All Amazing Babies

– Natasha, what are you thinking about? – Sveta nudged her friend with her shoulder. – Are you staring at Igor?

Natasha blushed and smiled uncertainly. The answer was obvious, but she had no intention of sharing her feelings. She knew full well that her dreams of happiness with him were nothing but fantasies. They came from different worlds, and that was clear to everyone, yet her gaze still seemed to drift towards him.

 

– No, I just remembered the plot of a book I read yesterday, – she lied, clutching her textbook and trying not to stare at the unattainable guy.

Igor Leonov was the true star of the university. His appearance, confidence, and charisma attracted almost every girl. To Natasha, he seemed like a character from another reality. Her heart would start racing just by seeing him, but she knew there was a chasm between them. He was the son of a wealthy businessman, while she was an orphan living with her guardian, Aunt Marina, whom she considered a mother. Natasha was grateful to the woman for her care and tried to help her around the house and with work. At the university, she studied on a budget, and in the evenings, she went with Aunt Marina to clean the hallways of luxury buildings where they were paid more.

One day, fate brought them face to face. Natasha was cleaning the stairs when she noticed Igor. She quickly turned away, hoping to remain unnoticed, but, of course, he recognized her.

– Natasha! I didn’t expect to see you here! – Igor grinned. – Although, I guess for you, this is probably the only way to get into an elite building.

– Hi… – she mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush.

– Well, hi! Decided to earn some money for a New Year’s dress? – he asked sarcastically.

Natasha felt hurt. She wanted to justify herself, explain that it was just a temporary side job, but then she thought: why bother? This was her life, and there was nothing shameful about it. She wasn’t selling herself, so she had nothing to be ashamed of.

– Daughter, what are you blabbering about? – Aunt Marina called out, working one floor above. – Hurry up, wave that rag! The sooner we finish, the sooner we get home. We still have three more hallways today!

– Good luck to you! – Igor smirked. – I would give you a tip, but I don’t have any cash – it’s all on the card. But you’re doing great! Working like a pro!

With these words, he called the elevator and disappeared, while Natasha’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to hide her sadness, but Aunt Marina always sensed her mood. She had raised Natasha since childhood after the child services took her from her parents, who preferred alcohol over their daughter. Aunt Marina had taught her to appreciate life, despite the hardships.

– Who’s that rich kid? – the woman asked as they left the building.

– Just a classmate… – Natasha shrugged.

– Just a classmate or the one? – Aunt Marina pressed on.

– He likes me, but we come from different worlds. He’s the son of a rich man, and I… I’m not his level, – the girl sighed.

Aunt Marina let out a loud breath and shook her head.

 

– So, he’s a worthless guy, not a human! These rich kids who live on handouts have no idea what real life is. When his father stops supplying him with pocket money or goes broke, we’ll see what kind of person he really is!

Natasha remained silent. She didn’t want to talk about Igor – inside, she could feel her heart tighten with the realization that her feelings were doomed. She knew: he was her “crush,” as the teenage girls would say. Unrequited love, nothing more.

But after that encounter, Igor started to talk to her more often. One day, he sent her a message inviting her to meet in the park after classes. Natasha arrived, floating on air. He suggested they go to the movies and then sit in a café. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She wanted to shout to the world that Aunt Marina was wrong: Igor was a real person.

– I’ve liked you for a long time, Natasha! Really like you! You’re hardworking, smart… What more could you want? – he smiled. – Will you go out with me?

Natasha’s head spun. She nodded, unable to say a word. Was there any need to think when her heart had already made the decision? She definitely wanted to be with him. He was the one she had been dreaming of.

He walked her home and kissed her goodbye. The moment felt like something out of a fairytale. Natasha ran home and cried into her pillow from happiness. She didn’t see any red flags. It seemed to her that he had really chosen her, even though he hadn’t spoken of love. And nothing suggested that trouble was ahead…

“I want to kiss you!” – a message from Igor arrived during the first class.

Natasha couldn’t focus on her studies. All her thoughts were about him. She wanted to run to him, hug him, kiss him.

– Why do you keep smiling? In love? – Sveta teased.

Natasha shrugged. Her happiness felt so fragile that she was afraid to tell her best friend. What if this was just a dream? Or what if Sveta started convincing her that this was strange and would end quickly?

After classes, Natasha rushed to the park and, unable to hold herself back, ran to Igor. But he pushed her away abruptly, looking at her with a cold, icy gaze.

– Don’t touch me with your dirty hands, queen of toilets and empress of hallways! Do you even know what a manicure is? Or did you really believe there could be something serious between us? – he said mockingly.

Natasha froze, as if struck by lightning. Her heart pounded, her head spun, and the pain in her temples became unbearable. She understood everything. Yes, this is exactly what she had thought – foolishly hoping for the impossible.

– How naïve you are! You’re scum, the pitiful daughter of a janitor! – Igor continued, turning to his friends who were watching the scene with sneers. – You should have seen how she was waving that rag, like doing kung-fu on the stairs! We just decided to have some fun, to play… It was clear that you were drooling over me. We thought you’d get it, that we’re not on the same path. Where are you, and where am I? Don’t even dream about a future! And you, Lyokha, give me five! I told you – she’ll throw herself at me…

Tears poured from Natasha’s eyes, burning her face and tearing her soul apart. It was a cynical joke, mockery. And she, the trusting fool, believed that she had managed to make him like her. How she got home, she couldn’t remember, but one thing was certain: she couldn’t continue studying at that university. It hurt too much to realize that those who had humiliated her were laughing behind her back and hurling insults.

Sveta tried to convince her not to withdraw from the university, but the decision had been made. Aunt Marina supported her choice, though she voiced her opinion about the “puppet masters.”

– I will always support you, my dear, – she said. – Whatever you decide. Although, personally, I’d break their backs – to let them know how dangerous it is to play with people’s feelings.

– No need… Let God punish them… And I’ll manage, even without a degree, – Natasha replied. – I just can’t bear their laughter.

She was grateful to her guardian for the support and understanding. Soon, Natasha found a job in an office. Of course, with an incomplete education, she couldn’t become an economist, but they offered her a manager position with a chance for career growth.

Natasha worked so hard that just a few months later, she received her first promotion. Over time, the owner of the company, Andrei, began to show interest in her. He was a successful and attractive man, and he courted her in a reserved and tactful manner. Despite the deep emotional scars, Natasha gradually started to trust him and allowed him to invite her on a date.

Their relationship developed slowly. There wasn’t fiery passion or dizzying emotions that usually ended in pain. Natasha loved Andrei with all her heart, and he confessed that he had fallen in love with her at first sight but hesitated for a long time before deciding to confess. He watched her, trying to understand if her feelings were genuine, and only then did he begin to act.

A year later, they got married, and four years after that, Natasha, after passing tests and improving her qualifications, became the director of one of Andrei’s subsidiary companies. They had enough money for her to take maternity leave, and Natasha often thought about having children. Aunt Marina promised to help, although she firmly refused to accept money from her foster child.

– I clean floors, and my figure is stunning! And if I stop moving, I’ll fall off! – she would say. – When you have grandkids, then I’ll quit this job and take care of them.

One day, a new economist came to the company. His simple clothes, bought at the market, sharply contrasted with the image Natasha remembered. It was Igor. She had heard from Sveta that his father had left the family for a young mistress, but she hadn’t expected to see him here.

Igor recognized her too. It was clear from his frightened look when he handed her his resume.

 

– I didn’t expect you’d rise from a cleaner to a director, – he muttered.

– Well, now we’ve switched places, – Natasha smiled.

She quickly scanned his resume and noted that he had little real work experience. Therefore, he wasn’t suitable for the economist position.

– You understand, there’s not enough experience. I need professionals. And you, as we know, skipped most of the classes. I can offer you a manager position with the potential for growth, but not soon… That’s your ceiling.

Igor didn’t dare to argue. After many interviews and rejections, this offer seemed like the best he could get.

– Thank you… And I’m sorry for that joke. I was foolish to do that with the guys. I regretted it later. Thank you for giving me a chance.

Natasha understood perfectly that Igor was lying. His words were just an attempt to get a job.

– If there are mistakes, find another job. I need responsible people. I’ve long forgotten the past because I don’t take it personally.

Igor nodded and, thanking her again, went to complete the paperwork. Inside, he felt a bitter realization. He had humiliated a person, and now he was in a similar situation. Now, he had to go around companies looking for clients, or else he would risk losing his job again. Only now did Igor realize how disgusting he had behaved in the past. Now he wanted to become a better person, hoping that even if he succeeded, he would never return to the person he used to be.

FacebookMastodonEmailРесурс

Lera, not those blueprints again! My mom already made the decision,” Dmitry waved dismissively without even glancing at the plans laid out on the table.

Valeria sighed and let her hands fall to her sides. Yet another attempt to convince her husband had failed. An architect with honors, she sat before the project of their dream house—created by her own hands—unwanted by anyone.

“Dima, in your ‘friend architect’s’ project, the load-bearing walls are positioned so badly that the roof could collapse after the first snowfall. Do you even understand that?” Lera tapped her pencil on the paper, pointing out the obvious errors.

“Mom says Stanislav Sergeevich is a professional. He’s built houses for half her acquaintances.”

“Your mother knows nothing about construction,” Valeria bit her lip, trying to keep calm.

The doorbell rang. Lera already knew who it was before Dmitry even opened the door.

“Dmitry! Valeria!” Antonina Pavlovna’s voice rang through the apartment. “Have you signed the contract with Stanislav Sergeevich yet?”

Without waiting for an invitation, the mother-in-law walked straight to the kitchen and froze at the sight of the drawings.

“What is this?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re back with your ideas again?”

“Hello, Antonina Pavlovna,” Lera forced a polite smile. “I just wanted to show an alternative layout.”

 

“Sweetheart,” Antonina Pavlovna sat down beside her and placed a hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder. “You’re wonderful at drawing sketches for magazines, but a house is serious business. You need a real specialist.”

Blood rushed to Valeria’s face. “Sketches for magazines” — that’s how she referred to her architectural projects that had been recognized in professional competitions.

“Mom’s right, Lera,” Dmitry chimed in. “Let’s trust the professionals.”

Valeria silently gathered her drawings. After all, it was their joint money, their joint house. But arguing further was pointless.

Six months passed. Money flowed like water. Stanislav Sergeevich constantly demanded extra payments for “unforeseen work.” Valeria bit her lip each time but said nothing as she watched their budget melt away.

One evening, Dmitry came home pale.

“Lera, we’ve got a problem,” he collapsed onto the couch. “The builders are refusing to continue. They say the project has serious flaws. We need to redo the foundation.”

“What exactly did they say?” Valeria straightened instantly.

“Something about load-bearing capacity and groundwater levels. I didn’t catch the technical stuff.”

Valeria closed her eyes. This was exactly what she’d warned about six months ago.

“How much will it cost to fix?” she asked quietly.

“About a third of the budget. Which we don’t have anymore,” Dmitry rubbed his temples. “Maybe we take a loan?”

“No,” Valeria replied firmly. “I’ll fix it myself.”

“You?” Dmitry looked at her with disbelief. “Lera, this is a house, not a picture!”

“Dmitry, I’m a certified architect. I know what I’m doing.”

The next day, Valeria took a leave of absence and went to the construction site. After assessing the damage, she realized it was worse than expected. There was no money to hire a new crew. Only one option remained.

For the next three months, Lera was on site daily. She learned how to mix concrete, reinforce the foundation, work with rebar. At night, she studied construction forums and consulted specialists. Her hands blistered, her back ached, but each day brought small victories.

Dmitry rarely helped. He mostly spent time with his mother or “de-stressed after work.” Antonina Pavlovna visited the site to “inspect.” The money? All from Lera. She worked nights and spent her days at the build.

“My God, what are you turning this house into?” the mother-in-law gasped at the sight of Valeria with a trowel. “This won’t be a house, but a makeshift hut!”

“Mom, you know there’s no money left,” Dmitry shrugged.

“Couldn’t you have hired proper workers?” Antonina continued. “What will the neighbors think seeing your wife climbing the roof?”

“They’ll think your son has an incredible wife,” Valeria snapped. “One who’s not afraid of hard work.”

Antonina scoffed and turned away.

Months passed. The house slowly but surely took shape. Valeria plastered walls, painted ceilings, laid wiring. On weekends, holidays, any free moment—she was there.

A year later, the house was done. Cozy, warm, thoughtfully designed—exactly as Valeria had envisioned in her original plans.

They moved in. Dmitry looked around in awe.

“Amazing! I never thought we’d end up with such a house!”

Valeria raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“We?”

Soon Antonina Pavlovna showed up at the doorstep with a bag of goodies. She inspected the house with careful eyes.

“How lovely! So cozy! Who made it all so beautiful?”

“Lera,” Dmitry answered shortly. “She did everything herself.”

“Well done, dear!” Antonina hugged her. “I always said you had golden hands!”

Valeria just smiled. The house was her achievement, her triumph. No one could take that away.

They lived there for six months. Antonina visited every weekend, brought jams, rearranged trinkets, gave garden advice.

One day, Valeria’s friend Marina dropped by for tea.

 

“You’re lucky,” she said. “Most women can only dream of a mother-in-law like yours.”

Lera nodded, gazing out the window.

“Yes. Amazing how quickly she fell in love with the house. She used to call it a ‘makeshift hut.’”

Dmitry’s birthday was celebrated at the new home. Valeria spent all day cooking: baked meat, made his favorite salad, and baked a cake. His mother arrived first, with an expensive gift for her son.

“Dima deserves a celebration,” she kissed Valeria on both cheeks. “Such a wonderful house he built!”

