— Lada, we thought that with the money from selling your apartment we could redo the renovation for Mom, — my husband told me.
When I heard Maxim say that my family heirloom should be sold off for the whims of his mother, something snapped inside me. Five years of marriage, five years of patience and compromise, crumbled to dust in just a few minutes. But let me start from the beginning.
It all began on that fateful evening when we were getting ready to go to a restaurant. Maxim came home from work looking darker than a storm cloud.
— Valentina Petrovna commented on your outfit, Lada, — he said, without even greeting me. — She didn’t like it.
— And since when does her opinion matter to you? — there was a note of defiance in my voice, and my husband quickly tried to justify himself.
— I don’t know anything about women’s fashion. It looks fine to me.
The story of my marriage was inseparable from endless conflicts with my mother-in-law. Valentina Petrovna was the very embodiment of capriciousness and domineering control. In her eyes, I was never worthy of her beloved and incomparable little Maksimka. I think no woman could have won her favor, but since there was no alternative, all her grievances fell squarely on me.
After the wedding, we rented our own place. When we first met, Maxim still lived with his parents, but I made it clear that living together with his mother was out of the question, so he agreed to rent an apartment. My career as a sales manager was flourishing — a steady stream of clients and a decent income spoke for themselves. Maxim, on the other hand, dedicated himself to teaching karate to children at a municipal center.
His earnings there were modest, but the work brought him joy, and I never reproached him for the small numbers on his pay slips. By the way, it was Valentina Petrovna who arranged his entry into education. She herself had worked as a teacher all her life, which was her pride — she considered herself part of the higher society, a true cultural elite.
Both mother and son could recite ancient Greek authors by heart in classic translations, quote the great poets and writers, they read a lot and always handled cutlery with the refinement of aristocrats. I, however, didn’t share their snobbery. Coming from a remote Siberian village, I had managed to move to the big city, graduate from university with honors, and was now earning three times more than my husband.
Yes, I couldn’t quote the classics, nor did I know three foreign languages like my husband and his mother — but was that really so important? I genuinely cared for Maxim: I kept his sportswear and clothes in order, I cooked all sorts of meals. Although even this often became a matter of contention with Valentina Petrovna.
— You have no understanding of healthy eating, Lada! What are these rustic pastries with greens and eggs, and fried in vegetable oil, no less! You should only fry in butter, or better yet bake everything. And you, of all people, should not be indulging in baked goods at all!
These lectures came from a woman weighing over ninety kilos, while I weighed sixty at one meter seventy. Usually, I just smirked to myself and stayed silent — you can’t change or re-educate an elderly person. She was who she was. Fortunately, Valentina Petrovna didn’t visit us often, but each visit was inevitably accompanied by some kind of lecture on housekeeping.
— A woman must always remain a woman! Just look at how you’ve let yourself go! — she scolded me yet again when I walked out of the bedroom with my hair disheveled and my nose red from a lingering cold.
I had been unwell for four days already and looked exhausted. But judging by Valentina Petrovna’s reaction, I was supposed to appear before her practically in an evening gown, with my hair perfectly styled, and welcoming her with bread and salt on an embroidered towel.
— What petty habits — darning socks? You earn plenty to buy Maxim new ones! — she snapped at me another time.
— They wear out quickly, and I don’t see anything shameful in fixing a small hole in the heel.
— You may have changed your address, but your peasant nature has remained! You graduated from who-knows-what kind of institute, you work at who-knows-what kind of job, and frankly… I don’t understand what my son saw in you. Such a talented young man, a born teacher, with such an excellent education. What a waste.
I sighed deeply, making no attempt to convince my mother-in-law of the value of my education, the significance of my profession, or my abilities as a homemaker. My strategy of patience had its results — conflicts with Valentina Petrovna were rare.
But that didn’t diminish the bitterness that had built up inside me toward this woman. Besides, Maxim usually sided with his mother, and sometimes it seemed to me that in his life, I would forever remain a secondary figure.
He was Valentina Petrovna’s only child. Maxim’s father had not wanted to marry her, which at that time was almost unthinkable. Life as a single mother was extremely difficult, especially since the baby had numerous health problems. Valentina Petrovna spent much of her youth — which coincided with Maxim’s childhood — in hospitals, often sleepless at night. This forged an incredibly strong bond between mother and son, leaving me little room to capture my husband’s attention for myself.
My mother-in-law had a spacious house in a private neighborhood. Her father had once been a renowned scholar and, even during Soviet times, had substantial income. After his death, and later the passing of Valentina Petrovna’s mother, she, as the sole heir, inherited several apartments and two country houses. Selling all of these, Valentina Petrovna purchased a magnificent mansion.
But now, living on the interest from modest savings and her teaching pension, she could not afford major renovations in such a home. Still, she was determined to carry them out.
— We should probably help Mom with the renovations… — my husband delicately brought up the subject one day.
— Maxim, we are planning to buy a house on credit; it’s time to think about having children. If your mother can’t afford to maintain her mansion, she should move to something more modest, and that’s the end of it. Everyone will be better off. She is lonely in her estate, has nothing to occupy herself with, and constantly interferes in our affairs.
— Of course, that makes sense, but she is attached to her home. And you have a country house…
— The country house came to me through inheritance from my grandfather; there’s no question of giving it up! — I interrupted sharply.
I did indeed have a country house, albeit with a rather old building. It was located in a garden cooperative and had originally belonged to my grandfather, who had moved there after my grandmother passed away.
Grandfather had skilled hands in his youth and was an excellent woodcarver. Even after all this time, the two-story spacious house remained sturdy, and its carved decorations could be admired endlessly.
