“Your apartment will be mine!” my mother-in-law declared. “Only then will I allow my son to have children.”
Maria glanced over the set table once again and smiled involuntarily. Everything was exactly the way she had planned it—neat, festive. Even too perfect, to be honest. She herself had not expected to have enough strength and patience for such a feast. Since early morning she had barely left the kitchen: kneading dough, chopping salads, peeking into the oven to check the meat and worrying that it might dry out. The apartment was filled with such delicious smells that even her own stomach rumbled, though while cooking she had already tasted a little of everything. She was tired, but it was the pleasant kind of tiredness—the kind that makes you look at the result and think, It was worth it. She wanted this evening to be special, something everyone would remember—not because of fuss or loud words, but because of the warm feeling of family happiness.
Yesterday she had found out that she was pregnant. When she showed the test to Vadim, he hugged her so tightly that Masha could hardly breathe. They stood there for several minutes without saying a word, and then suddenly both laughed and cried at the same time. In that moment, they knew—they were simply sure—that everything would be fine. Their happiness was so alive and real that they did not need any words.
Today they had decided to tell their families. They had invited Masha’s parents and Vadim’s mother. They wanted to do it calmly, beautifully, as a family—without rush or chaos. Just gather the people closest to them around one table and share what was overflowing in their hearts. Masha had been waiting for this evening with the kind of trembling excitement children feel before a holiday.
She looked at the table again and chuckled softly. She had cooked enough as if she were expecting not three guests, but a whole crowd. She had definitely gone overboard. Where would it all go? Even if everyone tried hard, they still would not manage to eat it all. Still, she already had a plan: she would carefully pack everything into containers for her parents—tomorrow was a day off, so let them rest from cooking. And Tamara Nikolaevna, her mother-in-law, was planning to stay overnight—her road home was long, and the next day she wanted to visit a friend. She could take some pie with her too.
Maria felt joy overflowing inside her. She kept catching herself smiling for no reason at all. One image after another flashed through her mind: her parents’ faces, their surprise, tears, hugs. They had been hinting to her for a long time that a career was, of course, important, but she should not put off having children for too long. And they had been right. Their own example proved it: Masha was their only child, born late in life, and now they had long since retired while their daughter was still very young. It was long past time for them to become grandparents, to babysit grandchildren, and to discover a new joy in life.
Actually, she and Vadim had planned to get firmly on their feet first. Find stable jobs, save money, live a little for themselves. But life, as usual, had decided otherwise. They had already been together for five years. They had married when Masha had just entered university, and Vadim had already been studying there too. It had been hard: they had saved on everything, counted every penny, and postponed their wishes “until later.” But they had always stood by each other, shoulder to shoulder. Now a lot had changed. Vadim had been working for two years at a good, prestigious company and was earning well. Masha had only recently received her diploma and was doing an internship, worrying that now she would have to go on maternity leave before even finding a stable job. But Vadim had only smiled and said calmly and confidently, “Don’t worry. I can provide for the family. And I’ll help with the baby too—you’re not alone.” And she had always trusted him completely.
The doorbell rang just as Maria was setting out the last glasses, making sure every guest had everything within reach. The sharp sound made her flinch—her heart jumped and immediately began to beat faster. She hurried to the hallway, trying to steady her breathing as she went.
Vadim was standing on the doorstep. He had come home from work early, just as he had promised. In his hands he held a large beautiful bouquet and a stuffed toy: a plush teddy bear with a bright bow. Masha smiled involuntarily. Vadim knew her too well. She really adored such silly, touching little things and always rejoiced over them like a child.
“This is for you,” he said simply, but with that special smile that appeared only for her, and leaned in to kiss his wife on the cheek.
“Thank you…” Masha whispered, hugging him with one arm while clutching the bouquet and teddy bear to herself with the other.
Less than ten minutes later, the bell rang again. This time it was her parents. Natalia Sergeyevna had barely stepped over the threshold when she immediately threw up her hands.
“Mashenka, why are you so thin?” she fussed, pulling her daughter into an embrace.
Maria laughed, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. Meanwhile, Alexey Pavlovich shook Vadim’s hand firmly, then looked at the table.