Valeria said nothing. She was used to it by now. Used to her efforts being credited to others. As if she hadn’t built this house with her own hands.

Later, when the guests had left, Dmitry asked Valeria to stay in the living room. He looked unusually serious.

“Lera, we need to talk.”

“What happened?” Valeria tensed.

“Mom’s in trouble,” he lowered his voice. “She lost her apartment. Scammers tricked her into signing something.”

“Oh my God! We need to go to the police!”

“It’s too late. The apartment’s sold, the money’s gone. Mom’s homeless,” Dmitry sighed. “I thought… we should give her the house.”

Valeria froze.

“I built this house with my own hands! And now give it to your mother? What about us?”

“We’ll rent a one-bedroom. Temporarily, of course,” Dmitry avoided her gaze. “Mom’s elderly. She needs comfort.”

“Dmitry, I worked on this house for a year! No weekends, no holidays!”

“Lera, it’s just walls. But my mom—she’s family.”

“And what am I, Dima? Who am I to you?”

Antonina Pavlovna entered silently.

“Valeria, dear,” she began gently, “You’re young, beautiful. Your whole life is ahead of you. I’m an old woman. I don’t have much time left.”

“But this is our house,” Valeria said quietly. “We put all our savings into it. I put a year of my life into it.”

“Mother matters more than a bunch of walls,” Dmitry cut in.

That night Valeria couldn’t sleep. Something felt off. The story about scammers didn’t add up. The next morning, after Dmitry left for work, she went to the real estate agency where her friend Marina worked.

“Marina, I need information on Antonina Pavlovna Kovrova’s apartment,” she said, placing the address on the desk.

An hour later, she had the paperwork. The apartment hadn’t been sold. Under power of attorney from Antonina Pavlovna, it had been transferred to one Svetlana Igorevna Kovrova.

“That’s her daughter,” Marina explained. “Lives in another city. No scam. Just a family transfer.”

The room swam before Valeria’s eyes. Lies. All of it. And suddenly, everything clicked: the mother-in-law’s “admiration,” the frequent visits, Dmitry’s strange behavior.

At home, Valeria checked the documents for their house. Dmitry was the sole owner. She hadn’t interfered when construction started on that ridiculous plan. Pride had kept her silent. Now, it felt like a terrible mistake.

In Dmitry’s closet, she found a folder of documents. Among them—a draft of a deed gifting the house from Dmitry Kovrov to Antonina Pavlovna Kovrova. Date: next Thursday.

 

“So that’s it,” Valeria whispered. She understood everything. The apartment was given to her daughter, and now Dmitry wanted to give their house to his mother, so that in the event of a divorce, Valeria couldn’t claim anything.

Valeria acted fast. She gathered all receipts for construction materials she had bought. Collected photos of herself working on the house. Got written statements from neighbors about who had actually built it.

When Dmitry returned that evening, Valeria was waiting with a suitcase in the hallway.

“What’s going on?” Dmitry froze at the door.

“I know everything, Dima,” Valeria said calmly. “About your mom’s apartment. About the deed. About your plan.”

“What plan? You’ve lost your mind!”

“No, Dima. I’ve woken up. I’ve filed for divorce. And for division of property. This house is the result of my labor, and I will fight for it.”

Dmitry turned pale.

“You can’t prove anything! The house is in my name!”

“I have proof,” Valeria nodded to the folder. “And witnesses. Plenty of them.”

The trial lasted three months. Antonina never appeared. Dmitry claimed the house was his, and Valeria had just “helped a little.”

But the neighbors’ statements, photos, and receipts told a different story. The court acknowledged Valeria’s personal labor contribution and awarded the house to her, requiring her to compensate Dmitry for half the cost of the land.

A year passed. Valeria sat on the porch of that very house, watching the sun set. In the spacious living room worked three designers — her employees at her new firm, “Built by Hand.”

“Lera, a client’s here,” Marina, now her business partner, peeked in. “Says her husband hired an architect, but she doesn’t like the design.”

Valeria smiled.

“Invite her to the porch.”

A young woman with a folder of blueprints approached.

“Hello,” she said shyly. “I was told you help women create their dream homes.”

“Yes,” Valeria nodded, gesturing to the chair opposite. “Because sometimes, we have to build them ourselves. With our own hands.”

— “What is that supposed to be?” Valera pushed his dinner plate away, grimacing as though he’d found something inedible rather than stew.

— “Stew,” Kseniya looked up from her own serving, surprised. “The same one I’ve made dozens of times before. Is something wrong?”

— “The meat’s tough,” Valera shook his head. “And there aren’t enough spices. When Mom makes it, the meat melts in your mouth—and the aroma hits you as soon as you open the door.”

 

Kseniya froze, fork in hand. In three years of dating and a year of living together before the wedding, Valera had never once criticized her cooking. On the contrary, he always praised it, asked for seconds, and rejoiced when she made his favorite dishes. Yet now, barely two months into marriage, he’d suddenly grown picky.

— “You used to like my stew,” she reminded him, trying to stay calm.

— “I had nothing to compare it with back then,” Valera shrugged. “Mom cooked it again recently, and I tasted the difference.”

Kseniya set her fork down. Over the past few weeks this was the fifth or sixth dish Valera had compared to his mother’s—always to Kseniya’s disadvantage.

— “Funny you noticed only now,” she said without reproach. “We’ve been together four years. Were you suffering in silence all that time?”

Valera faltered, then recovered quickly:

— “Marriage changes how you see things. Now you’re my wife, not just a girlfriend—you should live up to that.”

— “Live up to what?” Kseniya frowned. “Or to whom?”

— “Well… to a certain standard,” he answered vaguely. “You’re the lady of the house now.”

She recalled how, just a week earlier, Valera had scolded her cleaning, and before that the wallpaper she’d chosen for the hallway—always citing his mother as the model.

— “You want me to be like Zinaida Mikhailovna?” she asked outright.

— “What’s wrong with that?” Valera seemed genuinely surprised. “Mom’s the perfect woman—she can do everything, looks after everyone, creates coziness. You could learn a lot from her.”

Kseniya silently cleared the table. A year ago Valera had admired her independence and modern outlook, saying he was tired of girls who only knew how to cook borscht and mop floors, calling Kseniya “a breath of fresh air.” Where had that gone?

— “Mom’s coming over this Sunday,” Valera mentioned off-handedly, eyes on his phone. “She offered to show you the right way to cook.”

— “Really?” Kseniya paused with a stack of plates. “When did you two arrange that?”

— “We talked this afternoon,” he said without looking up. “She’s worried I’m not eating well.”

— “Because I cook badly,” Kseniya finished for him.

— “I didn’t say that.”

— “But you thought it,” she clattered the dishes into the sink so loudly Valera flinched. “And you told your mom, since she’s coming to teach me.”

— “Come on, Ksyusha,” he finally lifted his eyes. “Mom just wants to help.”

Zinaida Mikhailovna arrived on Sunday at noon sharp, lugging bags of groceries—an insult in itself, as though their fridge were empty.

— “Valera looks gaunt,” she declared, hugging her son. “You’re under-fed, my poor boy.”

Kseniya clenched her teeth but kept quiet.

— “Ksyusha, dear, I brought real beef from a trusted farmer,” her mother-in-law pulled out an impressive cut. “You have to tenderize it properly; then it’ll be soft. Watch and learn.”

The next two hours were torture. Zinaida commanded the kitchen like a general, criticized Kseniya’s every move, and lectured endlessly on how essential it was for a woman to please her husband at the table.

— “Valera likes more paprika in his stew,” she instructed. “And always add rosemary.”

— “Funny,” Kseniya couldn’t resist. “For four years Valera ate my stew without rosemary and never asked for paprika.”

— “He just didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Zinaida smiled sweetly. “Men are so delicate about a loved one’s feelings.”

Valera, lounging in the next room by the TV, offered no comment. That evening, after his mother left an immaculate kitchen and three containers of food behind, Kseniya felt utterly drained.

— “Your mom thinks I’m useless,” she told Valera.

— “She just wants you to meet our standards, help you out,” he waved it off. “By the way, the stew came out amazing. That’s what experience means!”

Kseniya said nothing. One thought spun in her mind: What’s happening to my husband?

Zinaida’s visits became a weekly ritual. Every Sunday she arrived with new groceries, recipes, and unsolicited advice. Soon the sphere of her influence spread from the kitchen to Kseniya’s wardrobe.

— “This sweater does nothing for your figure, dear,” she remarked one visit. “When I was your age I wore fitted dresses. Men like their wives feminine.”

— “I’m comfortable in a sweater,” Kseniya answered coolly, chopping vegetables.

— “Comfort and beauty are different,” Zinaida produced a bundle from her bag. “I brought you a dress. Valera will love it.”

The dress was an exact copy of one Zinaida wore in photos twenty years ago—beige, with a stand-up collar and three-quarter sleeves.

— “Very… conservative,” Kseniya laid it on a chair. “But it’s not my style.”

— “And what is your style? Jeans and baggy sweaters?” Zinaida pursed her lips. “Valera was raised differently. He expects elegance.”

— “He liked how I dressed before the wedding,” Kseniya objected.

— “Men tolerate a lot before the wedding,” the older woman retorted.

That night, after Zinaida left, Valera eyed his wife:

— “Why didn’t you try on the dress? Mom’s upset.”

 

— “I’m not a doll to be dressed up,” Kseniya crossed her arms.

— “Mom was being nice. She looked stunning at your age—I have pictures.”

— “And you want me to be a replica of her?” Irritation rose inside Kseniya.

— “I want you to listen to an experienced woman’s advice,” Valera raised his voice. “Mom built a perfect family, raised me, always supported Dad. And you keep resisting!”

— “Because I’m me!” Kseniya cried. “Not your mother, not anyone else’s copy! If you needed a housewife in a beige dress, why marry me?”

Valera left the room, slamming the door. That night they slept on opposite edges of the bed, not touching.

The next week passed in tense silence. Kseniya noticed Valera stayed late at work more often, calling his mother first thing on getting home. One day she came back early and found Valera and Zinaida rearranging their living room.

— “What’s going on?” she asked, staring at the new layout.

— “Mom helped me redecorate,” Valera said. “It’s cozier, isn’t it?”

The room Kseniya had arranged with love now mirrored Zinaida’s living room—same curtains, same furniture placement, even identical cushions.

— “You didn’t even ask me,” Kseniya felt a lump in her throat.

— “I wanted to surprise you,” he seemed bewildered by her reaction. “Mom says this harmonizes the space.”

— “And my opinion doesn’t matter? This is my home too!”

— “Of course, dear,” Zinaida inserted smoothly. “That’s why I’m helping. A woman should create comfort, and you—”

— “And I what?” Kseniya turned to her. “What’s wrong with how I set up our home?”

— “Nothing, just a bit… youthful,” Zinaida smiled condescendingly. “Experience will teach you that a home reflects the woman who keeps it.”

— “Or the man who owns it,” Kseniya shot back. “Or his mother who orders everyone around.”

— “Ksyusha!” Valera stepped forward. “Apologize this instant!”

— “For not wanting to become your mother’s clone?” Kseniya’s voice rose. “Every day you demand I cook like her, dress like her, furnish like her! What’s next—talk like her, style my hair like hers?”

— “Don’t exaggerate!” Valera clenched his fists. “Mom’s just showing how a proper wife behaves!”

— “So I’m not a proper wife?” Kseniya grabbed her bag. “Fine. I need air. Keep turning our apartment into a museum of your childhood.”

She left them standing in the living room.

Kseniya returned after midnight. The apartment was silent—Zinaida gone, Valera apparently asleep. In the bathroom she washed her face, staring at the stranger in the mirror: lost, cornered. When had she allowed herself to become this way?

— “Where were you?” Valera’s voice made her jump.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face stone-hard in the half-light.

— “Walking. I needed to clear my head.”

— “Until one a.m.? Do you realize how that looks? Mom was upset—she meant well, and you just walked out.”

— “Meant well for whom? For you? For her? Certainly not for me.”

— “You’ve become so selfish,” he shook his head. “You used to be different.”

— “No, Valera,” she passed him into the bedroom. “I’ve always been like this—you used to accept it. Even liked it. Now you want a silent doll—a replica of your mother.”

He followed her:

— “Mom just wants to teach you to be a good wife.”

— “And who decides what makes a good wife? Your mother? Maybe I have a say?”

— “You twist everything,” he raised his voice. “Mom has huge experience—thirty happy years of marriage!”

— “Wonderful for her,” Kseniya buttoned her pajamas. “But I’m not your mother. I have my own ideas about family.”

— “Apparently those ideas don’t include respecting your husband and his parents,” he sneered.

— “And yours don’t include respecting your wife and her individuality,” she shot back. “Remember? You loved my independence before. Now you’re forcing me into the very mold you once despised.”

Valera clenched his teeth:

— “After marriage things change—you need responsibility, maturity.”

— “Maturity, yes. Losing myself, no,” she sat on the bed. “Tell me honestly—was it your mother who pushed you to ‘re-educate’ me? Or did you decide I’m not good enough?”

He looked away—answer enough.

— “Thought so,” she said softly. “By the way, your mother called me today—wanted to talk ‘woman to woman.’ Did she mention that?”

Valera frowned:

— “No. What did she say?”

 

— “That I’m unworthy of you—too modern, too independent, not ‘right.’ She said I’d never make you happy unless I copy her.”

— “Mom would never—”

— “Oh, she would,” Kseniya stepped closer. “The worst part isn’t that she thinks so—it’s that you agree. You married me, then tried to remake me into your mother.”

— “Don’t be ridiculous!”

