“Help her, it’s not hard for you!” — but I decided she wouldn’t get another penny from me.
Anna kicked off her shoes right by the door and leaned back against the wall. Her legs ached as if she had walked across the entire city, though in reality she had simply spent ten hours in conference rooms, stretching her smile and patience to the limit. A project presentation, budget approvals, three meetings in a row — the new position was not easy, but she was handling it. The promotion had been well earned, and everyone knew it.
“Anya, you’re home?” Mikhail’s voice came from the other room.
She closed her eyes. All she wanted was to make it to the bathroom, step under hot water, and stop thinking about anything. But from her husband’s tone alone, she already knew a conversation was about to begin. The same conversation that had been repeating itself with exhausting regularity over the past few months.
“Yeah,” she answered shortly, pulling off her blazer.
Mikhail came out of the living room holding his phone. His face looked guilty, and that confirmed Anna’s suspicion at once.
“Listen, Mom called,” he began, scratching the back of his head. “She’s having trouble with the pipes again, needs to call a plumber. And she still has to pay the utility bill — she’s a little overdue…”
Anna walked past him into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of water. She drank slowly, feeling her husband grow nervous behind her.
“Misha, I’m very tired,” she said without turning around. “It was a hard day.”
“I understand, but Mom really needs help,” he stepped closer. “It won’t take much time, just send her the money, please. Help her, it’s not hard for you!”
There it was. That phrase. “It’s not hard for you.” As if the issue were the difficulty of transferring money. As if she was refusing because she was too lazy to open the banking app and press a few buttons.
“Misha,” Anna set the bottle down on the table and turned to face him. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” he frowned. “Mom needs help, we can’t just abandon her.”
“We?” Anna repeated, and steel rang in her voice. “Misha, let’s be honest. Who exactly has been helping your mother for the past six months?”
He looked away.
“Well… both of us.”
“No,” Anna shook her head. “Not ‘both of us.’ I’m the one helping. Alone. Because your entire salary goes to groceries, rent, gas, all our day-to-day expenses. And helping your mother comes out of my money. And you know that perfectly well.”
Mikhail pressed his lips together. Of course he knew. How could he not, when after her promotion the gap in their incomes had become obvious? Anna was earning much more now, so naturally it was her money that made up that so-called “help” Mikhail regularly sent to his mother.
“Anya, what does that have to do with anything?” he tried to object. “We’re a family, we have a shared budget.”
“A shared budget, yes,” she nodded. “Only for some reason, when your mother praises you for being such a caring son, she never bothers to mention that the money is actually mine.”
That was the real problem. Not the money itself — Anna was not stingy. She understood that an elderly person needed help, that a pension wasn’t enough, that unexpected expenses came up. She could have helped her mother-in-law. She could even have done it gladly. If not for one thing.
Her mother-in-law hated her. From the very first meeting.
Anna still remembered that evening eight years ago when Misha brought her to meet his mother. She had been nervous, choosing her outfit carefully, buying a cake. She wanted to be liked, to make a good impression. But the moment she stepped across the threshold of her future mother-in-law’s apartment, she felt the coldness in the woman’s gaze.
“Oh, so this is the one?” were the first words Valentina Petrovna said, looking Anna up and down. “Misha said you come from a simple family. Well, yes, it shows right away.”
Back then Anna had tried to excuse it as the anxiety of a mother worried about her son. But with every meeting after that, it became clearer: Valentina Petrovna did not merely fail to accept her daughter-in-law — she openly displayed her contempt. Snide remarks, hints, comparisons to some mythical “worthy girls” she believed Mikhail should have married.
And it was mutual. Anna did not feel any warmth toward her mother-in-law either. How could you love someone who used every meeting as an opportunity to humiliate you?
Over the years the situation only got worse. Especially after Anna got promoted. Valentina Petrovna seemed to sense that now it was the daughter-in-law who had become the main breadwinner in the family, and that wounded her maternal pride. Mikhail was supposed to be successful, supposed to provide for his wife, not the other way around. And her mother-in-law never missed a chance to point that out.
Then the regular requests for help began. At first rarely, then more and more often. Money for medicine, for repairs, for a new appliance — the old one had broken at the worst possible moment. Mikhail could not refuse his mother, and Anna understood that. She transferred the money in silence, never even commenting on how the amounts kept gradually increasing.
But the last conversation with Valentina Petrovna had been the final straw.
