— Kostya said you were planning to fly somewhere? What about the dacha? I was counting on you to help me pick the strawberries!
— I understand your expectations, but this year you’ll have to do it yourself or ask Sasha’s daughter for help.
— Sasha can’t. She’s working as a makeup artist. Can you imagine what her nails would look like after picking berries?
Yulia loved her husband Kostya very much, but his mother loved him too — so much that she felt entitled to involve herself in every aspect of her son’s life. She never took her daughter-in-law’s opinion seriously: whatever Yulia said was turned into a joke or accompanied by sarcastic remarks.
Before meeting Yulia, Kostya had no idea what cultural leisure meant — theaters, movies, opera, or concerts. All of that was foreign to him and to his parents. At his mother’s apartment, there was always a sleepy atmosphere: they lived on the third floor in a low area, the windows were sealed shut with heavy curtains, and the interior was mostly in dark tones. The moment you stepped inside, you immediately wanted to sleep.
Yulia, on the other hand, loved light and space. So when, after the wedding, it came time to choose an apartment, Anna Grigoryevna, of course, tried to impose her opinion. For her, the ideal option was the second floor, windows facing north, thick curtains to block out the sun.
But Yulia immediately explained to her mother-in-law: she and Kostya were both investing money, and they weren’t going to consider someone else’s taste. In the end, they chose a spacious, sunny apartment with a large open balcony — exactly as Yulia had dreamed. Naturally, the mother-in-law was not happy with this decision.
Two years later, they finally had the opportunity to go on vacation. Yulia picked a warm seaside resort, a cozy hotel by the sea, and had already started choosing summer outfits when, over dinner, Kostya suddenly said:
— We should tell Mom.
— Tell — or ask? — Yulia clarified, putting down her fork.
Kostya hesitated:
— Well… probably ask.
Yulia slowly raised her eyes to him.
— Do you really think I need to ask your mother’s permission to go on vacation?
Kostya scratched the back of his head, clearly not expecting this reaction.
— It’s just… she’ll be upset if we don’t let her know in advance.
— Kostya, we’re adults. We earn our own money. This is our vacation, our money, and our decision. I’m fine with informing her, but I’m definitely not going to beg for approval like a schoolgirl asking her teacher.
He chuckled but said nothing. That evening, the phone rang. It was Anna Grigoryevna:
— Kostya said you’re planning to fly somewhere? What about the dacha? I was counting on you to help me pick strawberries!
Yulia took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and calmly answered:
— I understand your expectations, but this year you’ll have to do it yourself or ask Sasha’s daughter for help.
— Sasha can’t. She’s a makeup artist. Can you imagine what her nails will look like after berry picking?
Yulia smirked.
— And I’m supposed to type up documents with these hands?
— Who even sees your hands in accounting? People think about you twice a month — on payday and when the advance comes. Don’t make yourself more important than you are.
— Then don’t make yourself more important either. We’re going on vacation when we planned. Deal with your strawberries on your own if you can’t have a proper conversation.
Yulia hung up, and Kostya gave her a sidelong glance. He was clearly unhappy with his wife’s tone, but said nothing. He knew his mother’s character all too well.
Naturally, his mother didn’t stop there. The next day she managed to get all the details from her son: where they were going, for how many days, which hotel, and even the flight time.
And so, when Yulia and Kostya were already at the airport waiting to board, the phone rang. Anna Grigoryevna’s name flashed on the screen. Kostya sighed and answered.
— Kostyusha… — his mother’s voice was plaintive, even slightly trembling. — I’m not feeling well… my heart hurts… my legs are weak… I’m dizzy… — she paused often, clearly inventing new symptoms on the spot. — Maybe I’m having a stroke? Or a heart attack?..
Kostya listened, growing paler with every word. Yulia noticed his face, came closer, and overheard the conversation. What she heard sounded like an amateur dramatic performance.
— Give me that, — Yulia took the phone without warning. — Anna Grigoryevna, we are at the airport, and we are not canceling the trip.
— Oh, fine, fly wherever you want, — the mother instantly changed her tone. — But my son is not going anywhere. It’s dangerous. Kostik will stay with me.
Kostya blinked, as if only now realizing what was being demanded. Yulia ended the call and turned to her husband:
— Well? Are you flying with me, or are you packing your things to go to your manipulative mother?
He pressed his lips together, looked away, but after a second replied:
— I’m flying… I’m flying, okay! Do you think I’m not tired of all this?
— I think you are. But couldn’t you at least stand up to your mother sometimes, so she wouldn’t get so brazen?
— Watch your words, — Kostya corrected her.
— Fine. And your mother should watch hers too. We’ve only been married for two years, and I’ve already heard more than enough about myself.
All the way to boarding, Kostya looked as if he were heading to an exam unprepared. Already on the plane, fastening his seatbelt, he said:
— Still, I’m a terrible son.
