“You don’t have a penny to your name! And most importantly, you didn’t even consult me! You decided to have a child without asking his mother whether this was the right time, whether I’d be able to help?! How dare you make such decisions behind my back?!”
Svetlana Petrovna sincerely believed that she possessed impeccable taste and flawless intuition in everything: from choosing curtains for the living room to planning other people’s destinies. She had raised her only son, Vadim, with a very clear idea of what his future wife should be like.
In Svetlana Petrovna’s dreams, she was supposed to be an obedient, quiet girl from a “good family,” preferably with an apartment, a car, and endless respect for her mother-in-law. A girl who would look up to her husband’s mother and ask her advice about every little thing: from a borscht recipe to the color of wallpaper.
But Vadim, who had always been a calm and reasonable young man, committed what Svetlana Petrovna considered the betrayal of the century at the age of twenty-five.
He brought Yana home.
Yana did not fit at all into the carefully constructed picture of the world that her future mother-in-law had created. She came from an ordinary working-class family, had moved from a small town, was studying for her master’s degree, and was also working as a freelance designer. But her main “flaw” in Svetlana Petrovna’s eyes was that she had her own opinion and firm personal boundaries.
Yana was polite and friendly, but she had absolutely no intention of fawning over Vadim’s mother. She answered tactless questions with a smile, but in such a way that any desire to continue the interrogation immediately disappeared.
“Vadik, have you thought this through?” Svetlana Petrovna sighed in the kitchen, theatrically clutching her heart whenever Yana was not around. “She’s no match for you. She has nothing to her name. Her character is prickly. What did you even find in her?”
“Mom, I love her,” Vadim answered firmly and calmly. “And I’m going to marry her. This is not up for discussion.”
They had a modest but stylish wedding. Svetlana Petrovna sat at the celebration with an expression as if she were attending the reading of an unpleasant court verdict. With her entire appearance, she showed how difficult that day was for her, sighing heavily from time to time and adjusting her hairstyle. But her behavior did not ruin the celebration for anyone, except perhaps Svetlana Petrovna herself.
Right after the wedding, the young couple took out a mortgage. It was a cozy two-room apartment in a new residential district. They had saved the down payment themselves, working almost without days off for the past year, and they decided to pay the loan strictly from their shared family budget. The apartment was their shared pride, their personal fortress.
And that very fortress became the first truly serious battlefield between the daughter-in-law and the mother-in-law.
A month after the housewarming, Svetlana Petrovna came to visit. She walked through the rooms like the lady of the house, ran her finger over the windowsills, critically examined the minimalist interior that the young couple liked so much, and then, after sitting down on the sofa, said in a casual tone:
“Vadik, my son, you should make me a duplicate set of keys.”
“What for, Mom?” Vadim asked in surprise as he poured tea.
“What do you mean, what for?” Svetlana Petrovna was indignant, as if they were talking about the most obvious thing in the world. “Anything could happen! A pipe could burst, you might forget to turn off the iron, or I could simply water the flowers while you’re on vacation. A mother should always have keys to her child’s home. That’s the law.”
Vadim looked questioningly at his wife. Yana, arranging cups on the table, answered gently but very clearly:
“Svetlana Petrovna, don’t worry. Our flowers are low-maintenance, and in case of emergencies, the building has a concierge and we have the contacts of a good plumber. Besides, we insured the apartment. We won’t be making a duplicate set of keys. Vadim and I feel more comfortable knowing that no one can enter our home when we’re not there.”
The mother-in-law turned crimson.
“What do you mean, no one?! Am I some strange woman from the street?! Vadim! Do you hear what your wife is saying?! She doesn’t want to let your own mother across the threshold!”
“Mom, that’s not what Yana said,” Vadim defended her, sitting beside his wife and taking her hand. “We’re always happy to have you and Dad as guests. But only we will have the keys to our apartment. This is our joint decision.”
That day, Svetlana Petrovna threw a grand scandal with tears and accusations of ingratitude, but she never got the keys. From that moment on, Yana became her number one enemy. Her mother-in-law nursed a deep, icy resentment and swore to herself that she would find a way to put that “upstart” in her place.
A year passed. The young couple’s life went on as usual: they were setting up their little nest, working a lot, and traveling. Then, on the eve of Yana’s twenty-fifth birthday, what they had been waiting for so long finally happened: the pregnancy test showed two cherished lines.
Vadim’s joy knew no bounds. He practically carried his wife in his arms. They decided to celebrate Yana’s birthday at home, in a small circle, invite both sets of parents, and solemnly announce the news of the upcoming addition to the family at the festive table.