It happened two weeks ago. Anna stopped by her mother-in-law’s place to bring groceries — Mikhail had bought them, but didn’t have time to deliver them and asked his wife to drop them off. Valentina Petrovna greeted her with a sour expression.
“So you’ve run Misha ragged, have you? He doesn’t even have time for his own mother anymore!” was her greeting. “You’ve made yourself very comfortable on his neck.”
Anna said nothing and set the bags down in the kitchen.
“Actually, Misha bought these, I just brought them over,” she said calmly.
“Of course Misha did,” her mother-in-law snorted. “You’ve got it made: you sit in your office while my son does everything for you.”
“Valentina Petrovna, what does that have to do with—”
“It has everything to do with it!” she cut in. “I can see how he works himself to the bone for you. How hard he tries. And he still helps me, even though he has no time. That’s what a real man is, unlike some modern women who put their careers above their families.”
Anna clenched her fists. She could have told the truth. She could have explained that it was she, Anna, who was helping financially. That Misha’s salary went entirely to their own expenses. That every transfer to Valentina Petrovna came from Anna’s own hard-earned money.
But she kept silent. Because she knew it would only cause another scandal. Her mother-in-law would accuse her of trying to drive a wedge between mother and son. Mikhail would end up caught in the middle. And in the end, Anna would still be the one blamed.
“What a wonderful son you have, Valentina Petrovna,” Anna had said then, forcing a smile. “So caring.”
And she left before she said too much.
That evening she cried in the bathroom. From hurt, from helplessness, from accumulated exhaustion. She was working herself to the bone, carrying the family budget, helping a person who despised her — and yet she was the one seen as unworthy.
And now here it was again. Misha standing in front of her with that guilty expression, asking for help. No — expecting it. Because to him it was obvious: his mother had a problem, it needed to be solved, so why even discuss it?
“Anya, why are you silent?” Mikhail shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. “Let’s just send it and be done with it. Don’t make a tragedy out of this.”
“A tragedy?” Anna gave a humorless laugh. “Misha, do you even understand what’s happening?”
“I do. Mom asked for help, and I—”
“Not you!” she raised her voice, and her husband flinched. “Not you, Misha! I help your mother. I do! With my money! And every time I see her, she humiliates me, hints that I’m a bad wife, that I’m using you. And at the same time she keeps praising you for what a wonderful son you are, helping your mother!”
Mikhail went pale.
“Anya, you’re exaggerating. Mom just… that’s her character.”
“Her character!” Anna laughed again, but there was bitterness in it. “Misha, two weeks ago she said to my face that I was living off you, that you were the one working for me. Even though I earn one and a half times more than you, and it’s my money she’s getting!”
“She doesn’t know…”
“Exactly! She doesn’t know because you never told her!” Anna stepped right up to him. “Why, Misha? Why do you let her think it’s you being such a wonderful son, helping your mother? Why won’t you tell her the truth?”
He looked away, and Anna understood the answer before he even said it aloud.
“Because it would upset her,” Mikhail said quietly. “She… she’s very proud of the fact that I take care of her. It matters to her.”
“And what about me? I don’t matter?” Anna’s voice trembled. “It doesn’t matter that I’m humiliated, treated like a freeloader, even though I’m supporting your family?”
“Anya, don’t exaggerate, you’re not supporting—”
“Not supporting it?” She grabbed her phone from the table and opened her banking app. “Let’s do the math. How much do you earn? How much do I? How much goes to rent, groceries, the car, everything else? And how much of your salary is left after all that? That’s right, nothing! So where does the help for your mother come from? From me!”
Mikhail swallowed. He had nothing to say because the numbers were obvious.
“All right,” he finally said. “All right, I understand. But what are you suggesting? That we stop helping Mom?”
“No,” Anna shook her head. “I’m suggesting honesty. I want your mother to know the truth. I want her to apologize for everything she’s said to me. And I want her to acknowledge that it’s me helping her, not you.”
Mikhail stared at her as if she had suggested something completely impossible.
“You’re serious? Anya, Mom would never agree to that.”
“Why not?” Anna crossed her arms over her chest. “Because she’d have to admit that she was wrong about me all this time? That she’s been humiliating the very person who’s been supporting her?… Continued just below in the first comment.”
Anna kicked off her shoes right by the door and leaned back against the wall. Her legs throbbed as if she had walked across the entire city, though in reality she had simply spent ten hours in meeting rooms, stretching her smile and patience to the limit. A project presentation, budget approvals, three meetings in a row—the new position was not easy, but she was handling it. The promotion had been well deserved, and everyone knew it.