— You’re a normal son, — Yulia shook her head. — Anna Grigoryevna has a husband, a daughter. She’s not alone. And believe me, if anything serious really happened, we’d have heard about it from an ambulance, not from her dramatic performances.
Upon arrival, as soon as the suitcases hit the conveyor belt, Kostya called his mother. In a languid voice, she said:
— Well… I’m still alive, but barely… Thank you for at least remembering your mother.
Yulia rolled her eyes and gestured to her husband: “Let’s call an ambulance, have them come and give her a shot.”
Kostya passed this along. On the other end, an instant, cheerful reply came:
— Oh, no-no, I’m already much better. Must have been the weather. No need to call anyone.
Yulia only smirked: the play was over, the curtain down, the audience going home. From the very first day, she had decided: no unnecessary fuss, no rushing around on tours, no obligatory “must-sees.”
Her plan was simple and perfect — a true lazy vacation. To lie on a lounge chair, breathe the salty sea air, bask in the sun, soak up the warmth to the bone, occasionally lazily swim out to the buoys and back. To wash down all this bliss with colorful cocktails and devour tropical fruits in unlimited quantities. Mangoes, passion fruit, papayas — everything that cost a fortune at home was here in abundance and so delicious, you could lick your fingers!
Kostya loved fruit too, but, as with the vacation itself, he was shy to admit how much it thrilled him. Especially — to admit it to his mother. He even once said nervously to Yulia that if his mother asked what they saw, and they said — nothing, just ate and slept.
— Then that’s exactly what we’ll say! — Yulia snorted. — And what’s wrong with that? Stop tormenting yourself with guilt. You earned this vacation, and now you can rest however you please…
However, even while lying on the beach, Kostya somehow managed to keep his phone within reach. Every notification made him flinch, as though his mother might suddenly show up to check on him.
Eventually, Yulia couldn’t take it anymore:
— Here’s the deal. You put your phone away in the room now and only take it out in the evening. Deal? Because this is not a vacation.
— But what if Mom calls? — Kostya asked like a schoolboy deprived of his video game console.
— Mom can wait. She knows perfectly well that you’re on vacation. She has a husband, a daughter, and a television, for heaven’s sake. She’ll find something to do.
Yulia truly enjoyed the holiday. She photographed sunsets, colorful cocktails, perfectly arranged fruit platters at the hotel, and the bright umbrellas on the beach. She didn’t post swimsuit selfies, though her figure allowed it—she preferred the sea, the sun, and natural beauty in the frame.
And although Anna Grigoryevna wasn’t subscribed to her daughter-in-law’s page, she still watched Yulia’s photos with great interest. She even had a special fake account, which everyone had long suspected. And each time Anna Grigoryevna saw another plate of mango or a photo from a lounge chair, she called her son and indignantly exclaimed:
— Look at that… that shameless woman wasting your money! You work, and she drinks cocktails! At home she pretended to be such an innocent lamb.
Kostya mumbled into the phone, stealing guilty glances at his wife, while Yulia just smiled and poured herself another glass of pineapple juice.
When Yulia and Kostya returned home, Kostya stepped across the threshold nervously, as if expecting his mother to jump out from behind a corner with reproaches. The phone, finally retrieved from his bag, was silent—apparently Anna Grigoryevna had decided to give her son time to “realize his guilt.”
Yulia watched as her husband scrolled uncertainly through his notifications and finally said:
— Here’s how it’s going to be. Either we live like adults, or we get divorced and you go back to living with Mommy. I can’t keep watching this. She’s trained you like her little dog. You’re a man in your prime. And what are you doing?
Kostya froze. He gripped the phone tighter and raised his eyes to his wife—his expression a mix of hurt, anger, confusion, but most of all, understanding.
Slowly, as if shaking off chains, he put the phone on the nightstand.
— All right.
One short answer—and he turned and went to the bathroom. The door closed, and a second later the water started running.
Yulia stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to think. She was prepared for a fight, for excuses, for the usual “you don’t understand, she’s my mother.” But Kostya’s silence was very unusual for this situation.
When he came out of the shower, Yulia almost gasped. Only a towel around his hips, drops of water on his chest, and a confident gaze.
— Wow, — Yulia whispered, raising her brows. — And what about your favorite mom-shorts? You never walk around the house without them.
Kostya smirked.
— I threw them out.
He stepped forward. Yulia almost clapped in shock—Kostya suddenly scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom.
— Kostya?!
— Quiet.
The door slammed shut.
On the nightstand, forgotten, the phone vibrated. Anna Grigoryevna knew the flight’s arrival time. More than an hour had passed, and her son still hadn’t called. She was calling nonstop, again and again, refusing to calm down. But the young couple was far too busy to answer.
Yulia was stunned by her husband’s sudden change. He not only didn’t call his mother, but he didn’t even glance at the dozen missed calls—he simply set the phone aside and went out to the store. While she was unpacking, starting the laundry, taking a shower, and getting herself together, Kostya bought a good bottle of wine and ordered dinner delivery.