“Now this I understand,” he nodded approvingly. “What a spread. Masha, you’re the perfect hostess.”
Maria caught their looks—first her mother’s, then her father’s—and suddenly realized with perfect clarity: they had guessed. There was too much expectation in those looks, too much hidden joy and careful hope. Her chest tightened. Of course they had guessed. Parents always sense such things.
Soon Tamara Nikolaevna arrived. First she carefully inspected the hallway, as if noting every little detail, then she looked into the living room, let her gaze linger on the table that had been set, and only then took off her coat.
“Well, hello,” she said evenly. “I see you didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing, did you?”
The question sounded neutral enough, but for some reason Masha suddenly felt awkward.
“Come in, Tamara Nikolaevna,” she tried to smile. “We’re just about to sit down.”
Everyone took their seats. At first the conversation flowed easily, even noisily. They talked about the weather, discussed work, Masha’s internship, and future plans. Maria smiled and kept the conversation going, but inside she felt like a tightly wound string. She sat as if on pins and needles, waiting for the moment when she could say the most important thing. Several times Vadim caught her eye and gave the slightest nod, as if saying, I’m here. Don’t be afraid.
But Tamara Nikolaevna was somehow too solemn. Finally she set down her fork, straightened up, and looked intently first at her son and then at her daughter-in-law.
“Well,” she said, pausing, “which one of you am I supposed to congratulate on a promotion?”
She said it while lifting her chin slightly, as though she had uncovered a secret and was letting everyone know she had guessed before the others.
“No, Mom, you guessed wrong,” Vadim said firmly, and Masha felt him hug her shoulders more tightly. She took a deep breath, and finally they said aloud the very thing they had gathered everyone at that table to share.
“Oh God…” Natalia Sergeyevna gasped, pressing her palms to her chest, and immediately burst into tears, smiling through them. “At last!”
Alexey Pavlovich grinned broadly too, and only Tamara Nikolaevna seemed to turn to stone.
“Well…” she drawled, “That’s… unexpected.”
And that was it. No warm words, no congratulations, no joy. Only heavy sighs, averted eyes, and a strange tension. Because of that, the whole evening somehow went wrong: the conversations became awkward, the pauses too long. Maria felt it most keenly of all. She smiled, answered questions, talked about how happy she and Vadim were, about their plans, but inside everything was tightening. It was unpleasant, hurtful, even painful—the way it is when you expect warmth and meet coldness instead.
Vadim noticed it at once. He hugged her again and whispered quietly in her ear:
“Don’t pay attention. Everything will be fine. Mom just didn’t expect it.”
Masha nodded. Of course she had not expected it, but was that any reason to ruin everyone else’s joy?
When Maria’s parents began to get ready to go home, she never once remembered the plan she had made earlier that day. She did not look into the fridge, did not take out the containers, did not pack up the food. She forgot about the aspic she had simmered almost all night, and about the pie she had baked especially for her mother, with apples and cinnamon just the way she loved it. It was as though one record was stuck in her head: the heavy sighs, the averted eyes, Tamara Nikolaevna’s strained smile. Everything else—the bustle, the conversations, even her parents’ joy—seemed to fade into the background.
No, her mother-in-law had always been like that, of course. If something did not go according to her plan, she changed immediately: she began sighing meaningfully, making displeased faces, falling silent so demonstratively that it was impossible not to notice. Maria had known that for a long time and usually tried not to pay attention. But today was a special day. How could she act like this? Couldn’t she just be happy? A child was coming into the family. A baby. Maybe one who would even resemble his grandmother. At that thought, Masha’s heart gave a painful squeeze for a moment. Natalia Sergeyevna and Alexey Pavlovich, on the contrary, did not hide their happiness. Her mother kept discreetly wiping her eyes and then smiling again—brightly and sincerely. She held Masha’s hand all the time, as if afraid to let it go, stroked her palm, and kept repeating:
“I’ve dreamed about this for so long… You can’t even imagine how happy I am.”
“We’re always here for you,” Alexey Pavlovich said confidently, hugging both his daughter and his son-in-law. “Don’t worry. We’ll help however we can.”