“Anya, are you home?” Mikhail’s voice came from the other room.
She closed her eyes. All she wanted was to make it to the bathroom, step under hot water, and think about nothing. But from the tone of her husband’s voice, she already knew a conversation was about to begin. The same conversation that had repeated itself with exhausting regularity over the past few months.
“Yeah,” she answered briefly, slipping off her jacket.
Mikhail came out of the living room holding his phone. His face looked guilty, and that alone convinced Anna her suspicions were correct.
“Listen, Mom called,” he began, scratching the back of his head. “She’s having trouble with the pipes again, needs to call a plumber. And she still has to pay the utilities—she’s a little overdue…”
Anna walked past him into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of water. She drank slowly, feeling her husband fidget nervously behind her.
“Misha, I’m very tired,” she said without turning around. “Today was a hard day.”
“I understand, but Mom really needs help,” he said, stepping closer. “It won’t take much time, just send her the money, please. Help her—it’s not hard for you!”
There it was. That phrase. It’s not hard for you. As if the issue were the difficulty of the bank transfer procedure. As if she was refusing because she was too lazy to open the banking app and press a few buttons.
“Misha,” Anna said, setting the bottle on the table and turning to face him, “it’s not about whether it’s hard for me or not.”
“Then what is it about?” he frowned. “Mom needs help. We can’t just abandon her.”
“We?” Anna repeated, steel in her voice. “Misha, let’s be honest. Who exactly has been helping your mother for the last six months?”
“No,” Anna shook her head. “Not ‘both of us.’ I’m helping. Alone. Because your entire salary goes toward groceries, rent, gas, all our current expenses. And the help for your mother comes out of my money. And you know that perfectly well.”
Mikhail pressed his lips together. Of course he knew. How could he not, when after her promotion the difference in their incomes had become obvious? Anna was now earning significantly more, and naturally it was her money that made up the “help” Mikhail regularly sent to his mother.
“Anya, what does that have to do with anything?” he tried to object. “We’re a family, we have a shared budget.”
“A shared budget, yes,” she nodded. “But for some reason, when your mother praises you for being such a caring son, she somehow never mentions that the money is mine.”
Her mother-in-law had hated her from the very first meeting.
Anna still remembered that evening eight years ago when Misha brought her to meet his mother. She had been nervous, had carefully chosen an outfit, had bought a cake. She wanted to be liked, to make a good impression. But the moment she crossed the threshold of her future mother-in-law’s apartment, she felt the coldness in the woman’s eyes.
“Oh, so this is the one?” were the first words Valentina Petrovna said, giving Anna an appraising look. “Misha said you come from a simple family. Well, it shows right away.”
And the feeling was mutual. Anna had never felt warmly toward her mother-in-law either. How could anyone like a person who tried to humiliate you at every meeting?
Over the years, things had only gotten worse. Especially after Anna got promoted. Valentina Petrovna seemed to sense that the daughter-in-law had now become the main breadwinner in the family, and that wounded her maternal pride. Mikhail was supposed to be successful, supposed to provide for his wife—not the other way around. And his mother never missed a chance to point that out.
Then the regular requests for help began.
But the last conversation with Valentina Petrovna had been the final straw.
It happened two weeks earlier. Anna had stopped by her mother-in-law’s place to bring groceries—Mikhail had bought them but had no time to deliver them, so he asked his wife to drop them off. Valentina Petrovna greeted her with a sour expression.
“So you’ve worked Misha to death? He doesn’t even have time for his own mother anymore!” she said as her greeting. “You’ve completely climbed onto his neck.”
Anna said nothing and placed the bags in the kitchen.
“Actually, Misha bought all this. I’m just delivering it,” she said calmly.
“That’s beside the point!” the older woman cut in. “I can see how hard he works for you. How he tries. And he still helps me, even though he has no time. That’s what a real man is like—not like some modern women who put their careers above family.”
Anna clenched her fists. She could have told the truth. She could have explained that it was she, Anna, who was providing the financial help. That Misha’s salary went entirely toward their own needs. That every transfer to Valentina Petrovna came from Anna’s own hard-earned money.
But she kept silent. Because she understood that it would only trigger another scandal. Her mother-in-law would accuse her of trying to turn mother and son against each other. Mikhail would be caught between two fires. And in the end, Anna would still be the one blamed.