— “It’s the truth. And it became clear when she left town for two weeks and you started nitpicking three times harder—to prove you were following her orders.”

Anger distorted Valera’s face:

— “You’re just jealous of my relationship with Mom!”

— “No. I see I’m becoming a third wheel in my own marriage—after you and your mother.”

— “Stop insulting her!” he balled his fists.

— “I’m stating facts. You both decided what your wife should be and cram me into that mold. If I don’t fit—I’m the villain.”

— “You refuse to be a real wife!”

— “And you refuse to be a real husband!” Kseniya shouted. “A real man doesn’t let his mother interfere in his marriage! Doesn’t turn his wife into Mommy’s clone!”

Valera flushed deep red:

— “Shut up!”

— “No, I won’t! Want me to turn into Mommy? You’ll fail! Go hide under her skirt!”

His hand flew up but stopped a centimeter from her face. They froze, realizing how close they’d come to the edge.

— “You…” Valera lowered his hand, voice trembling. “You’ll regret those words.”

— “No,” Kseniya stepped back. “You’ll regret not accepting me as I am—letting your mother wreck our marriage.”

Valera left the room in silence. She heard him in the hallway, the rustle of clothes, a suitcase zipper. When she emerged, he stood at the door with a bag.

— “I’m filing for divorce,” he said coldly. “You’re right—we shouldn’t go on.”

— “Agreed,” Kseniya replied, surprised by her own calm. “It’s best for both of us.”

Six months flew by. The divorce was swift—he didn’t claim her apartment; she left his car. Zinaida tried to interfere—calls, angry texts, even showing up at the door—but Kseniya stood firm. No one would dictate her life anymore.

Spring brought warmth and new prospects. Kseniya was promoted, enrolled in photography courses—her long-time hobby Valera had called a waste—and completely redecorated the apartment: no beige curtains or tacky figurines, just bright colors, minimalism, comfort.

One sunny day she returned from a photo walk in the park, camera full of blooming trees. For the first time in ages, she felt genuinely happy.

— “Ksyusha?”

She turned to see Valera outside a café, a grocery bag in hand. He looked gaunt, drained—far from the confident man she’d known.

— “Hi,” she stopped, unsure how to react.

— “You… you look great,” he said in wonder. “You’re glowing.”

— “Thanks. How are you?”

— “Okay,” he shrugged. “Living with Mom until I move to a new place. Work’s steady.”

An awkward pause. He seemed restless, eyes darting.

— “Coffee?” he blurted out. “Just to talk. Like old friends.”

Kseniya hesitated. Six months ago she’d have refused, but now she felt strong enough to face the past.

— “Why not,” she agreed.

Inside they sat by the window with coffee. He clearly had something to say but struggled to start.

— “I’ve seen your photos online,” he began. “They’re beautiful. You’ve always had a good eye.”

— “Now I have time for what I love,” she stirred her drink.

— “Ksyusha, I…” he faltered. “I want to apologize. I behaved like an idiot.”

She met his gaze:

— “What changed?”

— “I did,” he said quietly. “I started therapy. Turns out I have a serious issue with boundaries—dependency on Mom’s approval.”

— “How did Zinaida Mikhailovna take that?” Kseniya asked.

— “Badly,” he chuckled sadly. “She says therapy’s nonsense. We argue a lot. I’m renting a place across town to see her less.”

She raised an eyebrow:

 

— “So you finally stood up to her?”

— “Not right away,” he admitted. “I kept blaming you, thought you ruined our marriage with stubbornness. Dated a couple of girls—same story: Mom interfered, I compared, demanded… they left. Just like you.”

He sipped his coffee, then:

— “Then I met Anya, a psychologist. First we talked, then she became my therapist. She helped me see the unhealthy bond with Mom—and how I destroyed our marriage.”

— “I’m glad you realized that,” she said sincerely.

— “Ksyusha,” he looked into her eyes, “I know I’m asking the impossible, but… could we try again? I’m different now. I won’t try to change anyone.”

Kseniya studied him. She saw genuine remorse. He had changed—but so had she.

— “Valera, I appreciate your honesty,” she said gently. “And your growth. But our paths diverged. I’ve found myself—learned to live how I want, without meeting others’ expectations. I don’t want to go back, even if it might be different.”

He dropped his gaze:

— “I figured. But I had to ask.”

— “You know,” she smiled slightly, “you gave me an odd gift. If you hadn’t tried to mold me into your mom, I might never have learned to stand up for myself. So… thank you.”

— “Glad someone benefited,” he smiled wryly.

They finished their coffee, chatting about mutual friends. At the door he asked:

— “Are you happy, Ksyusha?”

She thought a moment, then nodded:

— “Yes. For the first time in a long while, truly happy. And you?”

— “I’m learning to be,” he replied. “Learning to be myself, not an extension of Mom’s ambitions. It’s hard—but worth it.”

They went their separate ways. Walking home, Kseniya reflected on how strangely life works: sometimes you must lose something to find yourself; the most painful lessons often prove the most valuable.

Next day Valera messaged: “Thanks for meeting. I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve it.”

Kseniya smiled and replied simply: “You too.”

Vera was sitting on the edge of the bed, sorting through the children’s clothes that she had recently dumped out of the closet. It was time to update her daughter’s wardrobe. She was growing so fast, and most of her clothes were already too small. Time flew like sand slipping through one’s fingers… too quickly and imperceptibly. It slipped away, leaving behind only memories. Sometimes they were unpleasant, but they remained part of our lives.

“Verusik, are you here? Need help?” her husband asked, crouching beside her.

“No, I’ve got it. While Lesya is with her grandma, I decided to sort through her wardrobe and tidy up the room.”

“I can help. And then we can spend some time together.”

“If you want to spend time together, just say so. I can postpone the cleaning. After all, how would you sort the necessary things from the unnecessary? You’re the one who gets confused,” Vera laughed.

Oleg blushed slightly.

 

“What’s there, what’s there. You’re such a clever woman. I don’t even know what I’d do without you.”

Two years ago, Vera had run away from her first husband with their three-year-old child. She was tired of the endless drinking and tantrums that the man threw at her, each time getting so drunk that he lost all sense. Attempts to reason with him never led to anything good. Fearing that her husband might completely lose control and start laying a hand on her or their daughter, Vera left. She took a one-way ticket and hoped for the best. Almost immediately, she managed to rent an apartment, enroll her daughter in kindergarten, and find a good job. It was there that Vera met Oleg. She told herself that she would never again wear a wedding ring, but Oleg turned out to be persistent. He didn’t rush his beloved, yet he never refused his intent to charm her. Lesya grew accustomed to him and, from time to time, began calling him “daddy.” Six months ago, Vera finally agreed to become his wife. And she hasn’t regretted it once. Even though Oleg’s parents were against his marriage to a woman who had already been married and had a child, he didn’t ask for permission and made it clear to everyone that he wouldn’t let anyone control his life. Oleg didn’t allow anyone to speak ill of his beloved, quickly setting everything in its place. Her mother-in-law couldn’t sway his decision to marry.

Putting off the cleaning for later, Vera agreed to go for a walk with her husband. They didn’t spend much time together, but today was a day off, and the weather outside practically sang that it was time to seize the moment and go out.

“By the way, my parents have invited us to my father’s birthday celebration. They’ve decided to celebrate at a restaurant. They’ve booked a separate area with entertainers for the children. A lot of relatives will be there. Shall we go?”

Even though her mother-in-law didn’t really like her daughter-in-law, Vera tried to befriend the woman. She believed that in time Valentina Stepanovna would come to terms with it, see that her son was happy, and stop nagging him. If they were invited to a family celebration, that could be taken as a step toward establishing a relationship.

“But it’s your father! How could I refuse? Besides, he seems to treat Lesya well.”

Her father-in-law indeed welcomed his son’s choice and treated her daughter kindly. He said that it was Oleg’s life with Vera, and if he was happy, then he would be happy for his son.

“Well, that’s great! Then in a week we’ll go. And if you need a new dress, just say the word.”

“Where would I get new dresses? Let the money accumulate. What if we suddenly need to buy a stroller for the baby, children’s furniture… you know how many expenses come with a small child. With Lesya, it’s already a lot, and the second baby will demand even more at first.”

Oleg smiled. He loved Lesya like his own daughter, yet he was comforted by the thought that he and Vera might have a child together. Sometimes doubts crept in—would he end up loving his own child more? But he quickly dismissed them. Besides, how can one divide the love for children?

The week flew by. Vera had already picked up her daughter from her mother’s. Olesya was happy to return home to her beloved toys.

“Mom, do we really have to go somewhere?” Lesya frowned as Vera braided her long hair, getting ready to go to the restaurant.

“Grandpa Gena’s birthday. We need to go and congratulate him. Besides, Oleg said there would be other children and entertainers there. Don’t you want to have some fun?”

Lesya merely shrugged. Her reluctance was evident. Children are such sensitive beings, so Vera understood that her daughter also found it difficult to interact with a stepmother. Valentina Stepanovna had immediately forbidden the girl from calling her “grandma,” insisting that she be addressed by her first name and patronymic. This wasn’t a problem, of course, but the child didn’t understand why she was being pushed aside.

After getting ready, Vera hoped that everything would go well. If her husband’s parents had invited them, they should behave appropriately. She wanted to believe that everything would end without a scandal, but… inside there was still a sense of anxiety. Her intuition rarely failed her, so Vera tried to keep her finger on the pulse whenever that sinking feeling appeared.

Her mother-in-law cast a disdainful look at Vera and Lesya as soon as they approached to congratulate the celebrant, and spoke to her daughter-in-law in a strict tone:

“Let’s step aside for a moment so we can talk.”

Vera and Oleg exchanged glances. Oleg squeezed Lesya’s little hand and smiled. The mother promised that she would try to behave well and apologize to his wife. Oleg hoped that would indeed happen. He nodded to Vera, signaling that she shouldn’t worry.

“Are you trying to humiliate me?” Valentina Stepanovna demanded as soon as they stepped aside.

“Humiliate? Why do you say that? I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. If you don’t like the way we’re dressed…”

“Why should I care how you’re dressed? Your daughter doesn’t belong at a family celebration! She’s a stranger to us! Why did you bring her along? I invited you and my son, not this… daughter of an alcoholic.”

Vera felt her hand begin to itch. She wanted to smack her mother-in-law and force an apology for her carelessly thrown words, but the woman swallowed her pride. If a scandal broke out, everyone would condemn her. In the end, her words carried no real weight. It became clear—befriending her was impossible. The woman would never stop insisting that her son had chosen an unworthy wife. No matter how hard Vera tried, she would never be seen as good in the eyes of someone who had already judged her solely on the fact that she had a child.

“You know, I’ve endured your insults for a long time, always hoping that something in your stone heart would soften. Lesya is just a small child. She doesn’t understand why you hate her so much. For Oleg’s sake, I tried to build a relationship with you, but everything has its limits. I’m tired of crawling on my hands and knees before you, of enduring your sidelong glances at me and my daughter. Knowing that Oleg will support me and could even cut you off, I endured, but now I’m tired. I see that no matter how hard I try, I can never be good in your eyes, so I won’t tolerate it any longer. Valentina Stepanovna, know that if your son stops speaking to you, it won’t be my fault.”

Vera wanted to leave, but her mother-in-law grabbed her hand, squeezing her wrist so tightly that the skin ached with pain.

“Are you threatening me? How dare you utter such words? A son will never abandon his mother. Soon he’ll understand that such cheapness isn’t worthy of being his wife, and he’ll leave you! Didn’t you think that one day he’d get fed up and leave you? There are so many young and innocent girls around! Why would he need a wife with someone else’s child? He can marry someone who will bear him his own child! And then he won’t have to spend money on someone else’s child.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Perhaps Valentina Stepanovna thought her words would hurt Vera, but Vera trusted her husband. She hadn’t become his wife for nothing. She was confident in Oleg, as much as in herself, and knew he didn’t make empty promises. Her husband loved her and his daughter. The mother-in-law didn’t see how, in the evenings, Oleg would read fairy tales to Lesya, how he would cover the girl with a blanket and kiss her on the forehead. He treated his daughter better than her biological father ever did. He had become a true father for Lesya. And Vera never doubted this sensitive, understanding man. Because of her mother-in-law, she didn’t want to quarrel with her husband, but she could only smile through her disdain. She had already done enough trying to please her mother-in-law, yet the woman didn’t appreciate it. It was time to put an end to it, if an ellipsis had turned out to be the wrong punctuation mark.

 

Vera left, not allowing her mother-in-law to say any more hurtful words. Getting closer to her husband and daughter, she apologized to Gennady Dmitrievich, citing poor health—even though everyone clearly understood the real reason—and hurried away with her family from that stifling place.

Only when Lesya had fallen asleep did Oleg approach his wife and squeeze her hand. He had hoped that his mother would keep her promise and apologize to his wife, but he had trusted in vain.

“Did she say something bad again?”

“Why pretend that everything is fine if it isn’t? I don’t want to turn you against your mother, but you have to understand my feelings. Valentina Stepanovna hates my daughter. That won’t change. Every time she says she can’t stand Lesya, that she doesn’t belong at family events. Olezhka, I love you, but I can’t keep trying to mend things with your mother. What’s the point if with every attempt she lets out more barbs? It’s better to leave it as it is and stop trying. You can keep in touch with your parents—I don’t mind at all—but I’d rather not. It’s too hard. I tried not to take it to heart, but when you’re hurt more and more each time, it’s hard to hold on.”

Oleg just nodded and pulled his wife close. He understood perfectly and was disappointed by his mother’s behavior. The man couldn’t accept her nasty behavior. Deciding that there was no point in talking to his mother any longer, Oleg began to distance himself from the family.

