“Please don’t move, just a minute more,” the seamstress said, holding some pins in her mouth. “We’ll just hem the skirt a little, and that’s it.”
Natalia stood on a short, round platform in the middle of the fitting room, gazing at her reflection. The dress was white, simple, with open shoulders and long sleeves made of fine lace. She had been searching for two months, visited six different shops, and tried on at least forty dresses—this was the first one that made her want to smile.
Tamara Petrovna, Mikhail’s mother, was sitting on a velvet sofa by the wall with a cup of coffee brought to her by the administrator. She had asked to come along to the fitting herself. Natalia didn’t mind. She wanted her future mother-in-law to feel included.
“It’s beautiful,” Tamara Petrovna said, studying her over the rim of her cup. “Expensive, probably?”
“Forty-eight thousand.”
“Well, it’s your own, after all.” The mother-in-law took a sip of coffee. “Natasha, what kind of apartment do you have? I keep forgetting. Is it a two-room?”
“Two rooms.”
“What are the rooms like? Are they big?”
“One is eighteen square meters, the other is eleven.”
“Is the eighteen-meter one the one with the balcony?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Oh, nothing, I’m just curious,” Tamara Petrovna said as she set her cup down on the saucer. “Is the balcony enclosed? Does it face south?”
“Enclosed. Facing east.”
“I see. So there’s sun in the morning. That’s nice.”
The seamstress finished hemming and stepped back. Natalia turned sideways to the mirror. The dress fit perfectly. She hadn’t given much thought to her future mother-in-law’s questions at the time. After all, there are plenty of things a woman about to become family might want to know.
The wedding was set for September 20th. Only six weeks away.
Natalia and Mikhail had been dating for four years. They met at a mutual friend’s birthday party; he helped her carry a huge box with a gift out to a taxi. Tall, calm, with a gentle smile. He worked as a tech support specialist for a large retail chain, earned about sixty thousand, and lived with his mother in a two-room apartment on Proletarskaya.
Natalia lived alone. She bought her apartment at twenty-eight, two years before she met Mikhail. Before that, she spent six years saving up for the down payment. She worked as a jewelry maker in a small workshop at a shopping center: fixing chains, soldering clasps, resizing rings, replacing missing stones. The workshop was open every day, and Natalia was there almost nonstop. On Sundays, she’d go to craft fairs to sell her handmade silver earrings. She hadn’t taken a vacation in six years. She bought new clothes only once a year. For friends’ birthdays, she’d gift them her own earrings because she didn’t want to spend extra on store-bought ones.
When she picked up the keys to the two-room place on the seventh floor, the first thing she did was walk through the empty rooms, touching the walls. Then she sat down on the floor in the big room—the one with the balcony—and cried. She was twenty-eight, and for the very first time, she was in her own home.
She was still paying off the mortgage: twenty-four thousand a month, seven more years to go. She paid it all herself.
Mikhail spent a lot of time at her place. A year after they met, she even gave him a key, since he usually stayed for the weekends and she would head out to her studio earlier than him. But he wasn’t in any rush to move in permanently.
«Let’s wait until after the wedding,» he’d say. «It’s awkward to leave my mom alone so suddenly. She needs some time to adjust.»
When he finally proposed, they sat in her kitchen for a long time, and Natalia explained to him how important this apartment was to her. How much she had struggled for it. How she needed it to remain a peaceful place.
«I understand, Natasha,» Mikhail said, taking her hand. «This is yours. You worked for it for six years. I promise I’ll never make any decisions here without you. You’re the most independent woman I know, and I’m so proud of that.»
Natalia believed him.
Of course, she couldn’t help but notice that Mikhail would consult his mother about everything. Which shoes to buy. What phone plan to choose. Whether they should visit friends for a barbecue. Every time, he’d say, “Let me call Mom,” and then he’d call her and do whatever his mother suggested.
Even the engagement ring was chosen by Tamara Petrovna. Mikhail admitted it himself while laughing, when Natalia pointed out a week after the proposal that the ring was too loose on her finger.
«Mom said to get a size bigger. She says all women put on weight after marriage.»
Natalia laughed too. She took the ring to her studio and resized it herself in half an hour, between two work orders. She told Mikhail it was simply more comfortable that way. But deep down, something lingered.
She hoped that after the wedding, things would change. That Mikhail would become the head of his own family and those constant calls to his mother for every little thing would gradually stop. It happens—many men do change after marriage.
A week after the ring fitting, Tamara Petrovna called her herself. It was in the evening, just as Natalia returned from her studio.
«Natashenka, hi. Listen, I was just wondering—what are you planning to do with the big room after the wedding? Make it a bedroom?»