“What a wonderful son you have, Valentina Petrovna,” Anna said then, forcing a smile. “So caring.”
And she left before she said too much.
That evening she cried in the bathroom. Out of hurt, helplessness, and accumulated exhaustion. She was working herself to the bone, carrying the family budget, helping a person who despised her—and still she was the one considered unworthy.
And now here it was again. Misha standing in front of her with that guilty face, asking for help. No—demanding it. Because to him it was obvious: Mom has a problem, it needs to be solved, why even discuss it?
“Anya, why are you silent?” Mikhail shifted impatiently from foot to foot. “Let’s just send it and that’s it. Don’t make a tragedy out of it.”
“A tragedy?” Anna gave a humorless smile. “Misha, do you even understand what’s happening?”
“I understand. Mom asked for help, and I…”
Mikhail went pale.
“Anya, you’re exaggerating. Mom just… she has that kind of personality.”
“Personality!” Anna laughed, but the laugh came out bitter. “Misha, two weeks ago she said to my face that I’m freeloading off you, that you work for me. When I earn one and a half times more than you, and it’s my money she gets!”
“She doesn’t know…”
He looked away, and Anna understood the answer before he said it aloud.
“Because it would upset her,” he said quietly. “She… she’s very proud of the fact that I take care of her. That matters to her.”
“And I don’t matter?” Anna’s voice trembled. “It doesn’t matter that I’m humiliated, that I’m seen as some dependent parasite, even though I’m the one supporting your family?”
“Anya, don’t exaggerate, you’re not supporting—”
“Not supporting?” She grabbed her phone from the table and opened the banking app. “Let’s count. How much do you make? And how much do I make? How much goes to rent, food, the car, everything else? And how much of your salary is left after all that? Right, nothing! So where does the help for your mother come from? From me!”
Mikhail swallowed. He had nothing to say, because the numbers were obvious.
“All right,” he said at last. “All right, I understand. But what are you proposing? That we stop helping Mom?”
“No,” Anna shook her head. “I’m proposing honesty. I want your mother to know the truth. I want her to apologize for everything she’s said to me. And I want her to admit that it’s me helping her, not you.”
“Are you serious? Anya, Mom would never agree to that.”
“Why not?” Anna crossed her arms over her chest. “Because she’d have to admit she was wrong about me all this time? That she humiliated the person who’s been supporting her?”
“Because she’s proud,” Mikhail ran a hand over his face. “You know what she’s like. She’d rather… damn it, she’d rather refuse help than apologize.”
“Excellent,” Anna said. “Then she’ll refuse.”
Silence hung in the air. Mikhail stared at his wife with wide eyes, clearly unable to believe what he’d heard.
“What… what do you mean?”
“No, Misha,” she shook her head. “It’s self-respect. I’m not going to keep tolerating humiliation from someone I’m supporting. I just won’t.”
“But Mom… she really does have problems with the pipes, with the utility bills…”
“Then you’ll have to help her find money somewhere else,” Anna shrugged. “Or she can go to social services, take out a loan, find another solution. She’s an adult woman. She’ll manage.”
“You can’t do this!” Mikhail raised his voice. “She’s my mother!”
“Exactly,” Anna did not back down. “Your mother. The one who hates me. And I’m no longer obligated to help someone who thinks I’m trash.”
Mikhail began pacing around the kitchen, nervously running his fingers through his hair. Anna could see him trying to find an argument, some words that would make her change her mind.
“Listen,” he said, stopping. “Let me talk to her. I’ll explain the situation. I’ll ask her to be more restrained around you.”
“More restrained?” Anna gave a short laugh. “Misha, this isn’t about restraint. She has to understand the truth and admit it. Out loud. In front of me.”
Mikhail sat down on a chair and dropped his head into his hands.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he muttered.
“And I can’t believe you let her treat me like this for eight years,” Anna replied. “And that you still haven’t taken my side.”
They sat in silence. Twilight was thickening outside the window. Anna felt exhaustion—not only physical exhaustion after a hard workday, but emotional exhaustion accumulated over years of silent endurance.
“And you know what?” she said finally. “Maybe this is for the best.”
Mikhail lifted his head.
“What is?”
“The fact that we’ll stop sending money to your mother. Count how much we spent every month on her needs. A decent amount, right? Do you know what we could do with that money?”
He was silent, and Anna continued.
