— «Kirill, make sure your wife behaves herself,» Tamara Igorievna snapped, her voice dripping with poison as she examined her gloves with exaggerated care. «We are at the home of respectable people, not in your cheap dive.»
I kept my hands clasped behind my back to stop my fingers from trembling. Kirill, beside me, coughed nervously and adjusted his shirt collar, which suddenly seemed too tight.
— «Mom, why are you doing this?» he tried to appease her. «Alina understands everything.»
— «What can she possibly understand?» Tamara Igorievna sneered, finally lifting her gaze from her gloves to assess me from head to toe. «Look at her dress: bought at the market. I saw a similar one on a mannequin… when I went to buy potatoes.»
She was right: my dress was modest, deliberately chosen not to offend anyone. Simple, elegant, without ostentation. The rest of my wardrobe would have triggered new reproaches.
We were in a vast, light-filled hall: the marble floor reflected the rays of an immense glass facade. The air smelled of ozone and a faint scent of exotic flowers.
— «And your boss, where is he?» my mother-in-law persisted, addressing my husband while glaring at me. «Keeping an employee like that… You dishonor him.»
Kirill opened his mouth to protest, but I shook my head, imperceptibly. It was neither the time nor the place.
I took a step forward: my heels clicked timidly on the impeccable floor.
— «Perhaps we could move to the living room? I’m sure they are waiting for us there.»
Tamara Igorievna pursed her lips but followed me, displaying outrageous condescension. Kirill shuffled his feet behind us, like a punished schoolboy.
The living room surpassed the hall: an immaculate white sofa, futuristic armchairs, a glass table topped with a bouquet of lilies. One of the walls was entirely glass and offered a view of a perfect garden, impeccably maintained lawn, and a small pool.
— «I told you so,» my mother-in-law grumbled, tracing a line with her finger on the armrest of an armchair she had just criticized. «They certainly know how to live here! Not like some… stuck in their two-room mortgage!»
She shot a pointed look at my husband, her favorite weapon: reproaching him for his circumstances, when he deserved «so much better.» And, naturally, I was the cause of everything.
— «Mom, we agreed…» Kirill sighed.
— «What did I say that was so terrible?» she said, raising an eyebrow. «I’m just stating a fact: some people build palaces, while others can’t even feed their families.»
She turned to me, her icy eyes mocking my presence:
— «It’s all due to a bad choice. A man needs a woman who lifts him up, not one who weighs him down like a stone around his neck. One who is worth something on her own.»
She slowly surveyed the living room again before stopping on me:
— «And you, you are misery,» she declared, a scornful smile on her lips. «In spirit and in possessions. And you are dragging my son to the bottom of the pit.»
Every word sank into my flesh like ice needles. Kirill turned pale and took a step towards me, but I stopped him with an imperceptible gesture.
I challenged her gaze, and for the first time in years, I felt only that strange, cold calm one experiences before reclaiming one’s power.
— «Are we going to stand here much longer?» Tamara Igorievna demanded, collapsing into an armchair she had just belittled. «Where are the owners? They haven’t even deigned to welcome us…»
She settled into a dominant position, crossing one leg over the other, adjusting her hairstyle like an inspector.
— «Mom, it’s too early,» Kirill objected. «My boss wanted us to arrive at seven, and it’s only six p.m.»
— «So what?» she retorted. «We could be granted the honor of rushing for guests of my caliber.»
I remained silent, walking towards the panel near the entrance, where I pressed a discreet sensor.
— «What are you doing?» my mother-in-law exclaimed, suspicious. «Don’t touch anything! You’ll break it, and then…»
— «I’m simply calling the staff to serve us drinks,» I calmly retorted, ignoring her. «It would be indecent to remain empty-handed.»
A minute later, a woman in a severe gray uniform entered: hair pulled up in a bun, face impassive.
— «Good evening,» she said, turning to me.
Tamara Igorievna immediately took charge of the situation:
— «Bring us some cognac, my dear. Good, French stuff. And something to snack on: not your chips, but something worthy, caviar canapés, for example.»
