Anna took off her headphones and stretched in her chair as another workday came to an end. Outside the windows of her twelfth-floor apartment, the city lights had already begun to glow, while the final contracts of the day waited on her desk to be signed. She glanced at the clock—it was half past seven. Maxim had promised to be home by seven.
The doorbell rang just as she was about to send him a message asking why he was late.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Maxim said, rushing into the entryway with a bouquet of tulips and an apologetic smile. “Sorry I’m late. My meeting with the investors ran long.”
Anna accepted the flowers without paying much attention to his explanation. During the six months they had lived together, she had grown accustomed to Maxim constantly being delayed somewhere, always blaming business meetings that somehow never produced any tangible results.
“How are things at work?” she asked as she placed the tulips in a vase.
“Great! It finally looks like things are getting off the ground. The new logistics project could really take off by autumn,” Maxim said, putting his arms around her waist. “How about you?”
“Fine. Two new clients, both of them major ones. I’ll have plenty to keep me busy over the next few months.”
Anna worked as an independent online-marketing consultant and had built a successful business in three years. Her clients valued her for the results she delivered, not for her ability to cook borscht or iron shirts. The apartment they lived in belonged to her—or, more accurately, to the bank—but she had been making the mortgage payments faithfully for almost four years.
“By the way,” Maxim said as he walked toward the refrigerator, “Mom wants to come over this weekend. She wants to get to know you better.”
Anna nodded while continuing to check her email on her phone. Maxim rarely spoke about his mother, and Anna had never shown much interest in his family. She had her work, her plans and her goals. Those already occupied more than enough of her attention.
On Saturday morning, Lydia Petrovna appeared at the door carrying two bags of groceries and wearing a determined expression. She was about fifty-five, dressed in a neat suit, with her hair arranged in a traditional style. The moment she entered, she began inspecting the apartment critically.
“It has a good layout,” she concluded. “But the flowers on the balcony have completely dried up. And there’s dust on the shelves.”
Anna followed her gaze. The ficus did look rather miserable, and a thin layer of dust had settled on the bookshelves. The cleaning service came every two weeks, and the next cleaning was scheduled for the following day.
“Maxim, show me the kitchen,” Lydia Petrovna requested.
While her son gave her a tour of the apartment, Anna made coffee and sliced the cake she had bought the day before. From the kitchen, she could hear Lydia Petrovna opening cabinets and muttering something disapprovingly.
“Anna dear,” her future mother-in-law said when she returned to the living room, “do you know how to cook?”
“I do, but I rarely cook. I order prepared meals or eat at cafés.”
“How can that be? My Maxim loves homemade food. I brought you some groceries. I’ll teach you how to prepare his favorite dishes.”
Anna smiled politely.
“Thank you, but I don’t need that. Our arrangement works perfectly well for us.”
Lydia Petrovna frowned but said nothing. The rest of the day passed in a strained atmosphere. She constantly found something to criticize: the curtains were hanging incorrectly, the dishes were arranged the wrong way, and the refrigerator contained nothing but convenience foods.
After she left, Maxim became strangely quiet.
“Is something wrong?” Anna asked.
“Mom is worried about me. She’s accustomed to believing that a woman should make a home comfortable and take care of her husband.”
“I take care of you. I simply do it differently.”
“I know, sweetheart. Don’t pay any attention to her.”
But Lydia Petrovna had no intention of giving up. A week later, she appeared at the door again, this time carrying a container of soup and a small spiral notebook.
“I wrote down some of the simplest recipes for you,” she announced, handing Anna the notebook. “And I brought you some real borscht. Try it.”
Anna thanked her but set the notebook aside. The borscht was genuinely delicious, but she had no intention of changing her lifestyle to satisfy someone else’s expectations.
“Anna dear,” Lydia Petrovna said, settling onto the sofa as though she owned the place, “have you thought about children?”
“Not yet. Maxim and I are planning to get married, but children are something for the future.”
“The future? And when exactly will that future arrive? You’re almost thirty. Your biological clock is ticking.”
Anna felt a surge of irritation.
“Lydia Petrovna, that is between Maxim and me.”
“Maxim wants children. He told me so.”