One evening, Valentina Stepanovna met Vera as she was returning from work. The woman tried to provoke a scandal, but the daughter-in-law did not respond to the provocations. She simply ignored her words and remarks, pretending not to notice them at all. Oleg kept in touch with his father, but he rarely called his mother, and even less often answered her calls. When Valentina Stepanovna asked what was wrong, the son plainly stated that he wouldn’t allow anyone to insult his wife and daughter, and if his mother had any issues, she could permanently cut him out of her life.

A year later, Vera shared joyful news with her husband—she was pregnant. Oleg took on preparing Lesya for school so that his wife could rest more. However, his mother decided that she wouldn’t accept a grandchild… even if it was his own, since the child was to be born to the woman who had ruined her relationship with her son. Valentina Stepanovna still bore a grudge against Vera and refused to communicate with her. Deep down, she hoped that one day her son would realize everything, take his child, and divorce her, even though she understood that would never happen. Oleg loved his family too much, and his mother could not influence his life, for the chick had long since flown from the nest.

Olya came to after an excruciating headache. With great effort, she managed to pry her eyes open, and she had no idea where she was or how she had ended up there. Her memories seemed to have been wiped clean. Pitch darkness surrounded her, and nearby, sounds could be heard. These cries cut through her aching head like the toll of a bell.

Summoning all her strength, she got up from the bench and decided to find out what was causing the noise. Rounding the corner, Olya saw two young men trying to snatch a purse from an elderly woman’s hands.

 

«Hey, what are you doing?» she shouted with all her might.

«Bro, check it out—here’s another one,» one of the young men said as he headed toward Olya. The other followed him.

Taking advantage of the moment, the old lady pulled out her phone and dialed 112: «Hello, please come quickly to Lenin Alley, house 25. I was attacked—they tried to rob me—and now they’re harassing the girl.»

«A patrol is already on its way to your address. Someone from the area already called,» the operator replied.

After hanging up, the grandmother decided to take matters into her own hands: «Hey, isn’t my purse of any interest anymore?»

«Back off, old woman. We have more important business here,» one of the attackers snapped.

Finding nothing better to do, she picked up a stone from the ground and threw it in their direction. The guys got distracted from Olya and turned to face her.

At that very moment, the police arrived. The culprits were detained, the pensioner’s statement was taken, and they left.

«What’s your name, my savior?» asked the old lady as she came closer.

«Olya.»

«And I’m Svetlana Vasilievna. Dear, you don’t look well. Come with me, I’ll make you some tea. I live here.» She pointed to the nearest house.

«What savior? Someone did call the police.»

«Yes, but you weren’t afraid to intervene, even though it could have ended badly. Come with me.»

Ascending to the second floor, Olya squinted at the bright light in the apartment.

«Don’t be afraid, come in,» said the hostess, gasping as she saw her guest in the light. «Quickly take off your shoes and let’s go to the bathroom. We need to treat your wound. My goodness, what happened to you?»

In the bathroom, Svetlana Vasilievna began treating the wound on Olya’s head. «Vitka, bring my little suitcase from the bedroom!» she called.

A few minutes later, a little boy of about seven appeared.

«Don’t just stand there like a post. This is Aunt Olya—she saved me. Help out, come on, I’ve taught you everything.»

Twenty minutes later, they were having tea in the kitchen.

«Svetlana Vasilievna, I remember nothing. Only my name, and nothing else. I don’t even know how I ended up here.»

«You were hit hard on the head. Perhaps there are some documents in your pockets?»

«I didn’t even check.»

The boy quickly fetched Olya’s jacket from the hallway. After rummaging through the pockets, she found only a photograph. It showed her with a young man. On the back, it read: «Never give up, sis. Kostik.»

«I have a brother.»

«That’s good. That means someone will be looking for you. Tonight you’ll stay with us, and tomorrow we’ll decide what to do.»

Olya couldn’t sleep for a long time. She tried to remember something about herself, but to no avail. The headache worsened from the tension, and eventually, exhaustion took over.

When she woke up, the clock showed noon.

«Awake, beautiful.»

«I’m sorry—I didn’t think I’d sleep this long.»

«Don’t apologize; there’s no rush. I’ve already called some acquaintances. There are no reports of missing women with the police, but they’ll be checking. I left your description. And we need to show you to a doctor. I’ve arranged something at the hospital.»

«But I don’t have any documents.»

«That’s not important. Many people in our town owe me a little,» Svetlana Vasilievna smiled.

«You know how many lives my grandmother saved. She worked as a surgeon,» Vitia added proudly.

«Shh. One doesn’t boast about saving lives—it’s every doctor’s duty. But over the years, one does accumulate acquaintances. Now I’m retired. I’m looking after him while his father is away working.»

Olya decided not to ask about the boy’s mother, deciding it wasn’t her business.

After a hearty lunch, Svetlana Vasilievna and Olya went to the hospital. Olya was taken to various offices, underwent examinations and tests. The final diagnosis came like a sentence: amnesia caused by a head injury. The doctors assured her that her memory would eventually return, but that treatment needed to continue for now.

 

«You’ll stay with us for now,» said Svetlana Vasilievna at dinner. «I’ll provide you with medical care no worse than what you’d get in a hospital.»

«Thank you, Svetlana Vasilievna. You know, when we were at the hospital, I somehow knew the names of the medical equipment. Although that doesn’t mean much—anyone could know the names. Maybe I worked in a hospital?»

«Time will tell. Don’t worry or stress. The main thing right now is to take care of your head.»

It had been two weeks since Olya had been living with Svetlana Vasilievna and Vitia. During that time, they had grown very close. Olya tried to help around the house. She learned that Vitia’s mother had abandoned them two years ago after finding a wealthier man who didn’t want to be a stepfather. After the divorce, Dmitry—Vitia’s father—discovered that his ex-wife had left enormous debts. Now he was working off those debts in shifts. According to Svetlana Vasilievna, his hardship was not so much financial as it was emotional—he had loved his wife very much.

«Svetlana Vasilievna, I feel perfectly fine. I can’t keep depending on you all the time. I need to find a job. But how can I do that without any documents?»

«Well, we’ll figure that out, Olenka. But only if the doctors permit.»

Olya did not feel burdened by Svetlana Vasilievna at all. On the contrary, she became an indispensable helper, and the elderly woman was very grateful to her. Moreover, the holidays were about to end soon, and Vitia would start school—bringing even more responsibilities.

When the doctors gave the green light for her to work, Svetlana Vasilievna took her to another department of the hospital.

«Here, Olenka, meet my old friend Andrey Pavlovich. You’ll work as a cleaner in his department. Do you agree?»

«Of course, I agree. Thank you very much. Nice to meet you. When can I start?»

«Tomorrow. And today, familiarize yourself with the department and get your uniform.»

That evening, upon seeing a cake on the table, Vitia became delighted:

«Are we having a celebration?»

«Yes. I got a job. More precisely, your grandmother helped me with that,» Olya smiled.

«And now you’ll leave us?» the boy asked sadly.

«No one is going anywhere. Who would let her go? She is now like family to us.»

Their cheerful laughter was interrupted by a knock on the door. Olya hurried to open it—neighbors often visited with requests for Svetlana Vasilievna. Sometimes they came to have their blood pressure checked, sometimes to ask for advice. Although she always grumbled that they should go to the doctor instead of her, people still came, knowing they would receive help.

This time, a man with a bag stood on the doorstep. Olya didn’t recognize him immediately, only when a joyful Vitia shouted:

«Dad’s here!»

The boy immediately started telling his father about Olya, and she blushed at his praises of her as a heroine.

Later, when Dmitry put Vitia to bed, the adults gathered in the kitchen.

«That’s the story, son. Now you know everything.»

«Why didn’t you at least warn me over the phone? I looked so foolish when Olga opened the door.»

«You’re always in a hurry. You didn’t even inform me of your arrival. Are you staying for a long time this time?»

«What, are you tired of me already?» the man laughed.

«You’ll get your come-uppance soon enough!» said Svetlana Vasilievna, pretending to wave a towel.

Dmitry was set up to sleep on a folding bed in Vitia’s room.

«Svetlana Vasilievna, maybe I could sleep there?» Olya asked timidly.

«He’s the father and hasn’t seen his son in a long time. And we girls need separate rooms as well. So that’s not up for discussion,» Svetlana Vasilievna replied sternly, making it clear that the discussion was over.

Days passed unnoticed. At first, work was difficult for Olya, but then she found special pleasure in talking with the patients. Listening to their stories about life and illnesses, she often caught herself thinking that she knew how to treat various ailments. But she attributed that to overheard conversations among the doctors. No one complained about her, and even the usually strict Andrey Pavlovich stopped reminding her that she could be fired at any moment, despite Svetlana Vasilievna’s recommendation.

The only thing that troubled her was the complete absence of any memories about herself. She often looked at the photograph and wondered why her brother hadn’t been looking for her.

On weekends, the four of them often went out together for walks. It felt to Olya as though she had always lived with this family. Vitia had become especially attached to her. She feared that the boy would grow too attached—because sooner or later she would remember everything and leave. And although she tried not to admit it to herself, that too would feel like a loss.

Today, work was a bustle. From early morning, everyone was running around doing something. Olya received countless orders. Later, she learned that an important guest was expected for an inspection, so everyone strove for perfect order. Olya wasn’t too anxious about the arrival of this person—she always conscientiously did her job.

Only one last ward needed cleaning. Today, a new patient had been admitted there. As she was cleaning, several doctors entered the ward. Ignoring Olya, they began discussing the patient’s diagnosis and symptoms, arguing and trying to prove each other’s points. The noise made Olya feel a bit dizzy, and she sat down. As usual, no one paid her any attention.

When the dizziness subsided, she approached the patient. Acting almost on instinct, Olya checked the patient’s pupils, measured the pulse, examined the monitor readings, and reviewed the nearby test results. The doctors fell silent as they watched her actions.

Then, turning to them, she said, «You’re all mistaken. This patient must be urgently transferred to the neurology department and undergo additional tests.» She scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to one of the doctors. «Here is the probable diagnosis.»

Her supervisor was the first to regain his senses.

«How dare you even touch a patient? You’re just a cleaner who knows nothing about medicine! Get out of here, and I never want to see you here again!»

Realizing her mistake, Olya decided to leave the ward as quickly as possible—in fact, to leave the hospital altogether.

Svetlana Vasilievna was extremely surprised to see Olya home earlier than expected.

«What happened?»

Olya lowered her gaze and recounted everything.

«Hold on. There’s some rationality in what you’re saying—I mean about the diagnosis and the patient. I’ll make a few calls now. Which doctor did you give the note to?»

Twenty minutes later, Svetlana Vasilievna returned to the kitchen.

«I have both good and bad news. Which should I start with?»

«Let’s start with the bad.»

«That old codger won’t take you back to work. And the others will be afraid too.»

«And what’s the good news then?»

«You turned out to be right. The doctor decided to verify your assumptions and conducted additional tests. The patient is already significantly better. And that means your memory has started to return.»

Olya smiled. Those words of hope truly outshone the bad news. She would find a job.

That evening, Dmitry cheered his mother: he had found a job in the city and no longer planned to leave. «Enough wandering,» he said. Then he asked if he could temporarily live there, while continuing to rent out his apartment. «After all, it’s not easy to be alone with Vitia.»

Of course, Svetlana Vasilievna was pleased with this decision. She hoped that it wasn’t only she and her grandson who would keep her son in the city.

Three days later, there was a knock on the door. Standing on the doorstep was a young man whom Svetlana Vasilievna recognized immediately—he was Olya’s brother. She invited him in.

Upon seeing her brother, Olya felt dizzy. She instantly recognized him—after all, she had looked at his photo many times during the day. He jumped up and supported her so that she wouldn’t fall.

«Sis! Forgive me! I didn’t know anything!»

«Don’t spout off so quickly—you see, she’s not feeling well. She’ll take a pill now and then we’ll talk calmly.»

Later in the kitchen, Kostik recounted his story:

 

«I went abroad to negotiate contracts for the supply of medical equipment. We inherited a clinic from our parents, where Olya worked as the chief physician. We split the duties: I handle the documentation, and she deals with the patients. I called the clinic—they said Olya had taken leave. When she didn’t answer my calls, I assumed she wanted some time alone after breaking up with her fiancé, whom I caught in the bedroom with another. And when I returned, it turned out that her assistant had unilaterally arranged her leave since Olya hadn’t shown up for work. I got so angry! I started calling all our acquaintances and raised an alarm about her disappearance. When I was about to contact the police, Ivan Alekseevich called. He had recently been in your city and suspected he’d caught a glimpse of Olya in a hospital—though, oddly, in the uniform of a cleaner. So I headed here immediately. I found out from the chatty nurses about the cleaner who made the exact diagnosis on a difficult patient. I showed them a photo—they recognized her. And finding the address wasn’t hard at all.»

«I came here to clear my head and check out the city. I wanted to open a new branch in another city and escape my burdensome memories. And while I was walking in the city, someone struck me from behind,» Olya said softly.

Four months passed.

«Dad, is Olya really coming today?»

«Definitely, son. Don’t disturb me—I’m getting ready for her arrival.»

«Oh, look at him getting ready! As if stuffing a chicken in the oven and wearing a clean shirt is something special!» laughed Svetlana Vasilievna.

«Dad, is she never going to leave again?» Vitia persisted.

«If your dad is more decisive, then no.»

«Mom, stop! I already said—I’m getting ready.»

That evening, everyone gathered together in the kitchen as before, only now Kostya was also there.

Raising her glass, Olya said, «I am endlessly glad that fate brought me together with such wonderful people. We have decided to open a clinic here, and I’m staying.»