The server didn’t blink; she waited for my instructions.
I slowly turned my head towards her:
— «Olena, the usual for me. A whiskey on the rocks for Kirill. As for Tamara Igorievna…» I paused, giving my mother-in-law an icy look: «a large glass of fresh water, still.»
Olena nodded succinctly and withdrew without a word.
Tamara Igorievna flushed with anger:
— «What was that?» she hissed. «Who do you think you are? Giving orders here?»
— «I simply served you water,» I explained in a composed tone, despite the storm within me. «I thought you seemed a little tense. That will calm you down.»
— «How dare you!» she straightened up. «Kirill, do you hear that? Your wife is humiliating me in my own home!»
Kirill exchanged desperate glances between his mother and me; his indecision was gnawing at him more than his mother’s poisoned words.
— «Alina, why are you acting this way?» he finally intervened.
— «Why?» I threw back at him, my voice holding a cruel reproach. «Because she has been humiliating me for half an hour and you are remaining silent?»
Just then, Olena returned with a tray: my glass decorated with a sprig of rosemary, Kirill’s whiskey, and Tamara Igorievna’s iced water. She placed the tray on the glass table and slipped away in silence.
My mother-in-law stared at the water like a personal offense, her face contorted with rage:
— «I won’t drink that!» she shrieked. «I demand respect! I am your husband’s mother!»
— «You are the guest here, Tamara Igorievna,» I replied dryly, raising my glass. The gin flowed, pleasant and refreshing. «It is up to you to earn it. Otherwise, this evening will end much sooner than expected for you.»
She froze, stunned by my audacity. Incredulity danced in her eyes: where did this assurance come from? And that mystery was my trump card.
— «Is that… a threat?» she choked out. «Do you intend to kick me out? Who do you think you are?»
— «I am the mistress of this house,» I declared calmly.
My words hung in the air. My mother-in-law stiffened, then burst into a rough, unpleasant laugh:
— «Me? Mistress of the house? You’ve lost your mind! Kirill, your wife is crazy with jealousy!»
Kirill looked at me, his eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of sick hope:
— «Alina… is it true?»
I did not answer, fixing my gaze on his mother:
— «Yes, Tamara Igorievna. This is my house. I bought it thanks to my intelligence and my work. While you were telling anyone who would listen how insignificant I was, I was building my company.»
— «A company?» she pondered. «What could you possibly be managing? Your nails, at home?»
— «An IT company,» I cut in. «With subsidiaries in three countries. And your dear boss, whose guest you so longed to be, is my subordinate.»
I had organized this reception to reveal everything to them properly. I had hoped for a «civilized» conversation.
A bitter smile formed on my lips:
— «What a mistake I made…»
Tamara Igorievna’s face turned from anger to ashen gray, then to spectral white. She surveyed the opulence of the living room: the armchair she was sitting in, the polished marble, the panoramic view—everything belonged to this «beggar» she despised.
— «It can’t be true,» she murmured.
— «Why would I lie?» I replied with a shrug. «Kirill, do you remember our income statements for the loan? The one they refused? Did the figures mean anything to you? You thought it was a bank error.»
Kirill paled, looking away. He remembered, but his pride refused the truth.
— «Why… why did you keep silent?» his voice, broken, struggled to be heard.
— «When should I have spoken, Kirill?» I countered, a hint of melancholy in my voice. «When your mother belittled me once again? Or when you silently approved of her?»
I wanted him to love me for me, not for my money. That for once, he would defend me out of love, not interest. But it was not to be.
I turned back to Tamara Igorievna:
— «You dreamed of a palace, didn’t you? Well, welcome. But here, you are neither mistress, nor equal, nor even a true guest.»
I turned my heels toward Kirill, and, in a cold voice:
— «I want a divorce.»
His face immediately crumpled in despair:
— «Alina, please! I understand!»
— «Too late,» I whispered, shaking my head. «You never understood anything, and you never will.»
I pressed the wall control:
— «Olena, please escort our guests to the exit.»
Tamara Igorievna remained petrified. Kirill took a step towards me, but Olena was already at the door, followed by two guards in strict suits, who positioned themselves silently.
