastya wasn’t a match for him, that his wife didn’t take care of herself and didn’t love him as Lika could.

“Mom, we have a daughter. I love both my wife and Polina. Stop interfering in our relationship,” his son pleaded.

“And what if Polina isn’t yours? Are you sure?” his mother pressed further.

“Come on, you’ve got to be kidding! She’s an exact copy of me!” Boris argued.

Everything seemed hopeless. But as the saying goes, water wears away stone. One day, Evgenia Alekseevna accidentally saw her son and Lika together. They were sitting in a car near her house. The woman laughed, flirted with Boris, and then they even kissed.

—

Half a year ago, Antonina called Evgenia and announced that Lika had given birth to a son by Boris.

At Antonina’s shrill shouts, Evgenia Alekseevna’s blood pressure spiked.

“What, you want a child to grow up without a father? I’ll drag you all to court, one by one!” she raged over the phone.

“Calm down, I’ll take care of everything,” Evgenia replied, trying to seize control of the situation.

After hanging up, she realized: this woman would never let her go. She would manipulate her until her dying day. Then she decided to call her son and devise a plan.

“Son, you know Lika has a son, right?” began Evgenia.

“Yes, I know. We’re in touch,” Boris answered calmly.

“Are you absolutely sure it’s yours? Answer honestly.”

“How could I know for sure? She says it’s mine, and the timing matches. But where’s the guarantee?” he philosophically noted.

“What will you do if it really is yours? They won’t leave us alone, you understand.”

“I’ll go to Lika. She’s been calling me for a long time. Besides, things with Nastya have been growing increasingly difficult these past months. It seems she has fallen out of love with me – all she does is nitpick. I do love Polina, though. Well, I’ll pay alimony like everyone else.”

“And you’ll have to split the apartment with Nastya. You don’t really plan to just give up your share, do you? That’s another problem. After all, you’ve stirred up quite a mess,” his mother declared accusingly, forgetting her own role in this story.

“Mom, that’s an even bigger problem than you think,” Boris sighed, remembering that the apartment had been registered in Nastya’s name a few days before the wedding. Fortunately, his mother still did not know about it.

“I’ve got an idea. Perhaps you won’t have to part ways with your wife and daughter. And with these two, we’ll shut their mouths for good,” Evgenia Alekseevna announced excitedly.

“What?” Boris asked, seemingly indifferent by now regarding whom to live with. “Just don’t tell me you’re planning something illegal!”

“Don’t joke around – now’s not the time. We need to do a paternity test!”

“What test?” he asked in surprise.

“Find out if you’re the father of Danilka. Understand now? If you’re the father, you’ll raise the child. And if not – we’ll prove that they were wrong and get rid of them once and for all. You’ll save the family.”

“That sounds not bad at all! Give me the number of the clinic where I can do it. I’ll call from home so that no one overhears,” Boris rejoiced.

But who could have predicted that Nastya, who was at home at that very moment, would inadvertently hear his conversation? Such was fate.

—

That very day, Nastya gathered the things of her unfaithful husband and sent him off to his mother, having changed the locks on the apartment. After all, on paper, it belonged only to her.

“Are you satisfied now? Sitting there like a beaten puppy. How could you so foolishly agree to her conditions? To give up your money for the purchase of an apartment and allow it to be registered in Nastya’s name? I simply cannot believe my ears!” Boris’s mother berated him furiously.

“Mom, enough. The past is the past. How else would I have persuaded Nastya to marry me after the scandal you instigated? Right now, I need to concentrate on getting that paternity test done as soon as possible. Only then will I decide whether to move in with Lika and the child.”

“Act! Who’s stopping you? Tomorrow, go to her, fetch the necessary materials for the analysis, and do everything quickly and quietly.”

Learning that Boris had left his wife and temporarily taken refuge at his mother’s place, Lika and her mother Antonina were ecstatic.

“You’re doing the right thing! Here you have your son and the woman you love. I always knew, Boris, that you and Angelika loved each other. That marriage was a mistake. But now, everything will fall into place. You’ll get a divorce, split the apartment, buy a new place – and you’ll live happily!” Antonina gushed, not suspecting that her plans would collapse because of one simple fact: Boris had no share in the apartment he and Nastya shared.

Evgenia Alekseevna emphatically advised her son to keep the paternity test matter a secret. Thus, he acted cautiously, following his mother’s advice. Now, all that remained was to wait for the results and start planning the future.

—

“Mom, the results have come! They sent them to my email, and the paper version can be collected later,” Boris announced hastily in the evening.

“Well, then? What does it say?” Evgenia Alekseevna burst out of the kitchen into the living room, where her son was lazily sprawled in front of the TV.

“Hold on… I’m reading. Let me see…” Boris stared at his phone’s screen.

As he read the message, his face grew increasingly surprised and confused.

“It says… No match at all. Zero percent… What does that mean, Mom?” he asked quietly.

“That means you were deceived by your perceptive Lika! She’s as cunning as her mother! They tried to pin someone else’s child on you, you villains! I’m going to shove that document right in their faces! Now the end of your little celebration is here, Antonina!” Evgenia Alekseevna screamed in outrage.

“How can that be… I ruined my family for her sake… Abandoned my own daughter…”

“You didn’t abandon your daughter because you decided to. You were simply booted out because you talk too much and don’t watch your words. If Nastya hadn’t found out about the test, you would still be sitting at home – happy and unsuspected,” her mother retorted with a snort.

Boris looked utterly lost, unable to reconcile his emotions with his mother’s. His future now seemed murky. He understood that he would have to pay alimony for Polina and try to see his daughter as often as possible. But for that, he needed Nastya’s agreement. The rest of his life seemed bleak and joyless.

The boomerang had returned to his life – as inevitable as ever. It was a pity that earlier, when he was running from his wife to Lika, he hadn’t been wise enough to consider the consequences.

By the way, Lika stubbornly refused to give up for a long time. She continued to cause a ruckus, coming to Boris with her son. She insisted that everything had been arranged and intended to conduct an independent expert examination. She even threatened to go to the television to expose Boris’s “unprincipled” nature.

He fully understood that he had acted wrongly. But now, there was no way to fix the situation.