She cut herself off, but Mikhail understood.
“Not for my mother, you were going to say?”
“Yes,” Anna nodded. “Sorry, but yes. Misha, we’re thirty years old. We don’t have children, we don’t have our own apartment, we haven’t even really gone anywhere since we got married. Because all the money kept going to your mother. And I’m tired.”
“So you’re choosing a vacation instead of helping an elderly person?” There was condemnation in his voice.
“No,” Anna looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m choosing myself. My dignity. My family—our family, yours and mine, not your mother. And if that makes me a bad person in your eyes, then… then I guess we have bigger problems than money.”
Those words hung in the air. Mikhail turned pale, realizing the conversation had gone too far.
“Anya, that’s not what I meant…”
“Then what did you mean?” She rubbed her face tiredly. “Misha, I love you. But I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t work myself to the bone so your mother can call me lazy. I can’t give my money to someone who despises me. I just can’t.”
“But Mom… the money…”
“I’ve said my final word,” Anna said, heading toward the door. “Either your mother apologizes and acknowledges the truth, or there will be no more help. The choice is hers.”
“But she’ll never agree! You understand that, right?”
Anna stopped in the doorway and turned around.
“I understand,” she nodded. “And that’s why, starting today, your mother won’t get another penny from me.”
Standing under the hot streams of water in the bathroom, Anna felt as if not only the fatigue of the workday was being washed off her, but also the burden of the past few years. The fear that she was being cruel struggled with the relief of finally having told the truth.
She knew Valentina Petrovna would not apologize. Proud, stubborn, convinced of her own righteousness—people like that do not know how to admit mistakes. Which meant she really would not get any more money.
And Anna was ready for that. More than ready—she felt it was the right decision. Maybe for the first time in a long while, she had made a choice in her own favor.
When she came out of the bathroom, she found Mikhail sitting in the living room with his phone. He looked lost.
“What else was I supposed to do?” he shot back. “Tell her the truth? That my wife is setting conditions for helping?”
“Why not?” Anna sat down across from him. “The truth is always better than a lie.”
They looked at each other, and Anna suddenly realized that something bigger than help for her mother-in-law was being decided right then. What was being decided was what kind of family theirs would be. Whether they could be honest with one another. Whether Mikhail would finally take her side.
“Anya,” he began slowly, “I understand that Mom can be… harsh. That she’s said unpleasant things to you. And I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you when I should have.”
She waited silently for him to continue.
“But she’s still my mother. And it’s hard for me to just abandon her.”
“No one is asking you to abandon her,” Anna said gently. “I just want basic respect. For me and for the truth.”
Mikhail nodded, looking at the floor.
“All right. I’ll think about it. Maybe… maybe I really will talk to her. Seriously.”
“It’ll be war.”
“Maybe,” Anna shrugged. “But at least it’ll be an honest war.”
The next few days passed in tense ожидание—tense anticipation. Mikhail tried several times to talk to his mother, but each time he lost his nerve and could not tell her the truth. Anna saw how tortured he was, torn between two women.
Then Valentina Petrovna called herself.
Anna was home alone when the phone rang. Seeing her mother-in-law’s name on the screen, she hesitated for a second—answer or not? But curiosity won.
“Hello?”
“Are you satisfied now?” her mother-in-law’s venomous voice struck her ear. “Have you turned my son against his own mother?”
“Hello, Valentina Petrovna,” Anna replied calmly. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t pretend! Misha said you’re not going to help anymore because you don’t have money. But I know you do. You’re the one who forbade him from helping his mother!”
There was a deafening silence on the other end of the line.
“What?” her mother-in-law finally managed.
“Exactly what you heard,” Anna said firmly. “All the financial help you’ve been getting for the last six months has been my money. Misha’s salary goes entirely toward our own life. And I’m tired of listening to you talk about what a wonderful man he is and what a freeloader I am, when the reality is the exact opposite.”
“You’re lying!” Valentina Petrovna’s voice shook with rage. “Misha would never…”
“Ask him yourself,” Anna suggested. “Let him tell you the truth. You praised him for taking care of his mother, but it was my care. My money, my patience, my generosity—which, by the way, you never appreciated.”
“How dare you! All my life I…”
“Valentina Petrovna,” Anna cut in, “I don’t want to fight. I just want honesty and respect. If you are ready to apologize for all your insults and admit that it was I who helped you, then we’ll continue helping. If not—then no.”