«Yes, a bedroom.»
«But you and Misha will be just the two of you—you could use the small room. It’s eleven meters, there’s room for a bed. Please free up the big room for me. It’ll be convenient. I’d like to put my flowers out on the balcony.»
At first, Natalia didn’t quite understand.
«What do you mean, Tamara Petrovna? Convenient for you—when?»
«Well, after I move in with you. After the wedding.»
Natalia sat down on a stool by the entryway.
«Are you planning to move in with us?»
«Misha didn’t mention it?» Tamara Petrovna sounded so genuinely surprised that Natalia wondered for a moment if she had missed something. «Well, we discussed it. I’ll rent out my two-room apartment—you can get about thirty-five thousand for it, it’s a good area. And I’ll stay with you. Living on just my pension is hard. This way, I can afford a proper spa trip, get my teeth fixed, and visit a cosmetologist. I’ve dedicated my whole life to Misha—it’s time to think about myself for once.»
«Tamara Petrovna,» Natalia said, trying to keep her voice calm, «no. That’s not what we agreed on. I don’t agree to this. Misha and I will live together, just the two of us.»
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Oh, I see,” her mother-in-law finally said, her voice turning icy. “So, you don’t need a mother-in-law. You’re greedy, Natasha. Heartless. I raised my son alone, without a husband, and now you begrudge me a place in your home. Fine. I’ll talk to Misha then.”
She slammed the phone down.
Mikhail showed up an hour later. He didn’t call, just unlocked the door with his key. Natalia was sitting in the kitchen, gazing out the window.
“Natasha, why did you upset my mom? She called me, crying.”
“Misha, your mother just told me that after the wedding, she’s moving in here. Into the big room. And she’s renting out her apartment. Did you know about this?”
Mikhail sat down across from her. He was silent for a while.
“Well, we discussed it.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I was going to. Closer to the wedding. Natasha, what’s the big deal? It’s hard for Mom to live alone. She’s fifty-nine. She wants to live decently, too. And you have a lot of space. Just give her the big room. Come on, what does it cost you?”
Natalia looked at him, and she barely recognized him.
“Misha, do you remember what you promised me? Right here, in this kitchen. When you proposed. That you would never make decisions here without me. That you respected how I worked for six years to get this apartment.”
“Of course I remember.”
“But now you’re making decisions. Without me. With your mom.”
Mikhail rubbed his forehead, looked away. And all of a sudden, as if he decided there was no point hiding anymore, he said:
“Natasha, I already agreed. A while ago. Back in the spring. Mom mapped out the whole plan, already found tenants through a friend. They’re moving in on the first of October. And I gave Mom the keys. The spare ones. I had copies made from mine.”
“You gave your mother the keys to my apartment?”
“Well, how else would she move in? We’ll be at the wedding, then in Sochi for a week. She needs time to move her things and get settled. That way, when we get back, everything will already be set up.”
Natalia got up, walked to the sink, poured herself a glass of water and drank it slowly, still looking out the window. She felt like if she turned around right now, she might scream.
All of a sudden she felt so cold, even though it was only August outside. The man she had trusted for four years was sitting at her table, calmly explaining how he and his mother had been making plans behind her back since spring. How he gave out her keys. How his mother had already found renters. All the decisions had been made. Nobody had bothered to ask her.
“Leave, Misha,” she said, without turning around. “Please. I need to think.”
“Come on, Natasha. What’s the matter? Let’s talk this through.”
“Leave.”
He left, slamming the door.
Natalia didn’t sleep the whole next night. She sat on the windowsill in the big room, staring at the lights of the neighboring buildings. She thought about the wedding in five weeks. About the ‘White Garden’ restaurant where they’d already paid a 230,000 deposit. About the cake they ordered from the bakery on Lenin Street. About her parents, who bought a new suit for her dad on Saturday. About the sixty-two guests. About the dress hanging in the closet, still in its garment bag.
She decided that in the morning, she would talk to Mikhail again. Calmly. She would explain it all. Maybe he just hadn’t thought it through. Maybe his mother pressured him, and he couldn’t say no.
In the morning, Mikhail didn’t call. Not during the day either. That evening, when Natalia got home from her studio, the lights in the apartment were on.
In the hallway, there were two large checkered suitcases on wheels and three cardboard boxes tied up with twine. One box was labeled in marker: ‘Dishes. Fragile.’ Next to them, a potted ficus rested on the floor.
Voices drifted in from the living room.
Natalia walked down the hallway. Tamara Petrovna was standing in the middle of the room, examining the walls. Mikhail was sitting on the windowsill.
