Katya checked the time on her phone and nodded with satisfaction. The guests would arrive in an hour and a half—just enough time to finish the last preparations. Today marked exactly two years since she and Artyom had married, and Katya wanted the evening to be special.
The table in the living room was covered with a white tablecloth patterned with tiny flowers, a gift from her mother. Katya set out their best plates and tall wine glasses and arranged fresh flowers in small vases. The aroma of roasted chicken with rosemary drifted throughout the two-room apartment, mingling with the scent of freshly baked rolls.
Artyom came out of the shower, pulled on a shirt, and looked into the kitchen.
“Smells wonderful. You’ve outdone yourself, as always.”
“Thank you. You’ll pick up the cake from Vera, won’t you? We agreed.”
“Of course. Just remind me what time our parents are coming.”
“Seven. Your parents,” Katya corrected him as she stirred the sauce. “Mine are in Sochi until the end of the month.”
Artyom nodded, kissed his wife on the cheek, and went to finish getting dressed. He worked as an engineer at a design firm, with a regular five-day schedule and a steady salary. Katya had no reason to complain about her income either. Orders for cakes and cupcakes came in regularly, especially during the busy summer wedding season. She earned around sixty thousand rubles a month, which was quite respectable for a self-employed pastry chef.
At exactly seven o’clock, the doorbell rang. Katya removed her apron, fixed her hair, and went to open the door. Artyom’s parents, Tatyana Ivanovna and Valery Nikolaevich, were standing on the other side. Her father-in-law was holding a small bouquet of carnations. Her mother-in-law had arrived empty-handed, but she was carefully inspecting the entrance hall.
“Welcome!” Katya accepted the flowers from her father-in-law. “Please, come in.”
Tatyana Ivanovna took off her shoes, hung her handbag on a hook, and slowly walked into the living room. She stopped in the middle of the room and surveyed the laid table, the flowers in the vases, and the burning candles.
“My, how ceremonial,” her mother-in-law remarked in a strangely suggestive tone. “Why did you put out so many dishes? It still doesn’t feel like a proper home here.”
Katya froze with the bouquet in her hands. Valery Nikolaevich walked over to the table and examined the food.
“Katyusha, everything looks wonderful,” her father-in-law said, although his voice sounded uncertain.
“Oh, come on, Tatyana Ivanovna,” Katya said, trying to laugh it off. “I just wanted to make everything look beautiful. It’s our anniversary.”
“Of course, of course. I can see that you made an effort.”
Artyom appeared from the bedroom carrying a boxed cake and a bottle of wine.
“Mom, Dad, hello!” He kissed his mother on the cheek and shook his father’s hand. “Come sit at the table. Everything’s ready.”
The guests took their seats. Katya brought in the hot dishes from the kitchen and poured the wine. Valery Nikolaevich silently concentrated on his food, occasionally nodding in approval. Artyom talked about work, a new project, and their vacation plans.
“And how are things with you, Katyusha?” her father-in-law asked between the main course and the salad.
“Good. I have plenty of orders, so I can’t complain. Last week, I made a cake for a fiftieth-birthday celebration with fifty guests. Three tiers, decorated with fresh flowers.”
“Our Katya is amazing,” Artyom praised her. “The best pastry chef in the city.”
Tatyana Ivanovna took a sip of wine and studied her daughter-in-law.
“Katya has obviously tried hard…” her mother-in-law began slowly. “But somehow, none of this feels genuine. It all seems too staged. As though the dinner has no soul.”
Katya lowered her fork and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Artyom raised his head from his plate but said nothing, merely making a vague sound under his breath.
“What do you mean by staged?” Katya asked quietly.
“Well, how can I explain it? Everything is beautiful, of course, but it feels artificial. There’s no warmth of a real family home.”
“Tatyana Ivanovna, perhaps we shouldn’t,” Valery Nikolaevich said, trying to stop her, but his wife continued.
“I’m not saying it to be cruel. I’m merely making an observation. Things were always different in our home. Simpler, perhaps, but much more heartfelt.”
Katya forced a smile, trying not to show how deeply the words had hurt her. She kept looking toward her husband, hoping for support, but Artyom lowered his eyes to his plate again, as though he had not heard the conversation.
“Would anyone like another helping?” Katya offered as she rose from the table.
“I’ve had enough,” Tatyana Ivanovna said dismissively. “Besides, I’m not accustomed to such… sophisticated dishes.”
Katya’s phone rang while she was clearing away the empty plates. The name Sveta appeared on the screen. She was Artyom’s cousin.
“Hello,” Katya answered.
“Katyusha, can Maxim and I come over? We wanted to congratulate you on your anni
versary.”
Katya looked at her husband. He shrugged.
“Of course, come over. We’ll be happy to see you.”
Half an hour later, Sveta and her husband, Maxim, arrived. Katya knew them only casually. They had met at family celebrations a few times but had never been close. Sveta worked at a bank, while Maxim worked at an auto repair shop. They were a young couple without children and lived in a rented apartment.