However, nature made its own adjustments to their grand plans. Exactly one week before the celebration, Yana began suffering from severe morning sickness. She felt nauseous from literally everything: the smell of coffee in the morning, the sight of her favorite perfume, the aroma of frying onions, and even the smell of fresh bread. She grew pale, gaunt, and lost a couple of kilograms.
The morning of her birthday turned out to be especially difficult. Yana stood in the kitchen, leaning her forehead against the cool refrigerator door, trying to force herself to chop a salad.
“Yan, leave it,” Vadim said, hugging her from behind as he saw how much she was suffering. “I’ll finish cutting everything myself, and we’ll just order the hot dishes and appetizers from that good restaurant. Nobody will die if there isn’t homemade duck with apples on the table. Right now, you need rest, not culinary heroics.”
Yana nodded gratefully. She really did feel completely drained. In the end, she prepared only light tartlets and a cheese platter, while everything else—the hot dishes, salads, and a beautiful cake—was delivered by courier. The table looked magnificent, the serving was perfect, but the birthday girl herself looked exhausted. She wore a simple, loose mint-colored dress, and she had to keep her makeup to a minimum because even the smell of foundation made her feel sick.
Closer to evening, the doorbell rang. Vadim’s parents arrived first: Svetlana Petrovna and Anatoly Ivanovich.
Her father-in-law, a quiet man who indulged his wife in everything, modestly handed Yana a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Svetlana Petrovna, however, entered the apartment with the air of someone arriving for an inspection by the sanitary authorities.
She scrutinized the hallway, then shifted her gaze to her daughter-in-law. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Well, hello, birthday girl,” she drawled, handing Yana a shiny gift bag. “Happy quarter-century. A serious age. It’s time you started using your head and thinking about your health. Because, to put it mildly, you don’t look well. So pale, dark circles under your eyes. Do you sleep at all? Or are you on one of those fashionable diets of yours, starving your husband? Men, by the way, need meat at the table, not grass.”
“Thank you for the congratulations, Svetlana Petrovna,” Yana said, letting the barbs pass her by, already used to such attacks. “Please come to the table. Everything is ready. Vadim, help your parents.”
Svetlana Petrovna sat down at the head of the table and began scanning the plates with her eyes.
“Oh, and what is this? Restaurant food?” she said, disdainfully picking up a piece of baked salmon with her fork. “Yana, at twenty-five, you can’t make your husband a normal dinner? Throwing money away. When I was your age, I managed to cook three dishes after a shift at the factory, and there was no such thing as delivery!”
“Mom, we decided to order food so Yana could rest on her birthday,” Vadim cut her off sharply. “The food is excellent. Let’s just enjoy the evening. Yana, open Mom’s gift.”
Yana took a beautiful velvet box out of the shiny bag. Inside were three heavy jars of expensive branded cream. The young woman smiled, but when she read the name printed in large golden letters on the label, she froze.
It said: “Intensive lifting and deep wrinkle treatment. For mature skin. Age 55+.”
An awkward silence hung in the room. Vadim, looking over his wife’s shoulder, changed expression.
“Mom, what is this?” he asked quietly, but there was steel in his voice. “Yana turned twenty-five, not sixty. Did you mix something up?”
Svetlana Petrovna was not embarrassed in the slightest. She threw up her hands theatrically and put on an innocent face.
“What’s wrong with that, Vadik? Prevention should start early! Just look at her. Her skin is already dull and tired. The girl works day and night at that computer of hers, squinting. Wrinkles are just around the corner! I did it from the bottom of my heart. I care about my daughter-in-law! Those creams cost a fortune, by the way. She could at least say thank you.”
Yana, feeling another wave of nausea coming on—whether from her mother-in-law’s sharp perfume or the absurdity of the situation—calmly closed the box.
“Thank you very much, Svetlana Petrovna. It’s a very generous gift. I’ll be sure to give it to my mother. It’s just right for her age.”
Her mother-in-law choked on air at such insolence, but then Vadim rose from his seat. He realized he urgently needed to save the atmosphere before the celebration turned into a battlefield. Besides, it was time for the main event.
“All right, may I have everyone’s attention for a moment,” Vadim said, taking a glass of juice. There was no alcohol on the table out of solidarity with Yana. “We invited you today not only to celebrate the birthday of my beloved wife. We have another very important and happy piece of news.”
Svetlana Petrovna became alert. Anatoly Ivanovich looked up from his salad.
Vadim put his arm around Yana’s shoulders and looked at her tenderly.
“Yana and I are expecting a baby. In the spring, you will become grandparents.”
Yana smiled happily, expecting at least some joy or surprise. But her mother-in-law’s reaction exceeded even her worst fears.