«The bed will go right here,» her mother-in-law was saying. «And this wardrobe of yours, Natasha, needs to go. It doesn’t suit me, I have my own, we’ll bring it. And those curtains need to be changed, they’re too cold. Oh, Natasha, you’re here already.»
Tamara Petrovna turned around with a smile, as if nothing unusual had happened.
«Misha and I figured there’s no point in waiting. Why hold off until the wedding? We moved most of the stuff today, the rest we’ll bring this weekend. I won’t get in your way, don’t worry.»
Natalia stood in the doorway.
«Tamara Petrovna. Please take your things and leave. Right now.»
Her mother-in-law stopped smiling and looked over at her son.
Mikhail got down from the windowsill.
«Natasha, that’s enough,» he said firmly—firmer than he’d ever spoken to her before. «Mom is going to live here. Forever. That’s final. Get used to it. We’re family, and she’s part of this family.»
Natalia looked at him. She must have looked lost, because suddenly Tamara Petrovna burst out laughing. Loudly, with delight, her head thrown back.
«Oh Natasha, why are you standing there like a stranger? What can you do, really? Where are you going to go? You already bought the dress, the guests are invited! The restaurant’s paid for! In five weeks the whole city will be waiting to see you in a white dress. You’ll back out now? Cancel the wedding? Don’t be ridiculous.»
Natalia silently stared at the suitcases standing in the hallway. Checkered, on wheels. At the box marked ‘Dishes. Fragile.’ At the ficus.
And suddenly she realized just how much all of Mikhail’s promises had really been worth.
For four years, he chose his mother’s approval. Shoes, phone plans, barbecues. The ring was a size too big—because his mother said so. Every time his wishes clashed with Tamara Petrovna’s, he chose her. Until now, these were little things, and Natalia turned a blind eye. But now it was her home at stake. The apartment she’d spent six years scrimping to buy, working around the clock. And now they were trying to take even that away from her—with decisions made behind her back.
And the scariest thing was, Tamara Petrovna was right about something. They were truly counting on her going along with this. That for the sake of the dress, the restaurant, and sixty-two guests, she would swallow her pride once more.
Natalia raised her left hand. She looked at the ring—a thin gold band with a tiny diamond. The very one she had resized herself, in the workshop, between orders.
Slowly, she took it off her finger.
Tamara Petrovna stopped laughing.
Natalia walked into the hallway and placed the ring right in the center of the top checkered suitcase. Carefully, in the middle. Then she opened the front door and stood beside it.
«The exit’s this way,» she said.
Mikhail came out of the room, glanced at the ring on the suitcase, and laughed.
«Natasha, are you serious? Come on, enough drama. Let’s stop with this circus. Put the ring back where it belongs.»
Misha, give me the keys. Both sets. Yours and the one you made for Mom.
He stopped laughing.
«Are you serious?»
The keys.
Tamara Petrovna stepped into the hallway, her face flushed red.
«Do you even understand how much money was spent on this wedding? I didn’t pay a single ruble, but people are expecting it! The photographer, the rings! Do you get that you’re shaming us in front of everyone? What will I tell people? Aren’t you ashamed?»
«Tamara Petrovna,» Natalia said evenly. «I paid two hundred thirty thousand for the restaurant. The dress—forty-eight thousand—me. The cake, host, hall decorations, invitations—also me. Misha paid for the photographer and the rings—sixty and thirty thousand. As for you, you haven’t spent a single ruble. The only thing you brought today was taxi fare to my apartment with your suitcases.»
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth but couldn’t find anything to say.
«Natasha,» Mikhail took a step toward her. «If you do this now, it’s over between us. Do you hear me? It’s finished. I won’t come back. Think about it.»
«I have thought about it, Misha. The keys.»
He stood there, fists clenched. Then he slowly reached into his jacket pocket, took out a keyring and removed a key, tossing it onto the side table. Tamara Petrovna dug through her bag for a long time, finally pulling out the second key, brand new and still shiny, and threw it down next to his.
«You’ll regret this,» she said. «You’ll be sitting alone in your apartment until you retire. No one else will take you.»
Mikhail grabbed the suitcases. Tamara Petrovna picked up the ficus. The boxes remained by the door.
«The boxes,» Natalia said.
Mikhail came back for the boxes. The last one he picked up was labeled «Dishes. Handle with care.» At the door, he turned as if he wanted to say something, but Tamara Petrovna tugged him by the sleeve.
He took the ring from the suitcase. Natalia watched as he slipped it into his pocket without looking at it.
The door closed.