“And you, Mashenka, don’t work yourself up,” Natalia Sergeyevna added at once. “If you want, you can go back to work at any time. Your father and I will only be happy to watch our grandson or granddaughter.”
Those words warmed Masha a little. When her parents left, she automatically started clearing the table. Then suddenly she stopped, as if waking up.
“Oh…” she blurted out. “There’s still so much left. I completely forgot…”
Vadim waved his hand calmly.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning we’ll go to your parents together. We’ll bring everything—the aspic, the cake, all the rest.”
Maria smiled at him gratefully. At that moment Tamara Nikolaevna silently rose from the table.
“I’m going to bed,” she said dryly. “I’m tired.”
“Maybe we could have some mint tea?” Maria suggested cautiously, still hoping to smooth out the evening somehow. “You haven’t even tried the pies.”
“No need,” her mother-in-law cut her off sharply, and with a displeased look disappeared into the room.
The night turned out restless. Masha lay awake for a long time, tossing and turning, listening to every little sound in the apartment. Over and over in her mind she replayed the evening: faces, pauses, intonations, that cold look in Tamara Nikolaevna’s eyes. Her joy seemed to have mixed with anxiety, leaving behind a strange, bitter aftertaste…
To be continued just below in the first comment.
Maria looked over the set table once again and smiled involuntarily. Everything was exactly as she had imagined it—neat, festive. Even a little too perfect, to be honest. She herself had not expected to have enough strength and patience for such a feast. Since early morning, she had hardly left the kitchen: first setting the dough, then chopping salads, then peeking into the oven to check the meat, afraid of overcooking it. The apartment was filled with such delicious smells that even her own stomach growled, although she had already sampled everything a little while cooking. She was tired, but it was the pleasant kind of tiredness—the kind where you look at the result and think, It was worth it. She wanted this evening to be special, something everyone would remember not for the bustle or loud words, but for the warm feeling of family happiness.
Yesterday she had found out that she was pregnant. When she showed the test to Vadim, he hugged her so tightly that Masha could hardly breathe. They stood there for several minutes without saying a word, and then suddenly laughed and cried at the same time, both of them. In that moment, they simply knew—were absolutely sure—that everything would be fine. Their happiness felt so alive and real that they did not need any words.
Today they had decided to tell their families. They invited Masha’s parents and Vadim’s mother. They wanted to do it calmly, beautifully, as a family, without fuss or haste. Just gather their closest loved ones around one table and share what was overflowing in their hearts. Masha had been waiting for this evening with a kind of trembling excitement, the way children wait for a holiday.
She looked at the table again and chuckled softly. She had cooked enough food as if she were expecting not three guests, but an entire crowd. Well, she had certainly gone overboard. What were they going to do with all of this? Even if everyone tried their best, they would never finish it. Still, she already had a plan: she would carefully pack everything into containers for her parents—tomorrow was a day off, so let them have a break from cooking. And Tamara Nikolaevna, her mother-in-law, was going to stay the night—the road was long, and the next day she wanted to visit a friend. So she could wrap up some pie for her to take along too.
Maria felt herself overflowing with joy. Again and again she caught herself smiling for no reason at all. One after another, images flashed through her mind: her parents’ faces, their surprise, tears, embraces. They had long been hinting to her that a career was, of course, important, but that she should not wait too long to have children. And they had been right. Their own example proved it: Masha was their only, late-born child, and now they were long retired while their daughter was still very young. It was high time for them to become grandparents, to babysit grandchildren, to enjoy life in a new way.
Actually, she and Vadim had planned to get firmly on their feet first. Find stable jobs, save money, live a little for themselves. But life, as usual, had decided otherwise. They had been together for five years already. They got married when Masha had just entered university, and Vadim was already studying there. It had been hard: they saved, counted every penny, put off their wishes “for later.” But they had always been together, shoulder to shoulder. Now многое had changed. Vadim had already been working for two years in a good, prestigious company and earned decent money. Masha had only recently received her diploma, was doing an internship, and worried that now she would have to go on maternity leave before she had even managed to find a stable job. But Vadim had only smiled and said calmly and confidently, “Don’t worry. I’ll be able to provide for the family. And I’ll help with the baby too—you’re not alone.” And she had always trusted him completely.