“Congratulations!” Sveta handed Katya a bouquet of roses and a bottle of champagne. “Two years is a serious milestone.”
“Thank you so much! Come sit down. There’s enough room for everyone.”
Katya quickly set out additional plates and brought in more chairs. Sveta and Maxim livened up the gathering, telling funny stories from work, joking, and laughing. Even Valery Nikolaevich cheered up and began telling stories about fishing.
Tatyana Ivanovna sat with a stony expression, occasionally nodding but taking no part in the conversation. From time to time, she cast appraising glances at Katya, as though searching for new flaws.
“Let’s make some toasts!” Sveta suggested when the cake was placed on the table. “To the happy couple!”
Everyone raised their glasses. Valery Nikolaevich wished them happiness and many long years together. Maxim drank to love. Sveta toasted to family prosperity.
Tatyana Ivanovna stood last and slowly raised her champagne glass. Silence fell over the living room as everyone waited for the groom’s mother to give her toast.
“I wish my son patience,” she said, looking directly at Katya. “In a family like yours, the main thing is never to get bored.”
Maxim choked on his champagne. Sveta let out an awkward laugh, then quickly fell silent. Valery Nikolaevich stared into his glass. Artyom froze with his hand still raised.
Katya slowly placed her glass on the table. Blood pounded in her temples, and her hands trembled with barely restrained fury. Everyone was looking at her, waiting for a reaction.
“Excuse me,” Katya said quietly as she rose from her chair.
She walked to the edge of the table, where the beautiful floral tablecloth hung down. Grabbing one corner, she jerked it sharply. The glasses clinked, one of them toppled over, and champagne spilled across the wooden surface. Plates holding the remains of the dessert slid toward the center.
“Katya!” Artyom exclaimed, but his wife was already walking toward the living-room door.
Tatyana Ivanovna sat with her mouth open, staring at the mess. Sveta and Maxim exchanged uncertain glances, not knowing what to do. Valery Nikolaevich began blotting the spilled champagne with a napkin.
Katya stopped in the doorway and turned toward her mother-in-law. Her face was burning with anger and humiliation.
“Tatyana Ivanovna, if you don’t like the way I live, the way I cook, or the way I welcome guests, no one is forcing you to remain here.”
“Katyusha, calm down,” Artyom tried to intervene.
“No!” Katya raised her voice. “For two years, I’ve endured your insinuations, judgmental looks, and nasty remarks! Today is my wedding anniversary. I spent the entire day cooking because I wanted to make everyone happy, and all I receive in return are insults in front of my guests!”
Tatyana Ivanovna straightened in her chair and assumed a defensive posture.
“I didn’t say anything terrible. I merely expressed my opinion.”
“No one is interested in your opinion!” Katya shouted. “Get out! Being my husband’s mother does not give you the right to poison my life!”
A deathly silence filled the living room. Maxim and Sveta sat perfectly still, as though afraid even to breathe. Valery Nikolaevich continued wiping up the spilled champagne without raising his eyes. Artyom sat with his fists clenched, but he still did not say a single word in his wife’s defense.
Katya walked around the table, went to the front door, and flung it wide open. The turn of the lock echoed through the silent apartment.
“It’s time for you to leave,” Katya said, gesturing toward the open door. “In your own home, you may say whatever you like. Not in mine.”
Tatyana Ivanovna’s eyes widened. Instinctively, she took a step toward her son, expecting him to support her.
“Artyom, are you really going to allow your wife to speak to me like this?”
Artyom slowly raised his head. He looked first at his mother and then at his wife, who was standing beside the door.
“Mom, that’s enough,” Artyom said, but his voice sounded weak and unconvincing.
Katya moved closer to the doorway and repeated more firmly:
“Leave. This isn’t a marketplace where you can insult the woman of the house.”
“How dare you!” Tatyana Ivanovna hissed, but she headed toward the exit and snatched her handbag from the hook.
Valery Nikolaevich hurriedly stood up, muttering apologies.
“Katyusha, please forgive us. We didn’t mean to…”
“Valery Nikolaevich, you may stay. This isn’t about you.”
Her father-in-law shifted awkwardly from foot to foot but eventually followed his wife. Maxim and Sveta quickly gathered their things, mumbled something about urgent business, and left the apartment as well.
Katya closed the door and leaned against it. Her hands were still trembling from the emotions that had finally burst out. Artyom remained in the living room, sitting at the table among the scattered plates and champagne stains.
“Katya, why did you have to do that?” her husband asked as he got up. “Mom is an elderly woman. She should be forgiven…”
“Forgiven for what? Humiliating me in my own home? In front of our guests?”
“She didn’t mean any harm. That’s just her personality.”
Katya returned to the living room and silently began picking up the pieces of a broken glass. Artyom watched her, clearly searching for the right words.
“You know what my mother is like. She has always been this way. Why react so strongly?”
“Artyom.” Katya straightened, holding the broken pieces in her hands. “Two years. For two years, I’ve endured her remarks, insinuations, and advice about how I should live. And you remain silent.”