The orchard trees and berry bushes my grandmother had planted long ago had become wild over time. But I wasn’t in a hurry to part with the property — occasionally I rented it to neighbors, who grew vegetables and whatever else they pleased, while also preventing the land from falling completely into neglect.
That Maxim had now brought it up was extremely unpleasant for me. Did he seriously think I would sell the memory of my grandfather? I had spent my entire childhood at that house, resting and helping my grandparents. It was a place of strength, joy, and cherished memories of departed family members.
— Are you hinting at selling it? — I asked my husband at dinner.
Avoiding my gaze, he shrugged:
— Well, it would cover the costs of renovating Mom’s hallway and bedroom. Not much more, of course.
— I’ll say it again: let her move into an apartment and don’t come to our doorstep with your hand out!
It seemed the subject was exhausted, and for a while, my husband did not bring it up again. A busy period at work followed, and I was running around like a whirlwind, buried in documents and endless calls from clients.
Our company sold office supplies, and August was always hectic and chaotic. They could call even late in the evening, which infuriated my husband.
— It’s already half past eleven!
— Maxim, our main office is in Moscow, you know! Don’t be mad — besides, in September I’ll get a great bonus for my efforts! — I justified myself.
My husband grumbled in discontent and went to bed. I was so exhausted that I planned to take a two-week unpaid leave in October. This year had truly been very restless. And September would be almost as hectic as August — everyone was preparing for school.
At the end of summer, my husband and I decided to spend some time alone, going for a weekend in the forest. But an unpleasant surprise awaited me. On Friday evening, my mother-in-law showed up and looked at her son with a pointedly meaningful gaze.
— Lada, we thought that with the money from selling your apartment we could redo the renovation for Mom, — my husband said.
My mother-in-law looked at Maxim approvingly and affectionately.
— I’ve already told my husband that I won’t sell anything.
— Well, Lada, the country house just sits there. Why be stubborn — “grandfather’s memory”? You have his photos preserved, and the house is a burden. Selling it would be the most reasonable and profitable solution. Mom needs the renovations urgently.
— The bedroom wallpaper needs to be replaced, and the kitchen completely redone. Your old country house would just about cover it…
— The country house belongs only to me. I have no intention of selling anything, Valentina Petrovna, to satisfy your desires for creating a palace. I’ve already told your son; now I’ll tell you — move to a place where the renovations aren’t such an expensive affair.
— No, listen, Maxim, this woman is being rude to me! — my mother-in-law put her hands on her hips, eyes flashing with anger. — She hasn’t even given you children yet, and she’s setting the rules here. You should respect your husband, and me even more!
— And I need to be respected, too. I’m the one in charge here, and I pay the rent for this apartment because your son, whom you are so proud of, earns significantly less. And now you want to take the country house I inherited from me! Absolutely not.
— Your mother is absolutely right, Lada. But if you’re being stubborn, then choose immediately — either you sell your shed, which you haven’t needed for years, or I’m leaving you! — my husband suddenly blurted out.
I couldn’t believe my ears — and I had been married to this man for almost five years? He was a spoiled mama’s boy. How dare he demand that I sell something in the name of renovating his mother’s house! She had humiliated me from the first days of our marriage; I didn’t want to see her in my home, and now she was even insisting on selling my property — and Maxim supported her.
I looked at my husband now as at a completely foreign person. A child with him? Taking on a mortgage with him? What a relief that the masks had fallen off my husband before we had taken our family to a far more complicated level. A child, a loan — everything would have been so much harder!
— Pack your things, my dear, take your mother, and get out of here — both of you! — I exploded.
My husband tried to calm me down, while my mother-in-law rained insults and curses on me. I threatened to call the police, and my now practically former relatives vanished as if swept away by the wind. I was left alone. An hour later, I received a message from my husband: “When can I pick up my remaining things?” I replied that he could come tomorrow morning.
I, on the other hand, got up early and went to the forest, since we had planned to spend the weekend there together. But an impending divorce was no reason to cancel plans or give up small joys, right?
Returning home, I couldn’t believe my eyes. First, it was obvious that Maxim had come with his mother — she had dropped a button that had come off a sweater I had given her three years ago. They had taken everything — even the beautiful blue cups that Valentina Petrovna had gifted me for my birthday during the first year of my marriage to Maxim. Darned socks, a box with threads and scissors, some dishes, and even… salt! The last one made me laugh.
I could perfectly imagine my mother-in-law scooping half a handful of cheap salt into a bag, packing the “precious contents” into a shared tote. Such pettiness was, of course, disgusting. But on the other hand, I was glad we had parted ways with Maxim like this, and that I would never have to see his mother again.
Once the hectic period at work was over, in October, as planned, I took a two-week vacation and went to my grandfather’s country house. The carved little house looked like a fairytale cottage. October was surprisingly warm, and golden leaves blanketed the paths and trails.
I wandered through the forest and slept in my grandfather’s house, which held so many memories. One day, I stopped by for tea with my very elderly neighbor, Aunt Klava, who had been friends with my grandmother. We talked heart-to-heart and stayed late into the evening.
Valentina Petrovna called me several times, but I didn’t answer. Maxim, however, never dialed my number once — which, honestly, I didn’t regret. It was good that everything ended exactly as it did. Had we not separated, I would never have met Igor. My future husband turned out to be a wonderful man. I was also very lucky with my mother-in-law — his mother considered me a gift for her son.
Soon, Igor and I welcomed a lovely little son, Semyon. I had long forgotten about Maxim and Valentina Petrovna, happy with my new husband and adoring our little boy. People are right when they say: “If it weren’t for misfortune, we wouldn’t know happiness.”