«Hooray!» Vitia immediately shouted, and Olya ruffled his hair.

«I’ve missed you very much too, and now I’m not going anywhere. I promise.»

«And you all promise to take care of her,» said Kostik, winking at Dmitry. He, like Svetlana Vasilievna, had understood everything long ago.

Alexey stopped the car. How many times had he planned, intended to come, but never found the time? While his mother was alive, he wasn’t around—and after she was gone, it was no different.

The memories filled him with disgust toward himself. All it took was a little shake for him to realize that the world he’d built around himself was nothing more than a mirage. Not a single word or deed had any real meaning. He even felt gratitude toward Irina, his ex-wife, for opening his eyes.

Then, in one moment, everything crumbled. His picture-perfect family life, admired by those around him, and his close friendships turned out to be a sham. It emerged that his wife and best friend had betrayed him, and those who knew the truth had kept silent. It was a total collapse. Everyone close to him had betrayed him. After the divorce, Alexey returned to his hometown. Eight years had passed since his mother’s funeral, and not once during that time had he found a moment to visit her grave. Only now did he realize that his mother was the only person who would never have betrayed him.

Alexey married late. He was 33, and his chosen one was 25. Oh, how proud he felt when he saw Irina by his side—she appeared striking and refined. Later, when she screamed in his face that she had hated him throughout their brief life together, that being with him was pure torture, Alexey realized just how blind he had been. Her face, distorted with rage, looked like a horrible mask—repulsive and terrifying. And yet, he had almost given in. Irina had cried so genuinely, begging for forgiveness, saying that he was always busy while she was left alone.

But when he firmly declared the divorce, Irina revealed her true colors. Alexey got out of the car and pulled out a huge bouquet of flowers. He slowly walked along the cemetery path. Over the years, everything had surely become overgrown. He hadn’t even been there when the tombstone was installed. Everything was handled online, remotely. That’s how quickly life can pass by.

To his surprise, the fence and monument looked well-kept, not a blade of grass out of place. Someone had been tending the grave. Who? Perhaps one of his mother’s friends—most likely, they were still alive. Since his son had not found time to come? He opened the gate. “Well, hello, Mom,” he whispered. His throat tightened, his eyes stung, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

He was a successful entrepreneur—a stern man who never cried or showed sadness. Yet now he wept like a child, and he didn’t want to stop the tears. It was as if his soul were being cleansed, and everything tied to Irina and his other failures was fading away. It felt like his mother was gently stroking his head and whispering, “Don’t worry, everything will be alright, you’ll see.” He sat in silence for a long time, conversing in his mind with his mother. He recalled the days when he would scrape his knees and cry, and how she would rub his wounds with antiseptic, blow on them, and soothe him: “It’s nothing, all my boys get scraped knees; they heal, and there won’t be a trace.” And indeed, they healed. Each time, the pain became easier to bear.

“You get used to everything—everything. But you can’t get used to betrayal,” she would repeat. Now he understood the deep meaning of her words. Back then they had seemed ordinary, but now he realized how wise his mother had been. She had raised him without a father, yet she never coddled him; instead, she raised him to be a normal, capable man.

How much time had passed? Alexey didn’t know, nor did he want to look at the clock. Now, he felt at peace. He decided to stay in town for a few days. Something had to be done about his mother’s house. Sure, he could pay the neighbor to watch over it, but how much longer would he let it lie idle? He smiled, remembering how he’d met her daughter. When he arranged for someone to look after the house, he met Katya. He had been so miserable then, so bitter—and Katya turned out to be kind. They met one evening, talked, and everything happened naturally. In the morning, he left, leaving a note indicating where to put the key.

In Katya’s eyes, he might have looked unremarkable. But he hadn’t promised anything. Everything had happened by mutual consent. Katya had come to his mother’s house after her divorce from a tyrant of a husband. She told him about it. She was having a hard time, and so was he. And then, everything just happened.

“Uncle, could you help me?” a child’s voice called out. Suddenly turning around, he saw a little girl of about seven or eight, holding an empty bucket.

“I need some water to water the flowers. My mom and I just planted them, and today Mom fell ill. It’s so hot outside—they’ll wither. There’s water very close by, but I can’t carry the bucket all the way. And I don’t want Mom to know I came here alone. If I carry a little at a time, it’ll take so long, and she’ll figure it out.”

Alexey smiled: “Of course, show me where to go.”

The little girl went ahead, chattering non-stop. Within five minutes, Alexey knew everything—how she had told her mom not to drink cold water in the heat, and that now Mom was sick. Liza had come to visit her grandmother’s grave, who had died a year ago. Grandmother would have scolded Mom, and she wouldn’t have fallen ill. Besides, Liza had been in school for a year now and dreamed of graduating with top honors.

Alexey felt a lightness in his heart. How sincere children are! He now understood that he would have been happy if he had a normal, loving wife and a child waiting for him after work. His Irina had resembled an expensive doll, and she never even wanted to hear about children. She said one must be utterly foolish to sacrifice one’s beauty for the sake of a whining little person. They had been married for five years. And now Alexey realized—he had not one warm memory of their family life.

He placed the bucket inside the fence, and Liza carefully began to water the flowers. Alexey looked at the monument and froze. In the photo was the neighbor with whom he’d arranged the house-sitting—Katya’s mother. He turned his gaze to the little girl.

 

“Galina Petrovna was your grandmother?”

“Yes. And did you know her?”

“Then why do I ask? You were at Grandma Galya’s grave. My mom and I always come there to clean and bring flowers.”

“You with your mom?” Alexey asked, puzzled.

“Well, yes, with my mom. I already said that Mom doesn’t allow me to go to the cemetery alone.”

The little girl took her bucket and glanced around. “Well, I’m off—otherwise she’ll worry and ask too many questions, and I really can’t lie.”

“Wait, let me give you a ride.”

Liza shook her head: “I can’t get into a car with strangers, and I don’t want to upset Mom—she’s already sick.”

Quickly, Liza said goodbye and ran off. Alexey returned to his mother’s grave and sat down to think. “Something’s odd. Katya didn’t live here; she came to my mother’s house for a while, but now it appears that Katya lives here, and she has a daughter.

Back then, I knew nothing about Katya having a child. Although who knows how old Liza is? Perhaps Katya got married and had her.” After sitting a while longer, Alexey finally got up. He understood that most likely now Katya herself was taking care of the house—and that he paid her.

Well, in principle, what did it matter to him whom he paid? Alexey drove up to the house. His heart tightened. The house hadn’t changed at all. It seemed that in just another minute, Mom would step onto the porch, wipe away her tears with the corner of her apron, and rush over to hug him. Alexey lingered in the car for a long time. Mom didn’t appear. Finally, he stepped into the yard. Wow! Even the flowers had been replanted.

Everything was beautiful and immaculate. Well done, Katya. I’ll have to thank her. Inside the house, everything sparkled with cleanliness and freshness—as if someone had lived there and only stepped out for a little while. Alexey sat at the table. He lingered for a moment, then quickly got up. He needed to speak with the neighbor—to settle all the issues before he could relax. The door opened, and Liza greeted him.

“Oh, is that you?” she said, putting a finger to her lips and giving a conspiratorial wink. “But don’t mention anything to Mom, okay? We already saw each other at the cemetery.”

Alexey pretended to lock his mouth, and Liza burst into giggles.

“Come in,” a voice called from inside the room. “I’m feeling a bit better, but don’t come too close, or you might catch something.”

Katya looked at him with a frightened expression: “You?”

Alexey smiled: “Hello.”

He looked around. “And where’s your husband?” he asked, though he already sensed that he wasn’t there—and perhaps never had been.

“Alexey, you… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your mother’s death. With work in town being so hectic, I ended up taking care of the house myself.”

“My condolences, Katya. And about the house… thank you so much. I came back—and it’s as if Mom had just stepped out for a minute. Everything is clean and cozy. Are you staying long?”

 

“No, just a few days.”

“And what do you think about selling the house? Are you going to sell it?”

Alexey shrugged: “I haven’t thought about it yet. Katya, here…” He took out an envelope. “This is for you—for taking such excellent care, sort of like a bonus.”

He placed a sizable wad of money on the table.

“Alexey, what are you doing? You really don’t need to!”

Liza smiled: “Thank you, Uncle Alexey. Mom has long dreamed of a new dress, and I want a bicycle.”

He laughed: “Good job, Liza.”

Just like he had been as a child—money never passed him by.

That evening, Alexey realized he was falling ill. It seemed he’d caught something. His temperature was high. He remembered where Mom always kept the thermometer, checked his temperature, and realized something had to be done.

Not knowing which medicine to take, he sent an SMS to the neighbor’s number—now he knew that it was Katya who answered. “What should I take for a high fever?” Ten minutes later, the neighbor was already at his place.

“Oh my, why did you even come into the house? Am I the one who infected you?”

“You’re the one who’s sick—what are you worrying about?”

“Everything’s fine now.”

Katya handed him some pills, and Liza made him tea.

“You’ll get burned.”

“Who? Liza?”

“No, I’m more likely to get burned. She’s our jack-of-all-trades.”

Alexey smiled. Something in his mind clicked, just like in childhood. And then, the thoughts came together so clearly that he even sat down on the couch.

“Katya,” he said.

She looked at him warily: “What’s wrong?”

“And when was Liza born?”

Katya slumped onto a chair, exhausted: “Why do you need to know that?”

“Katya?”

The woman turned to her daughter: “Liza, run to the store—buy a couple of lemons and something to drink.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Liza ran out the door, and Katya began to speak: “Alexey, let’s be clear right away. Liza has nothing to do with you. We don’t need anything. We have everything; just forget it.”

“What? So it’s true? Katya, do you even realize what you’re saying? Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alexey jumped up. “I decided to keep the child back then. You had no part in that decision, so I didn’t say anything. I never even imagined you’d come back. And I certainly didn’t expect you to be interested.”

Alexey sat down: “I must have hurt you back then.”

Katya shrugged: “Well, it’s alright—I managed, as you can see.”

Alexey was silent. He was in shock. All these years he had lived an artificial life, and the true, genuine life was right here at home, in the faces of little Liza and Katya. Now he looked at her and wondered: what more did he need?

Nothing. He no longer needed to search for anything.

“Alexey?” Katya asked, worried. “What will you do? I beg you—don’t say anything to Liza. If you leave and forget, she’ll be left waiting and worrying.”

“No, Katya, that won’t happen. How can you think so poorly of me? I don’t even know what to do yet myself.”

That night, he dreamed of his mother. She smiled and rejoiced, saying she had always dreamed of having a granddaughter like Liza.

Alexey left after three days. Katya sat at the table listening to him. “In any case, I’ll sort out some matters and come back—in a week, maybe a little longer. And I won’t come back just for nothing. I’ll come back to win you back. I promise I won’t tell Liza anything if… if it doesn’t work out. But I’ll help regardless. Katya, tell me— is there at least a chance?”

“A chance at happiness, at a family.”

 

She shrugged and wiped away a tear: “I don’t know, Alexey.”

He managed to return only after three weeks. He stopped his car not at his own house, but at Katya’s. He pulled out huge bags of gifts for Liza and Katya and went inside.

“Hello,” he said.

Katya was sewing something. She looked up and offered a faint smile: “You came?”

“I said I would come. And where…” Liza emerged from the room.

“Hi, Uncle Alexey.”

Katya stood: “I’ve thought about everything you said, and… Liza, I want to introduce you to your father.”

Alexey dropped the bags. “Thank you,” he whispered.

They left after a week. Both houses were put up for sale. They decided to start life with a clean slate. Liza was still a bit shy—sometimes calling Alexey ‘dad,’ other times ‘Uncle Alexey.’ And he laughed, hugging both the little girl and Katya, believing that now everything would finally be as it was meant to be from the very beginning.

— Dima, let’s call it quits. Five years of marriage, and I still can’t conceive a child. Why torture each other? I don’t want someone else’s children. Surrogacy is not for us. We wasted our time and money on IVF.

— I think the same, Lena, that all of this is useless. Love alone is not enough to build a family.

— I have no property claims against you, Dima. The apartment stays yours, and I’ll move in with my mother.

They parted with deep regret on the very day they filed for divorce. She wept both before and after the ceremony, and his eyes filled with tears.

After leaving the registry office building, they went their separate ways.

At home, Elena told her mother:

— Dima’s mother constantly pressured him, insisting that I’m infertile and unworthy of her son. Let him now rejoice. I freed her little boy for the daughters of her friends. Half of them are already married, yet it’s still not enough for her.

— Daughter, don’t think about them. Dmitry has his own head on his shoulders. You insisted on the divorce for nothing.

 

— That wilful mother-in-law drove me crazy. She would come over, then call, demanding that we leave her noble son alone.

Later, Elena’s former classmate Vitaly visited her.

— I saw from the window yesterday how you arrived with your things. My wife died during childbirth. I took the twins to their grandmother in a village. My mother needs to build her experience, and the grandmother is already retired.

— Vitalik, you didn’t just drop by without a reason. Spill it—what are you planning?

— My boys need a mother. They’ll soon start school, and not in a village, right?

— Do you need a nanny? But I work.

— No, Lena. The grandmother will move in with us. I’ve always liked you since school, but you chose that classmate. And I married Sveta without love.

— So you’ve always liked me, and yet you didn’t even know about me.

— Lena, how about you agree to marry me?

— Vitalik, you’re such a hurry-up. Give me some time to think.

— We’ll file the application, and you’ll have a couple of months to decide.

— You talked me into it. Come by my office tomorrow after work. I’ll send you the address by text. And no lavish wedding, please.