Her mother-in-law was breathing heavily into the receiver.
Anna ended the call, and her hands were shaking. Done. Now everything was in Valentina Petrovna’s hands.
That evening, when Mikhail came home, she told him about the call. He listened silently, his face like stone.
“She won’t apologize,” he said at last. “Never.”
“I know,” Anna nodded.
“So that’s it. A final break.”
“Not necessarily,” she walked over to him and took his hand. “Misha, no one is stopping you from being in contact with your mother. You can visit her, help her with things, just be there for her. I’m against only one thing—my money going to someone who despises me.”
He squeezed her hand.
“And if things really become hard for her?”
“Then she’ll compromise,” Anna smiled. “Or she’ll find another way. People always do when they have to. Maybe it’ll even do her good—maybe she’ll learn to value what she had.”
Regularly, Anna began putting aside exactly the amount that used to go to her mother-in-law.
“Look,” she showed Mikhail the screen of her phone one evening. “We’ve already saved this much. By summer, it’ll be enough for a trip. Wherever you want: Greece, Italy, Spain. Pick.”
He looked at the numbers and slowly smiled.
“You know, it’s true,” he said. “We really could finally go where we actually want to. Not just where we can barely afford.”
“Exactly,” Anna hugged him. “We can do a lot. If we start living for ourselves.”
He kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to understand. That I made you endure all that.”
“What matters is that you understand now,” she pressed herself against him. “What matters is that we’re together.”
Mikhail’s phone rang. The screen said: Mom.
They looked at each other. Mikhail pressed the answer button.
“Hello? Mom?”
When he hung up, he turned to his wife.
“She… she said she wants to talk to us. Seriously talk. And that… that she’s sorry.”
“Sorry?” Anna repeated.
“Yes. She didn’t say it directly, but I think…” He hesitated. “I think she’s ready to admit the truth.”
Anna was silent, processing the news. Part of her could not believe proud Valentina Petrovna was capable of such a thing. But another part hoped.
“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll see. If she really is ready for an honest conversation, then… maybe we really can start with a clean slate.”
The next day they drove to her mother-in-law’s place in silence. Anna was nervous, but she stayed calm. She knew what she wanted, and she was not going to back down from her position.
Valentina Petrovna met them at the door. Her face was tense, but not hostile.
“Come in,” she said quietly.
“Valentina Petrovna,” Anna began, but her mother-in-law raised a hand.
“Wait. Let me speak.”
She took a deep breath.
“Misha told me the truth. About the money. About who was really helping me. And I…” She pressed her lips together, clearly struggling to find the words. “I was wrong. About you, about many things. I thought you… that you were unworthy of my son. That you were using him. But it turns out it was the other way around.”
Anna listened without interrupting.
“It’s hard for me to admit,” Valentina Petrovna continued. “I was used to thinking Misha could do anything, that he was successful, that he was taking care of me. And when I realized that in fact it was you… it was like a slap in the face.”
“Valentina Petrovna…”
“But I thought about it,” her mother-in-law looked Anna in the eye. “I thought about the fact that you stayed silent all this time. You didn’t boast, you didn’t demand gratitude. You just helped. Despite the fact that I… that I was cruel to you.”
Her voice trembled.
“Thank you,” she finally forced out. “Thank you for finding the strength to say it.”
Valentina Petrovna nodded, wiping away tears that had appeared.
“I’m not asking you to help me again,” she said. “I’ll find a way. But I wanted you to know: I was wrong. And I admit it.”
Anna looked at Mikhail. He sat there stunned, looking from his mother to his wife and back again.
“Valentina Petrovna,” Anna picked up her teacup and took a sip, “I never wanted to come between you and your son. And I’m not against helping you. But I needed respect. Do you understand? Just respect.”
“I understand,” Valentina Petrovna nodded. “Now I do.”
They sat there drinking tea, and little by little the atmosphere began to thaw. It was not a moment of magical reconciliation—too much had built up over the years. But it was a beginning. An honest beginning, built on truth.
As they drove away, Anna felt a strange sense of relief. Mikhail was driving and smiling—for the first time in many days.
“You know,” he said, “I thought it couldn’t get any worse. I thought you had destroyed everything. But it turned out to be the opposite.”
Anna rested her cheek against his shoulder.
“So are we still going to Greece this summer?”
“We are,” he laughed. “We definitely are. Wherever you want, my love. Wherever you want.”