When they finally sat down at the table, Yulia still couldn’t believe this new version of Kostya—calm, confident, without a trace of his usual anxiety. She was just about to raise her glass to their “new life” when the doorbell rang.
— Are you expecting someone? — Yulia murmured, but Kostya was already getting up.
He opened the door—and there, on the threshold, slightly out of breath, eyes blazing, stood Anna Grigoryevna.
— Kostyusha! — she immediately clutched his face, feverishly feeling his cheeks and forehead as if to make sure he was intact. — You didn’t even think to call?! I’m going out of my mind!
Kostya gently moved her hands aside.
— Mom, are you all right?
— Me?! — she peered past him and saw Yulia in a light silk robe, which Yulia quickly tightened to avoid shocking her mother-in-law further. Anna Grigoryevna’s face twisted. — So that’s what’s going on. You’re here behaving indecently while your mother can’t even get a call?!
— Mom, — Kostya stepped forward, blocking her path into the apartment. — We are adults. We don’t have to report every move we make.
— Adults?! — she snorted. — She’s the one who taught you this, isn’t she?
Yulia stayed silent. She wasn’t so much surprised by her mother-in-law’s behavior—it was predictable—but by how Kostya carried himself. In the past, he would have already started apologizing.
— Mom, — his voice was firm, but without anger. — I love you. But if you came here to make a scene, you’d better call a taxi and go home.
Anna Grigoryevna gasped, as if she’d been struck.
— Is that so?! Now you’re throwing your own mother out?! — her voice trembled. — This is all her fault! She’s ruined you! But you’ll pay for this, Yulia, you’ll see!
Kostya sighed.
— Do you want me to call a taxi?
— I don’t need anything from you! — she snapped, turning sharply and striding to the elevator without a goodbye.
The door closed. Kostya stood there for another moment, then slowly returned to the table. His face looked tired.
— I think I did the right thing, — he said quietly. — But it still feels awful inside.
Yulia handed him a glass.
— Let’s drink to that.
They clinked glasses. The wine was dry, with a slight bitterness—just like the moment. But for the first time in a long while, Yulia felt that something had changed. And she was glad that Kostya had decided to change for the better.
Soon, Anna Grigoryevna brought out her “heavy artillery”—she told every relative, neighbor, and even casual acquaintances what a terrible daughter-in-law she had, how she had driven a wedge between mother and son. Unfortunately, it worked: one by one, Kostya’s relatives stopped speaking to them. Aunts, uncles, cousins—everyone suddenly avoided the young family, as if Yulia really were some villain who had corrupted the perfect son.
But life went on.
One morning, Yulia stood before the bathroom mirror, holding a test with two pink lines. She hadn’t planned to get pregnant so soon, but fate decided otherwise.
— Kostya… — she gently placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder as he was finishing his coffee. — I think I’m pregnant.
He looked up at her—his eyes showed no doubt. Only joy.
— That’s wonderful, — he embraced his wife.
Anna Grigoryevna learned of her daughter-in-law’s pregnancy not from her son, but from a friend who happened to see Yulia at the clinic.
— Are you completely out of your mind?! — her voice shook with fury over the phone. — This is her trick! She wants to trap you with a baby!
— Mom, — Kostya’s tone was calm. — I love Yulia. And I want this child. We planned to have children.
— You… you… — Anna Grigoryevna choked with rage. — You’re no longer my son!
But the biggest shock was still ahead.
A week later, Kostya announced that he and Yulia would have to move: he’d been offered a promotion at a company branch in another city.
— I think you’ve completely lost your mind, — Anna Grigoryevna rushed over without calling first. — She talked you into this, didn’t she?!
— No, Mom. This is my decision.
— You’re abandoning me for her?!
— I’m not abandoning you. It’s work. They’re offering me good terms, and I decided to accept. Besides, Yulia will be on maternity leave soon, and I’ll be supporting the family.
Anna Grigoryevna wept, screamed, even threw herself to the floor in hysterics—but Kostya didn’t give in. He simply waited silently for her to calm down, then called her a taxi.
On the day of their departure, she announced a boycott.
— No one in this family will speak to you again! — she declared, forbidding even her husband and Sasha to call Kostya.
But the ban didn’t last long.
Sasha visited her brother in secret, and when Yulia gave birth to a son, she dropped everything and rushed to the hospital for the discharge.
— Mom thinks I’m at a bachelorette party, — she whispered to Kostya, handing over a huge bouquet.
Anna Grigoryevna never saw her grandson.
She sat alone in her dark apartment, calling her “loyal” relatives and complaining about her ungrateful son. Meanwhile, Kostya, Yulia, and their baby lived in a new city, where no one knew what a “terrible daughter-in-law” Yulia supposedly was.
And where Kostya could finally breathe freely.
As for Anna Grigoryevna… she never realized that the only person she punished was herself.