— As you wish.

Vitaly left, and Elena laughed.

— Mom, I just got divorced, and my new fiancé is already here. Can you believe it?

— Vitalik is a good man, daughter. I feel sorry for Svetocha. She carried twins, it was so hard on her. She was in the hospital almost all the time for bed rest. Her little heart was weak.

— Oh, Mom, I’m definitely not pregnant.

A couple of weeks later, Elena received a call from her former mother-in-law.

— Dimochka and Yulenka have filed an application at the registry office. I didn’t even know that she was pregnant with him. Apparently, it’s already three months along.

— My congratulations to your son, — and Elena ended the conversation.

— Mom, Vitalik appeared just in time. I will marry him without any hesitation, — she told her mother, recounting the news about her ex-husband.

Elena and Vitaly filed an application at the registry office. Already outside, he offered her to move in with him.

— I’m sorry, but I’m not ready for such close relations yet. I’ll move in only after the marriage registration. For now, let’s get used to each other from a distance.

Vitaly agreed, but Elena detected hurt in his voice. However, at that moment it seemed insignificant. Time will pass, and everything will fall into place.

Elena was drawn to Dmitry, especially in the evenings and at night. More than once she planned to call him and express her outrage: how could he, while still married, allow himself to have a close relationship with Yulia. But something inside stopped her.

 

The day of the registry office registration with Vitaly was approaching, and Elena suddenly fell ill. In the mornings she felt nauseous, and her head spun. She thought it was due to anxiety. Her mother advised her to see a doctor.

Elena scheduled an appointment at the polyclinic, but just a day before the visit to the registry office.

— You’re expecting a child, — the doctor stated.

— This must be some mistake. I divorced my husband and had no other relationships.

— Get some tests done, — the doctor handed her a referral.

The results were not due immediately, and already the next day Elena had a wedding. Should she tell Vitaly about this? What if it was a false result or just a hormonal imbalance? Let it be what it will, she decided, and went to bed.

It was already late when Dmitry called her.

— How are you, Lenochka?

— I’m fine! Tomorrow I’m marrying a widower with many children. I will raise someone else’s children.

— And you didn’t want to take the little one from the orphanage with me?

— Dima, time goes by, and my desires change.

— Send me the registry office address. I want to come and congratulate you.

— I’ll send you a message with the time in the morning. Be happy for me, even though I couldn’t do so during your wedding.

— I don’t understand, Lena. What do you mean?

— About your infidelity, although I didn’t know about it before. Your mother enlightened me.

— Again, Mom? I’m tired of her antics. Besides you, I had no one and will have no one. I miss you terribly.

At the registry office, when the registrar asked Elena if she agreed to become Vitaly’s wife, she hesitated, glancing at the guests. She was waiting for Dmitry. And then he appeared with a bouquet of flowers and shouted:

— I love you, Lenka! Don’t marry him! — and spread his arms wide.

— I can’t live without you either, Dima. — Elena rushed into his arms, and he, picking her up, ran out onto the street. There was his car, and they drove to his place.

— And what about your pregnant wife, Yulenka?

— Who? I don’t know her. Besides you, I’ve never had another wife. Did your mother say that?

— Dima, even after our divorce she can’t find peace.

In the evening, Dmitry told Elena what he had learned.

— I was at my mother’s as a guest the day before yesterday. It was late, and I decided to stay over. I heard her talking in her bedroom with a friend. I listened in and understood everything, — he recounted the conversation between his mother and her friend.

Elena had no idea about her mother-in-law’s treachery. It was she who, when visiting Elena, had mixed some liquid into her tea, after which the first miscarriage occurred. And even when Dmitry announced that Elena was pregnant, the mother-in-law continued to secretly harm her daughter-in-law. Even after the IVF, she wasn’t appeased.

 

— Dima, could she really be capable of that?

— I underestimated her, Lenochka. Now everything will be different. You will definitely get pregnant.

Suddenly, Elena received a message with the test results.

— Dima, I’m already pregnant with your child. There was no intimacy with Vitaly. Can you imagine? The term is about two and a half months. When we divorced, he was already out.

— Now my mother will never set foot in our apartment, Lenochka, with her meddling.

Elena successfully gave birth to a girl later on, during her second marriage with Dmitry. When he informed his mother about it, she was in shock.

— You’re together again? How could you, my son, do this behind my back? I had arranged with Olga Pavlovna. Her daughter had just graduated from college, and we were planning to visit you. This is not your child, son.

— What do you mean «my child»? And this is not the end. And one more thing—I want to tell you. The last time I stayed over at your place, I heard what you bragged about to your friend. Imagine what you did to Lena. You’d be in jail if that were the case. Never come near my family again.

Several years passed.

Dmitry and Elena had two children. He maintained contact with his mother, calling her and occasionally visiting. However, he never lifted the ban he imposed.

On Saturdays, Ksenia hated having to get up early. She longed to spend a well-deserved rest after an exhausting work week, wrapped in a warm blanket and enjoying some peace. However, the phone vibrated relentlessly on the bedside table, yanking her from the embrace of sweet sleep.

— What now? — she mumbled, groping along the table in search of her mobile phone.

A message from her mother-in-law made Ksenia sit up straight in bed:

“Ksyushenka, Vitalina is coming to stay with you for a week along with Artem and the children. Prepare something tasty. And buy some fruits. The grandchildren adore strawberries. Kisses.”

Ksenia read the text three times. Vitalina was the biological sister of her mother-in-law, Raisa Petrovna. A complete stranger to her, the woman was coming with her husband and two teenage twins to stay for an entire week—and no one had even bothered to ask for their permission.

“Anton, wake up,” Ksenia gently shook her husband’s shoulder. “Your mother has decided everything again.”

Anton half-opened one eye.

— What happened?

— Vitalina and her family are coming to stay for a week. Your mom already arranged for me to welcome and feed them.

Anton sat on the bed, rubbing his face with his palms.

— That’s just what we needed. I warned you that we decide for ourselves whom to invite.

Ksenia gave a bitter snort. In three years of marriage, she had gotten used to the fact that her husband’s relatives treated their apartment as a sort of free hotel with full service. Anton’s cousins would show up unannounced. His aunt, Zinaida Petrovna, would “pop in for a minute” and stay until the evening, demanding lunch and dinner. His niece, Svetochka, would regularly spend the night there when her parents went out for fun.

And every time Ksenia would obediently cook, wash, clean, and smile. And Anton would simply shrug his shoulders—as if to say, “they’re family; nothing can be done about it.”

— I need to go to the store, — Ksenia sighed as she got out of bed.

Anton pulled his wife towards him.

— Listen, maybe it’s time to put an end to this mess? Let’s just say we’re having repairs or that we had a flood.

Ksenia smiled sadly. Anton often said the right things, but nothing ever happened beyond words. When uninvited guests appeared, he was always the first to run to hug the relatives and offer them tea.

— Are they arriving this evening?

— Mom didn’t specify. I need to find out.

Ksenia silently headed to the bathroom. Under the warm streams of water, thoughts swirled in her head about the coming week. Cooking for six instead of two. Constant noise. A complete lack of personal space. And all this in their rented two-room apartment, for which they were barely keeping up with the rent.

After the shower, Ksenia decided to check the family budget. Opening the expense spreadsheet on her laptop, she was horrified to discover that the grocery expenses had almost doubled over the past three months.

— Anton, you won’t believe this. — Ksenia turned the screen towards her husband, who had just entered the kitchen. — In the last quarter, we spent more on food than on rent!

Anton whistled as he looked at the figures.

— It can’t be.

— Oh, it can. And you know why? Because we’re feeding all of your relatives. Remember when your brother Leshka came over with his friends to watch football? Three pizzas, two kilograms of shashlik. And all on our dime.

Anton lowered his gaze.

— Well, it was awkward to ask them for money.

— And Aunt Zina comes by for lunch every week. And always “accidentally” at the time when I’m cooking. — Ksenia closed the laptop. — You know what? I’ve had enough.

— What do you propose? — Anton asked cautiously.

— Nothing special. Just stop being a free cafeteria. If your relatives want to stay with us—fine. But let them take care of themselves.

Anton shook his head uncertainly.

— I don’t know, Ksyusha. It feels awkward…

— And is it convenient for me to work two jobs to feed your relatives?

Anton’s phone suddenly rang. Raisa Petrovna announced that Vitalina and her family would arrive today by six in the evening. And Ksenia must prepare borscht—Artem loves it.

— Of course, Mom, — Anton cast a guilty look at his wife and ended the call.

— I’m not going to cook anything, — Ksenia said firmly, folding her arms across her chest. — Enough. Let them take care of themselves.

— Ksyush…

 

— No, Anton. Either you’re on my side, or I’m spending the week at my parents’, and you entertain your guests yourself.

By six o’clock, Ksenia had deliberately settled into the bedroom with a book. Not a single appetizing aroma wafted from the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty—Ksenia had deliberately not gone to the store. Anton paced nervously in the hallway, occasionally glancing at his watch.

The doorbell rang precisely at six. Ksenia heard her husband open the door, suitcases thumping in the hallway, and unfamiliar voices emerging. Reluctantly, she left the bedroom.

In the corridor stood four people: a plump woman of about fifty with dyed red hair, a balding man roughly the same age, and two teenagers—a boy and a girl of about fifteen.

— And here’s our hostess! — the woman beamed. — Ksyushenka, dear! I’m Vitalina, this is my husband Artem, and our kids—Kirill and Karina. We haven’t seen each other in ages; you probably won’t even recognize us.

Ksenia forced a strained smile and shook the offered hand.

— Come in.

— We’re starving from the road! — Vitalina headed straight for the kitchen. — Raechka said you cook wonderfully. Especially borscht.

Anton cast a frightened look at his wife. Ksenia merely shrugged silently.

A minute later, an indignant cry echoed from the kitchen. Vitalina was standing in front of an open refrigerator that held only a lonely pack of butter, a bag of milk, and a few eggs.

— Isn’t this a bit too meager? Where’s the meat, where’s the caviar? — Vitalina turned to Ksenia in genuine perplexity. — Dear hosts, we didn’t expect such a welcome!

Ksenia shrugged indifferently and went into the living room. She calmly sank onto the sofa, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. On the screen flickered scenes from a new series she had long wanted to watch.

Vitalina stood with her mouth agape. The teenagers exchanged glances. Artem frowned.

— Ksyusha, what are you doing? — Anton nervously shifted his weight in the doorway.

— I’m watching a series, — Ksenia replied coolly, not taking her eyes off the screen.

— And what about dinner? — Vitalina exclaimed, throwing her hands up. — The kids are hungry! We traveled five hours!

— There’s a 24-hour store around the corner, — Ksenia replied, turning up the volume on the TV.

Vitalina clutched her chest.

— Anton! Can you see how your wife is treating us? What kind of attitude is this towards family?

Anton helplessly spread his hands.

— Ksyusha, maybe you should at least cook something? People need to eat…

— Order a delivery, — Ksenia snapped.

— This is simply unbelievable! — Vitalina grabbed her phone. — I’m calling Raechka immediately!

The teenagers silently observed the scene. Artem came over to Anton and patted him on the shoulder.

— Listen, maybe we should go buy something for dinner?

— Honestly, I’m in shock at my wife’s behavior. I thought she’d come to her senses, — Anton threw an irritated glance at Ksenia. — I don’t understand what got into her.

— Raechka, can you believe this! — Vitalina’s voice rang with indignation. — We arrived and no one even thinks of feeding us! There’s nothing in the fridge! Your daughter-in-law has collapsed in front of the TV, and we’re left hungry! Yes, yes, come quickly!

Ksenia remained unmoved. She knew a real scandal was about to erupt, but she had decided to see it through.

— Ksyusha, this is going too far! — Anton approached the sofa. — Stop behaving like a spoiled girl!

Ksenia slowly turned her head.

— Me? Spoiled? — there was a metallic edge in her voice. — And what would you call the behavior of your relatives who treat my home like a free hotel with a restaurant?

— But they’re family! — Anton blurted out.

— Then take care of your family yourself, — Ksenia snapped.

Vitalina stepped up to the sofa and leaned over Ksenia.

— I always told Raechka that you don’t love her family! Now I see I was right. What a heartless, unfeeling woman! Anton, how can you live with such an egoist?

Karina and Kirill shifted awkwardly in the corridor.

— Mom, maybe we could go to a café? — the girl timidly suggested.

— We’re not going anywhere! — Vitalina snapped. — Let this… hostess show some elementary respect!

After thirty minutes of unceasing complaints, the doorbell rang again. On the threshold stood Raisa Petrovna. Her usually friendly face was twisted with anger.

— What is going on here? — the mother-in-law began from the doorway. — Anton! Ksenia! How can you treat your own relatives like this?

 

— Raisa! — Vitalina rushed to embrace her sister. — You have no idea how humiliated we are!

Raisa Petrovna looked sternly at Ksenia.

— What happened to you, Ksyusha? We always thought you were a kind, caring girl. And you…

Ksenia silently stood up and went into the kitchen. A minute later, she returned holding a folder.

— Here, — she tossed a stack of printed documents onto the coffee table. — Take a look.

Raisa Petrovna took the top sheet with bewilderment.

— What are these papers?

— A detailed summary of all expenses for your relatives over the past three months, — Ksenia stated confidently. — Thirty-eight thousand six hundred rubles spent only on food, not including utility payments.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Raisa Petrovna slowly flipped through pages that detailed purchases and amounts.

— These funds could have been used for truly important needs, — Ksenia continued. — For example, dental treatment or buying new winter clothes. But instead, we’re feeding people who don’t even show the slightest gratitude.