The doorbell rang just as Maria was placing the last glasses, making sure each guest would have everything within reach. The sharp sound made her flinch—her heart jumped and immediately started beating faster. She headed quickly toward the hallway, trying to steady her breathing along the way. Vadim was standing on the doorstep. He had come home from work early, just as he had promised. In his hands was a large beautiful bouquet and a soft toy: a plush teddy bear with a bright bow. Masha smiled involuntarily. Vadim knew her too well. She really did adore such silly, touching little things and always rejoiced over them like a child.
“This is for you,” he said simply, but with that special smile that appeared only for her, and leaned down to kiss his wife on the cheek.
“Thank you…” Masha whispered, hugging him with one arm while pressing the bouquet and teddy bear to herself with the other.
Not even ten minutes passed before the doorbell rang again. This time it was her parents. Natalia Sergeyevna had barely crossed the threshold before throwing up her hands.
“Mashenka, why are you so skinny?” she fussed, pulling her daughter into a hug.
Maria laughed, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. Meanwhile, Alexey Pavlovich gave Vadim a firm handshake and then turned his gaze to the table.
“Now this is what I call impressive,” he nodded approvingly. “Masha, you are the perfect hostess.”
Maria caught their looks—first her mother’s, then her father’s—and suddenly realized clearly: they had guessed. There was too much expectation in those glances, too much hidden joy and careful hope. Her chest tightened. Of course they had guessed. Parents always sense these things.
Soon Tamara Nikolaevna arrived. First she carefully looked over the hallway, as if noting every little detail, then glanced into the living room, let her gaze linger on the set table, and only then took off her coat.
“Well, hello,” she said evenly. “I can see you didn’t go to all this effort for nothing, did you?”
The question sounded neutral enough, but for some reason Masha suddenly felt awkward.
“Come in, Tamara Nikolaevna,” she said with a smile. “We’re about to sit down.”
Everyone took their seats. At first the conversation flowed easily, even noisily. They talked about the weather, discussed work, Masha’s internship, and plans for the future. Maria smiled and joined in, but inside she felt like a tightly drawn string. She sat as if on needles, waiting for that very moment when they could say the most important thing. Several times Vadim caught her eye and gave her the slightest nod, as if saying: I’m here, don’t be afraid.
As for Tamara Nikolaevna, she seemed strangely solemn. At last she set down her fork, straightened up, and looked carefully first at her son, then at her daughter-in-law.
“Well,” she said, pausing for effect, “which one of you am I supposed to congratulate on a promotion?”
She said it with her chin slightly raised, as if unveiling a secret, showing that she had guessed before anyone else.
“No, Mom, you guessed wrong,” Vadim said firmly, and Masha felt him pull her closer by the shoulders. She took a deep breath, and together they finally said aloud what had brought everyone to the table.
“My God…” Natalia Sergeyevna gasped, pressing her hands to her chest, and immediately burst into tears, smiling through them. “At last!”
Alexey Pavlovich smiled broadly too, while Tamara Nikolaevna seemed to turn to stone.
“Well…” she drawled, “that’s… unexpected.”
And that was all. No warm words, no congratulations, no joy. Only heavy sighs, averted eyes, and strange tension. Because of that, the whole evening somehow went crooked: the conversations became awkward, the pauses too long. Maria felt it especially keenly. She smiled, answered questions, talked about how happy she and Vadim were and what plans they had, but inside everything was tightening. It was unpleasant, hurtful, even painful—the way it feels when you expect warmth and meet coldness instead.
Vadim noticed it at once. He put his arm around her again and whispered quietly in her ear:
“Don’t pay attention. Everything will be fine. Mom just wasn’t expecting it.”
Masha nodded. Of course she had not expected it, but was that really a reason to ruin other people’s joy?