Svetlana Petrovna’s face first stretched in shock, then became covered in red patches. She slowly placed her fork on the table. There was no joy or tenderness in her eyes. Only anger and wounded pride swirled there.
“A baby?” her voice rose to a shriek. “You’re expecting a baby?! And you’re telling me this like that, casually, over delivery salads?!”
“Mom, we wanted to surprise you…” Vadim said, confused.
“Surprise?!” Svetlana Petrovna jumped up from the table, nearly knocking over the glasses. “You haven’t even paid off your mortgage yet! You have nothing to your name! Yana is pale as a toadstool, how does she plan to carry a child?! And most importantly, you didn’t even consult me! You decided to have a child without asking his mother whether this was the right time, whether I’d be able to help?! How dare you make such decisions behind my back?!”
A deathly silence fell over the room. Anatoly Ivanovich shrank into his shoulders. Yana sat motionless, feeling the stress begin to pull at her lower abdomen.
“Mom, are you out of your mind?” Vadim stood up as well, shielding his wife with his body. “We are adults! This is our family, and we decide for ourselves when to have children. We don’t need your permission for that. If you can’t simply be happy for us, then you’d better leave. I will not allow anyone to fray my pregnant wife’s nerves on her birthday.”
Svetlana Petrovna gasped with outrage. Her son, her own flesh and blood, was throwing her out because of that girl!
“Oh, so that’s how it is?! You’re throwing your mother out?! Fine then! Go ahead, have your baby, live in poverty, deal with your problems yourselves! I will never set foot in this house again! Tolya, get up. We’re leaving!”
Anatoly Ivanovich tried to mumble something, to apologize, but his wife grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket so hard that the fabric crackled.
Svetlana Petrovna shot into the hallway like a bullet, grabbed her coat, and, without putting it on, rushed out onto the stairwell. The door slammed behind her with such incredible force that the glasses in the sideboard jingled pitifully.
The celebration had been ruined, but strangely enough, once the mother-in-law was gone, it became much easier to breathe in the apartment. Vadim knelt down in front of Yana and pressed his face to her stomach.
“Forgive me for her,” he said quietly. “She won’t bother us anymore.”
Months passed. Svetlana Petrovna did not call or write. She sat in her apartment like a spider in the center of its web, reveling in her resentment. She was absolutely certain that Vadim would come to his senses. That he would understand what a monstrous mistake he had made by showing disrespect to his mother. She waited for her son to come running to her with apologies, begging for help when money problems began or when his wife’s health started failing.
For hours, she told her friends over the phone what a terrible, calculating daughter-in-law she had, one who had “gotten herself knocked up on purpose” to tie Vadim to her, and how her ungrateful son had traded his mother for a skirt.
But the phone remained silent. Vadim only called his father, briefly asked about his health, and ended the call as soon as Svetlana Petrovna tried to take the receiver. He protected Yana from any stress. Despite the difficult start with morning sickness, the pregnancy was going perfectly. Together, they chose a crib, painted the nursery walls a soft peach color, and took evening walks in the park. They were happy in their small world, closed off from toxic interference.
In the spring, Yana gave birth to a healthy, strong boy, whom they named Maxim. The birth went smoothly, and Vadim was by his wife’s side every second.
The day of discharge from the maternity hospital arrived. Spring sunlight flooded the hospital courtyard. On the steps stood a happy Yana with a huge bouquet of delicate tulips. Vadim carefully held a blue baby blanket envelope in his arms, their son sleeping softly inside. Beside them stood Yana’s joyful parents, who had come from their town, along with the couple’s friends. There was laughter, and phone cameras clicked.
Svetlana Petrovna was not there.
When she learned the date of the discharge from her husband, she threw yet another scandal at home. She declared that she would not go and “bow down to that upstart” until Vadim personally came to her with flowers and asked forgiveness for his behavior at the birthday party. Moreover, she categorically forbade Anatoly Ivanovich from going to the discharge, threatening him with divorce and a heart attack if he dared disobey her.
Deep down, Svetlana Petrovna hoped that her absence would become a tragedy. That Vadim would stand on the steps of the maternity hospital, search for his mother with his eyes, and realize how much he had lost. She waited for a phone call begging her to come.
But there was no call.
Vadim did not even notice the absence of those who had poisoned their lives. At that moment, looking at his beloved wife and tiny son, he thought only about how much he loved them and how reliably he would protect their peace.
While Svetlana Petrovna sat in her half-dark living room, clutching a cold cup of tea in her hands, angry at the whole world and choking on her own bitterness and hatred, Yana and Vadim were getting into the car to go to their bright home.
To the home where no one else had spare keys.
They were living their best, free life, one in which there was no longer any room for other people’s manipulation, resentment, or anti-wrinkle creams.