— How mercenary! — Raisa Petrovna was the first to break the silence. — Counting money within the family! Don’t you feel any shame, Ksenia?

— Me? — Ksenia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. — And aren’t you ashamed of sending all your relatives to our place? Why don’t you take care of them yourselves—provide for them and entertain them?

— Do you think we live at your expense? — Vitalina’s face flushed with anger.

— I’m not thinking, I’m stating it outright, — Ksenia retorted.

— Ksyusha! — Anton grabbed her hand. — Stop! You’re humiliating my family!

Ksenia abruptly freed her hand.

— And who’s humiliating me? Who made me the free cook and housekeeper? You’ve been complaining all the time that they visit too often! Why are you silent now?

She cast a look first at her husband, then at her mother-in-law.

— You know what? Enough. I’m no longer going to tolerate this treatment.

Ksenia decisively headed toward the bedroom. Raisa Petrovna and Vitalina exchanged bewildered looks. Anton ran after his wife.

— Ksyusha, what are you doing?

Ksenia pulled a suitcase out of the closet.

— I’m leaving. You’ve already made your choice, Anton.

— What choice?

— Between me and your family. And you chose them.

Ksenia hurriedly packed her things into the suitcase, completely disregarding order.

— Wait, let’s talk about this, — Anton tried to stop her.

 

— We’ve been having these conversations for three years, — Ksenia slammed the suitcase shut. — You always agreed with me in words but, in practice, indulged them. I’m tired of being convenient for everyone.

Raisa Petrovna appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.

— Ksyushenka, calm down, — her tone suddenly became ingratiating. — We understand. You’re just exhausted. We can move to a hotel…

— Don’t worry about it, — Ksenia brushed her mother-in-law off and stepped into the corridor with her suitcase.

Everyone watched silently as she put on her coat and shoes.

— And what about the apartment? — Raisa Petrovna blurted out. — Who will pay the rent?

— Let Anton decide that, — Ksenia tossed the keys onto the entryway table. — Without my income, he won’t be able to manage the rent or your appetites.

The door slammed shut. A gloomy silence filled the apartment.

Anton did not run after her. He didn’t even try to stop her. It was the end.

Ksenia reached her friend Masha’s place in tears. She couldn’t believe she had taken such a step.

— I suffered for three years, — Ksenia sobbed, sitting in Masha’s kitchen. — Three years of being good and convenient for everyone.

Masha comforted her, stroking her shoulder.

— You did the right thing. You can’t let others take advantage of you.

All night, Ksenia couldn’t close her eyes. The phone rang incessantly with calls from Anton, but she ignored them.

In the morning, she made a decision. Gathering her courage, Ksenia called a lawyer.

— Hello. I’d like to get a consultation regarding a divorce.

The first step had been taken.

Olga sat on the steps of her house, stroking the worn wooden railing and feeling the pain in her back from the long hours of work in the garden growing sharper. Raising her eyes, she heard her daughter’s voice.

— Mom! Where are you?

Olga sighed heavily, slowly got up, slightly straightening her aching back, and made her way to the gate. There, her grandson Lenya was already waiting, rushing toward her with joy. Olga opened her arms and, feeling warmth in her chest, hugged him tightly.

— And here you are, my little bunny! — she said, affectionately embracing Lenya.

— We brought groceries; you’ll have everything you need. Let’s go inside, — suggested her daughter.

Olga felt a sharp pain in her back but gritted her teeth. She knew there was no choice. They entered the house, and the usual scene began: talks about shopping, future plans. However, Olga felt a sense of unease in her heart — something about her daughter’s behavior seemed strange, as if she hadn’t come just for a visit.

After dinner, when Lenya had fallen asleep quickly, Vasilisa spoke carefully:

— Mom, I need to talk to you. Olga sensed that this conversation would be important and put down her spoon. — Has something happened? Why are you acting so strangely? — Olga asked, looking at her daughter. — No, nothing special, — Vasilisa replied, though there was an underlying concern in her voice. — Nikita and I are thinking about buying a new, spacious apartment. You see, we want more children. But we can’t afford the mortgage. We could sell your house. Nikita suggested you move in with us. You’ll have your own room, no need to heat the stove or carry water from the well. Olga listened quietly. She knew the house was old, and she no longer had the strength to keep it in order. But her heart refused to accept the idea of leaving these walls. There were too many memories here. She was afraid of losing her connection to this place, to this house that had become part of her life.

— Mom, you know that here you’re alone. No one can help. It will be easier for you with us, and you’ll be able to rest too, — Vasilisa continued. Besides, Lenya loves you so much, and soon there will be a granddaughter or a grandson.

Inside, Olga felt turmoil. Yes, she knew the house needed constant care, but she had always found meaning in taking care of it, just as she took care of her family. She had never liked the city, the fast pace of life there.

Olga sat on an old wooden chair, gazing out the window where the sun was already setting beyond the horizon. A light breeze caressed her face, and she pressed her palms to her warm knees, sinking into memories of the years gone by.

Once, her life had been very different. She remembered her husband, how he worked in the garden, how he came home with a heavy bag full of tools, and how a light smile would appear on his face when he greeted her. He had been her support, her pillar. Everything in the house had been connected to him — his footsteps, his scent, his voice. And even when their children grew up and moved away, they remained together in their home.

Olga often thought about how they had built this house together, how they carried each board, how they planted trees in the garden, and then rejoiced in their harvest. Every room, every corner of the house held pieces of their life, their labor, and their happiness. Denis had been not only her husband but also a close friend, someone with whom she could share everything, experience life, and cherish every day. Even when illness began to take its toll on him, when his strength started to fade, he remained the person who always supported her.

“How can I leave all of this now?” — Olga wondered, thinking of him.

The decision to sell the house had been the final step for her, but it had been incredibly difficult. She wasn’t just giving up walls and bricks; she was losing a piece of herself, a fragment of her history.

After much thought, Olga agreed.

In the morning, she told her daughter. Upon hearing the news, Vasilisa noticeably brightened and ran outside to call her husband.

After Olga parted with her home, her life changed. She had long felt that she couldn’t handle the big things alone, but she had somehow continued to carry on.

The proceeds from the sale of the house were immediately divided among her children. Although she didn’t expect much gratitude, her conscience wouldn’t allow her to keep the money for herself. She invested it in her children’s future, leaving little for herself.

First, she lived with her son, as her daughter and son-in-law needed time to find an apartment. It felt strange — living not in her own home but in someone else’s, even though it was with a close relative. But in the city, she quickly realized that life was much more convenient. Everything was nearby: shops, pharmacies, hospitals. No need to carry water from the well, no need to heat the stove or worry about pipes freezing in the winter. She liked how quickly problems could be solved — everything was within reach. At first, she even thought that city life suited her, and she almost didn’t miss her old home.

Nevertheless, Olga decided to move in with her daughter once she settled into her new apartment. After all, her family needed her help, and she felt that she could be useful. So, she moved into a new, still uninhabited space, where she would spend the rest of her life.

The apartment was spacious and cozy, and Olga was happy to help her daughter with the housework. Time passed, and soon Vasilisa and Nikita had a little girl. Little Yulia brought so much joy and smiles into the house that Olga felt like she was rediscovering her zest for life. She helped with the baby, cooked meals, did the laundry, cleaned — just as she had before. It seemed like life had settled again, and the grandchildren had become her new joy.

But when Yulia grew up and went to kindergarten, things in the house began to change. Olga noticed that Vasilisa, though she didn’t say it directly, was becoming more irritable. She began complaining about little things, snapping at her mother over trivial matters. Her whole life seemed to revolve around the kids, work, and household chores, and despite all Olga’s help, she no longer seemed as important as she once had been.

— You did it wrong again! Can’t you see how tired I am? — Vasilisa snapped one day, reproaching her for not having cleaned the floor in Yulia’s room before the kids arrived. — Can’t you at least pay attention to what I’m saying?

Olga was confused. She didn’t understand why it had become so hard for her daughter to communicate with her. She had tried, helped as much as she could, but her efforts were no longer appreciated. Just recently, she had been the main helper in the house, and now it felt as if there was no place for her in her daughter’s life.

More and more, Olga noticed how Vasilisa turned away when she asked for something. She would snap for no reason, even when there was no real cause. Olga felt hurt. She had done everything for the children and wanted her care to be valued. But now it seemed like it didn’t matter.

— How much longer, mom? — Vasilisa said one day when Olga offered to help with the cleaning. — I’d rather do it myself. Just leave me alone.

These words hurt Olga deeply. She felt as though her life, her efforts, all her help were now seen as a burden. Vasilisa was no longer the caring daughter who greeted her with a smile when she first arrived.

Olga understood that her presence was becoming less and less needed. And though she didn’t want to think that way, she felt that soon she would have to find a new place for herself.

Olga thought long and hard and finally made the decision to move in with her son. She no longer had any doubts — her daughter was becoming more irritable, and her role in the house was shrinking every day. Vasilisa’s words, “Leave me alone,” had deeply hurt Olga. She realized that her presence was no longer required. As much as she wanted to stay with her daughter and help, she understood that the time had come for her life in this house to end.

She called her son.

— Vanya, can I come stay with you for a while? — her voice was quiet but firm.

— Of course, mom, — he replied, as if he had been expecting the call. — A couple of weeks ago, your sister suggested bringing you over. I know things haven’t been easy with her. Come, we have space.

These words brought relief to Olga. Her son didn’t mind her coming, even though she had tried to avoid the moment when she would feel “unnecessary” to her children. As he said, a few weeks ago, Vasilisa had called him to offer to bring her mother over, but he hadn’t intervened, thinking the issue wasn’t urgent. Now, he was ready to lend a hand.

After packing her things and thinking about what to bring, Olga set off. Despite her fatigue and heavy thoughts, her heart felt a little lighter. She didn’t know how long she would stay with her son, but at least there, someone would appreciate her presence.

Her son greeted her calmly but warmly, as always. His wife, Anna, also showed no objections. However, the apartment was cramped — a two-room place, and she had to sleep on a fold-out bed in the room where little Vanya and Anna’s daughter slept. This didn’t surprise Olga; she had long been accustomed to finding a place in the corner when she was older, with little room to stretch. Everything felt temporary, but she understood — it was better than being completely alone.

— It’s fine, mom, — said her son when she unpacked. — Don’t worry, I know it’s not easy for you. Stay with us; it’s not a problem.

Olga couldn’t shake the feeling that her stay there was temporary. She constantly thought that maybe at some point, Vanya and Anna would also start getting irritated, as there was now another person in their lives. But for now, everything was calm. Vanya worked as usual, and Anna took care of the child. Olga tried to help, watching the granddaughter as best as she could, cooking, cleaning.

But slowly, despite the outward politeness, she began to feel that her place in the house was becoming more of an extra burden than a part of the family. Life in the city was different: for Anna, the fast pace mattered more, and she was busy with the kids and work, often not noticing Olga. Sometimes she would look at her with mild discontent when she did something the way she didn’t want.

Often, Olga sat in her room, thinking about how strange everything had changed. She remembered her husband, with whom she once shared a home, how they worked together, how they were supported by strong love. Olga realized she didn’t know what her life would be like next. Instead of feeling part of the family, she once again found herself in the role of a temporary guest.

She decided she couldn’t keep going like this, and, feeling her last strength leave her, she packed up and went to the village to stay with her old neighbor. She was the only one who could understand her. And she left a note for her son. “I’m not needed, but I’m still alive. It’s better to live with strangers than with such close ones. Be happy.”

But when she got there, she saw that the house was clearly abandoned. At that moment, it seemed to her that everything she had once loved was gone.

While walking down the street, she noticed someone sitting on the porch of her old house. A man with a fish in his hands. Olga stopped, as if turned to stone.

— Are you here for me? — asked the man, looking up.

— I used to live here, — Olga said in surprise.

The man wiped his hands on his pants and invited her inside. He turned out to be the new owner of the house, and after hearing her story, he invited her to stay. Upon entering the house she had once left, Olga suddenly felt that this stranger genuinely cared for her.

— I often come here to rest, and it will be warmer if you stay in the house, — said the man, whose name was Dmitry. — I’m alone, I don’t have a family. After my wife and daughter left, I couldn’t stay in the apartment on weekends. I tried to get away or help someone. Then I realized I wanted a little house in the village. There’s always something to do here. And when I bought this house, it felt like my soul had calmed down. It’s so nice here that I didn’t change anything or renovate. And who else, if not you, will keep this warmth in it? I’ve always dreamed of someone taking care of this house. Maybe it will be convenient for you to stay?

Olga didn’t know what to say. The offer was so unexpected that she felt care and concern in it. And maybe this was her new life.

Soon, Dmitry became like a son to Olga. He helped her with the house, drove her to appointments, and took care of her health. He often brought her medicine for her back and cared for her as a close person. A year passed, and Olga’s life with Dmitry became fulfilling. She helped around the house, baked pies, walked with the neighbor’s kids who came for the summer. Olga felt that her life had gained meaning again. She was no longer unnecessary to anyone, no longer wandering through her children’s homes, but living in a place that had become her home again.

Her old house had become not just a place of memories, but a place where she found a new family. And one day Dmitry came not alone, but with a woman and a boy about seven years old. Matvei, Nadia’s son, became Olga’s first assistant in the house. Soon little Olenka was born, bringing even more joy to the house. Olga realized that everything she had been through had not been in vain. Life went on, and she found new happiness in it.

She didn’t call her children. She just gave Dmitry their addresses so he could notify them when she was gone. Dmitry scolded her, saying that Olga wasn’t ready to think about that yet, that now he couldn’t do without her and gave her a big hug.