When Maria’s parents began getting ready to leave, she did not even remember what she had planned earlier that day. She did not look in the fridge, did not take out containers, did not pack up the food. She forgot about the aspic she had boiled almost all night, and the pie she had baked especially for her mother, with apples and cinnamon, just the way she liked it. In her head, the same record seemed to be stuck: the heavy sighs, the averted eyes, Tamara Nikolaevna’s strained smile. Everything else—the bustle, the разговоры, even her parents’ joy—seemed to fade into the background.
No, of course her mother-in-law had always been like that. If something did not go according to her plans, she immediately changed: she would start sighing meaningfully, making dissatisfied faces, falling into demonstrative silence that was impossible not to notice. Maria had known that for a long time and usually tried not to pay attention. But today was supposed to be a special day. How could she behave like this? Couldn’t she just be happy? After all, a child was coming into the family. A baby. Possibly one who might even resemble her grandmother. At that thought, Masha’s heart gave a painful little squeeze.
Natalia Sergeyevna and Alexey Pavlovich, on the other hand, did not hide their happiness. Her mother kept secretly wiping away tears and then smiling again—brightly and sincerely. She held Masha’s hand all the time, as if afraid to let it go, stroking her palm and repeating:
“I’ve dreamed of this for so long… You can’t imagine how happy I am.”
“We’ll always be here,” Alexey Pavlovich said firmly, hugging both his daughter and son-in-law. “Don’t worry. We’ll help however we can.”
“And you, Mashenka, don’t work yourself up,” Natalia Sergeyevna added at once. “If you want, you can go back to work anytime. Your father and I will be more than happy to sit with our grandson or granddaughter.”
Those words warmed Masha a little. When her parents left, she automatically began clearing the table. Then suddenly she stopped, as if waking up.
“Oh…” she blurted aloud. “There’s still so much left. I completely forgot…”
Vadim calmly waved a hand.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning we’ll drive over to your parents together. We’ll bring them everything—the aspic, the cake, all of it.”
Maria smiled gratefully at him. At that moment Tamara Nikolaevna silently rose from the table.
“I’m going to bed,” she said dryly. “I’m tired.”
“Maybe we could have some mint tea?” Maria suggested cautiously, still hoping to smooth over the evening. “You haven’t even tried the pies.”
“No,” her mother-in-law snapped sharply, and with a displeased expression disappeared into the room.
The night turned out to be anxious. Masha could not fall asleep for a long time, tossing and turning, listening to every rustle in the apartment. Again and again the evening replayed in her mind: the faces, the pauses, the intonations, Tamara Nikolaevna’s cold look. Joy seemed to have mixed with anxiety, leaving behind a strange, bitter aftertaste.
In the morning they decided first to take Tamara Nikolaevna to her friend’s place, and then go to Masha’s parents. Maria tried to stay detached, not paying attention to her mother-in-law. She took out containers, packed salads, transferred pies into boxes. Vadim had gone to the garage in the meantime. The apartment became unusually quiet, and it was at that very moment that Tamara Nikolaevna approached Masha. She sat down at the table, folded her hands, tapped her fingers on the tabletop as if gathering her thoughts. Then she looked up and suddenly spoke sharply. Those same cold, arrogant notes appeared in her voice, and everything inside Masha tightened instantly.
“There’s something I wanted to ask,” she began. “Why didn’t you consult me when you decided to have a child?”
Maria was stunned. For a second she thought she must have misheard.
“What do you mean… didn’t consult you?” she asked quietly, unable to find words right away.
Tamara Nikolaevna narrowed her eyes.
“In the most direct sense,” she said even more harshly. “Now Vadim will have to forget about his career. Everything will go upside down. He’ll want to spend more time with the child, he’ll get distracted, spread himself too thin… and then he’ll ruin all his talents altogether. And he could have reached such heights!”
Maria listened and did not understand—what did his career have to do with anything? It was not Vadim who would be going on maternity leave. And she herself was not planning to drop out of life for long. Her parents would help; they had offered sincerely, without conditions. She and Vadim had a roof over their heads, the apartment might be small, but it was their own, cozy place. And they had thought about the future. They wanted to build a house—not now, later, when there was an opportunity—and leave the apartment to the child so that when he or she grew up, there would be a foundation, a start in life. What was wrong with that? How was that irresponsible?