Natalia stood in the hallway for several minutes. Then she took out her phone and found a 24-hour locksmith service online. Forty minutes later, a young guy with a toolbox arrived. He changed the cylinder in both locks. Four thousand rubles, two new sets of keys, and he left. It was half past ten at night.
Then Natalia sat in the kitchen with her laptop and the guest list.
First, she called the restaurant manager. She explained everything. The manager was silent for a long time, then said that with more than a month until the wedding, sixty percent of the deposit would be refunded. Natalia thanked her. She called the host, the bakery, the florist. Then she started calling the guests. Her friends. Coworkers from the workshop. Her cousin in Tyumen. Aunt Valya, who had sewn herself a dress especially for the wedding.
Every time, she said the same thing: there won’t be a wedding, sorry it turned out this way, I’ll tell you more later. Some people were shocked, some asked what happened, others said, «well, good for you.» Natalia didn’t explain. She just crossed the next name off the list.
The hardest call was to her parents. She dialed their number last, almost at midnight.
Her mom, Nadezhda Ivanovna, answered. Her voice was sleepy and scared.
«Natasha? What happened? Why are you calling so late?»
«Mom,» Natalia said, her voice suddenly breaking. «Mom, the wedding is off.»
There was silence on the line. Then her mom called for her dad. Natalia could hear him coming over and picking up the phone.
«Daughter, what’s going on?»
She told them everything. About the ring that was a size too big. About the big room with a balcony. About the renters moving in on the first of October. About the keys. The suitcases and the ficus. The «Where else would you go» conversation. She spoke for a long time, stumbling over her words, sometimes pausing so she wouldn’t break down and cry.
Her father listened silently. Then he said,
«You did the right thing, Natasha.»
«Dad, what about the suit? You already bought it.»
«It’s just a suit,» Viktor Stepanovich said. «I’ll wear it for New Year’s. Let it hang there for now.»
Her mother cried into the phone. Then she asked if they should come over right now. Natalia said no, she could handle it. She promised she’d come visit them over the weekend.
After the call, she sat in the kitchen for a long time. Then she went to the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe. The dress hung there in a clear cover, white, with lace sleeves. Natalia sat on the bed across from the wardrobe and looked at it for a long time.
She was in pain. Four years. Four years loving this person. She’d gone to his aunt’s country house, sat up nights when his back hurt, given him a silver ring for his thirtieth birthday that she had made herself over two months. She truly had thought it would last forever.
But she pictured herself five weeks from now, standing in that dress at the «White Garden» restaurant. Resting her hand on Mikhail’s. Tamara Petrovna sitting at the head table, smiling because she knew the ficus would end up by the window in the big room after the wedding. Natalia coming home from her studio to see someone else’s wardrobe in her bedroom. A year passing, and she no longer remembered who she was when she bought this apartment.
Losing Mikhail hurt. But losing herself would have been even scarier.
She ended up falling asleep right there, sitting against the headboard.
In the morning, Natalia took the dress off the hanger, carefully packed it in its cover, and brought it back to the salon. They didn’t do returns on wedding dresses, but they could take them on commission. The manager—the same one who brought Tamara Petrovna coffee—looked at Natalia and didn’t ask anything. She just said,
«That’ll be gone in no time. It’s a good dress.»
After leaving the salon, Natalia pulled out her phone. Mikhail had sent her twelve messages during the night. She didn’t read them. She tapped his name, then «Block.» Then she found Tamara Petrovna’s number and blocked her too.
On September 20th, a Saturday—the very day she was supposed to be at the «White Garden»—Natalia was at home. Her parents came by in the morning. Her father brought a bucket of apples from the country house, her mother brought a jar of mushrooms and a cabbage pie. At ten in the morning, the doorbell rang—it was a courier from the bakery on Lenin Street.
They couldn’t cancel the cake. The baker said, according to the terms of the custom order, the deposit was nonrefundable, and the decorations and fresh berries had already been bought. Natalia just shrugged and asked them to deliver as planned. Now it was standing on the kitchen table, three tiers, white, with fresh raspberries and a chocolate inscription: «Natalia and Mikhail.»
Father stared at the inscription for a long time. Then he picked up a knife, carefully sliced off the top layer of cream with the words ‘and Mikhail,’ and placed it on a separate plate.
«There,» he said. «That’s better.»
Mom laughed through her tears. Natalia laughed too. Father cut each of them a large slice from the bottom tier, where there were more raspberries.
They sat in the kitchen until evening, eating the wedding cake with teaspoons. Mom shared the story of how she met Father at a dance in the community center. Father insisted it hadn’t happened that way. Outside, the first autumn rain was falling. The big room with the balcony was quiet, with only Natalia’s flowers on the windowsill.