“I can’t argue with my mother over every little thing.”
“Little things?” Katya looked at her husband as though she were seeing him for the first time. “You consider your wife being humiliated a little thing?”
Artyom fell silent, realizing he had backed himself into a corner. Katya threw the broken glass into the trash and removed the tablecloth. The festive evening had been completely ruined.
“I’m tired,” Katya said before walking into the bedroom.
Katya lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. Artyom tossed and turned beside her. Several times, he tried to start a conversation, but she answered him with silence. By morning, neither of them had slept.
At seven o’clock, Katya got up, showered, dressed, and packed her work bag. She left a note on the kitchen table:
“We’ll talk this evening. But unless you start speaking up, I won’t remain silent.”
Katya worked on autopilot all day. She mixed dough, decorated cakes, and answered clients’ calls, but her thoughts kept returning to the previous evening. What hurt most was remembering Artyom’s face while his mother humiliated his wife and he sat there in silence.
At around six in the evening, her phone rang. Her husband’s name appeared on the screen.
“Hello,” Katya answered.
“Hi. I bought groceries, and I’m going to make dinner. Will you be home by seven?”
“I will.”
When Katya returned home, the apartment smelled of fried fish and fresh dill. Plates were arranged on the table, and the same candles that had decorated the anniversary dinner the night before were burning again. Artyom met his wife at the door and helped her remove her jacket.
“Sit down. Everything’s ready.”
Artyom remained silent through most of dinner, obviously gathering his thoughts. Katya waited without rushing him. Finally, her husband put down his fork and looked her in the eyes.
“Forgive me. Yesterday, I was a coward.”
Katya nodded but did not answer.
“Mom really did cross the line. I should have stopped her instead of sitting there si
lently like a statue.”
“You should have,” Katya agreed.
“I’ve become accustomed to ignoring her behavior. Ever since childhood, I’ve known that it’s easier not to argue and simply endure it. But now I understand that it’s wrong.”
“Artyom, I will not tolerate being humiliated in my own home. Not by anyone.”
“I know. And you won’t have to anymore.”
The following day, Artyom picked up his phone and called his mother. Katya could hear the conversation from the kitchen. Her husband spoke calmly but firmly.
“Mom, we need to talk. You were wrong yesterday. Katya is my wife and the woman of this house. If you can’t respect her, you won’t be welcome here anymore.”
Tatyana Ivanovna’s indignant voice came through the receiver, but Artyom did not back down.
“Mom, I’ve made my decision. Either you apologize to Katya and change your behavior, or we’ll see each other only in neutral places.”
“What are you doing, choosing your wife over your mother?” his mother shouted.
“I’m choosing what is right. Katya has never done anything wrong to you, yet you’ve been tormenting her for two years.”
“How dare you!”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
Artyom ended the call. The phone immediately began ringing again, but he rejected it.
“That’s it,” Artyom said as he entered the kitchen. “It won’t happen again.”
Katya embraced her husband and felt the tension that had accumulated over two years finally begin to fade. For the first time in a long while, their home felt genuinely peaceful.
Tatyana Ivanovna tried calling several more times during the following week, but Artyom remained firm. He did not answer her calls or read her messages. After a week, the attempts stopped.
Valery Nikolaevich called a month later. He apologized for his wife and asked for permission to visit the young couple. Katya did not object. She had never had any problems with her father-in-law.
“Tatyana is sitting at home sulking,” Valery Nikolaevich said over tea. “She says her son has abandoned her.”
“No one has abandoned anyone,” Artyom replied. “There are simply basic rules of decency.”
“I understand. I’ve spoken to her and tried to explain. Perhaps, after some time has passed, she’ll come to her senses.”
“Perhaps,” Katya agreed. “But she must apologize herself. And she must mean it.”
The apology never came. Tatyana Ivanovna preferred clinging to her resentment rather than attempting to repair the relationship. Valery Nikolaevich occasionally visited the couple without his wife. Family celebrations were held separately.
Katya did not regret what had happened. Her home had finally become her fortress—a place where she no longer needed to justify herself constantly or listen to spiteful remarks. Artyom changed as well. He became more attentive to his wife’s words, asked for her opinion more often, and defended her whenever necessary.
They invited no guests for their next wedding anniversary. Instead, Katya and Artyom rented a small country house for the weekend. They cooked together, walked through the forest, and talked about their plans for the future. No one criticized the table, made cutting remarks, or ruined the atmosphere with inappropriate toasts.
“You know,” Katya said as they sat on the veranda watching the sunset, “this is so much better than any celebration filled with other people’s accusations.”
“I agree,” Artyom replied, putting his arm around his wife. “Sometimes, you have to learn to say no in order to protect what matters most.”
Katya rested her head against her husband’s shoulder, enjoying the silence and tranquility. Two years earlier, she had believed that family happiness meant keeping everyone satisfied. Now she understood that true happiness meant being respected in your own home.
And sometimes, that respect was something you had to fight for.