Kirill looked at his mother, then at the door, and backed away, as the doors closed behind them.
I remained alone in the huge, silent living room. I walked to the bay window, glass in hand, gazing at my garden.
I was no longer poor. I was free.
Three months passed in a whirlwind of freedom. The divorce was settled without scandal. Kirill disappeared from my life, taking his mother with him.
I threw myself headlong into work, closing deals, launching new projects. Every day, I felt stronger. The emptiness left by his departure was filled by my pride.
Sitting in my office on the 30th floor of a business center, the secretary entered hesitantly:
— «Alina Viktorivna, a visitor, please. No appointment. He says it’s personal.»
— «I don’t receive anyone unannounced,» I replied, without lifting my eyes from my papers.
— «He says… he is your ex-husband.»
The pen froze in my hand.
— «Let him in.»
Kirill, weakened and unrecognizable, entered my office: his gaze extinguished, his suit too large, the weary expression of a man who had not lived but survived.
— «Hello,» he murmured.
— «What do you want, Kirill?» I asked in an even tone.
— «I… I wanted to apologize.»
He walked towards my large dark desk.
— «Mom is very ill. Since that evening… she had a heart issue. She cries constantly. She says she was wrong.»
A predictable manipulation. I remained silent.
— «I was an idiot,» his gaze was pleading. «I should have defended you, instead of following Mom. I love you, Alina. Always. Give us a second chance.»
He stepped around the desk to take my hand. I pulled away.
— «A second chance?» I retorted. «To start living off me again, with a mother who belittles me? Waiting for me to buy you a car or pay for your vacation?»
— «No!» he exclaimed. «I will change! I will find a new job, I promise you…»
— «I don’t need any promises,» I interrupted him. «It’s not about money. It never was. It’s about respect. A partnership we never formed.»
I stood up and walked to the window, gazing at the bustling expanse of a metropolis I had conquered.
— «You came because your money and patience ran out,» I said, without turning around. «You haven’t changed; you are looking for the easy way out.»
— «That’s not true!»
— «Yes, Kirill. And you know it. You didn’t come for me, but for my opportunities.»
He hunched over, silent.
— «Leave,» I whispered. «This conversation is over. Forever.»
He lingered for a moment, then slipped away. The sound of the doors closing echoed behind him.
I did not turn around. Before me, the city stretched out, and I felt a deep, unwavering calm.
Five years passed in a blur.
I was now sitting on the terrace of a villa nestled on the Amalfi Coast, surrounded by greenery. The air mingled the scents of the sea, lemon trees, and blooming hydrangeas. At my feet, Archie, my Golden Retriever, was dozing.
My laptop was open on the table, but I paid it little attention: my eyes were lost in the azure where white yachts sailed.
— «What are you thinking about?» Sashko asked, sitting down next to me, a glass of cool white wine in his hand.
He put his arms around me.
— «I was just thinking…»
— «About good memories?» his eyes shone with tenderness.
We had met two years ago at an economic forum: he, a passionate architect; I, conquered by his character, his laugh, his ideas. He only learned about my success six months later.
— «A bit of everything,» I replied slyly. «I realize how much things have changed.»
An old colleague had called me recently to mention Kirill: he was laid off shortly after the divorce, jumped from job to job, and now lived with his mother, while she, once formidable, was only a shadow of her former self. They had been seen at the supermarket: a grumbling old woman and her sullen son arguing over the discounted pasta aisle.
— «I don’t pity them,» I confided, as if to myself.
— «Who?» Sashko wondered.
— «The past,» I swallowed. «Before, I would have thought I should feel anger or pity. Today… nothing. An emptiness, like reading stories in a faded old newspaper.»
Sashko held me tighter:
— «That is true freedom, Alina: when the past no longer stirs anything.»
I leaned against him, watching the setting sun gild the sea. Archie twitched a paw in his sleep.
My life no longer included humiliations or fears. Only peace, love, and the azure horizon stretching as far as the eye could see. Soon, I would have a son, and I would be happy that he was Sashko’s.