“Then he can speak to me about it himself.”
Her future mother-in-law pursed her lips. Anna realized she had said something Lydia Petrovna disliked, but she had no intention of backing down.
Lydia Petrovna’s visits became a regular occurrence. Every weekend, she arrived with new recipes, housekeeping advice and lectures about a woman’s proper role in life. Anna endured it, but her patience was beginning to run out.
“Maxim, talk to your mother,” she asked him one evening. “I don’t want to spend every weekend listening to her tell me how to live.”
“Come on, Anna. She’s only worried about me. She’ll get used to you.”
“She won’t. She thinks I’m not suitable wife material.”
“That’s ridiculous. Mom is simply old-fashioned.”
But Maxim never had the conversation with his mother. Lydia Petrovna continued her attacks. She criticized Anna’s short haircut—“A man should be able to see that there’s a woman beside him”—her clothes—“Jeans and T-shirts aren’t feminine”—and her lack of a manicure—“A lady’s hands are her calling card.”
Anna began avoiding her visits, leaving the apartment under the pretext of having work to do. But Lydia Petrovna was persistent.
“Anna dear, you’re running away from me,” she said one Saturday. “I only want what’s best for you.”
“Lydia Petrovna, I’m asking you not to interfere in our lives.”
“How can I not interfere? Maxim is my son! I want him to be happy.”
“He is happy.”
“Happy? The apartment is a mess, his wife doesn’t know how to cook, and she doesn’t want children. What kind of happiness is that?”
Anna clenched her fists.
“Our apartment is not a mess. And we’ll have children when we decide the time is right.”
“When you decide the time is right!” Lydia Petrovna snorted. “You’re a career woman! Your work matters more to you than your family.”
“My work supports this family.”
“What do you mean, it supports the family? Maxim earns money! He told me how well things were going for him and how he bought this apartment…”
Anna froze.
“What did he tell you?”
“That his projects had started making money and that he was supporting you. A good man should provide for his family.”
Something seemed to snap inside Anna’s chest. Maxim had told his mother that he was supporting her?
“Lydia Petrovna, what exactly did Maxim tell you?”
“What do you mean? He said his business had taken off. He’s very proud of himself. He says he can finally afford to support his wife. Although he did end up with a rather strange wife,” she added disapprovingly.
Anna sat down on the sofa. Her head was spinning. Maxim had been lying to his mother. All these months, he had been telling her stories about his success and taking credit for Anna’s achievements.
“What else did he tell you?”
“He said you came from an ordinary family and therefore didn’t understand how a household should be managed. He said he was patiently teaching you.”
“Patiently teaching me,” Anna repeated, as though in a daze.
“Yes. Maxim says you’re stubborn, but he’ll manage you eventually. The man should be the head of the household.”
Lydia Petrovna stood and began pacing around the room.
“That’s why I’ve been trying to explain how a wife is supposed to behave. But you refuse to listen! You think you can indulge in any whim you please. Maxim won’t tolerate it forever. Men don’t like defiant wives.”
She stopped in front of Anna and leaned toward her.
“My son will throw you out onto the street if you don’t start listening to me!” the future mother-in-law hissed.
“How will he throw me out?” Anna asked quietly. “Out of my apartment?”
Lydia Petrovna looked confused.
“What do you mean, your apartment? Maxim bought it…”
“Maxim lied. The apartment is mine. I took out the mortgage three years ago. I make the payments every month. I pay the utilities and buy the groceries. I have been supporting your son for the past six months.”
“That can’t be true!” Lydia Petrovna went pale. “Maxim said…”
“Maxim lied. His business collapsed six months ago. He’s been living on my money.”
At that moment, they heard a key turning in the lock.
“Hello!” Maxim called cheerfully from the entryway. “Mom, are you already here? Great!”
He entered the living room with a smile, but when he saw the women’s faces, he stopped.
“What happened?”
Anna slowly rose from the sofa. She was burning inside with hurt, anger and humiliation. For six months, she had endured attacks from this woman, who believed Anna was not good enough for her precious son. Yet it turned out that her “precious son” had been boasting to his mother about achievements that did not exist.
“Maxim,” she said in an unnaturally calm voice, “tell your mother the truth about the apartment.”