Sofya adjusted the photograph on the wall—a simple wooden frame, inside which was the very first photo taken in her own apartment. Twelve years ago, right after the purchase, when there was not yet any furniture. Sofya was sitting on the window sill, happy, with the keys in her hand.

— “Are you adjusting it again?” Andrey looked up from his laptop. “Mom says it’s better to hang family photos. She has a great frame—a silver one…”

— “No, thank you. This photograph will stay here,” Sofya replied as she moved toward the window, gazing at the evening courtyard. Four years of working herself to the bone: working as an accountant by day, tutoring in the evenings. Every penny went into the savings. Her grandmother had helped with the final payment by selling her old garage.

— “Mom, why don’t you want to renovate?” came the voice of eight-year-old Katya from the children’s room. “Grandma Tamara says everything here is old.”

Sofya frowned. Lately, Tamara Nikolaevna had been visiting more frequently, each time finding new reasons to criticize.

— “Katya, go do your homework,” Sofya called as she peeked into the children’s room. “Our renovation is good, just in a different style.”

— “But Grandma said everything here needs to be redone. And anyway, since Dad lives here, he should be the owner.”

Andrey coughed loudly, hiding his eyes behind the laptop screen. Sofya froze in the doorway of the children’s room, clutching the door handle.

— “Katya, who is the owner of this apartment?”

— “You, Mommy!” Katya ran over, hugging Sofya around the waist. “But Grandma says…”

— “Grandma says a lot of things,” Sofya patted Katya’s head. “Now, why don’t you tell me how school is going?”

The evening passed quietly, but inside, Sofya was boiling. Her mother-in-law’s hints were becoming increasingly obvious. First came the advice on renovations, then conversations about how everything in the family should be shared. And now even Katya was being influenced.

The next morning, while getting her daughter ready for school, Sofya heard the doorbell. Standing on the doorstep was Tamara Nikolaevna carrying shopping bags.

— “I bought some pastries for tea,” the mother-in-law announced as she walked into the kitchen, clanging dishes in a very homely way. “And I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

— “I have ten minutes, then I have to take Katya to school.”

— “That’s exactly what we’ll talk about,” Tamara Nikolaevna said, taking out cups and placing them on the table. “You work close to home now. Maybe it would be better to sell this apartment? We could buy you a place closer to us, with your father. We’d help out with Katya.”

— “Thank you, but no,” Sofya began gathering her daughter’s school bag, deliberately avoiding looking at her mother-in-law.

— “I’m thinking about family!” Tamara Nikolaevna’s voice took on a steely tone. “You live too far away, Andryusha has to travel across the city. And here we are, nearby, ready to help both with the renovations and with Katya. Sell the apartment—we’ll buy you a three-room apartment near us. Of course, you’d have to pay extra…”

— “Tamara Nikolaevna, that topic is closed.”

— “Why are you so stubborn?” her mother-in-law exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I don’t sleep at night thinking about how to help you. Look at Ludmila, my neighbor, who transferred her apartment to her children. Now they all live together, helping one another.”

— “We’re managing just fine.”

— “And I’m thinking,” Tamara Nikolaevna lowered her voice, “you bought the apartment before you got married, didn’t you? That means Andryusha has nothing to do with it. That’s not right. You’re a family. Why not give him at least a share?”

Sofya slowly turned toward her mother-in-law. Her temples throbbed.

— “I’m taking Katya to school. Close the door when you leave.”

— “There you go!” Tamara Nikolaevna sprang up. “You’re running away from the conversation again! And I’m worried about your future. You never know what might happen… Andryusha lives here, yet he has no rights at all.”

— “What rights?” Sofya spun around sharply. “On my apartment? The one I bought myself?”

— “Don’t shout!” Tamara Nikolaevna said in a soothing tone. “I’m talking to you kindly. But you must understand: you’ve been a family for a long time now…”

— “Mom, I’m late for school!” Katya dashed into the corridor with her school bag.

— “We’re leaving, sweetheart,” Sofya said, taking the keys. “Tamara Nikolaevna, close the door.”

— “So, that’s it?” her mother-in-law blocked the exit. “You won’t even listen? I could speak to you differently, you know. Andrey is my son, and I won’t allow…”

— “Won’t allow what?” Sofya stepped closer to her mother-in-law. “Are you threatening?”

— “I only care about you!” Tamara Nikolaevna’s voice trembled. “You’re young and foolish. You don’t understand that family is…”

— “Katya, wait in the car,” Sofya handed the keys to her daughter. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

After Katya’s door closed, Sofya slowly approached her mother-in-law.

— “Tamara Nikolaevna, I’m only saying this once. This apartment is mine. I bought it before marriage. This is where my family lives, and I’m grateful for your concern, but you have no rights over this home.”

— “Oh, darling,” her mother-in-law cooed, theatrically placing her hand over her heart. “How ungrateful you are. I only want what’s best. But you’ll regret this…”

— “Regret what?”

— “You’ll see,” Tamara Nikolaevna said, adjusting her purse. “I’ll find a way to show you what family really means. And Andrey will find out too.”

Tamara Nikolaevna left with a loud slam of the door. Sofya stood still for several seconds, then grabbed her phone. She needed to call the MFC immediately to check whether someone had tried to obtain an extract for her apartment.

At the MFC they confirmed—the documents were in order, and no one had requested any information. Sofya exhaled and drove off to the school. Katya was late for her first lesson, but that now worried her the least.

In the evening, after returning from work, Sofya found Tamara Nikolaevna in the apartment. The mother-in-law, sleeves rolled up, was rummaging through the closet.

— “What are you doing?” Sofya froze in the bedroom doorway.

— “I’m putting things in order,” Tamara Nikolaevna replied without even turning around. “Everything here is a mess. We’ll clear these shelves—you know, we have to make space for Andrey’s things.”

— “I did not allow you to touch my belongings.”

— “I’m Andrey’s mother! What do you mean, you didn’t allow?” the mother-in-law snapped, arms akimbo. “Do I now need to ask permission just to help my son get organized?”

— “Yes, you do. This is my apartment.”

— “Here we go again!” Tamara Nikolaevna flared her hands. “Mine, mine… But what about family? Andrey, tell her!”

Only then did Sofya notice her husband sitting in an armchair by the window. Andrey shifted uncomfortably.

— “Mom, let’s not start…”

— “No, I will!” Tamara Nikolaevna declared as she marched decisively into the kitchen. “Come here, both of you—we need to talk.”

On the kitchen table lay some papers. The mother-in-law fanned them out.

— “Look here. I’ve figured out how the apartment could be remodeled. Andrey, remember you said you needed an office? We’ll put up a partition here, and it will be a great workspace. And this room could be rented out—some extra income wouldn’t hurt.”

— “Which room do you mean to rent out?” Sofya asked, slowly sinking onto a chair. “What are you talking about?”

— “What am I talking about? I’m thinking of your future! Look, Artyomka is sitting here without a job. He needs a room so he can get back on his feet…”

— “Artyom?” Sofya turned to her husband. “Is your brother going to live in my apartment?”

— “I’m not…” Andrey began, but his mother interrupted:

— “Yes, Artyomka will live with you. He’s a young specialist, he needs a start. He can’t keep bouncing around rented rooms!”

 

— “You have a three-room apartment,” Sofya noted. “Why can’t Artyom live there?”

— “What, you’re not willing to help your husband’s brother?” Tamara Nikolaevna squinted. “I’ve always said you’re so selfish! You only think of yourself.”

At that moment, a sleepy figure—Artyom—appeared in the doorway. Tamara Nikolaevna’s younger son, a twenty-five-year-old slacker, had come with two huge suitcases.

— “Hello, everyone,” Artyom greeted as he walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator in a very homely manner. “Is there something to eat?”

— “Artyom, what are you doing here?” Sofya stood up.

— “What do you mean? I’m going to live here,” Artyom said as he pulled out a sausage and began slicing it right on the table. “Mom said you wouldn’t mind.”

— “I mind.”

— “Too late to mind!” Tamara Nikolaevna snapped. “Artyom’s already brought his things. You can’t just kick your own brother out!”

— “I will kick him out,” Sofya said, grabbing the suitcases. “Right now.”

— “Andrey!” Tamara Nikolaevna shrieked. “Tell your wife! She’s completely lost it!”

— “Sonya, maybe…” Andrey started, but his words were cut short by his wife’s piercing look.

— “Out. Everyone out of my apartment,” Sofya said quietly.

— “Yours?” Tamara Nikolaevna jumped toward her daughter-in-law. “Oh, you ungrateful woman! My son lives here, so it’s his apartment too! Andrey, don’t be a pushover, say it!”

— “Let Artyom stay for a bit,” Andrey mumbled. “It’s only temporary…”

— “You can leave too,” Sofya declared, throwing open the front door. “If you’re so sure about your rights to my apartment.”

— “Don’t you dare!” Tamara Nikolaevna grabbed Sofya’s hand. “You can’t kick out my son! He’s registered here!”

— “Let go,” Sofya shook off her mother-in-law’s grip. “Andrey can stay, if he understands where his home is. And you and Artyom, get out right now.”

— “Mom, let’s go,” Artyom tugged his mother toward the door. “I’ll stay with Dimon for now.”

— “You’re not going anywhere!” Tamara Nikolaevna insisted. “Andrey, will you really allow her to treat us this way? She’s kicking out your family!”

Andrey’s confused gaze shifted from his mother to his wife.

— “Sonya, maybe we should let Artyom stay? It wouldn’t be too difficult, would it? He could quietly live in that small room…”

— “There!” Tamara Nikolaevna triumphantly exclaimed. “Even Andrey understands that a family should help one another! And you…”

— “That’s it,” Sofya crossed her arms. “Artyom, you have five minutes to collect your things. Tamara Nikolaevna, you leave with him. And you, Andrey, decide—either you live here as a husband, or over there as a son. There’s no third option.”

— “Are you giving him an ultimatum?” her mother-in-law gasped in outrage. “Forcing him to choose between his mother and his wife?”

 

— “No, Tamara Nikolaevna. I’m simply showing where the boundaries lie. This apartment is my home. I earned it, I’m responsible for it. And I won’t let anyone dictate terms to me.”

— “Sonya is right,” Andrey suddenly said quietly. “Mom, that’s enough. Artyom, pack your things.”

— “Traitor!” Tamara Nikolaevna flailed her arms. “I raised you—I lost sleep over you—and you…”

 

— “Exactly, Mom. You raised me. Now I’m an adult; I have my own family. And it’s me and Sonya who make the decisions here.”

Tamara Nikolaevna stared at her son silently for a moment, then abruptly turned and stormed out of the apartment. Artyom, hoisting his suitcases, followed after her.

In the evening, after putting Katya to bed, Sofya sat at the kitchen table, staring at a cup of tea that had grown cold. Andrey settled beside her.

“You know, I only just realized what my mother is doing,” Andrey said, pulling his chair closer. “She wasn’t just trying to find a room for Artyom. She was testing whether she could control you.”

“I’ve known that for a long time,” Sofya replied with a wry smile. “First the advice on renovations, then talk about shared property. And now she’s decided to settle your brother in.”

“Forgive me. I was caught between a rock and a hard place—I was afraid to hurt Mom and didn’t want to lose you.”

Then the doorbell rang. Standing on the doorstep was Tamara Nikolaevna, crying, carrying a bag of containers.

“I’ve made some salads… Maybe we can make up?” the mother-in-law said as she stepped into the entryway. “I thought maybe you were right. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. Artyomka moved in with us; Dad freed up a room…”

— “Tamara Nikolaevna,” Sofya interjected, blocking her way, “I’m glad you found a solution. But let’s agree: no more talk about my apartment.”

— “What are you blabbering about—yours, yours!” Tamara Nikolaevna’s tone turned icy. “You’re such a proprietor! I came in peace, and you…”

— “Mom,” Andrey said, standing beside his wife, “either you accept our terms, or we’ll only speak during the holidays.”

— “So that’s how it is?” Tamara Nikolaevna set her bag on a side table. “Alright, I understand. If you don’t want to see me, then don’t. But don’t complain later that I don’t get along with my granddaughter!”

— “That’s blackmail, Mom,” Andrey shook his head. “It won’t work.”

— “We’ll see!” Tamara Nikolaevna retorted as she dashed out to the staircase. “You’ll regret choosing this… selfish woman!”

When the door slammed, Sofya leaned against the wall.

“Things are always like this with my mother,” Andrey said, embracing his wife. “First she oppresses, then she gets offended, and then she resorts to blackmail. I’ve only just realized how she’s been manipulating me all my life.”

A week passed. Tamara Nikolaevna neither called nor visited. Sofya went about her business, trying not to dwell on the situation. On Friday evening, Andrey returned from work unusually pensive.

 

“Imagine,” he said as he slipped off his shoes, “Mom eventually found a room for Artyom. In her own place. Turns out, that was another way to solve the issue.”

“She did say so… Of course, it’s possible,” Sofya smiled. “It just needed the willingness.”

“And she also asked me to pass on that she won’t interfere in our affairs anymore,” Andrey pulled his wife close. “It seems she finally realized that her usual tactics don’t work on me.”

“Do you really think she’s understood?”

 

“I’m sure. You know, when I saw how calmly and firmly you set your boundaries, I realized a lot. Mom isn’t bad; she’s just used to commanding everyone. And I always bowed, just to avoid conflict.”

At that moment, the phone rang. It was Tamara Nikolaevna.

“Don’t pick up,” Andrey said. “Let her get used to the new rules.”

Sofya nodded. The phone rang and rang, but the couple didn’t answer. The evening belonged only to them—without advice, reproaches, or manipulations. It seemed they had finally learned to be a family where everyone respects each other’s boundaries.