“You rushed into this too soon…” Tamara Nikolaevna drawled, and again gave a heavy sigh, as if an unbearable burden had been laid on her shoulders.
“You didn’t think this through at all,” she continued even more sharply. “Of course, why would you care? You don’t give a damn about my son. All you think about is yourself.”
Maria looked at her in disbelief. She could not even immediately think of what to say. One thought was pounding in her head: How can anyone say such things?
“Tamara Nikolaevna…” she began carefully, but her mother-in-law seemed only to have been waiting for that, not even letting her finish.
“And what happens next?” she raised her voice. “You’ll give birth, and then decide to leave my son?! And he’ll be left with nothing! That’s not going to happen, do you hear me? You never gave him a chance to buy his own home, and now all the money will go to the baby!”
Maria felt everything inside her clench. The words were getting louder, harsher, more merciless.
“So you must get rid of the child!” Tamara Nikolaevna blurted out, staring directly into her face.
Masha’s vision darkened. She tried to say something, to object, to explain that this was her and Vadim’s decision, that no one was deceiving or using anyone… But suddenly a sharp pain stabbed through her stomach. The pain was unexpected, acute. She gasped and slowly lowered herself onto a chair, pressing a hand to her belly. But Tamara Nikolaevna either did not notice her condition, or simply did not want to notice it. She leaned forward and spoke even louder, as if determined to finish her off.
“And if you still want to keep this child,” she hissed, “then this is what we’ll do. Your apartment must become mine.”
Maria looked up at her.
“What?..”
“That’s right,” her mother-in-law nodded. “Only then will I allow my son to have children, and only then will I be sure he’s protected. I’ll make sure that in the future this apartment goes to your child, if of course everything is fine between you. Otherwise you’ll give birth, then leave Vadim, file for child support, and he’ll be left with nothing. No, I won’t allow that!”
Maria wanted to say that divorce had never even crossed her mind. That she loved Vadim, that family meant everything to her. But the words stuck in her throat. Her stomach ached unpleasantly, her breathing became uneven.
Tamara Nikolaevna leaned closer. Her face was very near now, her voice low and hissing.
“So listen carefully,” she said. “Choose. Either you get rid of this child, or you transfer the apartment to me. And if you so much as think of telling Vadim…” She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll make your life hell. Understood?”
Maria clutched her belly with both hands and tried to breathe evenly. Slowly, deeply, the way she had been taught.
“Mash?” Vadim’s voice rang out.
He had come back for the garage keys he had forgotten. No one had heard him come in—the argument had been too loud. Vadim rushed to Masha and crouched down in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, already pulling out his phone. “Breathe, do you hear me? Right now, right now…”
He called an ambulance, then silently took Tamara Nikolaevna’s coat and held it out to her.
“Leave,” he said quietly, but in a tone that made arguing impossible. “And never come here again.”
“Vadim, what are you saying?” she flared up. “That woman has bewitched you! You don’t understand the simplest thing—she’ll ruin you! You’ll come crawling back to me yet!”
He looked at her for a long, tired moment.
“I’m disappointed in you, Mom,” he said. “So disappointed that it’s better if we don’t speak. At least for a while. What happens after that—we’ll see.”
He opened the door and motioned toward the exit. Tamara Nikolaevna kept talking, outraged, threatening, but Vadim calmly escorted her to the door and repeated:
“Remember every word I said.”
The ambulance came quickly. By then Maria had calmed down a little, the pain had eased, and her breathing had evened out. The doctors examined her and said it was severe stress, but there was no danger. She did not have to go to the hospital.
“Take care of yourself,” the paramedic said. “And no stress.”
After that they still went to Masha’s parents. It was always warm and calm there. Natalia Sergeyevna immediately sat her daughter down on the sofa and covered her with a blanket, while Alexey Pavlovich silently put the kettle on. Maria felt protected. Vadim sat beside her, held her hand, and said quietly:
“I will never let anyone hurt you. Never.”
She looked at him and nodded.
“And I,” she replied, “will do everything to make sure we are always as happy as we are now.”