“What truth?” He gave a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell her who bought it. Who pays for it. And which one of us is supporting the other.”
Maxim looked at his mother and then at Anna. Panic flashed in his eyes.
“Anna, what is this nonsense? Why don’t we have dinner instead?”
“Maxim,” Lydia Petrovna whispered, “tell me it isn’t true.”
The silence stretched on. Maxim opened and closed his mouth like a fish stranded on the shore.
“I can explain,” he finally managed to say.
“Don’t,” Anna replied. “Everything is perfectly clear.”
She walked over to the wardrobe, took out two large bags and began putting Maxim’s belongings inside them.
“What are you doing?” he asked fearfully.
“Packing your things. You’re moving out.”
“Anna, come on! Over something so trivial?”
“Trivial?” Anna turned toward him. “You lied to your mother for six months. You allowed her to humiliate me and treat me as though I weren’t good enough for you. And all the while, you were living on my money!”
“I didn’t want to… Mom wouldn’t have understood…”
“What wouldn’t she have understood? That her son is a failure? That he can’t even support himself, let alone a family?”
Lydia Petrovna sobbed and lowered herself onto the sofa.
“Maxim, why did you lie to me?”
“Mom, I wanted you to be proud of me…”
“Proud of you?” Anna threw the bag of clothes at him. “At another person’s expense? You let her lecture me about how I was supposed to serve you!”
“That isn’t what I meant…”
“Then what did you mean? Your mother just threatened that you would ‘throw me out onto the street.’ Out of my own apartment!”
Maxim tried to approach her.
“Sweetheart, let’s discuss this calmly…”
“I’m not your sweetheart. The discussions are over.”
Anna opened the front door.
“Both of you, get out. Now.”
“Anna dear,” Lydia Petrovna cried, “I didn’t know. Please forgive me…”
“You spent six months humiliating me in my own home. You taught me how to be a proper wife to your son—the son who lives on my money. No. It’s too late for apologies.”
“Anna, don’t make a hasty decision,” Maxim pleaded. “We can talk everything through…”
“There’s nothing to discuss. You’re a liar. You allowed your mother to treat me as though I were beneath you, even though you’re incapable of accomplishing anything yourself. Get out of my home.”
“But where am I supposed to go?”
“That isn’t my problem. You have a mother who knows exactly how to take care of you. Go live with her.”
Lydia Petrovna stood up from the sofa, wiping away her tears.
“Come on, Maxim. We’re not wanted here.”
“You were never wanted here,” Anna said. “I was simply too foolish to realize it.”
When the door closed behind them, Anna leaned against it and slowly slid down to the floor. Her hands were trembling, and a heavy pressure filled her chest. Six months of her life had been wasted. Six months of humiliation and lies.
She took out her phone and wrote to her friend: “Maxim and I broke up. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”
Then she stood, walked to the window and looked out at the city at night.
Her city. Her apartment. Her life.
Tomorrow, she would change the locks. Tomorrow, she would begin a new chapter. For now, she simply had to survive until tomorrow.
Lydia Petrovna’s recipe notebook was still lying on the kitchen table. Anna picked it up and dropped it into the trash. The bouquet of wilted tulips followed it.
The following morning, she called a locksmith. That evening, she sat in her favorite café with her friend and told her the entire story. Talking about it was painful, but with every word, she felt a little lighter.
“You know,” her friend said, “maybe it’s for the best. It’s better to discover the truth now than after the wedding.”
“Probably,” Anna agreed. “It still hurts. I wasted so much time on someone who didn’t respect me.”
“But now you’re free. And wiser.”
“Wiser,” Anna repeated, smiling for the first time that day.
At home, peace and silence were waiting for her. No one would tell her stories about meetings with investors. No one would lie to his mother about his success. No one would allow her to be humiliated in her own home.
Anna made herself a cup of coffee, opened her laptop and immersed herself in work—in projects that actually made money and in a life that truly belonged to her.
Somewhere on the other side of the city, Maxim was explaining to his mother why they had ended up in her one-room apartment instead of his fiancée’s spacious home.
And Lydia Petrovna finally understood what kind of son she had raised.
